Eating Oily Things In In-Between Spaces

Oh my gosh. I am eating the most disgusting mountain of onion rings at Gate C of the Denver airport. Didn't think I'd be back in Colorado so soon, but all of a sudden here I am. Fresh out of Chicago, a completely different person.

This is how I look in Chicago.

I have been having a few drinks. Bloody Mary's and Beers and things, you know. The overall effect is that I am greasily delighted with myself right now. Something rather sinister about my joy is that I've been reading Lolita for the last couple of hours and Humbert Humbert's salivating style has started to influence my innocence.
What do I mean by that? Let's leave it for now, and glory glory in the oil! ...and the bitter beer.


I am not sure, in fact I'm probably making this up (almost completely) but it seems that the drunk man sitting at the bar was the captain on my recent flight. He is talking about how the flight from Chicago to Denver was dangerously overweighted, and slurring every other word. Compatriot! I thank the jewel covered heavens (which may reside incidentally in Paradise--did you know!? See the following paragraph) that I am safe on the ground with my table of delights.

Oh speaking of delights (because I must!) There was an exceptionally delightful trip to a sweet shoppe last night (the second visit of my trip) whose menu taught me a whole new wing of poetry that is expressly based on the gorge-ousness of dessert. The menu was strewn with lines like "Heaven in Paradise (as if one is less than the other --but together they are pure exhalations of delicious ecstasy)" and "Whipped to your Fantasy and Bananas." An amazing fragment sentence describing the whipping cream topping a sundae --I guess --- but perhaps it's describing something else: a tropical island scene with frothy waves lashing sexy sun-drenched legs --"and Bananas!"( capitalized!).

Less sexy day at the beach, but utterly delightful

Our table collectively ordered two relatively modest sundaes (we forgo the George á la George $60, 70 scoops) entitled "Jumbo." The deserts came in large (and very plastic) white shells. It was as if some creamy and melting versions of the Venus de Milo had floated over to our table transforming us into the chubby Cherubs by association.

This whole meandering seems to deal exclusively with consumption, but there is yet an important element that must be mentioned. Each fabulous encounter with extra-necessary edibles takes place in a scene of the in-between.

The AIRPORT is Fantastically in between and Bananas!

People work here, but they work in a functioning nowhere. If a place is defined by the people interacting with it, the Airport is a face with features continually displaced, renegotiated, and confused. It's rough attempts to assert it's own identity through shops that summarize the city in which it sits (ex: the gift shop full of Obama and Mirrored Bean memorabilia in Chicago) are foiled at every turn. Every thing is too clean, too expensive, too expertly dressed. My beer is glaring at me ("Yes, you are too expensive, and much too well dressed even if you were brewed right here in Denver Colorado!").

I imply that dessert was also consumed in a non-space / in-between space. Which is untrue. But I was in something of an in-between space. Chicago exists more permanently for me than before, but only slightly. It is like a very nicely constructed movie set that might blow over now that I've gone. There's is more to this tipsy ramble. But I have a flight to catch.

To be continued...

Chicago as movie set, and all the actors.

I really like Chicago.

I think that I could be here for a long time. I was walking with Sarah and Zayne and Zayne said, "This is the sea of interestingly colored things" and he gestured grandly to a particularly dingy section of ground under the train tracks. It was a corner filled with lots of little stones, but there was also an unusual number of small brightly colored objects collected between the rocks. There was a blue lego, a red something, a pink balloon, "Oh! A rollerskate!" said Zayne picking up a tiny rollerskate, "wow!" I said," "Look! A dead rat!" said Sarah, and we looked, and there was a dead rat.

I loved that. It kind of freaked me out and I felt sorry for the rat, but I also loved it.

I took the train downtown this morning, and I looked out my window the whole time. I could devote a year to a project I'm thinking about. The project would be to systematically look out of windows in Chicago. I would also spend a lot of time waiting for, and riding on trains. I would look out of the windows of every train I rode on. It might be nice to take photographs, but looking at things would be the project.

Yesterday David took me to the art museum. A woman asked us if we were okay because we were laying on the floor harmonizing for a half an hour and we forgot where we were. It was great because as soon as we said we were rehearsing for an art project she seemed really relieved. I also sang in a library yesterday. That was another art project that David's roommate Megan was organizing. To get into the library you have to have a school ID but I told the security guard that I needed to participate in an art project, and she immediately let me in. Pretending to be an artist/Being an artist really does help you do things. Everyone should take advantage of this all of the time, and accidentaly become artists in the process.

My favorite sequence of events in Chicago so far involved eating (pizza) drinking (beer) and then eating (dessert) some more. It was so glutenous and beautiful. I understand what Virginia Woolf was talking about when she said that you need to be well fed in order to feel like you're going to heaven. I have been drinking a lot of coffee, but we are only going to drink tea tomorrow when I set up the tent and sings songs. Now I am going to go find a toy store.

C

Conversations About Joni Mitchell

Chicago reminds me of the idea I had of Chicago. The houses are very pointy. These are the kind of Americans who have upward mobility in mind, why else would so many identical arrows line the streets? The colors of the homes are very distinctive, which is very important because they are so close to each other.

My brother lives in an old warehouse. His room is two very small rooms, and he hangs his lamp on a nail in one room, and on an ankh in the other. "It's perfect because an ankh is a symbol of the sun" he told me. David has chickens, and a small black cat called "____." He has 3 roommates that all remind me of David.

I've met some of the people that I've been hearing about for four years. One of these is a professor named Matthew Goulish. He is exactly as wonderful as David describes him, except alive, so more wonderful. I attended one of his classes which I got to participate because a) "all twins are allowed to come to class" (-M.G.) and b) I'd read the book the month before, The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. It's a ghost story, but now, having been to class, I have a sneaking suspicion that it's actually abstinence porn like Twilight. I am not sure yet, so don't tell anyone that.

