for sore eyes
what a sight, what a sight, quite the sight indeed. though not one of visual perfection, to be sure. rather this sight vies for my mind's eye. a memory, a wish and another waking day in the land of nod.
the sight, of course, is that of activity. having a course of action and of something to do. this week, ladies and gentlemen, i was busy.
actually, really, totally, really really wholeheartedly mostly kinda sorta busy. i had things to do. i did them. and such things took time. time time time and double half-caff sigh. and it was good.
a recantation of one particular day is as follows. it first begins with the train trip downtown; the director and i were to meet at 11:00, and so I arrived at 10:40. he had missed his train, however, so I had another hour and a half or so to kill before he arrived.
such a wait, of course, warrants coffee. a heavy cream breve with a shot of sugar-free caramel, to be specific. the drink was such a heavy heavy heavy welcome treat for the 15 minutes i was its drinker. why only 15 minutes, you ask? because i'm a clumsy fool, quick to wipe a drop of coffee off the lid, only to have the entire drink blow right out of said hands and smash onto the concrete sidewalk and form a tan little smiley face on the ground.
mockery is the best way to recognize fate, i've always said. so i was all smiles on my way north, towards the apple store to check email and get directions to a club for later that night and dally as i am wont to do. and so i did all those things. and headed back. on the way were a few runins with convenient stores, trying to find a particular energy drink that is, well, particular. a store was found but then comes the second problem: no ice.
that's right, no ice. a problem quickly rectified, though. quick stop at the jamba, a smile and a request and i'm on my way out the door with a styrofoam cup full of ice and a quarter of an hour left or so to kill. so i go outside, pour my drink, and hunker down on a concrete-fency thing around a tree outside the shop. i make a few calls, i ponder a few existential crises, and turn at the behest of a man handing out posty-cards in exchange for donations.
i had no cash, though i did listen to his spiel. i was only half listening, which is too bad given my normal interest in donating to soon-to-be torn down homeless shelters or whatever it was. but rather i was noticing his broken teeth, the little dark section in the middle of the tooth that is exposed through the crack. like the rings of a tree, only seen after exposing the cross section. makes you think about the dark and rotting core interior to things. and it makes you realize that even all the smarm and decay is beautiful, in its way.
but his spiel ended, i told the man i had no cash. and took a sip. he said thank you, sees the drink, and then asks.
"hey man, can i have a sip of that drink?"
um, no. i'm saving it for a friend. a very thirsty friend. so off the man went.
a few minutes go, i get fidgety and get a call from the director, telling me he is heading towards adams and michigan. i'm on michigan, you see, michigan and madison. so i start to head south. i get to michigan and adams, staring at the art institute just long enough to not want to anymore. i spot a store on the south side of adams, a poster place, and figure 'hey, i have no space but i could go for eyeballing a few posters for awhile.' so off i go into the store. not entirely what i expected, though. more of a kind of place that sells bookends for art-history majors, bright little kitchy items just odd enough to warrant a second look, but nothing that you would find horribly inventive or unique. what kept my attention for a while was an array of little mechanical doohickys. they looked like little metal boxes with a crank arm sticking out the right hand side. after i scooted up a bit and looked at the labels beneath each doohicky, i realized they were the names of songs.
they were manual player pianos. little metal tubes with indentations, like braille rolled into a cylinder. this tube is turned, precisely twanging little metal arms on a little metal comb, precisely twanging notes in succession with the turning of the bumps on the tube. the twanging makes notes, the notes make a song, and the particular song is labeled beneath the corresponding machine.
i, of course, was immediately enchanted. the top picks? "It's a Wonderful World" and "Hey Jude." had i the money...well then have i would the trinkets. oh how i enjoy the trinkets.
a few minutes of this and the phone rings, the director outside. some hand waving and a couple of directions and he finds me inside the shop. we browse, and leave.
first stop, roosevelt university. a random administrative building, one i've never been in. i schoomze the people behind the desks, giving them 12 copies of the casting call flyers. our job done here, we leave, waiting a few seconds for the director to steal some cheese off a catering table for who-knows-what event that must have required luncheon items. i bummed a slice off him, smiled, and off we went.
