Stop that train, I wanna get off

I had many thoughts this morning after reading about some people who are making money off renting out parking spaces because hey, that is sharing, right? But if you don’t have the right phone, the dough, the lingo, the in-the-know — you lose. Yeah, I got yer ‘sharing economy’ right here, because, hey, the public streets are already taken over by huge buses 99% of us aren’t allowed on, tinted windows and big white whales silently shuttling worker bees out to the burbs, burbs that aren’t cool enough to live in anymore, all while the city their heads are rested in during the wee hours between work work work work work gotta work harder more make money work work work becomes unrecognizable from one month, one year, ten years, twenty years ago.

You guys, I hear so many whispers in the hallways of dance studios, in ripped red naugahyde booths in the backs of nasty little bars, in adult education teachers ‘lounges’, and in halted communication where English meets Spanish meets Cantonese meets Tagalog on the backs of filthy lumbering buses anyone can get on (well, for $2 or for free if the pop cops don’t get ya)…all of these varied voices asking if they should feel guilty hoping for a bust, hoping for something to halt this crazy moment time where businesses, monuments, places we took for granted, and last but not least our very homes can last just one more day, more month, more year, more lifetime.

Living here lately kinda feels like being on a fast moving river, and hearing the roar of a waterfall up ahead, feeling the spray in the air, and knowing you can’t stop your little boat, the boat all your friends are on, and some of them randomly jump off or just sort of…disappear and fade away. You can’t remember why you want to stay, but you came here so young because once you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, and you hold on while you can because where the hell would you go? There are still good days and good news, and folks fighting against the stream, and your roots and work and life are here, and if you shut certain truths out–like private clubs that charge huge membership fees thriving as some sort of pretend bougie boho bullshit, while arts organizations that had what seemed like huge budgets compared to the scrappy street artists and dancers you know and work with and are close down left and right–you can almost pretend it isn’t happening.

~~Monica ‘Ragazza’ B.

From the SUBMISSION series; c. Mitche Manitou, 2014
From the SUBMISSION series; c. Mitche Manitou, 2014

Photo from the SUBMISSION series, c. Mitche Manitou, 2014
Found via KQED, please click the link for a good article and some more powerful images from Mitchie Manitou.
Used without permission but with credit and with full admiration for the series and the artist.
(I will remove it if asked by the artist, of course).

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