maybe this is how i am unde­ni­ably american.

i see the sub­urbs as a very evoca­tive place. maybe it’s because i grew up there, and had all my most influ­enc­ing (?) expe­ri­ences in sub­ur­ban icons, but they’re really quite mys­te­ri­ous. david lynch would agree, no doubt. brian eno, too, probably.

the sub­urbs at night are amaz­ing. after mid­night, on a week­night? they’re so dark and lonely. there are these lit­tle pock­ets of light and warmth — a street­light here, a porch light there. houses sit, full of rest­ful peo­ple, shar­ing a lit­tle cozi­ness from the dark and cool night.

the real beau­ti­ful areas are the edges of the sub­urbs, where they start to go rural. there you have fewer street­lights and homes, and more open space. those open spaces often fill with a lit­tle mist at night. at night, the land gets to be what it misses being. deer, owls, and other crea­tures of the night move around. this also includes the lone police­man, sit­ting in his car at a stop­light, guard­ing against the scourge of the sub­ur­ban night, teenagers.

the shop­ping plazas are quiet and bathed in the glow of their mer­cury bulbs. all that they can do is wait peace­fully. they get to sleep, too. the empty park­ing lots radi­ate warmth left over from day, like giant sleep­ing beasts.

of course there are sub­ur­ban hells: light pol­lu­tion has ruined the night skies for four gen­er­a­tions of amer­i­cans and count­ing, the days are full of mis­er­able traf­fic and wastes of water, and they are far too insu­lar & self-​​absorbed. at night, though, the sub­urbs are a sur­real else­where, where mys­tery is height­ened and things seem just askance of reality.