Such a long time in coming, this café on the upper west north side of town.A cup of Honduran roast from Bay City with a dash of cream (it's kept in the fridge, just ask) and a few quiet moments to write and remember myself and life more than ten years ago. Daydreaming of a freedom festival one summer that became sweet anarchist bliss, a short jaunt up the hill at the Natural Canvas art gallery - Cricket's acrobatic stilt circus was on fire, and all at once I realized what it really meant to understand the history of the 555.
Perhaps you remember the art collective that found its home in the old building that has been replaced by the Y? That was a while ago now, but the 555 survives as a nomad, traveling from A2 to Ypsi and now Detroit. The old building that was home to this beloved art collective burned to the ground in A2 those long years ago. Everyone had been evicted by the time it burned, and no one was hurt, but a community hearth was gone. It was a painful loss that is still felt, a hollow heartedness since. Our freedom festival was a declaration of artistic resilience.
You may also remember that this city has roots in rebellion. I can feel its invincible summer heart beating in this café of electrified vision.
Grateful for the punk
in this punk town.