next stop, columbia college. trek and trek and trek and trek and trek. up stairs, down stairs, posting and posting and posting. get approval for the flyer, post the flyer, approval for the next, post the next. we realized after a while that it would be best to highlight certain sections, to make sure those reading knew how often we were auditioning. i highlighted, handed, posted, and we were on our way.
next stop, a thai place for lunch. good food, a bulletin board. we ate, we posted a flyer, and were on our way. the director, having to go to work, was now on his way. we parted at harold washington library. i checked my mail in the library, settled what was to be settled online, and was on my way.
that way being towards depaul university. having no one in the film entourage that went to depaul, i was on my own in terms of figuring out how and where to post the flyers. not only that, i've never even been to the campus in any way/shape/form, so that only serves to make things all the more interesting. but nevertheless i am not one to be discouraged, and so i continued onward. this required taking the train, brown line to fullerton, go west, south on ken-something and then hit the theater building where I was hoping to post.
onto the brown line. i had my book, you see, and however many minutes of travel ahead of me. the only distraction came after five minutes. a brown line distraction, a brown haired distraction. a woman of note, if only for the furtive glances that prove nothing but a piquant vision. because, you see, it was the little things that are so visually interesting. how she had that slightly crooked smile. how she stirred memories, the kind of less-than-perfect beauty that could just be perfect sometimes. the kind that you've seen before and felt was perfect, the kind that is recognized from experience. from very good experience.
and so i stopped at fullerton. depaul was roamed, my postings spotting the campus at random and with force. library rules were broken, the student activities bulletin boards vandalised and marked accordingly. one lone notice given to the theatre building, to be posted by them according to the rules that, for the other locales, were so steadily ignored. i posted in copy rooms, i posted in grocery stores. i posted in elevators and i posted in corners seemingly hidden to the world. i left the campus with three flyers left in my bag.
and left i did, back to the mag mile and the apple store, ready to check my email again. the mail was checked, some sent, some recieved, and directions confirmed for the club in however many hours. and then i trotted my way over to boarders, across from water tower (the place). the perfect place to read, the leather couch and coffee in arm's reach. i sat and read, napped and read, drank and read and slept. at some point a girl sat in the lounger next to me, noticeable because i'm fairly sure she went to my school. but that was about it, and i didn't care to confirm, so back i went to reading and napping and sipping and wondering.
until the director called from work. he had thought up a change, of splitting two scenes and intercutting them. interesting and deserving of reflection. but what came of this conversation was my sudden realization:
we'd forgotten about UIC. an entire school, probably in session, that had yet to be pasted with postings. another problem, of course, to quickly be rectified. so goodbye borders, and off i head for the red line. first, though, was a trip downstairs to wash my hands. i washed quickly and headed towards the escalator, when i stopped for a mother and her daughter. but it was only a slight pause because the mom pulled the daughter away
"watch out, now there's a man on a mission," she said about me. the two pulled away and i went up the escalator, grinning at the idea. but i got to a corner, michigan and chicago, waiting for the walking light to turn and let me cross. i reached into my pocket and felt a wad of paper. a few dollar bills, yes...but far more receipts. it gave me pause, but only a for a minute. i was a man on a mission, after all, and so i headed for the red line, to go south to the blue line, to go west to racine.
thing was i kept going south, totally forgetting the red line stop at chicago. i swore at myself (well more like cussed) and turned around. i went west a block, given that i had to, and walked a little more slowly as i entered a crowd. they were standing around as a man lectured. preached, pastor-ed, what have you. he had an easel and a friendly voice, both going over the minute ills plauging society at the most basic level. he talked about his studies, how in his travels he had asked many, many groups before to list all ten commandments, and that no one ever can. how can you follow rules that you can't even recall?
"right now, even, right this second. can any of you list all ten commandments? anybody here, i'll give up ten dollars if you can name them all for me."
"Thou shalt not worship false idols," i called out, stopping and counting them off.
"Thou shalt not make a graven image."
"Thou shalt not take the lord's name in vain."
"Thou shalt not break the sabbath."
"Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother."
"Thou shalt not kill."
"Thou shalt not commit adultery."
"Thou shalt not steal."
"Thou shalt not bear false witness."
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods."
"Well look at this, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "i have ten dollars for you right here, son."
