The Blueline to Rio Rancho

(I am trying to start a fire on the inside that burns to the outside with my writing. I am trying to start a fire with my writing that burns from the inside out. I am trying to start a fire that burns from the inside out with my writing. I am trying to start a fire that burns from my side to your side. I am trying to start a fire that burns from this side to that side. I am trying to burn the earth inside you with my writing. I am trying to scorch the earth inside you with my writing. I am trying to start a fire inside you that burns from the inside out and scorches all the earth inside you.)

So I got turned around on my way to visit a governmental agency in Rio Rancho from where I live in downtown Albuquerque near the bus stop and the train (what else matters besides a bus stop and a train—besides your brain?).
I made it okay to the library, which is a good ten blocks away. I have overdue books. The Bank of America is charging me late fees on a closed account. The swamp cooler is fixed but I got water on the motor so it has to dry before I can start it again.

I sat there for what felt like 20 minutes (you decide if that’s too long to wait for a bus) before the Redline came.

I rode the Redline to Rio Grande where I got off and waited for the Blueline. The Blueline goes all the way past Montaño, past Alameda, past Paseo del Norte, past the Cottonwood Mall to the furthest recesses of Rio Rancho—a place that has barred/bared its soul to the future.

Think of a concrete landscape so unfriendly there are no pedestrians. Think of Civic Plaza at high noon. Think of Pensacola with no vegetation. Think of a pavement landscape so unfriendly there can be no pedestrians. Think of massive lanes of swiftly moving traffic, as thick as freeways, moving just as relentlessly. Think of living at the center of Interstates that you can not cross, that you dare not cross—ten-lane thick walls of speeding traffic sweeping and merging around every corner. (Even in the heat of summer the feeling for a pedestrian is like a cold and bloodless planet.)

Go to this place and you will have some idea of the future. I go to the buildings and try the doors. They are all locked. Without the digital passcode you will not drink water. When you board the bus to return home there will be no other passengers and you will just go on and on like that for miles.

2 thoughts on “The Blueline to Rio Rancho

  1. You may appreciate this poem by Octavio Paz,


    Night with the eyes of a horse that trembles in the night,
    night with eyes of water in the field asleep
    is in your eyes, a horse that trembles,
    is in your eyes of a secret water.

    Eyes of shadow-water,
    eyes of well-water,
    eyes of dream-water.

    Silence and solitude,
    two little animals moon-led,
    drink in your eyes,
    drink in those waters.

    If you open your eyes,
    night opens, doors of musk,
    the secret kingdom of the water opens
    flowing from the center of night.

    And if you close your eyes,
    a river fills you from within,
    flows forward, darkens you:
    night brings its wetness to beaches in your soul.

    (translation: Muriel Rukeyser)

  2. Alex: Profound conjuring of imagery! You have captured isolation, humanity having left the building. I get goose bumps.

    “Think of Pensacola with no vegetation” — there is nothing more barren, devoid of any life I’d like to live.

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