Portland

All the Best Poets Sit in the Smoking Section:01

 
 
EXT – STREETS OF NE PORTLAND – NIGHT

TITLE: RASCALS NIGHTCLUB.  SUNDAY, AUGUST 6, 2000. 2:17AM

Anandi’s ‘Tainted Love’ plays.

Opening credits roll.

A 1989 FORD FIESTA pulls out of the parking lot of RASCAL’S NIGHTCLUB and follows the streets through Northeast Portland to PANCAKE HUT.  

JEFF (V.O.)
I don’t know how to feel.  I mean, I have feelings.  I am not a heartless beast.  But what I mean is there are just too many conflicting feelings to choose from tonight.  John and I are heading to Pancake Hut from Rascals nightclub.  Rascals doesn’t know if it wants to be a dance club or a dive bar.  I don’t know the difference.  See, I don’t drink much; don’t smoke at all.  Tonight I had my girlfriend Julie with me.  Strike that.  I guess she’s my ex-girlfriend now.  John and I were talking sports.  Next thing ya know, Julie is gone.  It really seemed to happen that fast.  

JOHN’S FORD FIESTA pulls into the Pancake Hut parking lot.

JEFF (V.O.)(CONT’D)
So Pancake Hut is an Oregon landmark, with three restaurants in Portland, one in St. Johns, and a couple in Boring and Milwaukie.  The staff dresses in short brown bell skirts and tight white blouses… unless you happen to work during the day, where your gender allows you the freedom to wear Autumn Dockers and a white dress shirt.
 
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Portland THE Oregon

PORTLAND OREGON

My streets were paved in yellow dreams and setting suns over bodies of water

and blues music followed by the smell of cigarette smoke that I find comforts me now as I’ve moved away.


My angels were bridges that enveloped the sky and my heaven was the blurred lights off of tall buildings that were the stars in my city.


My canvas was the Gorge and my painting was the sweat of summer adventure committed by a coniferous childhood.


My happiness was shutting my eyes and taking in everything I couldn’t see. Smells of campfires, songs on guitars, gasoline burning behind our rocket to the memories I cherish most.


My freedom was escaping into the night to sit on the shoulder of green giant and have conversations with her but never needing any words.


My relief was to exclaim all my furiosity to the water, and take it out on the rocks by the dock. To mock back at the seagulls who first mocked me with their judging eyes.


My guidance was light posts that flickered and signaled my return to home.

and still today I reserve a section of my heart and mind to Sauvies island, with its bushes painted red in the summer and its ground splattered with orange in the fall and its pine scented traditions growing in the winter.


And my childhood romance was with a City whose outer beauty was comprised of skyscrapers and waterfronts and inner beauty was the acceptance of the people who resided there.


And I bought her love in return, not with money, but with hours of my life spent roaming the trails, and the tracks, and with all the times I got lost in a City that I know like the back of my hand, and with all the times I loved underneath those rain clouds, and smiled at a bus stop, or let my arms get slapped with wind on a long car drive while blaring billy joel in the back seat of my mother’s minivan.


I earned her love.

and the problem with moving away is that you leave different parts of your heart in different cities, which never allows you to fully feel at home ever again.

Yet the price is worth paying a million times over.

But what I know today is that I left

my untamed spirit,

my wild abandon,

my insatiable hunger for color,

the smell of rain and lavender,

the jumps to the trees

the mowed grass

the smashed cherries on the ground

the feeling of being small and big all at the same time

the finite and massive details that I captured with my blue eyes

in a city that flies with her own wings

and will forever be my start


P.S Suck it Seattle

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North

Folder: 
Yestderday's News

Blow your horn loudly,
pretty girl from Portland town,
hear the melody played through the strings of wind.

Winter is over and birds fly north,
just for you my sweet baby blue,
springtime is here.

Wherever you roam trumpets roar,
wherever you go,
wherever you are.

God loves you still,
just like you are,
listen for the string quartet in hearts unbound.

Be still delicate dancing spirits like my own,
depths of the drum hear all you say,
come now all ye singers let us sing another song today.

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"Six Portland Haikus"

Folder: 
Tributes

1
Seattle sludge north
South San Francisco sewage
Not a coffee town!
-
2
Our mountain of snow
The year round slowly melting
Carried to the sea
-
3
Trailblazer tickets
I don't want to pay to park
Ride Max from Gateway
-
4
A nursery rhyme
Our Portlandia's anthem
"Rain, rain go away"
-
5
Oregon overview:
"In Summer, rain is warmer"
Spare me this humor
-
6
Along comes Tonya
D. B. Cooper's infamy
Erased by a whack!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

circa 2001 

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