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houses settling and unsettling
Sep. 17th, 2003 04:11 pmPaul and I headed over to Tre's new house last night with bread, salt and wine to make an obscure Frank Capra reference.
It is a marvelously weird little Bungalow in the shadow of Stone Mountain and as I wound through the rooms on the grand tour, I let the feel of the place permeate my consciousness. I felt vaguely disconnected somehow, like I was a ghost haunting up the place.
The room upstairs did nothing to dissuade my current theme. The stairs leading up to the room were completed by a person with few or no math skills and it was necessary to turn your feet out like a duck in order to scale them. It was a later addition with attic style cropped ceiling, and railings clinging to the stairwell that had clearly been taken from a gothic church. Small doors were on each side of the room leading to dark attic storage tunnels. Inexplicably I imagined rows upon rows of Tupperware inside, "Perfect for keeping those dismembered body parts fresh for days!"
Some angsty teen left scores of Metallica lyrics scrawled into the plaster, so future generations could confirm they were an idiot.
After practically repelling back down the dangerous face of the spectacularly bad staircase we all sat around on the floor in the living room and ate Dollar Chinese from Styrofoam trays. The radio was on in the kitchen and the DJ had just played Green Day. It was the first meal in the new house and we all smiled at each other with Kung Pao chicken stuck in our teeth and I finally started to feel a little less like an apparition.
Then a man crashed his airplane into the mountain.
It is a marvelously weird little Bungalow in the shadow of Stone Mountain and as I wound through the rooms on the grand tour, I let the feel of the place permeate my consciousness. I felt vaguely disconnected somehow, like I was a ghost haunting up the place.
The room upstairs did nothing to dissuade my current theme. The stairs leading up to the room were completed by a person with few or no math skills and it was necessary to turn your feet out like a duck in order to scale them. It was a later addition with attic style cropped ceiling, and railings clinging to the stairwell that had clearly been taken from a gothic church. Small doors were on each side of the room leading to dark attic storage tunnels. Inexplicably I imagined rows upon rows of Tupperware inside, "Perfect for keeping those dismembered body parts fresh for days!"
Some angsty teen left scores of Metallica lyrics scrawled into the plaster, so future generations could confirm they were an idiot.
After practically repelling back down the dangerous face of the spectacularly bad staircase we all sat around on the floor in the living room and ate Dollar Chinese from Styrofoam trays. The radio was on in the kitchen and the DJ had just played Green Day. It was the first meal in the new house and we all smiled at each other with Kung Pao chicken stuck in our teeth and I finally started to feel a little less like an apparition.
Then a man crashed his airplane into the mountain.
