rollerskating. last night i went rollerskating. the tablemanners crew (tats, gerald, et cetera) and a few other dj’s put on an event at skateland up north of the city.

it was fun. i know that’s a fairly simple statement, but when you take into account i can’t recall the last time i felt that way after an evening, it carries weight. it was fun.

i can’t skate for shit, and a good portion of my night was a wobbly struggle to keep from busting my ass. and on more than one occasion i thought i was going to be the catalyst for a domino catastrophe. but there was no calamity of any kind. i mean, there was the bullshit that manifests whenever you get more than two people together, but even that was minimal. negated by the glee of strapping wheels to your feet.

i’d almost say it was wholesome if it weren’t for the all-you-can-drink alcohol and the abundance of bootyshorts. but i’ve never seen that many smiles at a club or a bar. it was a tenuous balance of child-like joy and drunken impropriety. but the spell was never broken. at least from where i was standing, er rolling (rather tenuously myself). it could very well have been a recipe for disaster, unlimited drink and a rollerskating rink. but either fate was smiling or the communal spirit of a few hundred hiphop heads, club-goers, and scenesters was laden with enough pristine enjoyment that it shielded the event from any drama or disaster. it was really something.

when was the last time you were at a club and all the faces in your field of vision were painted with smiles? when was the last time you were at a bar and somebody stumbled and took down three bystanders?… and all parties involved and even witnesses nearby couldn’t help but laugh; concerned hands outreached to help the fallen back on their feet. it was peculiar seeing the population of a club transported to a fresh setting devoid of the usual posturing and pick-up games (or at least replaced with milder incarnations).

people forget to have fun when they’re out at the club or the bar. or is it just me? that’s entirely possible.

it was new. it was a clean-slate environment. and even though a lot of the faces were the same, the new lighting evaporated the shadows frequently attached to them.

sauced-up nightplay on disco wheels. goofy and slick and reaffirming. a reminder that there was once a time we weren’t so tangled up in the brambles of jaded adulthood. a second look at our fresh-faced reflection. a brand new pair of borrowed skates, one and a half sizes too small.

good times.

intuitive, like poetry. that’s how i want my days to feel. not that i’ve touched poetry recently. it used to be intuitive. i’m out of practice probably. i haven’t tried in recent memory. i… i honestly don’t remember the last time. that’s not right, is it?

intuitive. like a heart-piercing song unfolding. a child’s path through an august playground. a dancer’s feet in a drunken crowd. your hands tracing lines on a lover’s back. intuitive. natural. instinctive. movement like breathing.

“love is all about timing. it’s no good meeting the right person too soon or too late.”

i used to have this notion, a preconceived notion that love should be intuitive; it should fall into place with ease and grace. but i’m a little bit older now, and i’ve learned through my own life and the lives of others… love is a fucking mess. it’s a calamity the likes of which couldn’t have been imagined by the afflicted individuals. the trembling hands of chaos assembling a snowflake. a beautiful accident waiting to happen. and often, it doesn’t. and sometimes only for a few moments.

and that’s the magic, really. that people share these imperfect moments of warmth, few and far between though they might be.

and then it’s gone.

or it passes before you realize it’s leaving your grasp.

just like that. as suddenly as the possibility appears, it fades. or eventually, you just let go. of the daydream. of the fantasy. of the warmth, real or perceived. and the magic is relegated to fond memories. poetry fodder. single grains of salt fusing to a kernel of hope that one day magic will sprout again in gardens we have yet to set foot.

on my way to work in the mornings i pass by these orange arrows. a bunch of lines too. and some circles.

the spot is only a block away from my house. and i might not notice except there’s shattered glass peppering the sidewalk. and it crunches under my shoes. so i look down and notice the glass. and i think to look at the arrows.

a week or so ago, a six-year-old was killed by a drunk driver. it was a hit and run. they crossed the median and hit a car going the opposite direction. “crossed…” they jumped a curb, barrelled through a grassy divider, and drove into oncoming traffic. the other car must have seen it a second or so before impact, because they tried to get over to the right lane. but they were hit before they could get out of the way.

i know this because that’s what the arrows tell me.

there are arrows showing the path of the drunk driver. and there are arrows showing the path of the car carrying the child. and there are markings indicating where those two sets of arrows collided.

it makes my head quiet. when i see the arrows. it’s like a tragic moment in time, captured and recorded by some painted markings on the street. it was on the news and everything, that’s how i found out a kid was killed. well, actually i found out when a friend called to tell me what the accident was that had closed off that part of the street.

i can’t walk by without looking at the arrows. i don’t know. it gets to me. not in a super-depresso way or anything. i don’t start weeping.

and i guess i don’t stop and stare like the first time. but still. it gets to me.

somewhere in this city, peoples lives are changed forever in ways i can’t even imagine. parents have lost a child. friends and family have suffered a terrible loss. and someone has to live with the fact that they were the cause.

i feel all this because every day i pass by these orange arrows. a bunch of lines too. and some circles.