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An archeology of living people

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Tangerine Mesa

An art deco funeral parlor from the 1940s becomes a mortgage company. One business deals in mort, the other in mortgage. A grey suited bank becomes a dance club. The club sells booze and the bank sells money, while both have rooms for smoking cigars. A car repair shop in a lofty garage becomes a furniture store. Changing oil steps aside for changing sheets. A movie theater becomes a drug store. Both sold pain relief, M&Ms, and popcorn.

Every day, it’s underneath our feet. Rock and sediment pile atop each other, spiky shale atop crumbling sandstone, sandstone atop conglomerate rock. Once there was an ocean and eerie fish and now there is a desert and mesas lit by a tangerine sunlight. Once Idaho was a coastline, now it’s an inland.

It’s above us. We stand in weather, the clouds roil and the rain falls. Above that, ultraviolet rays absorbed and silver airplanes fly. Above that, reigns the cold. And above that, air thins, astronauts float, and atoms drift into space.

The world is layers.
...Take a look at the layers in Folks Press #11.

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