almost feels unreal.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
autumn
This city will never let you forget where you are at. There is something about this place that I've never experienced elsewhere. From the helicopters flying overhead, to the motorcades of black suburbans carrying secret service agents and special cargo to the desperation of the homeless people who ask the powerful, suit-clad men for pocket change - the city of Washington
almost feels unreal.
almost feels unreal.
Monday, June 21, 2010
June 21 2010
This past winter, I was walking around in the snow one night by myself, wandering aimlessly. The sky was orange as usual, and the ground had a blanket of slush on it. I had just left a colleague's house after watching "Singing in the Rain" on a projector screen with a few others. I decided to take a detour on the way home, as Palmer Square has a gravity to it that pulls you in when you circle around it. I continued to wander and eventually, I didn't really know where I was going. I think I was walking back home. At this time of the year, the sun was going down around 4 o'clock and there wasn't much to do but sleep and drink all day. Well, there were other things to do, but that's pretty much how I spent my days in the winter...
As I was walking, a strange feeling quickly sunk in and I became even more lost. My breathing picked up quickly, and I could feel the alcohol making me go mad. It was as if I had stepped on a rusty nail, and a hypochondriac frenzy immediately set it. It was the orange night sky, the white blanket across the ground, the dry unforgiving air that was like razors against your knuckles and needles in your lungs - the emptiness of night time in Chicago on a cold February night. It started getting to me, as it always does. Every year. I didn't think that I was going to keep it together before I got home. And as I crossed the street, I found a vine of fake flowers. I picked them up and brushed the snow off. They were very nice flowers, as they seemed to have more life than myself at the time. They somehow quickly neutralized me as I began to wonder where they came from and who they may have once belonged to. I made a little place on my desk for them to always remind me of that night.
A couple of months ago, I was walking around downtown and saw a tour bus full of war veterans. They were on an open air trolley, and none of them were taking pictures. Most of them were nodding off as the vehicle made its way around the landmarks. They were all wearing their hats, with decorations labeling which battalion or battleship they had served on. I imagine there were probably a few who were having a hard time keeping it together.
Before I went to go see one of my favorite bands a couple of weeks ago, I had to withdraw some money so that I could buy my ticket off of someone. There were no banks near by or ATMs. I did pass a Chinese carry out joint that had that distinctive green neon A T M sign in the window and pulled off my bike. As I locked it up and quickly walked to the door, I couldn't help but to notice all of the blood on the ground. There was a lot. The man at the counter looked at me with a blank stare. I asked what had happened, if someone got stabbed. He said, "Yes, yes. You use ATM machine?" And I asked if it would be ok. He said that it was ok, so I walked through the puddle of thick blood to use the machine and walked out. I noticed that I left a couple of footprints behind. The man at the counter didn't mind, he had no problem keeping it together.
I saw a homeless man one time laying in the grass, rolling around. It looked like he may have been dying - not that anyone would have cared. He had white pants on, with a brown stain going all the way down his pant leg. He was clearly having a hard time keeping it together.
I once crossed paths with an opossum on the sidewalk one night. I made an awkward noise and jumped. It didn't even notice me.
And so now, I find myself in yet another basement. It's in a different place clearly, but yet the lingering feeling of persistent purgatory has followed. I've met some nice people, they tell me that I don't look like I'm from here. I've learned to take it as a compliment.
As I was walking, a strange feeling quickly sunk in and I became even more lost. My breathing picked up quickly, and I could feel the alcohol making me go mad. It was as if I had stepped on a rusty nail, and a hypochondriac frenzy immediately set it. It was the orange night sky, the white blanket across the ground, the dry unforgiving air that was like razors against your knuckles and needles in your lungs - the emptiness of night time in Chicago on a cold February night. It started getting to me, as it always does. Every year. I didn't think that I was going to keep it together before I got home. And as I crossed the street, I found a vine of fake flowers. I picked them up and brushed the snow off. They were very nice flowers, as they seemed to have more life than myself at the time. They somehow quickly neutralized me as I began to wonder where they came from and who they may have once belonged to. I made a little place on my desk for them to always remind me of that night.
A couple of months ago, I was walking around downtown and saw a tour bus full of war veterans. They were on an open air trolley, and none of them were taking pictures. Most of them were nodding off as the vehicle made its way around the landmarks. They were all wearing their hats, with decorations labeling which battalion or battleship they had served on. I imagine there were probably a few who were having a hard time keeping it together.
Before I went to go see one of my favorite bands a couple of weeks ago, I had to withdraw some money so that I could buy my ticket off of someone. There were no banks near by or ATMs. I did pass a Chinese carry out joint that had that distinctive green neon A T M sign in the window and pulled off my bike. As I locked it up and quickly walked to the door, I couldn't help but to notice all of the blood on the ground. There was a lot. The man at the counter looked at me with a blank stare. I asked what had happened, if someone got stabbed. He said, "Yes, yes. You use ATM machine?" And I asked if it would be ok. He said that it was ok, so I walked through the puddle of thick blood to use the machine and walked out. I noticed that I left a couple of footprints behind. The man at the counter didn't mind, he had no problem keeping it together.
I saw a homeless man one time laying in the grass, rolling around. It looked like he may have been dying - not that anyone would have cared. He had white pants on, with a brown stain going all the way down his pant leg. He was clearly having a hard time keeping it together.
I once crossed paths with an opossum on the sidewalk one night. I made an awkward noise and jumped. It didn't even notice me.
And so now, I find myself in yet another basement. It's in a different place clearly, but yet the lingering feeling of persistent purgatory has followed. I've met some nice people, they tell me that I don't look like I'm from here. I've learned to take it as a compliment.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Organic cotton
The sheets are green, and clean as they are new.
They've traveled a long distance for me to soil them.
With my dirty feet and sweaty hands.
Eventually I will sleep, and the sheets will have served me well.
New place, new bed, new sheets, same questions.
I was just about to get out of bed...
And the birds outside my window make the usual noises -
"Where have you migrated from?", a lark asks.
Another is busy trying to eat the threads from a mop.
"And what do you do?", asks another bird.
"What kind of yarn do you spin?"
"Well,. I don't actually know how to spin yarn,. But my sheets are organic cotton." I replied.
"I see", said the bird. "Tell me more..."
Meanwhile, his companion is still pecking at the mop.
"Why did you come here? Who do you know?", the same impersonal interview that I had been put through over a hundred times in the first three weeks that I've been here.
"I have made my way into a new land, much like yourself.
Except, I'm not sure how to migrate home. Is that what you call it?" I said.
