Some time ago we had "an Elf Door Tree" in our neighborhood proximity.
It is gone now, but not forgotten. It, like a few rare others scattered about our fair city, was a place to leave your wishes, your dreams, your found objects.
Just a simple door in an old tree that provided a magical social networking depository for those in the know. Notes left would be magically responded to. Alms were offered. Alms were taken. Wishes were sent. No one knew who resonded. Everyone, no one. Scenes changed. Situations evolved, stories were acted out, or so it seemed. As I said, it was a magical place. Sometimes bustling and full of life, sometimes empty and bleak. Sometimes hopeful, sometimes tragic. You get the idea. It tore at your heart and made you open its door.
Recently, some historic documents resurfaced that told a story of our elf door from years past.
A sad, but hopeful inner-city story.
It goes a little like this...
Who made the door..? Why is it there...?
What is that plastic bird doing over the door...?
More importantly, what's behind the door...?
These things beckon us to open the door, so that it can tell it's story for us in this space in time.
The door opens...
Real social drama be playin out here.
Bout a week ago our story took a sad toin where our Poor Little Monkeyboy sadly gave up his 22 year AA chit which had been in the crib for a few weeks.
Now it looks as though poor Monkeyboy has slipped back off the wagon and is wrestlin with a rather Kafkaesque needle and bug problem. Tragic. Meanwhile his bad pusher, Dr. Purple, sleeps his off. The pink dinosaurs, oh man. Oh, man.
Someone has tried to help by leaving a couple Bubblicious to get Monkey's mind straight, but no, he's gone, gone down the thin blue line. Ouch. Monkey be lookin rough.
Dr. Purple folded under the guilt, or a bad cut o' junk.
And the sweet alms poured in. We're on your side Monkeyboy! We've all slipped now and again. It's a hard road.
Sometime it's good ta have a little someone for to take care of to get ya thinkin' straight.
Monkey scored some financial assistance and things was lookin up.
Dat Mean ol' Dr. Purple be always loomin tho. Always loomin.
Yiy! Hep meh! Hep meh! Da toimites got meh! Damn!
He be out in the cold now, that's right.
What goes round, comes round Needleman...
Still on the wagon, but it's day to day. Ain't no tellin', as Jimi Hendrix was fond of sayin...
What else kin we do...?
Monkeys gots ta stay togetha.
Sho' nuff said.
Now they got the powah of the Pink Rabbit's Foot on they side!
Things in the crib have gotten a lidda squalid, but the powah of the Foot can not be denied!
Use the Foot, Leroy!
I am yo fatha!
Monkeyboy has gone back to 'the Pen', the only tool he knows to purge his soul. And Dr. Purple ain't nowhere in sight. He be beat, for now.
Best of luck Monkeyboys.
Keep the faith my brothers, fight the fight.
There's a million stories in this city without pity...
Miss you, Elf Tree.