Ballade du soir

Nice walk to get to the burger place tonight. Something Pacific in the air, whether due to the gentle return of the eighties, the bowl hair cuts and funny flattening jeans the kids seem to be wearing again, or to a more personal shift in minds cape. It could also be the cold rain. I’ve never been to Portland but I think of it as Oregon weather. On the way I started wondering what to call you. Constituency, so far, is what I’ve been going with and I thought of that as I peeked into a gallery event that made me feel like I was back in Berlin. I don’t like community at this point: de-sign has made the term problematic for me. Walking on and peeking into other bars and restaurants, I felt like I could swing a communal. The visions I had of my burger as I was eating it made me feel as if I were de facto holding one. Something about the mix of types of beauty felt extremely familiar and Atlantic to me. On the square across the street where the mural has changed every time I walk past it, orange Sri Yantra fragment. Candlelight and flowers on the tables. Food in a metal pioneer-style plate. Grub, mirror-work and a milkshake.

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