"...keep it," i replied. "and give it to somebody who lives by the words of God, rather than recites them."
and i kept on walking, towards the red line. as I waited to cross another walk, a handsom cab trotted by. and i thought about the life that 'cabby' lead, the look on his face as he pulled on the reins and turned the corner. he couldn't have been more than, say, 21. so unenthused, so wanting more. but persevering and happy in his own way, the ambition bubbling beneath the surface. either that or he was constipated...one can't really be sure of these things.
red line, blue line, what a line what a line. i made it to UIC around 8pm; everything was closed, if they were open to begin with. but it was an exploratory adventure, a blind rendevous. so i arrived at racine, blue line stop to the stars. thing is, around that stretch of the line, i wasn't sure which walkway was the road to take; the one at the head of the train or at the tail. i opted for the head of the train.
i, invariably of course, was every shade of wrong. "loomis" was the name of the road. the wrong road. looming loomis, i said to myself, full of sound and fury. so i took loomis south to hit the proper road (whose name i am at a loss to recall). i took loomis the way i take any other street in chicago at such hours.
i took it singing. "Build Me Up" has been the choice for the past few weeks, starting in that blogging however many days ago below. so i belted it to the sky and bricks, the mortar and the concrete listened intently, humming along and swaying to the subtle beat. i put a bit of a gravel-rock voice to it this time, riggin up the notes and the time to whatever suited me that second. i belted it out, before and after some guy asked me where the greyhound station was. i sung it before and after cars waited for green lights, before and after i found the UIC theater and finished my reconnaisance. i kept at it, all the way back to the blue line 45 minutes later.
i got off the blue line at jackson, ready to transfer to red and go north as planned.
oh no, though.
oh no.
was i supposed to take the red line? did i goof up? did i twist my schedule by however many minutes with some simple mistake? was i supposed to take the red line? blue line red line blue red purple purple red blue, bruise, blood, blue red blue?
north and clybourn. north and clybourn. i raced up the steps, to check the redline stops. to check if one of them was, indeed.
north and clybourn. whew. redline it was. and the train was packed. just packed. i sat down and watched as people came and came and came, a couple went, and more came. i sat there and listened to the same message being read over by the conductor.
"use all available doors," he would say. "ladies and gentlemen, use all available doors." like a word from above, telling me about all the opportunities that waited to be grabbed, all around me.
i sat as a couple came on and stood in front of me. an indian couple, close but not smashed together (there was still a little bit of room at this point). i sat as she inched a little closer, her hand grazing his leg. i sat and saw her hand, resting on his pant, resting on his leg, the silver ring on her finger. the silver band on her ring finger, on her hand, on the side of his leg. i sat and watched that tiny bit of effort, such a little effort. she moved her hand half an inch, a tiny bit of effort. a gesture, a twitch for affection. she moved her finger and there was contact.
i sat and watched the little ringed, bandaged finger reach out for touch. what a thing, to appreciate such small appraisals. what a thing, to want or need or do such subtle things that way, the way i do. what a thing, i think.
use all available doors.
i sat through all the stops, thinking about opportunity and chances, risks and willingness to fail. i stopped at washington, at grand. use all available doors. this is chicago. doors open on the left at chicago.
this is chicago. use all available doors.
i got to north and clybourn on time. west to fremont, south to weed street. half a block over to the club. open bar, free cover, and a night with friends and birthdays. open bar was available for cherry and raspberry vodka. raspberry and tonic was the drink of choice for yours truly until 10pm. 7 or 8 drinks, a little mingling amongst strangers, and a few thoughts bringing me back to the last club experience in awhile. no 80s music here, though, amongst other missing things. another raspberry vodka, miss, and no need for the flirting; i haven't got the cash.
friends arrived, friends left. dancing dancing smirking and dancing. requests were made to the dj, requests were late to be fullfilled. dancing and more dancing, all while strapped to the bag at my side, never having had the time nor the desire to do away with it. rhythmn and moves and sweat and sound and beat. move, rhythm, beat beat bump and move. dance and dance. sultry swerve and turn. move and dance and waves.
this is chicago. use all available doors.
the night ends at 4am, though only by normal standards. back to the redline, down to wrigleyville, off to pickmeup and a latte, to read and wait out the hours for metra in the morn. i read and read and drank and read, the 24 hour coffee shop housing me with warmth and patience. with songs and memories and concepts. with lyrics, liquid words.
