365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 119

MONDAY, APRIL 29th, 2013  

I witnessed no cracks in the plaster this morning and although no official measurements were made the house seems to be approximately the same size as it was yesterday.  Incremental change is fairly difficult to notice, so time will ultimately tell whether or not the walls are physically closing in.

I jazz my hands to praise this minor victory.  To praise normalcy. 

Off to work I go, a mostly sunny day is in store with a 60% chance of volatility.  

The finely primped and trimmed suburban landscape goes by, one beautiful Florida home after the other, painted in the bright colors of consummation.  Flowers are neatly planted around mailboxes, address numbers carefully stenciled and painted on the curbside cement.  Thick, lush grass, sprinklers, shiny automobiles, Jogger Lady, kids walking to school, it is all very, very pretty and quaint.  And pretty quaint. 

Onward I go and a yard, seemingly out of place sticks out badly with its uncut grass, perhaps the inhabitants are on vacation.  Further still there is a house with shingle tiles the color of algae, probably due to the growth of algae.  No flowers carefully planted here.

A drug store.

A post office. 

Cutesy, suburban neighborhoods give way to commerce. 

A bar.

A place that specializes in scrap booking, a gun shop, Tobacco Hut, a filthy pink store renting private viewing rooms.  What little grass that grows here are tall weeds that have not been tended to in quite some time. 

Onward I go.  The course of empire firmly branding the landscape, destruction as far as the eye can see.

The road has cracks in the pavement.  The trees grow tall, battling vines for sunlight.  The wild is taking over and encroaching the roadway.  Buildings that were once occupied with some form of business, desolate.  Broken out windows, trees growing from the gutters, weeds as tall as a man, mother nature is taking back what ultimately belongs to her.

Pretty soon I am the only car on the road.  The street lights, tangled in vines, no longer operate.  Nothing but green taking control of everything.  A true savage state has emerged.

It's beautiful.

Until I cross through the portal of Kennedy Blvd. and Dale Mabry and everything is back in place.  Order is restored.  The street lights function, the businesses are buzzing with activity, traffic, lots of traffic, all around.  I look back to where I came from and in the rear view mirror all I see is a decaying metropolis, begging for reclamation.  Let the volatility commence.

Today's Jazz Hands lived 'The Course of Empire.'  Day one-hundred and nineteen complete.

"The Course of Empire - Desolation" Thomas Cole - 1836