I have good news: I found God. Much to my surprise He doesn’t sit on a jewel embedded chair with velvet cushions and a sparkling crown circling his skull. He doesn’t have three rings on one hand that shine with two times the power of the sun forever. He resides directly over 95 north bound just east of Philadelphia right by the Ben Franklin Bridge. Whenever I drive that, no matter what, a perfectly timed song comes on the radio that fits exactly how I’m feeling at the moment.

For inspiration, I spent the morning youtubing animal attacks caught on tape and the animal collective. This blog is the result of the unsure and unassuming screams of victims and the helplessness of onlookers mixed gently with psychedelic music and the sound of the keyboard.

If I were to describe the city of Philadelphia in one word it would be
“therawenergyofpeopleandlovemixedwithdifferencesthatmakeusfullyuniquebut
fullyhuman.” The above line was so clever I am having a hard time following that up. As human beings, if we could truly write how we feel then there would be no trouble writing; everything would fit together like puzzle pieces. Words are not the only things malleable. Human beings can learn to break the divide of race, and religion. Let’s start in Center City and work our way outwards.

Rittenhouse Square remains a haven for dogs and musicians. The place is littered with each. Much to my surprise, the sounds mix very well.

Writing this blog is the equivalent of ripping my guts out through the hole in my face. It begins by feeling awkward and strange, somewhat uncomfortable and frustrating, possibly even embarrassing. The strange part is that it gets easier. Once I am snaking my large intestine out through my mouth it cannot possibly hurt as much as when I initially began. I get used to the pain, no matter how painful. Don’t be mad, but its true.

I write this blog for many reasons. I write this for my boss because, well, she asked me to. I write this for you alum’s who live vicariously and shamelessly through these writings. I write this so that you may connect to a word or sentence that creates a small warm feeling located conveniently above your diaphragm and below your heart. I want to watch that warm feeling spread like racecars through your veins and burst through your fingertips. I write this for my mother to shock and awe her with my vulgarity and creativity. Just kidding, the dirty words get edited out. I write this for Lauren to impress her because I am constantly looking for ways to put a smile on her face. I write this for my friends so that I can temporarily create a portal into the life that I now live. I write this for the people who barely know me and are bored at around 4 o’clock on a Friday afternoon. They happen to stumble across my facebook page because of something clever I wrote on their friend’s wall; and because I obnoxiously advertise my new blog posts and because you (the reader) are already exhibiting all signs of being a stalker, you decide to click on it. You know me from high school or college and decide to deepen our friendship without me even knowing. I write this for students who are contemplating coming here. I want to open up the fabric and let you look inside.

Can I talk about the skyline without making you want to rip your eyeballs out of the cavity of your head? Believe me; I am tempted to do the same. Here’s the thing, the Comcast building and Liberty One do something funny with the light that comes from the sunset. They project an image on the horizon that is absolutely beautiful. The colors blend perfectly.

-the racecar driver

Philadelphia stoops are as addicting as cocaine. With beautiful weather and the afternoon sun setting, I swear I must have died and gone to heaven. Heaven could very well be a set of steps accurately placed at the corner of Carlisle and Diamond. I wouldn’t be mad about that. You talk about concrete streets like it’s your job and I’ll write about concrete streets like it’s my blog.

Last night I was sitting outside when I heard a loud crash. An eerie cloud of dust and the result of metal against pavement rose from the earth and cluttered the sky above the road and below the street lights. What followed was a motorcycle skidding 50 yards down the street and the rush of onlookers to the scene of impact. Without warning this mans life could have been compromised as a sacrifice for the city? Is death something we can understand? Or maybe we can handle a broken leg, or the peeling of skin?

The style of my blogs must change a little bit; they became ridiculous and incoherent. I can’t say I blame the powers to be for being upset. So for all of you out there that religiously read my blog (Lauren, and maybe Sean) I apologize.

Have you ever heard a song that gives you rhythm to write? I write in perfect rhyme with a song in my head and on my speakers. This is where I lose all control of the wheel. Can you imagine a rusty bicycle with a missing spoke that can take you all over the world? Or maybe a strawberry tart with a black heart? I can and I believe it. The city holds many secrets that I refuse to give you. You must come here and find it out for yourself. Use the map from the dharma initiative and you will know where it is. I long to float on a river that runs the length of Broad and Market combined. I want it to drop me off at the Flying Monkey where I take that down to Penn’s landing and watch the cars drive by.

MAOILKWRUWESK

Are you ready for the end of the world? Sometimes I think the only redeeming thing about this city is the iced coffee at Saxby’s on a Monday morning. I couldn’t be more wrong, McDonalds is way better and cheaper. I write this blog out of frustration to create something creative. I swear the pavement stores the suns heat and releases it during the knight in shining armor. This is the 180 degree opposite of what I am supposed to write about, but who wants to follow the rules anyways. I’ll burn the toast on purpose if it gets a reaction out of you.

The big news in my life, I put a new ringtone on my phone. Call me. Apparently there is a shortcut key on your keyboard to turn your font italics incase you don’t have time to move the mouse 5 and a half inches to the upper right of your screen (unless you have a mac and then I believe its your upper left). I found this out by accident just now because I suck at typing and in my flurry of messy hand movements, I managed to hit something that turned my font to the dark side. What bothers me the most is that I will never know how I did that. If someone could tell me that would be great; no just kidding I don’t care.

I had a spiritual experience last night. I was driving my little pink car into the city on 95 with Kanye West blasting from the radio off of Keri Hilson’s new single “Knock Me Down.” The window was open as the wind had its way with my flimsy hand at an exact speed of 73 mph. Out of the corner of my eye I caught the skyline in all its shimmering beauty. It seems as though each light burned bright into the night sky adding to an overall display of raw human power. It was all too surreal and for a second I had thought I had died and gone to heaven. Heaven could very well be a Kanye West outdoor concert with perfect weather. Yes, you can quote me on that.

“Grapevine Fires” by Death Cab for Cutie refuses to leave my playlist. Maybe that’s a good thing.

-mark