the Ether Bunny (ninjalicious) wrote,
the Ether Bunny

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Goblin Town

This afternoon I retreived the EmoMobile from the West Philly Jail it was restrained in (along with my sense of security) all weekend. I started to drive around hunting for a parking lot or tower to bed it down in, but considering the lousy elements of timing (which does not exist!) that combined resulted in this endeavor starting solidly in rush hour, I relented to the phonecall from The Girl Who Ran Away With The Circus (Aka My Ex-Proxy) and went to meet her and Mine Pope. We weren't doing anything, which was cool, just hanging out at Ze Pope's house, having dinner with her family, being yelled at by her mom (just me), and enjoying ourselves. In a poorly ventilated room full of smokers though... I just don't have the dedication to fill this space with the necessary expletives. I never minded being a non-smoker in a world of chain smokers until this year. Never choked on second hand air. Never feared second hand cancer. I left about 5 minutes before the new Buffy came on.

Of course, I was also full of car-paranoia egging my exit on as well. I discovered almost by accident that the EmoMobile, in it's current battered state, isn't safe on the street anymore. "You're pretty lucky.. you know they tried to pick it up 4 times before they got it?" Fuck you Philly. The closest lot I could find was a half hour walk away, but I left it, because a half hour walk is better than 4 days being crippled. Fuck you residential neighborhood. Tomorrow morning I'll mosey over and see about getting a monthly pass either there, or somewhere else if I can find anything remotely closer.

I feel so g0ddamned unwelcome here right now. This might be sort of a lame city, small in stature, with sports fans who "Boo" Santa, children, and dogs. All manner of emergency vehicles might speed down my street at all hours, and news of people being shot in closer range than my car lies. There might not even be any Goblins.


But... I've loved this city since I can remember. Since before I even knew what a real city was, before I knew much of anything, when we'd drive on holiday nights from our home in suburban South Jersey, through the strange and beckoning streets en route to my Gra-Gra's house. In one side and out the other. Over the river and through this entropic maze. I used to stare out of the car window, wishing and praying that we lived here. Where things are. Where people live. Literally, praying. Some kids dreamed of lives in mansions and castles. I dreamed of a life in a row house with a broken sidewalk and spraypaint on the walls, doors that lead down below street level and bars on the windows.

Now here I am, living the dream.. and the city looks back at me and says, "Get out."

Later on, I am going to write an epic letter addressed to St Agnes Medical Center, and if I'm half as good as I hope, pants will be enwettened. Not because I "can", not because I "should". Because I'm spiteful, angry, and feeling rejected by an entire city, and I want to stab this city as hard as I can. They just happened to offer themselves up as a sacrificial lamb. Fuck you, Goblin Town.

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