Wednesday, February 22, 2006
SO GONE, CHICAGO
phone's ringing dude
it's ten thirty in the morning and the quickshot is on the line. i'm usually three cups in by now on a monday morning but i'm still in chicago and drinks lasted till four thirty in the window seat. now i'm guzzling juice and talking with rob, matt, and jerry. matt and jerry are carpenters. i don't know if they have built any crosses. we're pilled in jerry's saturn (remember when i had a saturn held together with duct tape and aircraft cable?) and we go just up the way to devan street for some pakistani indian goodness. some, i said? three dollars gets you a plate of chicken bryrani that could feed a family. nora says i'm a spiller... and a good deal of sauce from my chicken korma does end up on my favorite blue shirt with the ripped sleeve from the freight elevator... it's still my favorite shirt. jerry drops us back on argyle street and rob and i explore the wares. so much buddha and bamboo. i purchase a beautiful yellow and blue tea cup for my lady then we enter an amazing vietnamese market. jars with fish eyes, gellitans, pickled everything (even huff), live blue crabs, an enormous selection of fresh fish and unidentifiable produce... this is where fish go when they die. looking for a tea ball for brigid. a clerk has "never seen one before" and that somehow feels odd. oof, it was pretty early for indian food. found the tea ball in another place and we're back in 8e. i'm drifting in and out during an extensive lecture on comedy through the ages... in particular "waiting for godot" quaw quaw quaw i miss sergio... i miss tom... i miss tim (although i did just drink with him for a while) i'll soon be back on zeitgeist's floor with chuck and arrabal. rob has finished his work and we scoot to northeastern university. homework handed in robert unattends his class and we're at wzrd 88.3 fm. brigid is playing some thick music and i'm reading dylan thomas. an hour or so of college radio and it's back to the window seat... this time with our friend jameson. we hadn't hung out with him yet.
it starts out slow: politics this, world peace that, girls are neat, THIS WHISKEY IS GREAT, look at the lake, jollie holland is a goddess, whoa those guys are fighting in the street! inseparable bond keeps bungeeing them back to peacock fists and meredith advice from the corner... have the cops chased them off? damn this is good whiskey have we talked about lorca~! let me read you some harrison... in fact let me read you the entire theory and practice of rivers, what a tremendous journey... politics fistfights, neat whiskey, girl peace, holland god, lorca cops, now we're singing, can't remember what, rob's guitar sounds deep, i'm in the river looking up and i can see your face~~\\@$%^&*((+=@#``!~11$:"
i'm awake... the train to detroit leaves in a couple of hours. i say goodbye to rob. it feels strange. like a goodbye after a one night stand. what wonders we shared in so short a time. i'm on the wolverine 352 back to detroit eating a liverwurst on rye from the thorndale deli... just to keep a little chicago in me while i go...
nora is at woodward and baltimore~ i'm home
it's ten thirty in the morning and the quickshot is on the line. i'm usually three cups in by now on a monday morning but i'm still in chicago and drinks lasted till four thirty in the window seat. now i'm guzzling juice and talking with rob, matt, and jerry. matt and jerry are carpenters. i don't know if they have built any crosses. we're pilled in jerry's saturn (remember when i had a saturn held together with duct tape and aircraft cable?) and we go just up the way to devan street for some pakistani indian goodness. some, i said? three dollars gets you a plate of chicken bryrani that could feed a family. nora says i'm a spiller... and a good deal of sauce from my chicken korma does end up on my favorite blue shirt with the ripped sleeve from the freight elevator... it's still my favorite shirt. jerry drops us back on argyle street and rob and i explore the wares. so much buddha and bamboo. i purchase a beautiful yellow and blue tea cup for my lady then we enter an amazing vietnamese market. jars with fish eyes, gellitans, pickled everything (even huff), live blue crabs, an enormous selection of fresh fish and unidentifiable produce... this is where fish go when they die. looking for a tea ball for brigid. a clerk has "never seen one before" and that somehow feels odd. oof, it was pretty early for indian food. found the tea ball in another place and we're back in 8e. i'm drifting in and out during an extensive lecture on comedy through the ages... in particular "waiting for godot" quaw quaw quaw i miss sergio... i miss tom... i miss tim (although i did just drink with him for a while) i'll soon be back on zeitgeist's floor with chuck and arrabal. rob has finished his work and we scoot to northeastern university. homework handed in robert unattends his class and we're at wzrd 88.3 fm. brigid is playing some thick music and i'm reading dylan thomas. an hour or so of college radio and it's back to the window seat... this time with our friend jameson. we hadn't hung out with him yet.
it starts out slow: politics this, world peace that, girls are neat, THIS WHISKEY IS GREAT, look at the lake, jollie holland is a goddess, whoa those guys are fighting in the street! inseparable bond keeps bungeeing them back to peacock fists and meredith advice from the corner... have the cops chased them off? damn this is good whiskey have we talked about lorca~! let me read you some harrison... in fact let me read you the entire theory and practice of rivers, what a tremendous journey... politics fistfights, neat whiskey, girl peace, holland god, lorca cops, now we're singing, can't remember what, rob's guitar sounds deep, i'm in the river looking up and i can see your face~~\\@$%^&*((+=@#``!~11$:"
i'm awake... the train to detroit leaves in a couple of hours. i say goodbye to rob. it feels strange. like a goodbye after a one night stand. what wonders we shared in so short a time. i'm on the wolverine 352 back to detroit eating a liverwurst on rye from the thorndale deli... just to keep a little chicago in me while i go...