"The wind is our best friend, it carries us through the day
when we need to go back home. It does most of the work for us", the bird responded.
"But we don't stay at any place for too long, as the wind will carry on
without us if we begin to settle in. It's a pretty easy life really. The wind
provides nearly everything for us, so we can spend the remainder of our
days bathing in the fountains and singing songs. We barely have to do
anything that we don't want."
"Sounds nice..", I responded.
"Yup. Well, nice meeting you. Good luck at the... uhm, gotta go." The one lark said.
They made a loud chirp-cheep-doodle in unison, fluttered their wings and took to the sky.
It was quickly approaching night time...
I started falling asleep, and just as I began to drift away to the dreamworld, I heard a loud hooooOOOTTT HOOT come from my window. I rose my head to look - it was a snowy owl.
"HOOT, It's HOT here!", he said while fluttering his wings.
"Which way is it to Alaska?"
Apparently, a tourist...
"North is that way", I pointed. He turned his head all the way around.
"And then you need to head west towards the Pacific." I said.
He was so white, that the moonshine reflected off of his body and lit up my room.
"Oh thanks! It's so hot here, that I've lost my ability to sense the wintry currents that help me find my way back to the snowy lands of the north", the owl said, shuffling his feet back and forth on my window sill.
"Why are you here if you don't mind me asking", I responded.
"I came down to visit my cousin, the Great Horned Owl in Virginia! He is the wisest of all birds, and I came here to finish learning how to become a wise owl myself. I just got a little lost on my journey back home. "
I told him that I was here for a similar reason. Except, I wasn't sure if I should have gone into as much detail as I did. I always volunteer too much information to strangers.
"It's not a problem, we all get a little lost sometimes. And sometimes we get homeless", I said.
He told me, "I've never once met a pigeon who had a home. They wander the city streets looking for food, almost aimlessly. I often tried to ask pigeons for directions when I was lost in the great cities of the Midwest, but most of them were not able to offer any help. Some just didn't know how to communicate in bird speech, but most said that they were too busy to help and went back to pecking at the ground. They would walk around, and try to find anything that was digestible, not knowing how to hunt for themselves. I'm so happy that I have a nice home in the woods where I never have to rely on the trash of humans for my food."
The owl told me that he was homesick, and tired of eating the small mice that run in and around the garbage cans in the alleys. He couldn't wait to get home and find a fat juicy rat to munch on.
I showed him a map, and we took a few minutes trying to figure out what would be the best way to get home. He told me that he was a really fast flier, and wasn't too concerned about getting lost again if he could take a couple of minutes looking at a map. After scanning the map for a couple of minutes, he thanked me for my help. I told him I was happy to be able to offer my assistance. The owl told me that after visiting his cousin, he realized that he was even more confused about what it meant to be wise. He also told me that if I make it up to Alaska again, I should look him up if I ever need directions home.
After wishing each other luck, the owl parted into the night. When he flapped his wings, there was a loud WOOSH WOOSH WOOOOSH, from beating the air. You could see his white wings float through the air towards the moon. He continued until all that was visible was a white dot against the backdrop of the black sky. Eventually, he disappeared completely and I went back to my bed. I closed my eyes and saw blackness. I thought of the snowy owl flying through the night sky, and wondered how long it would take for him to fly back home. I wished that I could have flown with him across the country. But I couldn't because I had to go to work the next day.
The next day I woke up, semi-rested. I hit the snooze button two times, which is average for me. I turned on my radio and listened to a piano song. Some birds right outside my window were singing along with it. I almost decided to just stay home and not go to work so I could play guitar and sing with them, but when you're a grown up you have put these things aside sometimes.
I rode my bike to the store and locked it up against a big metal post. The manager was late again, so the door was locked. Since I hadn't eaten any breakfast, I decided to get a coffee and something small to eat.
I bought an egg sandwich and a coffee from a street vendor and sat on the sidewalk curb waiting for the boss to show up. I noticed that a pigeon was pecking at the ground around a garbage can. He would hobble a little bit, and peck, hobble, peck, and so forth. He was able to smell my food, and turned around to look at me for a moment and then went back to pecking at the ground. At first, I was a little unsure about offering him some of my sandwich, but I remembered what the owl had said to me the night before. Being homeless is a tough life.
I pinched off a little piece of the bun and held it out. The pigeon quickly looked over, but was hesitant to come over. I waved my hand a couple of times and then flicked the bread on the ground. He slowly hobbled over, picked it up with his beak and quickly walked away. The pigeon finished the morsel and then hobbled back over to me. He didn't say anything, only stared. Then he pecked at the ground.
"Here, have the rest", I offered the last piece of bread to him and dropped it on the ground near me.
"Do you have a home?" I asked.
He quickly ate the food, without saying anything.
"Do you have any friends?"
"Friends?! FRIENDS?" the pigeon responded. "What do you think? I'm a pigeon! Who wants to be my friend? The alley cats have it just as hard, but they won't even be my friend. They'll be nice at first, then try to eat me!"
"Wow, that's not very pleasant", I said. "I know how it feels though,. Well kind of."
"This city is a tough place. It's not easy to be homeless and make it" the pigeon said. "I wish I could leave, but I know I wouldn't make it out in the woods. People yell at me, and tell me to get a job. What am I supposed to do?! There's no more need for carrier pigeons, so we all just roam around the streets looking for food."
I thought for a minute about how I could help. I knew that it would be unpractical to encourage him to seek refuge in the woods after having lived in the city for so long.
"What if you delivered food?" I suggested. I thought about my courier friends back home who had to find new jobs when email put bike messengers out of work.
"What do you mean? How would I do that?" the pigeon asked.
"Well, what if you approached the bakery over there and tell them that you could deliver cookies, pastries and sandwiches to customers who ordered them. And you'd be faster than anyone else because you can fly over the streets. This way, you'd have a job and you'd be able to eat for free."
"Hmm.. Well I haven't delivered anything in a long time, but I think I could get my wings back if I tried. And I wouldn't have to travel very far, or carry anything too heavy. That's a great idea! I'll go talk to the baker right now!"
The pigeon hooted, puffed out his chest, held up his head and walked across the street. He thanked me for the food and the job idea and flew away.
