18 August 2011


The humidity has sharply decreased so that now the day's heat just feels hot and lovely and there's been this inspired wind blowing through. Great day for the sailboats. Not a great day for the garbage-pickers who dare enter the Erie Basin Marina.

I guess after you drive in from the suburbs in an air-conditioned luxury car with the windows rolled up and the doors definitely locked and you want to go get on your yacht and forget about the cruel, cruel world, the last thing you want to see someone going through your garbage. Maybe this means that the other side's bottles and cans are too refined for the vulgar process of recycling?

The nicer parts of my neighborhood (read mostly white, middle class) are littered with lawn signs for Judge Joseph Fiorella, a Buffalo City Court judge. I don't know much about the guy, except for that he's presiding over the NFTA Police vs. anti-war protesters case, and I'd surely vote for him if he can find a way to gracefully dismiss the prosecution's case. There's been a lot written about the case and there's even a Youtube video out there if you're interested in finding it, I don't want to rehash the whole story here, suffice it to say that the NFTA police played a big role in escalating a mostly innocent demonstration. So Judge, let Nate Buckley, Eliott Zyglis and Jason Wilson off, they're not trouble makers. Do that and I'll ignore the strange race-politicking found in the image on the side of your campaign utility truck parked in the neighborhood and strategically placed at the Farmer's Market on Saturdays.

Judge Fiorella wants the "People's" vote

I continue to see ash trees everywhere. I can't shake a spooky kind of feeling about them, like they're living ghosts, and whatever knowledge, intelligence, and beauty they possess, they'll never be the same. 

Drove down to the foot of Smith St. tonight, known by many as the access point to the behemoth Concrete Central grain elevator on the Buffalo River. On the way, we passed that bar in the First Ward on South Park, Adolf's. Always kinda makes me wonder. Anyway, huge stands of Japanese Knotweed down there, like little bamboo trees, looking vigorous and healthy. 

1 comment:

nps said...

The riparian Eastern Cottonwoods have always been more haunting to me, these the most prominent inhabitants of the postindustrial Buffalo River, assertively noisy in a Wabi-sabi process, nature reclaiming this land.

I miss the solitude of riding down Emsile and Smith, each and every summer night, past the chicory and ironweed and the crumbling brick, and past the houses where my grandparents were born.