No Rainbows in Warwick

[Doktor Howl]

I liked it, Dimo.  It reminded me of fall in Chicago, and of the people that live there.

[Richter]

4 feet of that rain is now covering where I usually park while I'm at work.  Nowhere else for it to go, it just backs up.  Flows, eddies and pours.  Off of highway, the embankement, the field, road and bridge.  Motor oil, exhaust grime, goose shit, trash juice. 

It swirls around my feet and in through my sandals.  Soaks into my jeans under my duster, more rain spatters off the brim of my hat. 

SATURATED.  Filled to capacity.  The land has drunk all it can, and will take no more of humanity's runnoff.  It all looks better as a lake.  Honest, reclaimed, the asphalt scab hidden under cold water, seeping through and eventually running on.  I remember another storm, pushing cars out of another flooded road next to a cemetary.  Soaking my clothes with corpse water to be a good scout.  This isn't any worse.   

[Dimocritus]

It's funny, isn't it Dimo?  All this torrential rain ought to wash away the filth and leave it sparkling new but it doesn't.  It's a magnifier for the grime.  If you look at that one rain drop that clings to your windshield you can see the world in its view, the distorted buildings and blurred features.  It's more beautiful that way; it doesn't provide clarity enough to see the trash choked gutters and winter ravaged grasses and mud.  And mud.  Some places are impervious to efforts both human and natural toward improvement.  If there was a rainbow in Warwick the hues would be as dingy as the paint in the half rate used car lot nearby.  And the passers by would show just as little interest.

The rain feels like it's inside the car too; inside your head maybe.  On a day less drowned by splashes and patters maybe that conversation would have the vibrancy of a mountain vista.  Or maybe it's time for greener pastures rather than waiting out the weather.  But it sounds like you've got a plan.

It was good work, Dimo.

Thanks Eoc. That one time I met you at KC's I caught the vibe that you are a harsh critic, so I'll run with the compliment. To adress the bolded section, man are you right on. When the "inspiring" moment came to write this, the grey had crawled right in. Between the weather and the recent "content diversion" going on in the boards, my natural safeguards against aggressive grey were waaaay down.

I liked it, Dimo.  It reminded me of fall in Chicago, and of the people that live there.

Thanks. Glad people were able to take this in in some way, considering it was mostly brain spooge. I dunno. This "content diversion" going on was actually really starting to bother me, so this was a kind of attempt at "whining," but with a focus on making it actual content. Best of both worlds, mebbe? I dunno.

Anyhow, does that wiper line on the windsheild bother anyone else, or is it just me?

[Doktor Howl]

Anyhow, does that wiper line on the windsheild bother anyone else, or is it just me?

It annoys the hell out of me.

[Dimocritus]

Anyhow, does that wiper line on the windsheild bother anyone else, or is it just me?

It annoys the hell out of me.

*whew* I gues I'm not crazy...

[Doktor Howl]

Anyhow, does that wiper line on the windsheild bother anyone else, or is it just me?

It annoys the hell out of me.

*whew* I gues I'm not crazy...

You forget that I am constantly fucked up on pills, and that I have minor brain damage.

So yeah, you're probably OCD like a motherfucker, by any conventional standard.

[Dimocritus]

Anyhow, does that wiper line on the windsheild bother anyone else, or is it just me?

It annoys the hell out of me.

*whew* I gues I'm not crazy...

You forget that I am constantly fucked up on pills, and that I have minor brain damage.

So yeah, you're probably OCD like a motherfucker, by any conventional standard.

This is reassuring...

(edit for quote-fail. I keep doing that recently)

[Dimocritus]

4 feet of that rain is now covering where I usually park while I'm at work.  Nowhere else for it to go, it just backs up.  Flows, eddies and pours.  Off of highway, the embankement, the field, road and bridge.  Motor oil, exhaust grime, goose shit, trash juice. 

It swirls around my feet and in through my sandals.  Soaks into my jeans under my duster, more rain spatters off the brim of my hat. 

SATURATED.  Filled to capacity.  The land has drunk all it can, and will take no more of humanity's runnoff.  It all looks better as a lake.  Honest, reclaimed, the asphalt scab hidden under cold water, seeping through and eventually running on.  I remember another storm, pushing cars out of another flooded road next to a cemetary.  Soaking my clothes with corpse water to be a good scout.  This isn't any worse.   

