dear beaverton, oregon…..

thank you for looking here.
i play make believe……
i make believe my one, solitary reader there is a healthcare professional who, every now and again, reads these musings to my dear, dear friend.
i have no way of knowing this as true, and it more than likely isn’t, but it’s one of those things i weave together, much in the way i’ve come to rely on one-way conversations over the ocean, audiences i’ve had with bivalves and other mollusks as the waves crash against the shore – me, mussels and mosses in silent communication – the big tire (that i sorely miss), the union of mexico-bound monarch butterflies and the board meetings i’ve convened with the pit bosses overlooking the action at the big casino, out there, off to the left of the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension, all of this held together with a sheen of hope, my head bouncing lazily as i type the word…….”did i just type this?”……i slump lower in my chair and decide i owe maxx a car ride, my last words to myself being…..”ha, beaverton.”
as i leash my big, crazy pup, i think about how me and my friend would graphically parse the town’s name and gloriously smutty-it-up.
i can hear that whispering, conspiratorial laughter as i type.
we got into the car and i open all the windows. the afternoon heat has dissipated and if you drive over thirty, there’s almost a “cool breeze.”
i bluetooth susan’s name to the cellphone i absolutely hate, she of the debutant hour and one of the closer relationships goodbye blue monday has afforded me. she’s moved onto the world of temp-employment after a lengthy relationship with the store’s counter. our conversation has to do with missing one another other and ice cream.
she makes awesome ice cream.
i used the word “awesome” to connect with the current-and-soon-to-be-fading generation.
the proponents of this word are pushing forty soon.
i wonder what word the next generation is going to beat (far past) “to dust,” not that i’m complaining. i think it’s another measuring stick for me and mortality to use regarding how distanced i’m becoming to the current planetary vogue.
i’m not stuck in time, like i have a pompadour and cuban heels and am singing doo-wop under the subway el at avenue S and fifteenth street, but i cannot connect justin beiber or lady gaga to a song if i were to hear it. ya’ know?
i live in a world of, “oh, so THAT’S who THAT is!”
hell, i been here since “guns and roses” got their record deal.

but i digress…..

this is about….at the moment….susan and me and maxx driving in and around the warehouse district by the kosciuszko bridge and the area where the secret giant oil spill floats silently, still, fifty-plus years since it happened, but i spoke about that already a while ago. it’s being cleaned by the federal government, a superfund site project, something that encapsulates the difference between “america” and “corporate america.”

“america” will clean it up, this meaning you and me.
“corporate america” says “fuck it and the people who live with it. it’s their problem, not ours. it’s the cost of doing business.”
that’s the current political discourse in a nutshell.
you either live above the muck or you die in it.
lucky or unlucky.
are you lucky?
is montana lucky?
same oil, same lies, different place.

“corporate america” wants “america” to be it’s whipping boy and porter.

as i watched the PBS series on our national parks and traveled to some last year, i thought about america and corporate america and the sad state of our national heritage if they get their way.
there WILL be a theme park in the heart of yosemite, complete with a water flume and wave machine.
i think i just made myself ill.

back to susan;
she asked me about my dearest friend on the planet. i told her that i hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks and when i checked my GBM google analytics, there were no longer any hits from the city of portland, oregon leading me to believe that she’s too ill and weak to look at a computer screen. i added that there was a dot on the screen right next to portland, like it’s a suburb or something and saw that there were two hits on it, both around the time of two note postings onto the website.
i told her how i hopefully surmised (remember the “sheen of hope” earlier?) that a healthcare professional in beaverton was reading my notes to her.
“beaverton?” she broke in.
“yes. beaverton, oregon”
“I’m IN beaverton,” she said, a little amazed.
imagine that.
i thought she was home in south brooklyn.
i’m not saying there are NO coincidences, i’m just saying that some coincidences aren’t coincidences.
i told myself that this was one of those.
then i told susan (and myself) that it’d be really great that this moment here was something that changed the polarity of something, somewhere, causing a celestial whoozitz to occur, triggering the end of an illness’ path through my friend’s body.
i drove and wondered if the steering wheel hadn’t momentarily taken on the feel and texture of stretched-green felt and strange music played in and behind my brain.
step right up…….

About stephen trimboli

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2 Responses to dear beaverton, oregon…..

  1. Garret "Quint" Spitzer says:

    re the change in polarity: your lips to God’s ears (or Ming the Merciless, whoever’s in charge these days)

    re the word the next generation will be beating to dust: EPIC (take it from a father of late teens)

  2. Garret "Quint" Spitzer says:

    Or perhaps “EPICNESS”

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