At the moment I\’m torturing myself for some reason, listening to \”On The Transmigration of Souls.\” It\’s one of those things that makes me feel so emotional that I end up feeling numb. Kind of like today. Was all jazzed to see the MLKJr parade down tha boulevard. Cancelled. Mayor for life sick in the hospital, was to be the man of honor or something. In thirty years we go from having MLKJr as a hero, to Marion Barry. I can\’t really think of any big name civic leaders these days to respect. So much media saturation, I guess, that nothing sinks in any more. Nothing really does.
Instead of hitting up Ward 8 for the festivities I ended up driving up and down the streets of Trinidad at a crawl. The burned out houses barely register anymore. A boarded up house with \”No Loitering\” signs tacked up but the front door ajar. Take vague notice of the young girl going into Darby\’s Market, which I never realized was actually still open as the windows are all covered and the outside is a mess by Ward 1 standards. When she pulled open the door, though, the sights of a convenience store were there to behold, but of course the clerk is behind that semi-bulletproof glass that some of us still know all too well. Across the street at the intersection of Montello and Florida is the memorial to the kids who were run over by a police car this past summer. Two little ones, both under ten; six and four, I think. There are a lot of memorials in this city, most faded, but this one stands out. Stuffed animals as big as the kids themselves are propped up against the light posts and spread out in all directions for several feet. The tokens are always fresh, despite the rainy weather we\’ve had all season. There\’s a horrible joke about how these trinket shops in DC manage to stay open, because there\’s gotta be some place around to supply cheap stuffed animals for all the memorials that span the city. After that, I guess I was glad the festivities were cancelled, because I didn\’t feel much like seeing a parade anymore.
Who are your heroes? I once new a white Scottish lass who\’s greatest hero was Dr. King. In her country, you could be white and quote King and not look like a pretentious asshole. No chance of that here tonight in journal-land. I\’m just a white working class girl from the suburbs, what can I know about it? Not much, granted. But I feel it, and sometimes it seems like that\’s harder than knowing. I know jack shit, I know. It\’s true. My head understands, but my heart is not listening.