Yeah. Most of the roads out of my neighborhood are blocked right now. Mebbe part II if it keeps up.

[Eater of Clowns]

Thanks Eoc. That one time I met you at KC's I caught the vibe that you are a harsh critic, so I'll run with the compliment. To adress the bolded section, man are you right on. When the "inspiring" moment came to write this, the grey had crawled right in. Between the weather and the recent "content diversion" going on in the boards, my natural safeguards against aggressive grey were waaaay down.

It's okay Dimo, you can say prick.   

Seriously though, I've been told similar things before about my demeanor.  I don't intend for it and I couldn't tell you why that happens, but it's not uncommon to hear.

Anyhow, does that wiper line on the windsheild bother anyone else, or is it just me?

It annoys the hell out of me.

*whew* I gues I'm not crazy...

You forget that I am constantly fucked up on pills, and that I have minor brain damage.

So yeah, you're probably OCD like a motherfucker, by any conventional standard.

Pretty much what Dok said.  I don't know why you would use this place as any standard measure of sanity.

[Doktor Howl]

Pretty much what Dok said.  I don't know why you would use this place as any standard measure of sanity.

*looks at the rest of the world*

[Eater of Clowns]

Pretty much what Dok said.  I don't know why you would use this place as any standard measure of sanity.

*looks at the rest of the world*

Point well taken.   

[Jenne]

I've been rained on in so many different places.  (not an , but I guess it could be)

Southern West Coast rain is never as dramatic as it advertises.  It's here, then gone, and mostly you just get blather about the weather and maybe some all-day gray clouding with a bit of wind.  It's where weather comes to die, really.

Northern West Coast rain is like a brisk shower, cleaning you out and leaving you shivering but wide awake.  It stings you and breathes a new outlook to everything, even though it comes more often than an 18 year old on a Saturday night.

East Coast rain comes down like it's quenching someone's thirst and they can't get enough, but it doesn't wash anything away--the soot-stained streets and buildings are still standing, smoking gently when the sun peeks through and the steam rises from the tarmac.

Southern rain is a greeny goodness that brings a smell with it that never gets washed away, nor does it ever change.  Southern rain is the same rain they've had since the natives danced to bring it on, calling out to the skies to make the grasses green again.  Southern rain starts off slow and lugubrious, and then it reaches a slanting pitch into buckets, jars and troughs.  Marshy bits are renewed, and there's a sort of lazy energy that builds as a crack of thunder and the ochre of lightning are felt all around.


Goddamn I love this country.

(I could go into the rains of Europe, but I'll stop here, I sorta riffed off of Dimo, here, and I loved the OP, so kudos, and sorry if this is inappropriate, in its way)

[Dimocritus]

I've been rained on in so many different places.  (not an , but I guess it could be)

Southern West Coast rain is never as dramatic as it advertises.  It's here, then gone, and mostly you just get blather about the weather and maybe some all-day gray clouding with a bit of wind.  It's where weather comes to die, really.

Northern West Coast rain is like a brisk shower, cleaning you out and leaving you shivering but wide awake.  It stings you and breathes a new outlook to everything, even though it comes more often than an 18 year old on a Saturday night.

East Coast rain comes down like it's quenching someone's thirst and they can't get enough, but it doesn't wash anything away--the soot-stained streets and buildings are still standing, smoking gently when the sun peeks through and the steam rises from the tarmac.

Southern rain is a greeny goodness that brings a smell with it that never gets washed away, nor does it ever change.  Southern rain is the same rain they've had since the natives danced to bring it on, calling out to the skies to make the grasses green again.  Southern rain starts off slow and lugubrious, and then it reaches a slanting pitch into buckets, jars and troughs.  Marshy bits are renewed, and there's a sort of lazy energy that builds as a crack of thunder and the ochre of lightning are felt all around.


Goddamn I love this country.

(I could go into the rains of Europe, but I'll stop here, I sorta riffed off of Dimo, here, and I loved the OP, so kudos, and sorry if this is inappropriate, in its way)

I wish it would rain fire. On Boston, specifically.

[Doktor Howl]

I wish it would rain fire. On Boston, specifically.

That's discouraging.  I've been thinking of moving East, to get away from the Yahoos. 

[Jenne]

I liked Boston, even when it rained on us that afternoon in July oh-so-long-ago (ok, 6 years maybe).