DROIDS

DROIDS: Domestic Labor.  The forgotten “people” that lived and worked among us.  Walking home in the middle of the night past all the fallen: the radiators, shredded paper, AC units, trees, kids, etc., I feel the power of the droid.

I, too, am a droid adrift in the world.  Specifically I am a bartender who is completely used up and probably a bit wasted walking home from his bar.

Here one thinks of the lost art of “noticing.”  (Also called “paying attention,” which I like for its acknowledgment of currency exchange.)  Anyway, what I do dead-walking home from work in the middle of the night is notice things again.  Same walk every shift.  Things I’ve loved and noticed for a long time now, but I feel tonight that the relationship is deepening.  They are now imbued with a kind of red melancholy.  Specifically these clapboard window shutters.

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2 thoughts on “DROIDS

  1. That droid is sweet! “Completely used up”–I feel that, sometimes. Do you get recognized when you bartend, much? It must happen sometimes. I saw you play with Jets to Brazil at the Troubadour (misspelled maybe) in 2000. Great show.

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