telephone poles

Posted on Dec 7, 2012 in Atlanta, landscape, urbanism | One Comment
telephone poles

There’s this thing that happens to telephone poles hanging out on busy street corners: first they get covered in flyers for bands and lost dogs and yard sales and advertisements for low cost flyer printing, then the flyers are quickly stripped away in a shocking and revealing act that causes casual passers-by to blush and cover the eyes of small children. Area teens can be spotted pretending to talk on their cell phones but in fact they are taking lascivious photographs of the now raw wood. It is said that this ritualistic, teasing, urban burn is performed late at night under the cover of darkness for an audience of loose-tied businessmen with suddenly tight pants.

The pole, now free of its palimpsest of paper products and duct tape, reveals a charred midriff, as though it has been laying out in the sun for hours while wearing a too tight tube top. “Is there such a thing as wearing a tube top for too long while laying out in the sun?” I hear you ask. Yes there is, you good-natured but stupid pervert. Just look at that scandalous trunk, inappropriately browned and beckoning. You should be ashamed of yourself for admiring a pole of such proportions and loose ethics.

I can smell the creosote on you from all the way over here. Why can’t you go out with someone your own age, someone not made of wood covered in rusty nails and an inappropriate amount of used staples? What happened to the sweet little boy with golden curls and dimples? Sure, your forehead was larger than Art Garfunkel’s but you still could have been something — an astronaut or a priest or an architect or a Garfunkel impersonator – but now you spend all your time with those poles. I have seen your sketchbook: page after wretched page of thick vertical lines. Your brush control and sensitive application of watercolor do nothing to mask the lewd content. You say your legs are just tired and that’s why you’re leaning in that fashion, but who besides Santa Claus rubs up against something so covered in soot? And I don’t care how tired you are — no one rests against a pole with their legs so far apart and facing forward – that’s called hugging and that’s disgusting. You are disgusting and you make your own mother cry.

1 Comment

  1. j.bird
    December 10, 2012

    hey, that’s the videodrome corner!

    also, points for using palimsest.


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