Bronze These Shoes
Its raining here in New York and its about god damn time. The sky has been ready to burst for hours, I swear, its looked like the belly of a cow about to be slaughtered, like you could just take a large samurai sword and sweep it through the air above your head and the guts of all the universe would dump down onto you and get all in your hair. The anticipation was insufferable. I was paralyzed with indecision. Should I go to the store now? What if it rains when I’m out there? Should I bring an umbrella? I don’t want to be that ass walking down the street with an umbrella when it’s not raining. What a bunch of douche bags those guys are. But I need some cigarettes and rolling papers. I need some fresh air. Its so god damn hot in my house I just need to get outside for a sec!
Eventually I did go out and I did get smokes and papers and right when I sat down to type up this post the sky opened up and I can see its guts sliding in the gutters. It’s warm though. Nay, it’s fucking hot. So no one is using umbrellas anyway. They are all just waking along, pretending they don’t notice they’re dripping wet. It looks curious, seeing everyone strolling through the pouring rain, getting soaked all the way to the bone and still only moving along at a leisurely pace. They act like they have feathers. Like the water just slides off their backs. They think they’re ducks. Quack quack!
Man its pouring good. Not like back in San Francisco, where the rain just fell clumsily from the clouds and would only last until you reached your house then the sun would come out and there would be a rainbow over Mission Street. I never felt like I was experiencing the rain there, only that I was getting wet. It was never passionate and desperate, it never felt like it had been unleashed on us like a crazed prisoner of the sky, like its doing now. It was always more sophisticated and had a pretension of finesse about it. Like it was just doing its job and couldn’t be bothered with you. Its like the rain was to PC in San Francisco.
You remember the analogy you heard as a kid, that when it was raining that meant God was crying? Well, right now in New York it looks like God just found out his boss was ass boning his wife and got fired for walking in on them doing it. Conversely, when it rains in San Francisco its as if God is watching a very special episode of Highway to Heaven that’s making him feel emotional but he doesn’t want to get all girly in front of St. Peter so he’s trying to maintain his composure.
I love a good rain. But you already knew that. I don’t know why, but it makes me feel good inside. I especially like the rains in New York and Miami. Those are brutal; believe it. They are also warm, and when they let go you can feel them in all your pores, in your hair and on your neck. I’m not just talking the palpable aspect of rain, but the entire atmosphere it provides. The gloom in the sky. The damp, gray sweat in the air. It’s like the rain swallows the city whole, and you just happen to be in it. It’s awesome, like being in a David Fincher movie.
I am running to a bar in the west village to meet a friend of mine I aint seen in a while. He’s pretty cool, gets a little too excited about cocaine and big mainstream clubs though, but whatever. To each his own. Some people like to find that one moment, that brief time in their life, where things seemed perfect and nothing could surpass the feeling it gave them. Everything was looking up. Tomorrow was going to be beautiful. Go ahead and bronze that time, put it on your mantle piece to stare at it and reminisce like its baby shoes or an urn or a high school basketball trophy. Some one has to remember.
Me though, well I’ll just enjoy myself walking in the rain to meet you wherever you are at.
Help this dood get random with UK mic phenom Lady Sov, and peep out his videos. They're funny. Also, if you werent at Coachella and are a fan of Daft Punk, check out the set they played, you'll go mental.