more mysterious ways
Back on January 30, in the post "more about my neighborhood," I wrote the following:
There's an auto repair shop, which contracts with dealerships and rental agencies, to the left (Ewa side) of Foodland, sweating guys working there in the brightly lit bays until late, if not early, hours. Gleaming steel hydraulic lifts sometimes vented in sudden ~PUFF~!!!s, weird anthem to a post- and still- industrial age. The white concrete back wall of the bays forms the border of Foodland's warm frontier.
The wall had a hole in it.
Jagged, about the size of a stretched udon bowl or the platter your grandma used to serve Thanksgiving turkey on, bright hot light streamed through the hole into the darkness. An invisible boom box boomed, "WHERE'S THE ALOHA...?"
I didn't remember seeing the hole before.
It seemed to connect the energy of the torque-spinning mechanics with the wholesomeness of Foodland. It made the concrete look like a surreal ruin, still functional, like a tunnel to a different civilization.
So I stared at the warm hole in the living concrete ruin in the dark tropical night. It served a purpose for me by creating some wonder at the divine auto that had smashed with sufficient force--orchid head-wreathed godly driver and passengers, festive, merry, and singing--into the wall, all observers subsequently benefiting from the light glowing through the ruins like Greeks divining an oracle--dreams and wild inspiration and all manner of strange and beautiful occurrences happening.
I walked home after that.
This afternoon, I noticed that the entire wall of the auto repair place has been freshly cut out into Maltese Cross-type holes, like a retro 50s linoleum pattern, presumably to let more air into the mechanics' bays. What I saw that night seems to have been the prototype exploratory excavation. Or maybe they just drilled more holes to cover for the divine joyriders. :-)
There's an auto repair shop, which contracts with dealerships and rental agencies, to the left (Ewa side) of Foodland, sweating guys working there in the brightly lit bays until late, if not early, hours. Gleaming steel hydraulic lifts sometimes vented in sudden ~PUFF~!!!s, weird anthem to a post- and still- industrial age. The white concrete back wall of the bays forms the border of Foodland's warm frontier.
The wall had a hole in it.
Jagged, about the size of a stretched udon bowl or the platter your grandma used to serve Thanksgiving turkey on, bright hot light streamed through the hole into the darkness. An invisible boom box boomed, "WHERE'S THE ALOHA...?"
I didn't remember seeing the hole before.
It seemed to connect the energy of the torque-spinning mechanics with the wholesomeness of Foodland. It made the concrete look like a surreal ruin, still functional, like a tunnel to a different civilization.
So I stared at the warm hole in the living concrete ruin in the dark tropical night. It served a purpose for me by creating some wonder at the divine auto that had smashed with sufficient force--orchid head-wreathed godly driver and passengers, festive, merry, and singing--into the wall, all observers subsequently benefiting from the light glowing through the ruins like Greeks divining an oracle--dreams and wild inspiration and all manner of strange and beautiful occurrences happening.
I walked home after that.
This afternoon, I noticed that the entire wall of the auto repair place has been freshly cut out into Maltese Cross-type holes, like a retro 50s linoleum pattern, presumably to let more air into the mechanics' bays. What I saw that night seems to have been the prototype exploratory excavation. Or maybe they just drilled more holes to cover for the divine joyriders. :-)
posted by frankysbride at 10:36 PM
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