"Here I go again,
on my own.
goin' down the only road,
i've ever kno-own.
like a drifter
i was born
to walk alone.
and i've made up my mind
i ain't wasting no more time."
6am rolls around, however many hundreds of pages have been parsed. back to the redline, up a stop, exit the redline, wait for the bus, take the bus, head to union station. the station shows up 'round 7am, looming like loomis without the mistake. my train is scheduled for 8:30am; with more clout i might have been able to call in a few favors, pulled some strings. gotten it there early to fit my greedy little needs. but no clout here, only a festive imagination and delusions of grandeur. so i was to wait for the train downstairs. mcdonald's was my friend, for a time. then dunkin donuts. then my book, then the oh-so-comfy seats of my metra train, boarding half an hour before leaving.
and so i read, for a time. and reading leads to sleep, and sleeping leads to dreams, and dreams lead to waking. i woke, left the train, and got into the car that was my ride. i got into the car that was my ride and was ridden home, to a bed and the unfettered hours of a long day off, to the thoughts that would have nothing to do with reality and to the bliss-y little joys of this boy who appreciates such small appraisals. because i'd been reminded of why i do the things i do. this is chicago. use all available doors.
i slept the day away, all day. i woke up briefly, introduced my family to the five people you meet in heaven and all its cinematic simplicity. and then? back to sleep.
i slept this weekend, to be sure. my rented movies were late, my writing half done at best. i slept and wrestled with sheets. i showered and basked in the steam that was barely hotter than the day outside. i smelled the shower steam and with it the taste of last winter. i ate an omlette fit for hungry kings, and lazed away the day. lazed like the days of yore, also having been wasted just the same. those are quite the times, the lazed times. the ups and downs of a week, of a month of a decade of a life. lazy, crazy, hazy minutes.
and the week to follow? more auditions, more choices. waiting for calls and waiting for emails, hoping for calls and hoping for emails. waiting for trips to end and friends to return, waiting for projects to start and stories to tell. starting and waiting and pausing and running. what a week, indeed. so the best time for reflection is probably prior to the events, though i'm not in the mood. so i choose the direction i've been choosing this entire time, though know it's solid with conscious force and satisfaction in my lifelong actions.
this is chicago, after all. use all available doors.
the sight, of course, is that of activity. having a course of action and of something to do. this week, ladies and gentlemen, i was busy.
actually, really, totally, really really wholeheartedly mostly kinda sorta busy. i had things to do. i did them. and such things took time. time time time and double half-caff sigh. and it was good.
a recantation of one particular day is as follows. it first begins with the train trip downtown; the director and i were to meet at 11:00, and so I arrived at 10:40. he had missed his train, however, so I had another hour and a half or so to kill before he arrived.
such a wait, of course, warrants coffee. a heavy cream breve with a shot of sugar-free caramel, to be specific. the drink was such a heavy heavy heavy welcome treat for the 15 minutes i was its drinker. why only 15 minutes, you ask? because i'm a clumsy fool, quick to wipe a drop of coffee off the lid, only to have the entire drink blow right out of said hands and smash onto the concrete sidewalk and form a tan little smiley face on the ground.
mockery is the best way to recognize fate, i've always said. so i was all smiles on my way north, towards the apple store to check email and get directions to a club for later that night and dally as i am wont to do. and so i did all those things. and headed back. on the way were a few runins with convenient stores, trying to find a particular energy drink that is, well, particular. a store was found but then comes the second problem: no ice.
that's right, no ice. a problem quickly rectified, though. quick stop at the jamba, a smile and a request and i'm on my way out the door with a styrofoam cup full of ice and a quarter of an hour left or so to kill. so i go outside, pour my drink, and hunker down on a concrete-fency thing around a tree outside the shop. i make a few calls, i ponder a few existential crises, and turn at the behest of a man handing out posty-cards in exchange for donations.
i had no cash, though i did listen to his spiel. i was only half listening, which is too bad given my normal interest in donating to soon-to-be torn down homeless shelters or whatever it was. but rather i was noticing his broken teeth, the little dark section in the middle of the tooth that is exposed through the crack. like the rings of a tree, only seen after exposing the cross section. makes you think about the dark and rotting core interior to things. and it makes you realize that even all the smarm and decay is beautiful, in its way.
but his spiel ended, i told the man i had no cash. and took a sip. he said thank you, sees the drink, and then asks.
