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
Comments:
<< Home
woke at five this morning, driking mate, and found your post. the moon was where we left it creeping south over the lake. now the sun is a dusty violin. how long were you here? sometimes it feels like me met over a layover between flights. i'll do the weekend's dishes now. went back to school, which was like returing to another country. the words and music linger here, and the bottle is empty. love you brother, see you in a month in the 313, for Amanda's boner and the Emperor. ciao
l'a-ro
Post a Comment
l'a-ro
<< Home