My boss finally showed up and unlocked the door. And as usual, when he's late he asks me to do everything in a tone that implies that I'm the one who messed up. So, I shuffle the bikes around, restock the shelves and put on my work t-shirt. I began to sweep the concrete floor, moving the broom back and forth - swish swoosh swish. I thought about the way the pigeon had been pecking at the ground for food. I raised my head to look out the window and saw a mother walking by, holding the hand of her child. Except, it wasn't a person, it was a hen and chick. A man in a suit passed by, but it was a hawk. Then another man in a suit walked by, he was a vulture. The sidewalks were filled with human sized doves, eagles, peacocks, flamingos, chickens, penguins, geese and seagulls. There was an albatross with headphones on, riding a skateboard down the street with his wings stretched out. And a duck at a newspaper stand, quacking about the latest headlines. And a parrot walking out of the coffee shop. I looked at my boss and saw an ostrich. I looked at the floor and just kept sweeping. Or pecking. Whichever you'd like to call it.
They've traveled a long distance for me to soil them.
With my dirty feet and sweaty hands.
Eventually I will sleep, and the sheets will have served me well.
New place, new bed, new sheets, same questions.
I was just about to get out of bed...
And the birds outside my window make the usual noises -
"Where have you migrated from?", a lark asks.
Another is busy trying to eat the threads from a mop.
"And what do you do?", asks another bird.
"What kind of yarn do you spin?"
"Well,. I don't actually know how to spin yarn,. But my sheets are organic cotton." I replied.
"I see", said the bird. "Tell me more..."
Meanwhile, his companion is still pecking at the mop.
"Why did you come here? Who do you know?", the same impersonal interview that I had been put through over a hundred times in the first three weeks that I've been here.
"I have made my way into a new land, much like yourself.
Except, I'm not sure how to migrate home. Is that what you call it?" I said.
"The wind is our best friend, it carries us through the day
when we need to go back home. It does most of the work for us", the bird responded.
"But we don't stay at any place for too long, as the wind will carry on
without us if we begin to settle in. It's a pretty easy life really. The wind
provides nearly everything for us, so we can spend the remainder of our
days bathing in the fountains and singing songs. We barely have to do
anything that we don't want."
"Sounds nice..", I responded.
"Yup. Well, nice meeting you. Good luck at the... uhm, gotta go." The one lark said.
They made a loud chirp-cheep-doodle in unison, fluttered their wings and took to the sky.
It was quickly approaching night time...
I started falling asleep, and just as I began to drift away to the dreamworld, I heard a loud hooooOOOTTT HOOT come from my window. I rose my head to look - it was a snowy owl.
"HOOT, It's HOT here!", he said while fluttering his wings.
"Which way is it to Alaska?"
Apparently, a tourist...
"North is that way", I pointed. He turned his head all the way around.
"And then you need to head west towards the Pacific." I said.
He was so white, that the moonshine reflected off of his body and lit up my room.
"Oh thanks! It's so hot here, that I've lost my ability to sense the wintry currents that help me find my way back to the snowy lands of the north", the owl said, shuffling his feet back and forth on my window sill.
"Why are you here if you don't mind me asking", I responded.
"I came down to visit my cousin, the Great Horned Owl in Virginia! He is the wisest of all birds, and I came here to finish learning how to become a wise owl myself. I just got a little lost on my journey back home. "
I told him that I was here for a similar reason. Except, I wasn't sure if I should have gone into as much detail as I did. I always volunteer too much information to strangers.
"It's not a problem, we all get a little lost sometimes. And sometimes we get homeless", I said.
He told me, "I've never once met a pigeon who had a home. They wander the city streets looking for food, almost aimlessly. I often tried to ask pigeons for directions when I was lost in the great cities of the Midwest, but most of them were not able to offer any help. Some just didn't know how to communicate in bird speech, but most said that they were too busy to help and went back to pecking at the ground. They would walk around, and try to find anything that was digestible, not knowing how to hunt for themselves. I'm so happy that I have a nice home in the woods where I never have to rely on the trash of humans for my food."
The owl told me that he was homesick, and tired of eating the small mice that run in and around the garbage cans in the alleys. He couldn't wait to get home and find a fat juicy rat to munch on.
I showed him a map, and we took a few minutes trying to figure out what would be the best way to get home. He told me that he was a really fast flier, and wasn't too concerned about getting lost again if he could take a couple of minutes looking at a map. After scanning the map for a couple of minutes, he thanked me for my help. I told him I was happy to be able to offer my assistance. The owl told me that after visiting his cousin, he realized that he was even more confused about what it meant to be wise. He also told me that if I make it up to Alaska again, I should look him up if I ever need directions home.
After wishing each other luck, the owl parted into the night. When he flapped his wings, there was a loud WOOSH WOOSH WOOOOSH, from beating the air. You could see his white wings float through the air towards the moon. He continued until all that was visible was a white dot against the backdrop of the black sky. Eventually, he disappeared completely and I went back to my bed. I closed my eyes and saw blackness. I thought of the snowy owl flying through the night sky, and wondered how long it would take for him to fly back home. I wished that I could have flown with him across the country. But I couldn't because I had to go to work the next day.
The next day I woke up, semi-rested. I hit the snooze button two times, which is average for me. I turned on my radio and listened to a piano song. Some birds right outside my window were singing along with it. I almost decided to just stay home and not go to work so I could play guitar and sing with them, but when you're a grown up you have put these things aside sometimes.
I rode my bike to the store and locked it up against a big metal post. The manager was late again, so the door was locked. Since I hadn't eaten any breakfast, I decided to get a coffee and something small to eat.
I bought an egg sandwich and a coffee from a street vendor and sat on the sidewalk curb waiting for the boss to show up. I noticed that a pigeon was pecking at the ground around a garbage can. He would hobble a little bit, and peck, hobble, peck, and so forth. He was able to smell my food, and turned around to look at me for a moment and then went back to pecking at the ground. At first, I was a little unsure about offering him some of my sandwich, but I remembered what the owl had said to me the night before. Being homeless is a tough life.
I pinched off a little piece of the bun and held it out. The pigeon quickly looked over, but was hesitant to come over. I waved my hand a couple of times and then flicked the bread on the ground. He slowly hobbled over, picked it up with his beak and quickly walked away. The pigeon finished the morsel and then hobbled back over to me. He didn't say anything, only stared. Then he pecked at the ground.
"Here, have the rest", I offered the last piece of bread to him and dropped it on the ground near me.
"Do you have a home?" I asked.
He quickly ate the food, without saying anything.
"Do you have any friends?"
"Friends?! FRIENDS?" the pigeon responded. "What do you think? I'm a pigeon! Who wants to be my friend? The alley cats have it just as hard, but they won't even be my friend. They'll be nice at first, then try to eat me!"
"Wow, that's not very pleasant", I said. "I know how it feels though,. Well kind of."
