so i get into town (chicago) from portland (home from home) and feel the most comfortable i've ever felt here. shit was so easy, the train and bus were perfectly scheduled, the weather was ideal, everything felt like home. not that it hadn't before, but it obviously gets better each time, and it accordingly feels the best before i'm about to leave. as robin said, kind of in a roundabout way, "he's all about the final product and not the process", whereas i find myself in the converse of that. the process of meeting and getting used to and finding out and seeking pleasure is everything. the final product is nice and comforting and biting and makes life worth living, but it can often result in people being stuck. though i go back and forth, forever, obliviously, reaching the feeling now that i long to be landlocked, to be settled in a home. it'll come soon.
i bought 'mixed reviews' by aaron cometbus at left bank while in seattle. (thanks rachel for the discount). i read half of it on the plane, expectedly loved many parts, decided i'd finish it tonight and send it to forest in the morning. the plane landed and i checked my phone, walked off the plane and almost immediately after security realized i'd left the book on the plane. as i typed this blog, i was wishing i could put some little clever insight into it, cometbus-style, and then realized i had done it as i typed this last sentence.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
skyline at sunset
[stories of losers set against the background of a 30 brick busch.]
cold feet only breed action, like, move, or put on socks. the wind out the window didn't bring in much until i cut off the cross breeze (if that makes any sense). i put a cigarette out of the structure but the smoke only came back in smelling of gasoline below. the smell was bad and had an obvious sad addiction, mocking fee will. seriously.
this air is beautiful and toxic every single day. most everyone agreed that this winter was terribly Brutal; except for brant and i. the cold was gorgeous and encompassing. my muscles toned with uncertainty while they simultaneously atrophied with alcoholism. but i've honestly never been more sure and happy in my life. the litmus of leaving keeps my diaphragm breathing. it makes us stupid and dependent and fluid when our balance is because of gas prices. but that's where we're at. i fucking love being in jail.
[the set of large buildings in distant downtown glow as the last minutes of sun hit the horizon.]
cold feet only breed action, like, move, or put on socks. the wind out the window didn't bring in much until i cut off the cross breeze (if that makes any sense). i put a cigarette out of the structure but the smoke only came back in smelling of gasoline below. the smell was bad and had an obvious sad addiction, mocking fee will. seriously.
this air is beautiful and toxic every single day. most everyone agreed that this winter was terribly Brutal; except for brant and i. the cold was gorgeous and encompassing. my muscles toned with uncertainty while they simultaneously atrophied with alcoholism. but i've honestly never been more sure and happy in my life. the litmus of leaving keeps my diaphragm breathing. it makes us stupid and dependent and fluid when our balance is because of gas prices. but that's where we're at. i fucking love being in jail.
[the set of large buildings in distant downtown glow as the last minutes of sun hit the horizon.]
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