nora is at woodward and baltimore~ i'm home
Monday, February 20, 2006
SO FAR, CHICAGO
moving forward looking back
hopped a train heading west... i could examine where i had been while clipping on to the next junction. read some words by marquez and listened to molina and brasil... studied the Arrabal and drank some budweiser. the train is quite a magnificent way to land in Chicago for some drink and relaxation. the great hall in chicago's union station felt empty. the famous steps leading up to the street were slouching and melting under the years of traffic. the cold air burned my face a little... i think it was 4 degrees. robert walks very fast and soon we're waiting for a train, besides, i'm a viking and i don't get cold. off at the thorndale exit on the redline we buy some old style and tobacco paper. once inside 8e the warm glow of the sun sinking into the city was gorgeous. we sat in the window seat and spoke to one another... lake michigan just beyond us looking far more quiet than bustling sirron street. it is important to stop and look out the window for a while.
selah
i have a strange fascination with those who are tardy. i often wish i could embrace that quality. the troop transport arrives and roberto, myself, and brigid are on the way to the pizza lounge (no you can't get pizza there) a gathering of transplanted hearts, passers through, and residentials. you see, the dallas cowboy cheerleaders are going to be there and who can resist that. more old style is consumed while reaquainting ourselves with: margaret and quickshot, vitamin T, the hawk, and y rushforth griffith. the cheerleaders reach a fevered pitch but i can't really hear them underneath all the love being shared by my friends... i don't mind so much although they seemed tremendous with fiddle, banjo, twang, and a clever name for a group of folky girls. i'm watching lake michigan slumber just for several moments before i to relent to sleep while missing my girl.
jubilee
morning is bright and warm. some goya coffee that boxes like a middleweight and we're ready to head down to the argyle stop... some of my favorite socks. little saigon is a much nicer area than detroit's chinatown (consisting of a closed chung's taunting me with no more eggrolls and birdtown pet store where satan's cat was rescued into a world of ubu, moyer, and straightjackets) barbequed chickens and larger than life buddhas dance in the windows and the bon bin hue is served by gorgeous vietmamese girls who speak like mint and ginger originate deep inside of them. cardinal klassen has arrived via hassle and robert is woking soup downtown for his gal. the cardinal and i sit in 8e's window seat and renew our souls with love and more old style... it'd really be nice if nojay were here.
schuba gear
see, i planned this trip to see jason molina break my musical heart... i'm sorry he can't be here and i'm sorry for his troubles. i'm at the bar a day early and kelly kessler and whippoorwill are spouting bluegrass with a kind of quiet determination and joy. the beer tastes good, afterall, i'm on vacation. plunging back through the city of wheels and no eyes i think how blessed i am by those around me near and far... just said goodnight to nora and wrote these words... it's time for more old style.
hopped a train heading west... i could examine where i had been while clipping on to the next junction. read some words by marquez and listened to molina and brasil... studied the Arrabal and drank some budweiser. the train is quite a magnificent way to land in Chicago for some drink and relaxation. the great hall in chicago's union station felt empty. the famous steps leading up to the street were slouching and melting under the years of traffic. the cold air burned my face a little... i think it was 4 degrees. robert walks very fast and soon we're waiting for a train, besides, i'm a viking and i don't get cold. off at the thorndale exit on the redline we buy some old style and tobacco paper. once inside 8e the warm glow of the sun sinking into the city was gorgeous. we sat in the window seat and spoke to one another... lake michigan just beyond us looking far more quiet than bustling sirron street. it is important to stop and look out the window for a while.
selah
i have a strange fascination with those who are tardy. i often wish i could embrace that quality. the troop transport arrives and roberto, myself, and brigid are on the way to the pizza lounge (no you can't get pizza there) a gathering of transplanted hearts, passers through, and residentials. you see, the dallas cowboy cheerleaders are going to be there and who can resist that. more old style is consumed while reaquainting ourselves with: margaret and quickshot, vitamin T, the hawk, and y rushforth griffith. the cheerleaders reach a fevered pitch but i can't really hear them underneath all the love being shared by my friends... i don't mind so much although they seemed tremendous with fiddle, banjo, twang, and a clever name for a group of folky girls. i'm watching lake michigan slumber just for several moments before i to relent to sleep while missing my girl.
jubilee
morning is bright and warm. some goya coffee that boxes like a middleweight and we're ready to head down to the argyle stop... some of my favorite socks. little saigon is a much nicer area than detroit's chinatown (consisting of a closed chung's taunting me with no more eggrolls and birdtown pet store where satan's cat was rescued into a world of ubu, moyer, and straightjackets) barbequed chickens and larger than life buddhas dance in the windows and the bon bin hue is served by gorgeous vietmamese girls who speak like mint and ginger originate deep inside of them. cardinal klassen has arrived via hassle and robert is woking soup downtown for his gal. the cardinal and i sit in 8e's window seat and renew our souls with love and more old style... it'd really be nice if nojay were here.
schuba gear
see, i planned this trip to see jason molina break my musical heart... i'm sorry he can't be here and i'm sorry for his troubles. i'm at the bar a day early and kelly kessler and whippoorwill are spouting bluegrass with a kind of quiet determination and joy. the beer tastes good, afterall, i'm on vacation. plunging back through the city of wheels and no eyes i think how blessed i am by those around me near and far... just said goodnight to nora and wrote these words... it's time for more old style.
