Chrisonomicon

Friday, April 4, 2003

City life has always held a certain appeal, but despite a tendency among mountain boys to move toward coastal metropoles (exhibit A) and my own alluring adventures (exhibit B, C), I can't bring myself to leave the sky behind. The city sky is glimpsed between blinders of skyscrapers or through smog, between spider webs of street car wire or the urine glow of sodium-vapor street lamps; however, it lacks the encompassment experienced upon leaving through the east doors of my office, the stomach-dropping release felt upon entering a blue-graded canvas of planetary proportions, the evaporation of breath and trouble into the void that leaves you bleach clean and empty, ready for a refill of life. The substitutes of therapy and alcohol that city-dwellers have found for this atmospheric salve only seem to sweep the dust under the carpet.

Nevertheless, every time I return to one city or another, the bustle of people and and thrill of activity gently nudge barbed hooks ever-so-slightly deeper and tug my affections ever-so-further away from my blue-eyed, blew-wide sky country home, and I admit those urban substitutes begin to look pretty palatable. So, tonight, I'm taking my friends up on their invitation to the nearest city for a night under the canopy of metal and stone, leaving behind the night sky full of stars and replacing them with the stars of street lamps and strobe-lit faces. Living in the city is like living underwater; one must find a way to replace the open air that has been abandoned or obscured in pursuit of convenience and company, or I'd certainly think one might just slowly suffocate.

If you live in the city, what are your subsitutions?