more Seattle-ish pictures

You need snow? Montana, Idaho, and Washington has snow. I've seen it. You can have it. See it here in all of its blurry-goodness, then let me know if you're interested in taking it off my hands -->


I look at Mt. Sentinel every morning on the walk to the U. Occasionally, before the sun gets to it, the eastern slope will be covered with snow, blurring the distinction between the giant "M" and the ground. Despite the cold mornings, I refuse to wear a winter jacket or gloves. Scarf, yes, Gloves, no.


More Seattle-ness:

The city seems to enjoy confusing signs. For the directionally-challenged among us, using "west" as an indicator for prohibited parking areas is not acceptable. I need arrows. Possibly someone to hold my hand and point out where, precisely, parking is not allowed... I just got a ticket for being "70%" in a fire zone here at home last week, so Seattle expects me to figure this out? I'm an abstract thinker. I need concrete directions if I'm to obey any laws correctly.




<--- And if Seattle wasn't peculiar enough. I passed this oddly decadent, randomly located old restroom. Attached to a nondescript building (parking garage? old warehouse?), these restrooms struck me as misplaced. Shouldn't restrooms be attributed to some business? Who attends to these random structures? I don't trust people to properly use uninhibited bathrooms on a public street, unless they are latrines at a football game. It seems proper, then, that they are taped off and no longer in use. All seemed right in the world when I came upon this one. ...and rereading this post, I fear I'm getting lamer and lamer by the day. Perhaps my wonder is drained? I'm writing the craziest, non-linear poetry these days. Really it feels like I'm just amassing any lines I can muster and slapping them together with some vague semblance of order and narrative structure. I cling to any un-ordinary site passing my way in the hopes that inspiration will hit. Oh, the pre-holiday slump, how I despise you.

But, I do have a wonderful Yeats line currently written on an index card (original line breaks not properly recorded, forgive me for inventing them) taped on the wall above my desk:

I see phantoms of
hatred and of the
heart's fullness and
of the coming emptiness...