"hey man, can i have a sip of that drink?"
um, no. i'm saving it for a friend. a very thirsty friend. so off the man went.
a few minutes go, i get fidgety and get a call from the director, telling me he is heading towards adams and michigan. i'm on michigan, you see, michigan and madison. so i start to head south. i get to michigan and adams, staring at the art institute just long enough to not want to anymore. i spot a store on the south side of adams, a poster place, and figure 'hey, i have no space but i could go for eyeballing a few posters for awhile.' so off i go into the store. not entirely what i expected, though. more of a kind of place that sells bookends for art-history majors, bright little kitchy items just odd enough to warrant a second look, but nothing that you would find horribly inventive or unique. what kept my attention for a while was an array of little mechanical doohickys. they looked like little metal boxes with a crank arm sticking out the right hand side. after i scooted up a bit and looked at the labels beneath each doohicky, i realized they were the names of songs.
they were manual player pianos. little metal tubes with indentations, like braille rolled into a cylinder. this tube is turned, precisely twanging little metal arms on a little metal comb, precisely twanging notes in succession with the turning of the bumps on the tube. the twanging makes notes, the notes make a song, and the particular song is labeled beneath the corresponding machine.
i, of course, was immediately enchanted. the top picks? "It's a Wonderful World" and "Hey Jude." had i the money...well then have i would the trinkets. oh how i enjoy the trinkets.
a few minutes of this and the phone rings, the director outside. some hand waving and a couple of directions and he finds me inside the shop. we browse, and leave.
first stop, roosevelt university. a random administrative building, one i've never been in. i schoomze the people behind the desks, giving them 12 copies of the casting call flyers. our job done here, we leave, waiting a few seconds for the director to steal some cheese off a catering table for who-knows-what event that must have required luncheon items. i bummed a slice off him, smiled, and off we went.
next stop, columbia college. trek and trek and trek and trek and trek. up stairs, down stairs, posting and posting and posting. get approval for the flyer, post the flyer, approval for the next, post the next. we realized after a while that it would be best to highlight certain sections, to make sure those reading knew how often we were auditioning. i highlighted, handed, posted, and we were on our way.
next stop, a thai place for lunch. good food, a bulletin board. we ate, we posted a flyer, and were on our way. the director, having to go to work, was now on his way. we parted at harold washington library. i checked my mail in the library, settled what was to be settled online, and was on my way.
that way being towards depaul university. having no one in the film entourage that went to depaul, i was on my own in terms of figuring out how and where to post the flyers. not only that, i've never even been to the campus in any way/shape/form, so that only serves to make things all the more interesting. but nevertheless i am not one to be discouraged, and so i continued onward. this required taking the train, brown line to fullerton, go west, south on ken-something and then hit the theater building where I was hoping to post.
onto the brown line. i had my book, you see, and however many minutes of travel ahead of me. the only distraction came after five minutes. a brown line distraction, a brown haired distraction. a woman of note, if only for the furtive glances that prove nothing but a piquant vision. because, you see, it was the little things that are so visually interesting. how she had that slightly crooked smile. how she stirred memories, the kind of less-than-perfect beauty that could just be perfect sometimes. the kind that you've seen before and felt was perfect, the kind that is recognized from experience. from very good experience.
and so i stopped at fullerton. depaul was roamed, my postings spotting the campus at random and with force. library rules were broken, the student activities bulletin boards vandalised and marked accordingly. one lone notice given to the theatre building, to be posted by them according to the rules that, for the other locales, were so steadily ignored. i posted in copy rooms, i posted in grocery stores. i posted in elevators and i posted in corners seemingly hidden to the world. i left the campus with three flyers left in my bag.
and left i did, back to the mag mile and the apple store, ready to check my email again. the mail was checked, some sent, some recieved, and directions confirmed for the club in however many hours. and then i trotted my way over to boarders, across from water tower (the place). the perfect place to read, the leather couch and coffee in arm's reach. i sat and read, napped and read, drank and read and slept. at some point a girl sat in the lounger next to me, noticeable because i'm fairly sure she went to my school. but that was about it, and i didn't care to confirm, so back i went to reading and napping and sipping and wondering.