I have to finish building my tent, and writing songs to sing inside of it, because I keep inviting people to come to my tent and listen to my songs.

This trip has been punctuated very regularly with conversations about Joni Mitchell. She's like a clock.

Christy Finally Goes to Colorado. Part I.

With all the ease in the world we decided to take the band on tour, to one place. Denver Colorado. Having earned $35 (by passing around a hat) we figured we had enough money to finance our trip! And so we set off for Colorado with two guitars, a banjo, a churango, a tiny tamborine, and a new name: Albuquerque Boys Choir (we don't have a myspace yet, but look us up soon).

Albuquerque Boys Choir (Bethany, Christy, Stef)

Arriving at the Pitchfork co-op was surreal. We walked in the door and I recognized everything. First the smell, then the posters on the walls, and the dirt on the floor, and the man sleeping on the couch (a guitar tucking him in like some wise and sturdy blanket.) It all sunk into me with such but-of-courseness that I giggled all the way up the rickety stairs to the attic library.

We slept there and in the morning got to know Denver in the best way possible: picking up food for Food Not Bombs. Bethany, Stef and I piled into the truck with Eric. I use the word "piled" entirely on purpose. The passenger seat was not affixed to the floor in any way. It was wonderful. We then headed to the markets that give donations to food not bombs. I believe that this is the best way to shake hands with a city. Here's why: A) Often when you go to a new place the majority of your interactions with human beings involve money. B) It feels much better to pull up to the backs of grocery stores in a big brown truck and politely ask where the huge pile of free food is waiting. Everyone smiles as you lift box after box of perfectly ripe tomatoes and one-day-past-expiration-date crates of soy milk into the back of your truck. They dig around and shout things like "hey I found some eggs you could take! And how about an amazing fuckload of beautiful grapes?" (No one actually said fuckload, but I felt like they were saying it. And fuckload was the most beautiful bountiful word ever uttered). We were gifted a small mountain of bread, a bursting bag of pastries, pears, boxes of the world's most lovely peppers, clove after clove of garlic, and miles of smiles...




We brought back our moving van of food and got to sort it, chop it, taste it, and cook it! There is nothing I miss so much about living in co-ops as chopping mountains of vegetables on huge cutting boards with 3 or 4 other people.




At some point we drifted away for naps and band practice and evening came.

The Legendary Explodin' Jesus Christs opened up the evening with some soon to be hits. The band consists of two of the co-opers, a piano/alternately guitar, and a very small casio keyboard. They're lyrics are really to dirty to repeat here, but in person are hilariously appropriate. After the rousing show we were nervous about our soft harmonies and folky acousticness, but it went off very well. And we had them dancing by the end! I want to make more dance music just to see people dance!

After the show the night imploded into the usual sort of co-op party activities: a bonfire (eggs being fried on top of), bottles of wine, banging on pots, throwing things out of and at windows (Bethany attempted to push someone out of a window, but the only victim was a potted plant), a game of sardines (Swooning with melancholic reminsings I encouraged everyone to sing "Row row row your boat" while we hid in a tiny room together in the dark),

--Note: Of course, nothing compares to playing Sardines in the JS when it was closed down, what with the rats, the hobos, and all of the ghosts standing invisible in the hall--if you know what I mean.

and an unexpected trip into the night to play zombies on a play structure across the street.
Then sleep on a library floor, and morning.

As we left I noticed the clouds were exploding in ways I have never seen before.

Holding

Yesterday I was standing on a hill of black rocks with some students from the community center. It was really hot, but windy, and the climb had been steep, but short. One child came up to me and said, "Christy, is this one of the most wonderful things that's ever happened to you?" I thought for a second and said, "yeah, kind of" and she said "me too!" Later we found a rabbits foot.

Fourth Communion, Sip of our Spirit.

The fourth Communion of all time will take place this Saturday at our house. If you are in Albuquerque and you are feeling musical or something else you are cordially invited to come! This applies to all consecutive Communions as well (the second Saturday of the month!) Disclaimer: Although we partake in wine drinking it is not necessarily the blood of Christ. Communion = Really Great sharing on whatever spiritual/intellectual/chemical/spacial level you choose to operate in.

Public Announcement Number 1

Out of necessity we started a band.

Happening in Funny Ways

diagram of something else: part I

It would seem to be an accurate description of the events. Something strange happening, or funny maybe. That is, things were occurring awkwardly and efficiently at once. The pieces were falling up, like leaves (if they were to fall up), or dominoes to be more precise. The phone calls, and the words all arranged themselves like hiccups and giggles.
The back of a hand gave off a telling glow, the earth and the buildings rearranged themselves in tetris variations. The bed was falling apart, sheets first. It was like lemon custard exactly, some evasive crust on the tip of a silver spoon. Every question and motive was a limitation because of the exactness of the kaleidoscopic "to be."

diagram of something else: part II

The fingers sensed it slowly, and attempted a portrait. "Careful of the pear and the purple curtain!" Now this is a delicate line to walk, like a memory of how fruit smells. A very slim trail. And to follow it on an empty stomach with circles under your eyes! But this is exactly the sort of trail I have been looking for! I grasp at thin tree branches, green mosses, and a path I've walked on and have not walked on (both at the same time).
I :::::::::::: the road, the simplicity of the arrangements, the buttons lining up, and the edge similes that fit between the dark dark fir and the light light field. These last two were located by a lake in Oregon that we used to go to a lot.

diagram of something else: part III