Another walk home along SE 12th. Portland seems off kilter today, although I keep on a straight path. The bread factory smells like fish, the sun is shining through the rain, my hands are freezing but my body heat is rising. Fog is flowing from the pavement, there is warmth in the sun, but the air is chilled. It's a day of opposites attracting me, and the illusions very well could be reality. I am strong and powerful when I walk these streets. I am beautiful and demure. My hips move back and forth like sex, I'm seducing myself and this city; the buildings turn their bricks to watch me pass, lights change with a blink of my eyes, and the trees lustfully bend their branches to touch my skin. See, I was knocked down but I got back up without even a second thought this time, and I'm standing even taller than before. I've realized, I can ride my bike with no handlebars and I can lead the nation with a microphone, and whatever happens, I've still got it. There's a purity in my newfound ego, an innocence in my vanity. I'm on the loose in the Pacific Northwest, full of a fierce foolishness, and I know I can't be stopped.
So, Portland, Bring it on, baby.