The crosswalk at the intersection of South Main Street and Hill Street
My territory is the crosswalk at the intersection of South Main Street and Hill Street.
Directions from Cohen Studio:
- exit the studio to Main Street
- turn right, and walk in that direction (towards Terra Cotta)
- keep walking down Main Street
- main street will become South Main Street
- keep walking until you reach the intersection at Hill Street
On The Way:
Take note of your surroundings, and listen to the explosive plethora of sounds. Look at everything. Take note of the giant tree with huge leaves and seed pods on the right side of the road.
another view of the crosswalk
50 Experiences At the Crosswalk
~ the sun’s good-night kiss has left the sky blushing
~blinding automobile lights forcibly violate my pupils as they shriek past towards alien destinations
~ strains of ghost music hang desperately overhead in the soggy frigid clouds
~ mangled howls of drunken youthful revelry rip through the relative silence
~ ventriloquist clinking of dog leashes echoes in the dark, bouncing off shadows to cloak itself in obscurity
~ chunks of sidewalk are scattered around the cracks and fissures as if sprayed out by some seismic force
~ the relatively warm day has given way to a chilly night rain, and it smells fresh like ozone
the telephone pole near the intersection
~ wild landscapes and owl faces emerge from the woodgrain of the telephone pole
~ headlights illuminate the liquid droplets and suspend them in a freeze-action free-fall snapshot before the car proceeds to splatter them like insects on the windshield
~ the falling raindrops explode like limpid diamonds as they hit the pavement
~ barefoot, the ground triggers a million sensations and sends the texture of soft wet grass blazing up my neurons
~ the gravel grits and scraps beneath my soles like a gentle massage
~ I look up but cannot find the stars wherever they’re hiding in their oversized black blue robes
~ the crosswalk is actually not completely symmetrical, with an extra white stripe towards one side and a large empty square in the middle of the road
~ some cars driving past slow down to wonder at me sitting on the side of the road tonight
looking down the street near the telephone pole
~ I can hear a bullfrog choking croaking somewhere in the distance
~ a plastic bag lining a wooden crate rustles in the damp breeze, making a cautious crinkling sound, as if testing the air before committing to movement
~ the white lines on the road emulate a cage to prevent wayward wanderers from becoming roadkill
~ a spiderweb way up the telephone pole catches the light, looking like a silken tapestry
~ water droplets hang for their lives on the tapered tips of pine needles
~ all these people have lives of their own, but they have become a fleeting part of my own by merely walking past and nodding
~ I wonder if the car-drivers would see me and stop if I were sitting in the middle of the road
~ the telephone pole towers over the road, it’s flexible wiry arms outstretched and reaching for opposite ends of infinity
the telephone pole hunchback man whose head is cut off in this picture
~ Hill Street slopes up from the road on a violent incline, but seems to level out further on
~ I can hear the cars before they get to me, and their light spills over the asphalt illuminating the night and betraying their approach
~ an airplane momentarily punctures the grayblue canvas covering the sky with a blazing white spear
~ the road itself has a mild curve to passively guide water to the storm sewers lining the street
~ great evergreens spread their muscular limbs over the lawn protectively shielding meek blades of grass from the onslaught of rain
~ foraging in the wet dusty sand my fingertips find the tiny objects, their various textures making imprints in my palms as if they were made of clay
~ a distant jogger’s feet articulate the metamorphosis of a vague tap into a steady beat
~ there’s an old white falling apart house on one side of the road, and I imagine where all the paint chips have been blown away to
~ large metal pipes are lying across the lawn reflecting the orange lamp post light
pipes reflecting streetlamp
~ dog-walkers, joggers, and bikers cross the road to avoid interacting with me, their eyes wide with caution
~ an insect is walking on the crosswalk, totally innocent and unaware of the implications of the white stripes
~ the ground feels so much better when I can feel it in my skin, otherwise I can’t fully experience my surroundings
~ cracks in the pavement resemble mutated creatures with elongated faces and gorged torsos
~ the leaves quiver nervously in anticipation of nightfall
~ car-light is spliced into hundreds of circular beams by the holes in the metal street-sign pole
~ the sudden impact of displaced air throws my hair across my face whenever somebody drives by
~ looking up at the vast black-blue globe enclosing the earth, I feel totally inconsequential and meaningless, like an ant trapped in an ant farm
~ upon closer inspection, the sidewalk at one end of the crosswalk is littered with screws, nails, nuts, bolts, and washers 
- collection of screws, tacks, nails, washers, and nuts I found on the sidewalk
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~ I imagine bottled telephone conversations and wire-encased whispers travelling through the cables, slung like garlands from pole to pole
~ it seems ironic that the yellow lines will dance along the curves of the road, stretching to infinity side by side, but never ever touching
~ once in a while a startled warbling birdsound burbles through the wet
~ I wonder if I can absorb the fragrant rain through my skin and convert it to rainbows of energy
~ falling soft and slow, the rain gradually seeps through the flesh of my clothes to refrigerate my perishable body
~ despite the isolated ghosts of music and rowdiness, there’s an undeniably sullen hush oppressively hanging over the crosswalk
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