Goodbye, Junk of My Heart
by third planet living
Well, that settles it. The Listener is officially a done deal. Bloop! (That was a tear falling.)
The lights came up, the actors took their bow, and with the roar of our drill guns and the ripping of plastic, Junk City was dismantled. In under two hours mind you.
We tore junk blankets from platforms, stripped plastic and carpet, hauled away flats and disassembled the machine. Did we care when we were scraped by stray jabbers of chicken wire? Did we mind when our muscles bulged and ached under the weight of a thousand plastic bottles? Did we complain when heavy things dropped on our feet, and rust fell into our eyes?
Well, yeah, but we did it anyway; this cathartic activity called “strike.” Take a look at a few before and after photos. Afters courtesy of Jen Thorn:
Strikeorama. And I’m feeling pretty good.
As Seneca or Semisonic once said, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” How true.
(See how Zen I’m being about this whole thing?)
Just one more for the satchel baby.