Strange Days
A protest I saw on the street, for what I dunno
Strange days. At night I’m driving down Havelock and two men come bounding out Stinky Street. See the face on the man chasing, that stuck determinism of anger. That set some men get in, like concrete. Slow down, but what men, just pass. Turn the corner to another sign of the apocalypse, two dogs post-coitus; facing opposite ways, their nether regions entangled. Had similar experiences, I guess, lasting for months. Turn the next corner and the bar has flooded into the street, a pile of men, doing that Sri Lankan scrum. One drunk belligerent and fifteen blockers, men both tinder and water at the same time. It’s Sri Lankan New Year coming up, but something don’t feel right. The paddy is wet, the heat is unbearable. The steady din in the news has reduced to a hum. I fear a bad moon rising, I see trouble in the sky.
I’m standing at the counter at Salaka, watching this guy reattach somebody’s arm. Scratch my head impatiently, and in wonder. He’s photoshopping dude’s arm and cleaning up his white shirt, but that’s the least of this photo’s problems. The image is a low resolution shot of a guy in a bulky button-up and high tucked jeans, in front of what looks like an evergreen. He has a full beard and stony glare. Looks like Osama Bin Laden’s Christmas card. The Photoshop guy is laboring on this guys arm and there’s a queue of like five people waiting.
Sometimes I feel like I’m in the lobby of the 21st Century. Can see all the promise – in fact, it’s advertised now. Video on demand, communication, time-saving gadgets, perfect information, beauty, speed, power. But then the day to day is still very dirty, very boots on the ground, very next meal, very real. And the stuff doesn’t work, the parts don’t fit. Feels like the 1900s, waiting for the electric light. Whatever’s coming better be really cool. I mean, the Internet’s been slow for like 10 years now. Flying cars, nanotech, dunno. Surprise me.
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