The poem Genius Loci, newly up on P.F.S. Post, presents an unlikely scenario— an entire houseful of scenester cadets ascending into space. Kind of like the way Rocky Horror ends. The house was a literal one in West Philadelphia: 4325 Baltimore Avenue. Worth knowing: Baltimore Avenue is the main thoroughfare or main drag of West Philly, with its rustically ornate houses, grassy backwards (unusual for the Center City environs), and politically extreme leftist sensibility. But not, as you will see, straight edge like D.C. Earthy, sensuous. Up close and personal, Philadelphia never does straight-edge the right way. Did Diana, from the poem, lure me to my death? Not really. We were all living fast, free, and easy at that time, and, as the piece points out, the genius loci, or animating spirit of the place (genius loci is transitive to the animating spirit of any given place), was all about totalized and adventurous indulgence. A little romp with Diana on the side wouldn't bother Mary H. too much. Especially because, the first half of 2002 had been warped and distended for us because Mary broke up with me several times to pursue someone else. Diana did not bring revenge to mind for me; just adventure and fun; but both the adventure and the fun had been earned, by a six month period of being sliced-and-diced by Mary's antics. And, oh yeah, the music. Lots of rock hipsterism at 4325, swimming around in the ambiguous (for rock) waters of the early Aughts, where and when everything and everyone was a Nick Drake or Big Star-level cult. So: we had Ryan Adams, here shown, The Rapture, Coldplay, Elliott Smith, The Strokes, The Hives, The Vines, The White Stripes...all doing their respective version of Radio City and Bryter Layter. And an unconventional marriage, which invented its own rulebook, and which could and did withstand a little adultery here and there.
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