Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The college dropout and: the dream life!

I have to crouch down to keep from being thrown to the back of the truck, through it's loosely locked doors, and into an death all too perfect and fitting, albeit untimely.

As I am interviewing a city councillor in hours, I sit on my scarf, and try to keep my mouth clean and my pants cleaner.

In this country, we say "folks" not "bitches."

We're careening through Vancouver's streets, up into glass towers to steal furniture from the media with the money, and bring it back, behind hastings, in a purple and orange alley, wedge our U Haul in and block the cars and rats from going past.

Once we get back into the alley, and wade past the dripping tarps and deflated baloons that fill the doorway, I tug down the gridded wood of the utiltiy elevator, and rise jerkily through oily wood and darkness to the second floor, where we grunt and throw solid oak bookshelves around like mere books.

The floor is painted, the ceilings high, the place is expansive. All my artificial memories of Warhols factoy and New York artist warehouse days come flooding through. I bite my tounge to keep from running around screaming.

This, is community media.

These are my people.

This, is my dream life.

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