until the director called from work. he had thought up a change, of splitting two scenes and intercutting them. interesting and deserving of reflection. but what came of this conversation was my sudden realization:
we'd forgotten about UIC. an entire school, probably in session, that had yet to be pasted with postings. another problem, of course, to quickly be rectified. so goodbye borders, and off i head for the red line. first, though, was a trip downstairs to wash my hands. i washed quickly and headed towards the escalator, when i stopped for a mother and her daughter. but it was only a slight pause because the mom pulled the daughter away
"watch out, now there's a man on a mission," she said about me. the two pulled away and i went up the escalator, grinning at the idea. but i got to a corner, michigan and chicago, waiting for the walking light to turn and let me cross. i reached into my pocket and felt a wad of paper. a few dollar bills, yes...but far more receipts. it gave me pause, but only a for a minute. i was a man on a mission, after all, and so i headed for the red line, to go south to the blue line, to go west to racine.
thing was i kept going south, totally forgetting the red line stop at chicago. i swore at myself (well more like cussed) and turned around. i went west a block, given that i had to, and walked a little more slowly as i entered a crowd. they were standing around as a man lectured. preached, pastor-ed, what have you. he had an easel and a friendly voice, both going over the minute ills plauging society at the most basic level. he talked about his studies, how in his travels he had asked many, many groups before to list all ten commandments, and that no one ever can. how can you follow rules that you can't even recall?
"right now, even, right this second. can any of you list all ten commandments? anybody here, i'll give up ten dollars if you can name them all for me."
"Thou shalt not worship false idols," i called out, stopping and counting them off.
"Thou shalt not make a graven image."
"Thou shalt not take the lord's name in vain."
"Thou shalt not break the sabbath."
"Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother."
"Thou shalt not kill."
"Thou shalt not commit adultery."
"Thou shalt not steal."
"Thou shalt not bear false witness."
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods."
"Well look at this, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "i have ten dollars for you right here, son."
"...keep it," i replied. "and give it to somebody who lives by the words of God, rather than recites them."
and i kept on walking, towards the red line. as I waited to cross another walk, a handsom cab trotted by. and i thought about the life that 'cabby' lead, the look on his face as he pulled on the reins and turned the corner. he couldn't have been more than, say, 21. so unenthused, so wanting more. but persevering and happy in his own way, the ambition bubbling beneath the surface. either that or he was constipated...one can't really be sure of these things.
red line, blue line, what a line what a line. i made it to UIC around 8pm; everything was closed, if they were open to begin with. but it was an exploratory adventure, a blind rendevous. so i arrived at racine, blue line stop to the stars. thing is, around that stretch of the line, i wasn't sure which walkway was the road to take; the one at the head of the train or at the tail. i opted for the head of the train.
i, invariably of course, was every shade of wrong. "loomis" was the name of the road. the wrong road. looming loomis, i said to myself, full of sound and fury. so i took loomis south to hit the proper road (whose name i am at a loss to recall). i took loomis the way i take any other street in chicago at such hours.
i took it singing. "Build Me Up" has been the choice for the past few weeks, starting in that blogging however many days ago below. so i belted it to the sky and bricks, the mortar and the concrete listened intently, humming along and swaying to the subtle beat. i put a bit of a gravel-rock voice to it this time, riggin up the notes and the time to whatever suited me that second. i belted it out, before and after some guy asked me where the greyhound station was. i sung it before and after cars waited for green lights, before and after i found the UIC theater and finished my reconnaisance. i kept at it, all the way back to the blue line 45 minutes later.
i got off the blue line at jackson, ready to transfer to red and go north as planned.
oh no, though.
oh no.
was i supposed to take the red line? did i goof up? did i twist my schedule by however many minutes with some simple mistake? was i supposed to take the red line? blue line red line blue red purple purple red blue, bruise, blood, blue red blue?
north and clybourn. north and clybourn. i raced up the steps, to check the redline stops. to check if one of them was, indeed.
north and clybourn. whew. redline it was. and the train was packed. just packed. i sat down and watched as people came and came and came, a couple went, and more came. i sat there and listened to the same message being read over by the conductor.