"This city is a tough place. It's not easy to be homeless and make it" the pigeon said. "I wish I could leave, but I know I wouldn't make it out in the woods. People yell at me, and tell me to get a job. What am I supposed to do?! There's no more need for carrier pigeons, so we all just roam around the streets looking for food."
I thought for a minute about how I could help. I knew that it would be unpractical to encourage him to seek refuge in the woods after having lived in the city for so long.
"What if you delivered food?" I suggested. I thought about my courier friends back home who had to find new jobs when email put bike messengers out of work.
"What do you mean? How would I do that?" the pigeon asked.
"Well, what if you approached the bakery over there and tell them that you could deliver cookies, pastries and sandwiches to customers who ordered them. And you'd be faster than anyone else because you can fly over the streets. This way, you'd have a job and you'd be able to eat for free."
"Hmm.. Well I haven't delivered anything in a long time, but I think I could get my wings back if I tried. And I wouldn't have to travel very far, or carry anything too heavy. That's a great idea! I'll go talk to the baker right now!"
The pigeon hooted, puffed out his chest, held up his head and walked across the street. He thanked me for the food and the job idea and flew away.
My boss finally showed up and unlocked the door. And as usual, when he's late he asks me to do everything in a tone that implies that I'm the one who messed up. So, I shuffle the bikes around, restock the shelves and put on my work t-shirt. I began to sweep the concrete floor, moving the broom back and forth - swish swoosh swish. I thought about the way the pigeon had been pecking at the ground for food. I raised my head to look out the window and saw a mother walking by, holding the hand of her child. Except, it wasn't a person, it was a hen and chick. A man in a suit passed by, but it was a hawk. Then another man in a suit walked by, he was a vulture. The sidewalks were filled with human sized doves, eagles, peacocks, flamingos, chickens, penguins, geese and seagulls. There was an albatross with headphones on, riding a skateboard down the street with his wings stretched out. And a duck at a newspaper stand, quacking about the latest headlines. And a parrot walking out of the coffee shop. I looked at my boss and saw an ostrich. I looked at the floor and just kept sweeping. Or pecking. Whichever you'd like to call it.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
I imagine myself staying on the farm for a few weeks, maybe a few months. I see myself sitting at the desk in my late great grandmother's house plugging away on the writing machine. I would like to have a dog and go pheasant hunting. Pal around in the woods and wait for the right moment. Then I would take a stroll around the farm and look at where I may have belonged if my mother never escaped. Would I fit in now? Well surely not. But it is a part of who I am. So the farm fits in me.
My grandfather will die this year, I can just feel it. Over the last few years he has been winding down his livestock and corn planting. Now, he can no longer work in his fields. And when he does pass, I have a feeling that I will not really understand that he is gone.
I haven't given myself a lot of time to contemplate about my being in DC. Besides the barrage of usual questions from strangers and potential new friends, I haven't told myself how I feel.
Sam is talking in his sleep right now.
I am still thinking about the morning dew on the grass in Reevesville, SC.
__________________
Unnatural reverb is your friend
because you have no home
no longer a place to own and to be owned.
Only the scuff marks that you left behind
on the walls of your old room
from when your bed kissed the wall
while making love.
So relinquish the memories,
or at least the thoughts of a past livelihood
and relinquish the sunlight
that would pour in through the windows
and land on your face.
Say goodbye to the old landlord upstairs
who will eventually die upstairs.
And the room with the radiation heater
that kept me warm in my coldest moments,
when the presence of another body left my bed
never to return.
And that was it.
Every time is the same.
Boxes with names.
A place for everything,
and everything in its place.
The orange chairs, and orange cat
the plants hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen,
with the sunlight coming in from overhead.
Climbing the ladder to the roof,
only to realize that you now had a second backyard.
Shelves with books, records and trophies from childhood
for kicking a soccer ball around nearly twenty years ago.
I wish I could feel that happy forever.
Forever knowing that I would always be that happy.
My grandfather will die this year, I can just feel it. Over the last few years he has been winding down his livestock and corn planting. Now, he can no longer work in his fields. And when he does pass, I have a feeling that I will not really understand that he is gone.
I haven't given myself a lot of time to contemplate about my being in DC. Besides the barrage of usual questions from strangers and potential new friends, I haven't told myself how I feel.
Sam is talking in his sleep right now.
I am still thinking about the morning dew on the grass in Reevesville, SC.
__________________
Unnatural reverb is your friend
because you have no home
no longer a place to own and to be owned.
Only the scuff marks that you left behind
on the walls of your old room
from when your bed kissed the wall
while making love.
So relinquish the memories,
or at least the thoughts of a past livelihood
and relinquish the sunlight
that would pour in through the windows
and land on your face.
Say goodbye to the old landlord upstairs
who will eventually die upstairs.
And the room with the radiation heater
that kept me warm in my coldest moments,
when the presence of another body left my bed
never to return.
And that was it.
Every time is the same.
Boxes with names.
A place for everything,
and everything in its place.
The orange chairs, and orange cat
the plants hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen,
with the sunlight coming in from overhead.
Climbing the ladder to the roof,
only to realize that you now had a second backyard.
Shelves with books, records and trophies from childhood
for kicking a soccer ball around nearly twenty years ago.
I wish I could feel that happy forever.
Forever knowing that I would always be that happy.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
March 20, 2010
Phew. These last few weeks have been really fascinating. Yesterday, the temperature was 65 degrees and sunny. However, it has not stopped sleeting/snowing all day today. After this week, I vow to never cater to the wealthy folks of the Gold Coast ever again. Working in the service industry is becoming a much more common career path for people than ever before. It used to be that you could get a good union job on the assembly line, work for 40 years and then live comfortably off your pension when you retire. I have been helping out a friend and decided to take his job walking dogs for a couple of weeks while he is gone. Walking Gold Coast dogs is definitely not a chore for the timid. The people who live in these high rises hire somebody to do nearly everything for them - house cleaning, laundry, dog walking, wiping their asses and it's really quite pitiful I think. After being bit by one of the dogs, I was supposed to meet with the owner the next day to talk about a way to remedy the dog's aggression. When I showed up at the proper time, she was on a "conference call" and was unable to chat. So I came back an hour later, and she was no where to be found. Well apparently the dog walker's well being is pretty low ranking in the daily happenings. Then I get chewed out by the manager of the dog walking company for not answering my phone when she called. A pretty healthy amount of shit for little reimbursement as far as I see it.
