the shared patio
tis isn’t i
Buds in the holes
It started with Erica but not really.
The holes are the remains of the framework used to cast the concrete walls that support Gund and house us all. What material were they made of? Wooden panels were tiled together to form an enclosed framework - the mold. The concrete walls are the casts, and the noches from the mold on the casts, are now our temporary bud holders.
You showed it to me, and I followed you. It's enjoyable at times as if I'm not littering but rather allowing nature to take its course. They got sun tanned, wet, blown, and snowed on. Sometimes the buds become overstuffed within the confines of the holes. To begin with, the holes are small, about the size of a vitamin bottle cap. I've seen more than six buds forcefully pushed into one of the holes, one of them desperately clinging to the edge of it. Perhaps the wind got to it. But it was dangling and struggling to stay in that space. There was probably some sort of sticky residue holding it in place. I photographed it because I don't see this everyday.
Was that mine or yours? It's the double pop flavor, so it's almost certainly mine, but it could also be yours because we always share our sticks.
Whenever it was about to end, I would drag it along the walls; sometimes, it looked like a figure and, at times, just a line. Most of the time, when the pressure was too hard, it would rip, and the leaves would start falling, breaking free from the tight embrace of the thin, flimsy sheet of paper. Well, they add to the scene, falling into the gaps of the concrete tiles. They got blurred out; I couldn't see them anymore, so I forgot about them. I tried to find an available home for my bud as it became increasingly difficult; I think people have been participating in this as well. Fortunately, I found one near the foot of the door, so I pushed and bent it along the form of the hole in the wall.
The picture now looks lively. The holes aren't dark anymore, but some got sun faded, drenched, then dried again, a laborious process of fermentation. Some create stencils of their models on the walls and then get called out by their peers for doing it out here. These thick walls are great at keeping our secrets, especially when we are under the stairs, or at least, I hope they do. Look here. You can clearly see the grain of the wooden mold on the underbelly of the stairs; they look pretty.
The buds temporarily reside there. It's up to the rules or the series of events, whatever catches up to them first, but it's usually the latter, and it doesn’t really matter as we would fill them up right away anyways. We do not know when or how things would turn out once they’re all gone, but this anticipation and tension are what kept us going. We know that the walls hear, but we let them. Our hums, mumbles, cries and laughters seep in like how we gather the last bit of bitterness out of us and splatter egg whites on the walls and floors, so we could keep the sweetness with us and leave what we don’t need behind.
I just hope this collaborative effort never ends.
The holes are the remains of the framework used to cast the concrete walls that support Gund and house us all. What material were they made of? Wooden panels were tiled together to form an enclosed framework - the mold. The concrete walls are the casts, and the noches from the mold on the casts, are now our temporary bud holders.
You showed it to me, and I followed you. It's enjoyable at times as if I'm not littering but rather allowing nature to take its course. They got sun tanned, wet, blown, and snowed on. Sometimes the buds become overstuffed within the confines of the holes. To begin with, the holes are small, about the size of a vitamin bottle cap. I've seen more than six buds forcefully pushed into one of the holes, one of them desperately clinging to the edge of it. Perhaps the wind got to it. But it was dangling and struggling to stay in that space. There was probably some sort of sticky residue holding it in place. I photographed it because I don't see this everyday.
Was that mine or yours? It's the double pop flavor, so it's almost certainly mine, but it could also be yours because we always share our sticks.
Whenever it was about to end, I would drag it along the walls; sometimes, it looked like a figure and, at times, just a line. Most of the time, when the pressure was too hard, it would rip, and the leaves would start falling, breaking free from the tight embrace of the thin, flimsy sheet of paper. Well, they add to the scene, falling into the gaps of the concrete tiles. They got blurred out; I couldn't see them anymore, so I forgot about them. I tried to find an available home for my bud as it became increasingly difficult; I think people have been participating in this as well. Fortunately, I found one near the foot of the door, so I pushed and bent it along the form of the hole in the wall.
The picture now looks lively. The holes aren't dark anymore, but some got sun faded, drenched, then dried again, a laborious process of fermentation. Some create stencils of their models on the walls and then get called out by their peers for doing it out here. These thick walls are great at keeping our secrets, especially when we are under the stairs, or at least, I hope they do. Look here. You can clearly see the grain of the wooden mold on the underbelly of the stairs; they look pretty.
The buds temporarily reside there. It's up to the rules or the series of events, whatever catches up to them first, but it's usually the latter, and it doesn’t really matter as we would fill them up right away anyways. We do not know when or how things would turn out once they’re all gone, but this anticipation and tension are what kept us going. We know that the walls hear, but we let them. Our hums, mumbles, cries and laughters seep in like how we gather the last bit of bitterness out of us and splatter egg whites on the walls and floors, so we could keep the sweetness with us and leave what we don’t need behind.
I just hope this collaborative effort never ends.
Jacob Reidel