cahrizz

i need to write more often. i do appologize but the way things are right now: being here, shitty internet and lack of time well...i have my excuses.

i promise i'll be more on top of things when i get back to the states, especially when i take a month off and just chill about. i have come to realize i am a bit exhausted though i'd like to believe i have more energy to tackle some thigns i'd like to in the small amounts of time i have.

i'm digging a book about dante and his work the divine comedy. it is chuck full of interesting things. makes me want to read a lot more from those times. you know all the stuff you say if i have time i'm going to read this and that but really all of these works require you to dive in deeply and do a ton of thinking which takes time and energy and damn there's so much i wish i knew about this world. but this biography is so refreshing and invigorating. it's full of tidbits like the word company comes from italy in the high middle ages from the words co pannini(i wonder about that spelling?), which means with bread. so these guilds that formed companies were saying we got the bread yo!!
ah, if that doesn't cause the mind to put things in a new perspective...???

it's amazing how people over long periods of time fail to change and yet change. but that's a generalization. i'm trying not to make those but it's hard to resist when thinking about a number of things at once. i can't wait for the day i can be free to be absorbed in deep thought and art again............oh, i can not wait for the day.

i can't wait to see chicago again. i wonder what it's like now? i loved the city i left but with the tricks of memory and time and new paint wrecking balls, missing friends, old friends, new construction, new bums, and all that has changed in me...i wonder...what might it be like? will it ever be like that day i picked up a copy of tori amos's strange girls and put it in my walkman(it was a while back alrighty!!), sat in white chair in water tower park. it was a strange clear day. the sun thrust its maginifcance upon you, yet it was windy and the wind was freezing. it was the colours of a beautiful summer day and there were the sweaters and coats on people with sun glasses.
so i sat there in the chair, a bit sad, thinking of the girl i'd just broke up with, the wind like an evil younger sibbling dipping its icy hands down my shirt now and then and i heard tori's haunting voice come into me as i ponder the nature of life and love. here i am feeling this deep profundity and people go about their daily lifes. is there anything truely profound i wondered. i was reminded of a poem i had written some years ealier that ended with a young broken hearted lover, "crucified on the lawns of suburbia..." the words tori sang stabbed me in the heart, "words like violence, break the silence...they come crashing in oh my little girl..." and this quiet rage that burned in me. ah death even when not a person's, even an idea or that of a hope when that thick plexiglass falls between you and it and you can only walk with those old friends in the hallowed halls of memory and even memory becomes a trickster. it's blunted till the laughter echoes and yu grasp hard for the smells, the precise placement of a dimple, the shuttering eye lids from a smile, sounds fade and you try to remember something specific and the spell breaks. to seperate. the word itself performs the trick with those three syllables that iniate the con tact, sep-er-ate...and it's no more...

i couldn't help myself. i could not stop it from happening. i did not know i could feel so sad. so wounded. so helpless. i cried. the tears came hot and in abundance amid the constance traffic of shoppers, street entertainers, the other people sitting in chairs around me...i began to crack. and here's the strange thing about life. the absurdness of it all that enthralls us and keeps the blades dull when we slash at our wrists in desperation. a man appeared in front of the stained glass vision i had. he was homeless man. he was black with graying hair and in his unkeptness he still had a dignity an ordered groomed quality about himself. he wore dress pants a black shirt and had on a tuxeodo top. he crosseda line with true sincerity and leaning down above placed his hand on my shoulder and said nothing in the world is that bad... he read my mind. a caught just then a glimpse of pigeons turning mid air in unison and it flashed gold, i turned my head a mother crouched down was making her little boy smile while pinching his cheek, a cuaght two young lovers in their first kiss and i spied an old couple walkiing hand in hand patiently enjoying the blessings of another day spent with one another.

so will i ever walk back into the same city? yeah and nahhh... it was just another one of those days and for once while i lived there i don't have to start the story so i was tripping o this or drunk out of my head when this... though those had their moments also. like finding yourself blasted from a day of abuse, in a crowded shoulder room bar, sitting at a piano and you start playing for no reason, you forget the people don't notice the juke's got turned off and you wake only when you knock over the beer on top and hear not the glass crashing but the hands that applaud. how you're at a party, a bit late, in your own joint and you just get a beer and taking a sip see a drop dead gorgeous woman and you don't take your eyes off her waiting to make eye contact and the next thing you know your making out with abandon. then when you catch your breath and ask yourself what how you find out your name and shake her hand lol. sad but true. lol. oh free world, i can't wait to know you again. i can't wait to eat dinner with my sister and my mother and make my sister laugh so hard that my mother can't help but crack up until they both have to rush to bathroom to pee. to see the bustling about of the holidays. to smile at the long lines and laugh at the complaints of the patrons. to know that if this is something bad in life then life must be pretty damn good. i want to feel the air filled with childrens' anticipation of delight and once again taste my childhood memories of dreaming out loud the list of toys i sent to santa. for a while i stopped believing in magic but there's somethings i'd rather find out i'm sucker for believing in then be that boring.

peace to you all,
chris