True that
July is the month of big hits, skin flicks, and lupine track tips. (Wolves, motherfucker – big uns, coming your way, all green eyed and intelligent, nipping at each other’s heels and curling lips back to snarl that half-menacing, half-endearing smile.)
July is the month of the rodeo, the odious dust, the consecrated grass, the big booming thunderstorms roaming through the sky, and minor league baseball. (I heckle better than I do most things)
July is the month of weddings, wine from a box, sycophants with ulterior non-sycophantic motives – be careful lest they seek to help you, rhapsodic frog utterances, 3-flat stoop sitting, summit ascendancy, expansive skin, exegetical maneuvers by teens in handcuffs who were not as fast as they thought they were, articulate glances from tongue wagging dogs, daisies, and introspective horizon glances. (Oh SoDak, where extension into every direction finds a horizon that is near uniform, except when cottonwoods on creek banks leave you with only 350 degrees upon which to feast.)
July is the month of drying out, scorched earth, rampant promiscuity, eviction notices, acquittals, anthems, epics, marital infidelity, dashes through sprinklers, acquisitions of enervating but non-life-threatening viruses, fiscal irresponsibility, blow jobs in megastore parking lots, belly button sweat, and irascible young boys wielding devastating one liners like lances. (Don’t front and act like your world hasn’t been shattered by a tossed off insult from a 90 pound kid, ‘cause you’re lying.)
posted by am at
4:11 PM
1 Comments:
July in Chicago is possibly the most unhinged month, I think; you have no hope of spring staying on late or fall setting in early, or at least for that shit that has to happen before you get an Indian summer. I would sell out my whole family for an 87 degree day with a lake breeze which is what i got today, although winning once doesn't erase the 9-day losing streak that preceded it. looking past the ways the earth punishes me; i dont think i've ever had a July post age 16 when i wasn't thinking about my job blows, or how much I don't have a job, or how much I should have gotten an internship or something. This is think is a new era in which I am reconciled to my total lack of desire to get a job, but still clattering around in the real world ramifications of what not having one does to your standing as a young white Chicagoan (brings you closer to God, lends even more license to judge others by a strict moral code that you give yourself a scratch on). there are other worse aspects. the lack of sleep is starting to fuck with the air pressure in my skull.
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