"use all available doors," he would say. "ladies and gentlemen, use all available doors." like a word from above, telling me about all the opportunities that waited to be grabbed, all around me.
i sat as a couple came on and stood in front of me. an indian couple, close but not smashed together (there was still a little bit of room at this point). i sat as she inched a little closer, her hand grazing his leg. i sat and saw her hand, resting on his pant, resting on his leg, the silver ring on her finger. the silver band on her ring finger, on her hand, on the side of his leg. i sat and watched that tiny bit of effort, such a little effort. she moved her hand half an inch, a tiny bit of effort. a gesture, a twitch for affection. she moved her finger and there was contact.
i sat and watched the little ringed, bandaged finger reach out for touch. what a thing, to appreciate such small appraisals. what a thing, to want or need or do such subtle things that way, the way i do. what a thing, i think.
use all available doors.
i sat through all the stops, thinking about opportunity and chances, risks and willingness to fail. i stopped at washington, at grand. use all available doors. this is chicago. doors open on the left at chicago.
this is chicago. use all available doors.
i got to north and clybourn on time. west to fremont, south to weed street. half a block over to the club. open bar, free cover, and a night with friends and birthdays. open bar was available for cherry and raspberry vodka. raspberry and tonic was the drink of choice for yours truly until 10pm. 7 or 8 drinks, a little mingling amongst strangers, and a few thoughts bringing me back to the last club experience in awhile. no 80s music here, though, amongst other missing things. another raspberry vodka, miss, and no need for the flirting; i haven't got the cash.
friends arrived, friends left. dancing dancing smirking and dancing. requests were made to the dj, requests were late to be fullfilled. dancing and more dancing, all while strapped to the bag at my side, never having had the time nor the desire to do away with it. rhythmn and moves and sweat and sound and beat. move, rhythm, beat beat bump and move. dance and dance. sultry swerve and turn. move and dance and waves.
this is chicago. use all available doors.
the night ends at 4am, though only by normal standards. back to the redline, down to wrigleyville, off to pickmeup and a latte, to read and wait out the hours for metra in the morn. i read and read and drank and read, the 24 hour coffee shop housing me with warmth and patience. with songs and memories and concepts. with lyrics, liquid words.
"Here I go again,
on my own.
goin' down the only road,
i've ever kno-own.
like a drifter
i was born
to walk alone.
and i've made up my mind
i ain't wasting no more time."
6am rolls around, however many hundreds of pages have been parsed. back to the redline, up a stop, exit the redline, wait for the bus, take the bus, head to union station. the station shows up 'round 7am, looming like loomis without the mistake. my train is scheduled for 8:30am; with more clout i might have been able to call in a few favors, pulled some strings. gotten it there early to fit my greedy little needs. but no clout here, only a festive imagination and delusions of grandeur. so i was to wait for the train downstairs. mcdonald's was my friend, for a time. then dunkin donuts. then my book, then the oh-so-comfy seats of my metra train, boarding half an hour before leaving.
and so i read, for a time. and reading leads to sleep, and sleeping leads to dreams, and dreams lead to waking. i woke, left the train, and got into the car that was my ride. i got into the car that was my ride and was ridden home, to a bed and the unfettered hours of a long day off, to the thoughts that would have nothing to do with reality and to the bliss-y little joys of this boy who appreciates such small appraisals. because i'd been reminded of why i do the things i do. this is chicago. use all available doors.
i slept the day away, all day. i woke up briefly, introduced my family to the five people you meet in heaven and all its cinematic simplicity. and then? back to sleep.
i slept this weekend, to be sure. my rented movies were late, my writing half done at best. i slept and wrestled with sheets. i showered and basked in the steam that was barely hotter than the day outside. i smelled the shower steam and with it the taste of last winter. i ate an omlette fit for hungry kings, and lazed away the day. lazed like the days of yore, also having been wasted just the same. those are quite the times, the lazed times. the ups and downs of a week, of a month of a decade of a life. lazy, crazy, hazy minutes.
and the week to follow? more auditions, more choices. waiting for calls and waiting for emails, hoping for calls and hoping for emails. waiting for trips to end and friends to return, waiting for projects to start and stories to tell. starting and waiting and pausing and running. what a week, indeed. so the best time for reflection is probably prior to the events, though i'm not in the mood. so i choose the direction i've been choosing this entire time, though know it's solid with conscious force and satisfaction in my lifelong actions.
this is chicago, after all. use all available doors.
posted by Mister Vikas at 12:48 AM
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