However, everything will be different in a couple of weeks. I have accepted a job in the Washington DC area and will be moving down there very very soon. After applying for dozens of jobs in Chicago, having several bizarre interviews, and a long list of let downs, I realized that it's high time for me to skip out of town and try something new. Then, low and behold, I apply for a job in DC and get it almost immediately. And it's going to be a really fun job - go figure. There's been a lot of unnecessary drama in this house in the last couple of months, and a lot of side-taking and shit talking. So basically, I'm ready to just walk away from the situation. Again, it's too much effort for so little in return. I'm really getting to the point where I am just focusing on myself and what I need to do to be happier. I also vow to never live with art students and pretentious hipsters again. It's not worth it no matter how you look at it.
My two day visit to DC was of epic proportions. So we'll see how the rest of the year pans out.
I've never been so ready to walk away from a place that I've referred to as my home like this. There's not going to be a big party, or a major announcement. I'm just going to pack my bags and take the train to DC. And it's going to be that simple.
Phew. These last few weeks have been really fascinating. Yesterday, the temperature was 65 degrees and sunny. However, it has not stopped sleeting/snowing all day today. After this week, I vow to never cater to the wealthy folks of the Gold Coast ever again. Working in the service industry is becoming a much more common career path for people than ever before. It used to be that you could get a good union job on the assembly line, work for 40 years and then live comfortably off your pension when you retire. I have been helping out a friend and decided to take his job walking dogs for a couple of weeks while he is gone. Walking Gold Coast dogs is definitely not a chore for the timid. The people who live in these high rises hire somebody to do nearly everything for them - house cleaning, laundry, dog walking, wiping their asses and it's really quite pitiful I think. After being bit by one of the dogs, I was supposed to meet with the owner the next day to talk about a way to remedy the dog's aggression. When I showed up at the proper time, she was on a "conference call" and was unable to chat. So I came back an hour later, and she was no where to be found. Well apparently the dog walker's well being is pretty low ranking in the daily happenings. Then I get chewed out by the manager of the dog walking company for not answering my phone when she called. A pretty healthy amount of shit for little reimbursement as far as I see it.
However, everything will be different in a couple of weeks. I have accepted a job in the Washington DC area and will be moving down there very very soon. After applying for dozens of jobs in Chicago, having several bizarre interviews, and a long list of let downs, I realized that it's high time for me to skip out of town and try something new. Then, low and behold, I apply for a job in DC and get it almost immediately. And it's going to be a really fun job - go figure. There's been a lot of unnecessary drama in this house in the last couple of months, and a lot of side-taking and shit talking. So basically, I'm ready to just walk away from the situation. Again, it's too much effort for so little in return. I'm really getting to the point where I am just focusing on myself and what I need to do to be happier. I also vow to never live with art students and pretentious hipsters again. It's not worth it no matter how you look at it.
My two day visit to DC was of epic proportions. So we'll see how the rest of the year pans out.
I've never been so ready to walk away from a place that I've referred to as my home like this. There's not going to be a big party, or a major announcement. I'm just going to pack my bags and take the train to DC. And it's going to be that simple.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
February 28 2010 - Day four of a new anxiety
What would my book of revelations look like? Well, like everyone else, I look towards my dreams for inspiration. But what happens to one's aspirations when their dreams have been invaded by ghosts? Old spirits coming in and out of your world everyday. The phantoms that haunt you during the day persist, and continue through the night. I've had a revelation tonight. I also had one last night. The images in your mind while you're asleep at night are truly the most frightening things you will ever see. Because these visions are real, and really yours.
So what happens when you can't sleep, and you put the TV on? Space out. Oh, a science fiction soap opera. I hear the floor creaking with every step.
step. step. step. no peace. no peace. no peace.
no quiet. no peace. no quiet.
People will certainly treat you like a stranger, and then ask you to not be one. People also love irony, attempts at being clever, petty altercations, and half assed attempts of self education. See, I think the scene in "A Clockwork Orange" where the writer is sitting at his desk working on something and has no idea that his wife is about to be raped and murdered is a figment of the creator's own nightmares. The image is so vivid, that I can still see all of the details of the house. There's no other place that this scene could have come from except the bad dreams of the person who wrote the story.
Guess what? What?
It's quiet now. Oh.
Guess what else? What's that?
People have been consuming alcohol tonight.
Oh. So what?
Don't you know what that means?
No, what... they were exchanging
ideas with one another?
No. It means that they are morphing into something else.
An ugly shape, really. It's as predictable as false wood grain.
It's important that we all have little buddies. Somebody who needs us. We certainly don't need ourselves. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. They, meaning "anybody", care only about this damned system that they've developed and embrace.
But don't embrace the crazies too hard,
they might just bite your ear off.
What would my book of revelations look like? Well, like everyone else, I look towards my dreams for inspiration. But what happens to one's aspirations when their dreams have been invaded by ghosts? Old spirits coming in and out of your world everyday. The phantoms that haunt you during the day persist, and continue through the night. I've had a revelation tonight. I also had one last night. The images in your mind while you're asleep at night are truly the most frightening things you will ever see. Because these visions are real, and really yours.
So what happens when you can't sleep, and you put the TV on? Space out. Oh, a science fiction soap opera. I hear the floor creaking with every step.
step. step. step. no peace. no peace. no peace.
no quiet. no peace. no quiet.
People will certainly treat you like a stranger, and then ask you to not be one. People also love irony, attempts at being clever, petty altercations, and half assed attempts of self education. See, I think the scene in "A Clockwork Orange" where the writer is sitting at his desk working on something and has no idea that his wife is about to be raped and murdered is a figment of the creator's own nightmares. The image is so vivid, that I can still see all of the details of the house. There's no other place that this scene could have come from except the bad dreams of the person who wrote the story.
Guess what? What?
It's quiet now. Oh.
Guess what else? What's that?
People have been consuming alcohol tonight.
Oh. So what?
Don't you know what that means?
No, what... they were exchanging
ideas with one another?
No. It means that they are morphing into something else.
An ugly shape, really. It's as predictable as false wood grain.
It's important that we all have little buddies. Somebody who needs us. We certainly don't need ourselves. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. They, meaning "anybody", care only about this damned system that they've developed and embrace.
But don't embrace the crazies too hard,
they might just bite your ear off.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
dream journal 2/10/09
These last few days have been incredibly strange but also very difficult. It seems that whenever I have something heavy land on me, it's a multitude of things at once. And although I have to immediately decide a course of action, the path seems to always be destroyed as soon as it is created. I woke up this morning from a very surreal dream, one where I felt felt perpetually trapped even after dying.
