NEW ORLEANS
i really don't know what to say. i am a bit speechless. it's hard for me to fathom that i actually moved in the time frame i did. there is still so much of me left there though, not physical but emotional. shit. there will never be another nola like i knew. i don't know what to feel.
posted by thos diggy | 11:32 PM
9 Comments:
shit me too, hopefully all the people you knew down there were smart and got out early. I'm glad I was there last weekend, for what was probably the last weekend in old NOLA.
I am devasted. I feel like a part of me has died.
devastated
glad to see you're ok man!
something that we can do is donate to the red cross.
My last night in New Orleans.
I was in the bar roughly 12 hours. At 4am the strippers came in and told me about shaved assholes and meat curtains. Around 5am a black BMW pulled up on the street outside -- an old man got out of the car and came into the bar. He lightly touched the shoulders of a lesbian. She smiled at him. He smiled back. They seemed to have an understanding. That same lesbian later walked across the street to wake up a passed out man on the street so the cops wouldn't get him. All through the night, poor, homeless men came into the bar and tried to sell homemade art and rustle drinks from frat boys. The bartender, as beautiful as a Betty Page pin-up, got rid of these guys with a light touch: "Sorry baby. Get out of my bar."
In any case, at 8am, we went to the after-bar, at a bar down the street. I ordered the Crab Rangoon from the grill. No one else was eating. But it had been awhile. The dish came out hot to the touch and frozen solid inside. "I don't like to cook for friends," said the young, attractive cook apologetically. At 7:30am the after-bar bar was full. Full of pimps, drug dealers, stripers and bartenders who were wrapping up the grave yard shift. Shots and cash flew around the bar like flakes out of a snow blower. Eventually, at 11am, I went home. I was drunk. The sun was out. It was glorious. Not only that but the colors of the turn of the century buildings seemed to say: yes, it is fine and good that you are fucked up. Drink more. Snort more. Dance more. Run away and join the circus. Lots of people have nights like this in New Orleans. Some people sentimentalize them. Others are disgusted. Still others try fruitlessly to put them on paper.
I guess it doesn't matter anymore. A preemptive fuck you goes to the assholes who will try to rebuild the thing into a Disney on the Bayou. I hope that a little of my New Orleans will survive.
have you ever read:
Letters From New Orleans?
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