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I only want to stay indoors and not view the public. My space is rather large with high ceilings. I have no couch, no love seat or lazy boy recliners. The area has old wooden floors with nails sticking up. The two ceiling fans circulate the dust ridden place, spinning and blowing dust throughout. Layers of dust and soot collect on any surface quickly from the street of busy traffic. The cats enjoy this place as if it were there kingdom in Africa. The only objects to sit on are two arm chairs that are blue velvet and from the 1950’s. The chairs have wood trim and are torn apart by the cats using it as a scratching post for years. The kitchen has a sink that is not caulked to the counter made cheaply from the hardware store. The piping is visible and made from galvanized pipe out of the 1800’s. The hot water takes twenty minutes to come through the old pipes. The fridge shakes and vibrates when it clicks on and off from the chiller. The beams that hold the ceiling and floors together are made from raw iron that are rusting and flaking apart. The building is old brick that is painted white and chipping apart as the vibrations from the roaring fire engines blast down the road at forty miles an hour. The view, the beautiful view that over looks the project complex is special in its own way, this view holds many wonderful sites. The building across the street is a building with many apartments and one door. The lower apartment has two windows that are open with a red hanging sheet used as curtains. Out of this window they own and operate a local business of selling crack cocaine and any other substances you might want to come across. The traffic is always between midnight and four in the morning. The police are on grave yard shift and are never there to police. From this business you experience and hear many domestic violence arguments and shootings. The reality is the fact that coming up with five dollars for a rock is all too hard and must steal and shoot for a high. The occasional gang rolls down this busy block and unloads six bullets at three A.M. life around this block is real and you can never get any more truth on any other block. Well readers, back to my workspace, I have a island table that is made from old machinery wood and beams form the old carpenter business seventy years ago. I do not have stools so I compromise and use old eighties style floor speakers that are the right height for stools. They work nicely and look stunning in its environment. I’m not writing this to complain or rant about living, but I am writing this from pure spite. In all honesty readers I am so honest that this is my place where I can be alone in solitude. A place to focus and discuss truth and reality of this poverty stricken nation. The underground is where I feel comfortable. There are no fake people, no rich people, no vile hypocrites here, nothing but people living simple lives. You can exist without any one ever knowing who you are and what you are. They leave you alone and never judge.


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The following comments are for "solitude"
by NucleusFire

notes from the underground?
the style and theme reminds me of Dostoyevsky’s "Notes from the Underground"… [which is a good thing] although the world described is uniquely yours and the honesty here is compelling too, uncompromised, but compassionate… I think.

( Posted by: AuldMiseryGuts [Member] On: September 3, 2007 )

.
i am thrilled at the honest imagery you gave us with your writing. thanks for that.

"and you can never get any more truth on any other block." perfect.

( Posted by: wendythemommy [Member] On: September 3, 2007 )

style
the style is never intended to be from noted from the underground, i write in a truthful matter and the fact that the gunshots on this friday night put me over th edge and inspired me to write about my environment. thank you for reading.

( Posted by: NucleusFire [Member] On: September 4, 2007 )

oh, no..
i can, for certain, tell that it's real. i used to live in a similar place.

( Posted by: wendythemommy [Member] On: September 4, 2007 )





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