I like new years. New days, new places and fresh perspectives are all good with me. I look at a new year starting up the way I look at a birthday: you’re either older or you’re not. I’ll take older.
Besides calendars are constructs. We’ve agreed to them. In some ways we become defined by the rules we write. That’s what I’ve been thinking about as one year ends and another begins.
I say…let life define me. Let me witness the world without the veil of my dopey ego. See new.
New like New Orleans.
New Orleans sizzles like pig fat greeting fire.
It’ll soak into you like butter into hot biscuits. Become part of your structure.
New Orleans will paint its signs on your walls. Leave them to steep.
Till you wind up bewitched by the clatter of bones. They’re rat-a-tat-tat wakes, roves.
“Rat-a-tat-tat,” says your heart. Echoes swarm your shores.
The band takes a break but you still hear that song. Drift on, lingering song. Waltz down Bourbon Street and mix it up with other songs that have just been sung. Wander on.
Gangsters’ ghosts rattle ice round their glasses. They consider firing shots at the chandelier or tripping the next patron who cruises past. Their shoe toes tap, “Rat-a-tat-tat.”
Hunt that haunting, that song, that shiver, that drink, that sauce, that sugar piled high.
Hunt that day like a gilded lion stilled, sniffing the shimmery night. Hunt that roar.
Another song slips into the street. Rove on, sauntering song. Simmer into that New Orleans stew.
And rap out that rat-a-tat-tat. Let that be my count; what counts me.
Keep me new.
*Some photos in this post link to places I haunted (and bought baubles and art from) in New Orleans in case you want to take a little cyber-trip. Click on them and travel.
See you next week with more details on these places and other haunt-worthy Nola spots. Happy 2015! Oink.