--------------
I needed a job. So I applied for one that I thought was pretty simple. The most important institution in the region had a gorilla at their office and needed somebody to clean up after him. The gorilla however was very advanced, about as intelligent as a human and therefore as violent as a human. He could feed himself and entertain himself, but he just needed someone to clean up after him. He had had a caretaker for a number of years but the person who had cleaned up after this gorilla for years finally passed on. I was brought in as the replacement. My duties were very simple: clean up the gorilla's shit, and keep him happy.
When I started, I felt like it was just a job that I could do in the meanwhile until I found something else more fulfilling. I totally underestimated the importance of this creature. He was huge, probably 10 feet tall when standing and very intimidating. The area that the gorilla was kept was a large area within the the deepest corridors of the building. The ministers and officers were several stories above but could watch the gorilla at any time. I was very careful when moving around him and cleaning up after him. I was also very careful not to look him in the eye or to upset him. The place that hired me for this job was a combination of the area's largest corporation and also the government in one institution. I never found out if the gorilla was some kind of experiment, or a mascot or what. He was just there.
He didn't take very kindly to me. I'm not sure exactly what it was I did to make him dislike me. Maybe, I was just too timid. But I was also afraid to be too casual. Sometimes the gorilla would have guests, and I'd have to pour drinks and serve his company too.
The gorilla started pushing me around a bit and physically harming me. The first few instances were horrifying and made me fear for my life, so I became even more passive and robotic - only moving when I had to. I had my shovel in one hand and bucket in the other ready to go always.
I tried to talk to one of the ministers of the company/government about what was happening and how I didn't like the work at all. She had said that the gorilla was very gentle with his last caretaker and that the happiness of the animal was far more important than my livelihood.
Knowing that I had no other recourse or protection from the higher "management", I realized that there wasn't a whole lot I could do. They wouldn't let me just quit and leave. They said that I had to change the way I acted around the gorilla to make him happy. However, instead of becoming more obedient to his attacks, I began to resent him and started dissenting against my job and the organization as a whole. The gorilla could immediately see a change in my disposition towards him so he became even more aggressive towards me. This time, instead of taking the shellacking and then going about my work, I began to curse the creature and told him how I hated being trapped with him. He grabbed me by my arm and shook me extremely hard. It was so hard that I felt something within me change. It's like I fell asleep for a split second and then continued back to my state of hysterical yowling. I began screaming for help but no one seemed to notice. After a period (which seemed like hours), someone came in to check on the creature and I ran up to them begging for help. Although I was screaming and shouting point blank to this individual, the person completely ignored me! But it wasn't that the person acknowledged me and looked away, no, it was as if I wasn't even there! I had no presence. And then I realized that something was very wrong. I looked at the gorilla and asked him if I was dead. His swift blow to my neck and back had killed me so quickly, that I had no idea that I had already morphed into a ghostly state. Because my work was to clean up after this creature, I was not able to pass on into the afterlife. I became a phantom, stuck in this miserable cage with this animal for all eternity! And although no one else could see me, the gorilla certainly could. He could no longer physically hurt me, but he controlled me completely at this point. I had no free will, and my after-life's duty became the servitude of this creature.
--------------
Clearly, when I woke up I was pretty hazy from such a bizarre dream. Of course, it's always a tough thing to "interpret" such dreams, but I know that they often do carry value. This is the first time that I had actually died in a dream and continued,. which is pretty creepy/strange/horrifying. I think it may have a lot to do with my fears of being tied down to a job working for something that I hate. Although I have tried really hard these last few months to find work within the "activist" community, I am beginning to lose faith in the availability of "feel good" work and starting to accept a more stark future. Having encountered one failure after another x 100, while working virtually for little to no pay for the last six months, it may be time to retreat for now.
It's weird being in a transition limbo for so long. It's really not recommended.
--------------
I needed a job. So I applied for one that I thought was pretty simple. The most important institution in the region had a gorilla at their office and needed somebody to clean up after him. The gorilla however was very advanced, about as intelligent as a human and therefore as violent as a human. He could feed himself and entertain himself, but he just needed someone to clean up after him. He had had a caretaker for a number of years but the person who had cleaned up after this gorilla for years finally passed on. I was brought in as the replacement. My duties were very simple: clean up the gorilla's shit, and keep him happy.
When I started, I felt like it was just a job that I could do in the meanwhile until I found something else more fulfilling. I totally underestimated the importance of this creature. He was huge, probably 10 feet tall when standing and very intimidating. The area that the gorilla was kept was a large area within the the deepest corridors of the building. The ministers and officers were several stories above but could watch the gorilla at any time. I was very careful when moving around him and cleaning up after him. I was also very careful not to look him in the eye or to upset him. The place that hired me for this job was a combination of the area's largest corporation and also the government in one institution. I never found out if the gorilla was some kind of experiment, or a mascot or what. He was just there.
He didn't take very kindly to me. I'm not sure exactly what it was I did to make him dislike me. Maybe, I was just too timid. But I was also afraid to be too casual. Sometimes the gorilla would have guests, and I'd have to pour drinks and serve his company too.
The gorilla started pushing me around a bit and physically harming me. The first few instances were horrifying and made me fear for my life, so I became even more passive and robotic - only moving when I had to. I had my shovel in one hand and bucket in the other ready to go always.
I tried to talk to one of the ministers of the company/government about what was happening and how I didn't like the work at all. She had said that the gorilla was very gentle with his last caretaker and that the happiness of the animal was far more important than my livelihood.
Knowing that I had no other recourse or protection from the higher "management", I realized that there wasn't a whole lot I could do. They wouldn't let me just quit and leave. They said that I had to change the way I acted around the gorilla to make him happy. However, instead of becoming more obedient to his attacks, I began to resent him and started dissenting against my job and the organization as a whole. The gorilla could immediately see a change in my disposition towards him so he became even more aggressive towards me. This time, instead of taking the shellacking and then going about my work, I began to curse the creature and told him how I hated being trapped with him. He grabbed me by my arm and shook me extremely hard. It was so hard that I felt something within me change. It's like I fell asleep for a split second and then continued back to my state of hysterical yowling. I began screaming for help but no one seemed to notice. After a period (which seemed like hours), someone came in to check on the creature and I ran up to them begging for help. Although I was screaming and shouting point blank to this individual, the person completely ignored me! But it wasn't that the person acknowledged me and looked away, no, it was as if I wasn't even there! I had no presence. And then I realized that something was very wrong. I looked at the gorilla and asked him if I was dead. His swift blow to my neck and back had killed me so quickly, that I had no idea that I had already morphed into a ghostly state. Because my work was to clean up after this creature, I was not able to pass on into the afterlife. I became a phantom, stuck in this miserable cage with this animal for all eternity! And although no one else could see me, the gorilla certainly could. He could no longer physically hurt me, but he controlled me completely at this point. I had no free will, and my after-life's duty became the servitude of this creature.
