Loving Austin

Eh, Why not love Austin too?

They call it dirty sixth. Or at least I think they do. All I know is that it is dirty, and it is sixth street. And I danced with a large drunk black woman in the 311 Blues Bar and she was black and drunk and large. My Girl tangled with smoke and tobacco as it rolled out of the speakers and drifted away from its creators on stage. I was a little startled by the woman's agility as we danced, so I tried to dip her on the last- she didn't fall over. The music drifted out past giggling friends and spectators and into the open street- Sixth Street. Four or five blocks were closed to automobiles, allowing pedestrians to roam freely. Women in uncomfortably high heels and indecently short skirts flaunted themselves amongst underdressed men and overly invasive street performers.

Inside the 311 Blues Bar. My lady in red is at the table.

i can't say the club is exactly my thing, however much I like to get my crazy white boy on. So I split my separate route as some of my friends went into the club with the glass floor and later told me that the roof opened up too. I drifted down stream with the music and photographed some guitarists and artists and such, and clapped along with some folk singing with soul. I hooted and howled until I could tell they had had enough of me. I feel I found my place with some nice hippie folk: Happy Happy James and Kim.

Happy James squatted next to his portable drum kit and told me that Austin officials had banned live music outside of clubs after 2230hrs: bad words "and they call Austin the capital of live music!" he exclaimed as we watched his wife, the love of his life dance the hula hoops. He wore his wedding ring with pride. He told me to go to Barton Springs.

Happy Happy James' wife. Proudly.

Kim was next. She drew on the sidewalk. And drew and drew andrew. I watched until we talked. And talked and talked andtalked. She lived in a nice house, a couple hundred a night drawing famous people portraits on the sidewalk with chalk. She had a nose ring and crazy socks and excepted a cigarette when someone gave it to her even though she doesn't "usually smoke". I don't either. She was a nice person and wanted to get big like this other guy. She told me to go to Barton Springs.

Kim and Alfred Hitchcock. It was his birthday.

Long story short. It made me ask myself: why do I desire to willingly subject myself to the capitalist system? Getting paid for less than I am worth, earning less than I work and making a fortune for he who owns the means of production? "Why don't I just go and be free" I said tonight, while I finished my pint of Southern Blackberry Cobbler in a dimly lit kitchen. "Why don't I just be free!? That's what I really want!" I said. Is it? Is that what we all want? Or do we want to be burdened by responsibility and play a respectable role in society? I want to play a respectable role in society to change it for the better and help everyone else out. Or least that's what I tell myself. Maybe I really just want to  go hop on cart 36 with Brother Man Dan.