--------------
Clearly, when I woke up I was pretty hazy from such a bizarre dream. Of course, it's always a tough thing to "interpret" such dreams, but I know that they often do carry value. This is the first time that I had actually died in a dream and continued,. which is pretty creepy/strange/horrifying. I think it may have a lot to do with my fears of being tied down to a job working for something that I hate. Although I have tried really hard these last few months to find work within the "activist" community, I am beginning to lose faith in the availability of "feel good" work and starting to accept a more stark future. Having encountered one failure after another x 100, while working virtually for little to no pay for the last six months, it may be time to retreat for now.
It's weird being in a transition limbo for so long. It's really not recommended.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR
Things can get pretty complicated living in the city. That is why it is time to start planning a journey of epic proportions - on an epically simple machine!
I probably slept 15 of the 24 hours I was alive yesterday. But I woke up this morning and found that I did indeed write something last night on the ole' Schreibmaschine. And it goes like this:
(If I can ever get my epically plagued computer "fixed" then I can finally start scanning things in. But in the meanwhile, I've got to work with what I've got.)
L_ve Epic
because Peter Paul and Mary said so.
Eero Saarinen was the most important architect in my life
because I'm from the mid west.
Remember when we were long distance?
for a few days?
for a few years?
reunion
of epic proportions.
start writing letters to your friends.
(If I can ever get my epically plagued computer "fixed" then I can finally start scanning things in. But in the meanwhile, I've got to work with what I've got.)
L_ve Epic
because Peter Paul and Mary said so.
Eero Saarinen was the most important architect in my life
because I'm from the mid west.
Remember when we were long distance?
for a few days?
for a few years?
reunion
of epic proportions.
start writing letters to your friends.
and tell them
how much you miss them.
cast iron get-away,
a ship that goes to Jamaica
and returns with soldiers hardened from war.
go home kid.
cast iron get-away,
a ship that goes to Jamaica
and returns with soldiers hardened from war.
go home kid.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Rebirth of the Great American Airship
Hello,
My name is Nairda Ecartal and I'm running to be your next representative.
You're busy? I promise I won't take long...
Oh yeah? I'm sorry to hear. I realize that times are hard for single mothers with children.
I understand. I hope the economy improves as well.
Yes, I agree. I also think that children should have safe and open streets to play in. I certainly did.
My background? No. I'm not an attorney.
Ah, ok. No, no. I was once an Airborne Ranger during Vietnam. Yeah, except I never fired my gun. I guess you could say that I was a conscientious objector who just accepted the fate of civic "duty". I entered the war at a time where dissent was climaxing back home.
No, it wasn't that I was looking to avoid killing anyone. The irony is that I was a really good shot. I was actually part of a sniper squad. We'd land in our target zone - always somewhere in the bushes - and lie in the prone position for days, sometimes even a week,. and sometimes longer. I'd be in that same position for so long that I would lose sense of being. You wouldn't believe how scary the jungle is at night, but you have to lay there in silence for days until the moment approaches. Either your target advances to a point where you can complete the task or they don't. And when your target never arrives, it's then time to retreat. I can't even tell you about half of the creepy crawlies I had all over my body when I was able to finally get up. Needless to say, I wasn't reviewed as a potential recipient of a noble medal of any sort...
Sorry, wasn't planning on going into so much detail about those things...
I understand. A lot of people have friends and family in the current conflict.
Oh really? Your nephew? What's his name?
That's a nice name. You know, they say there's a lot in a name. I wish him luck.
He won a medal? That's great! You don't say - so he's also a good shot?
A video game huh? Interesting. Seems to be a common theme these days.
Medal of Honor? Well maybe one day! We'll have to wait and see.
Not quite, not in this conflict. Actually, more soldiers were awarded the Medal of Honor following the Wounded Knee incident than in any other time in American history.
No, it wasn't during World War II believe it or not. The battle happened long before that - during the era of American expansion, similar to what is happening today in a way...
Well, it was a battle in the 1800s between the settlers and the Lakota tribe. The soldiers were awarded the medal for shooting 150 indians at nearly point blank range and then burying the bodies in a mass grave.
Can you imagine? Yeah, that kind of thing does sound familiar...
It is quite fascinating... American's intrigue of manifest destiny.
Me? What I do for a living?
I'm an investor in an idea that most people think will fail.
One time I was in Germany, and I met a man who owned a small company that took people in flights across the country in zeppelins - airships. They used to be quite popular in the United States too. It used to be the most luxurious and peaceful way to travel throughout a large city.
Yes, it is a hard sell to most,. considering that most people fear the risk of terrorism.
But could you imagine being above the streets and the noise, and just having some time with someone you love alone in the sky? Or maybe, you'd prefer to just take pictures. Think about it - flying from Chicago to New York in a machine where you weren't strapped down to your seat. You could have a conversation while sipping a glass of wine without having to talk over the engine noise. And then when you're done you could have lunch or dinner in the Empire State Building after you've docked at the top of the tower.
Well, actually it wouldn't just be for rich people. That's the idea. It'd be available at a price that most could afford. You've ever heard the old adage, "A picture is worth 1,000 words"?
Yes? Well how much is the most beautiful landscape you've ever seen worth to you?
The economy concerns me also. Well there is a lot to be said. Let me ask you this,. When was the last time that you made a living wage?
Never?
I did go to college, yes. As a GI, the government rewards you for serving in the military. This is why so many children from marginalized communities end up joining the forces. Except now, even these kids have to compete with "security companies" who send highly paid soldiers overseas.
Agreed. Things certainly are a lot different.
My parents? Well my mother worked at the Savannah River Site her whole life. Starting in the 50s, it became one of only a couple of places in the country where uranium was enriched for nuclear weapons.
However, I staunchly oppose nuclear proliferation.
It does seem contradictory huh? It's kind of like being a pacifist while carrying a sniper rifle. I feel that we've grown up and realized that "duck and cover" won't save us from the great flash of light that will happen over head in the sky.
Well, the Cold War is not really over actually. We're in the middle of a war that nobody wants to talk about.
Yes, those conflicts are the wars that take center stage in American life. However, we are yet again facing another civil war. We live in a nation that is hopelessly divided, and sometimes I wonder if we will ever make it out alive.
No, it's actually not about north and south, nor Republicans and Democrats for that matter.
We're in the final throws for our livelihood. People don't realize how desperate the situation for our youth is.
In a world that is so systemically globalized and mechanized around currency, there is no more room for creativity.
Well, we have more kids in art school than we have kids majoring in chemistry. But what are the art students taught? That television commercials are a form of art? And even these kids who do study sciences get picked up straight out of college by pharmaceutical companies and spend the rest of their lives developing drugs that keep diseases incurable. There may have been a time where the young scientist wanted to see a moon landing of their own. But people said that it was costing the taxpayers too much money... So instead, the scientist gets married and buys a house. And instead of shooting for the moon, his student loans kick in and he decides that there is no more room left for dreams and then he buys in. He becomes wealthy beyond imagination.
Yeah you're right. It is a game. People like to play tricks on one another. And God likes to play tricks on us - it's called deja vu. And if you pay attention close enough, you'll see history repeating itself as we speak.
Did you know that there are more millionaires per capita in Norway than there are anywhere else in the world?
It is surprising. However, Norway is also a place where there are no rich nor poor people.
Actually, it does make a lot of sense. But, it's unfair to call it "communism" with that kind of connotation.
Socialism? How about the New Deal?
How many men do you think it took to build the Hoover Dam?
Do you think the workers ever went on strike?
You know, they used to make really good quality things in this country.
I've seen so many people wearing clothes - shirts and hats with the dollar sign everywhere. And this is fashionable. Why has the dollar bill become the most important symbol in society?
In many ways, I feel that the dollar sign has replaced the swastika. It has become the new great symbol of voluntary oppression.
How many people will keep dying for capital gain? And how many of those with wealth will die for a cause?
People don't die for ideology anymore. This is where they have everyone fooled.
No, I realize that we're all looking for a good place to call home.
No, I don't have any children of my own.
Well, I guess I can't say that I do know what it's like...
But I do know what it's like to die and to be brought back to life. When I fall out of the airplane without a parachute on, I will realize that it is too late to call on God. Sometimes, I wonder where this civilization will go. They say that the universe is expanding. But one day it will all collapse on itself. This will be the ultimate day of reckoning. Even St. Peter himself will be up for review.
Familiar with the phrase "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust"?
Monday, January 4, 2010
January 4th, 2010
The radio DJ is talking about his future funeral. It's actually not that late right now but it certainly feels late considering that the sun retreats at about 4:25 these days.
I bought a book from the thrift store the other week called HERO TALES FROM AMERICAN LIFE by Francis Trevelyan Miller. It's actually really quite old but the binding is still in decent shape. The front cover intrigued me so I opened it up to a random page. I opened the book up to a story called, "The Tale of the College Student On The Great Lakes" and it starts off like this...
I bought a book from the thrift store the other week called HERO TALES FROM AMERICAN LIFE by Francis Trevelyan Miller. It's actually really quite old but the binding is still in decent shape. The front cover intrigued me so I opened it up to a random page. I opened the book up to a story called, "The Tale of the College Student On The Great Lakes" and it starts off like this...
"This is the tale of a college student
who, when he heard of distress in a storm on the Lakes,
left his studies and hurried to the shore, where he swam to
the rescue of seventeen lives and regretted that he could not save
more; a tale of unconscious heroism that crippled its hero for life."
who, when he heard of distress in a storm on the Lakes,
left his studies and hurried to the shore, where he swam to
the rescue of seventeen lives and regretted that he could not save
more; a tale of unconscious heroism that crippled its hero for life."
The book is full of short stories about common folk saving the day. And although the book and its stories may be a bit hokey for most people who prefer to read very calculated and ornate stories about crime or cowboys, for some reason I felt compelled to continue. Most of the stories are titled, "The farmer who saved such and such" or, "The young Priest who changed the nation",. you know, things of that sort. When you finish the story, be it about an explorer, or a homeless girl or a school master, it is revealed that the story is indeed about a famous American. For instance, the story about the young farm boy turns out to be the abridged life story of General Robert E Lee.
Today I spent over $50 at the thrift store. It's becoming more and more difficult to call these stores "thrifty". They are now indeed looking to make a profit just like every other part of American life and industry that was once an institution of service and public welfare.
Most everything I buy at thrift stores anymore are some sort of artifact that reminds me of a place that used to exist - a world in which we still live, but no longer exists. I bought a reel to reel tape recorder, a recorder (the instrument, you know like the kind you had to play in 2nd grade), a 35mm camera - Argus C3 (also known as the Argus "Brick" camera), a couple of old comics from the 70s and then a standard issue Army infantry winter coat.
I'm sitting in my basement at my desk wearing this jacket. I probably look like I've completely lost my mind. Well, it's going to be in the 10s and 20s all week. Winter has finally arrived.
I was reading an article today about going to grad school for the humanities. It certainly reaffirmed a lot of fears I had about the current situation of higher education. Then I thought about the rent check I just wrote to my landlord. $500 - poof. Just like that. Do you know how hard it is to come across $500 these days? Think about how hard it is to get a job that pays a living wage. They're really not that easy to come across these days. Hell, if we had factories left in Chicago I would love to go work at one. Nope, no industry left so it's back to retail after my short stint in the political realm. There's an old adage that everyone has heard before, and it's that "good things come to those who wait". So then I ask myself, what am I waiting for?
Today I spent over $50 at the thrift store. It's becoming more and more difficult to call these stores "thrifty". They are now indeed looking to make a profit just like every other part of American life and industry that was once an institution of service and public welfare.
Most everything I buy at thrift stores anymore are some sort of artifact that reminds me of a place that used to exist - a world in which we still live, but no longer exists. I bought a reel to reel tape recorder, a recorder (the instrument, you know like the kind you had to play in 2nd grade), a 35mm camera - Argus C3 (also known as the Argus "Brick" camera), a couple of old comics from the 70s and then a standard issue Army infantry winter coat.
I'm sitting in my basement at my desk wearing this jacket. I probably look like I've completely lost my mind. Well, it's going to be in the 10s and 20s all week. Winter has finally arrived.
I was reading an article today about going to grad school for the humanities. It certainly reaffirmed a lot of fears I had about the current situation of higher education. Then I thought about the rent check I just wrote to my landlord. $500 - poof. Just like that. Do you know how hard it is to come across $500 these days? Think about how hard it is to get a job that pays a living wage. They're really not that easy to come across these days. Hell, if we had factories left in Chicago I would love to go work at one. Nope, no industry left so it's back to retail after my short stint in the political realm. There's an old adage that everyone has heard before, and it's that "good things come to those who wait". So then I ask myself, what am I waiting for?
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