don’t let it break don’t let it startPlayed 2 times.
don’t let em in don’t go too far
cover your tracks
cover the path through the heart
don’t let footholds start
and don’t let no one in
cos they never got you and
you never got them
Consider an AirBnB rental. Most of the city’s hotels are downtown, an inaccurate picture of everything we have to offer. Museums are never boring and our museums are certainly not. The AIC is the pinnacle, but the MCA is where my heart settles. Our neighborhoods are weird and good. Visit and love Pilsen if you only have time for one. Literally anything to do there will work. Get to the waterfront. You’ll be confused that a lake can seem so vast and impenetrable, but you will like it. In a few months, it will be summer. Try a street festival. They are corny, but they are also very Chicago. Walk downtown. Just reserve an hour or two to feel the buildings surround you. I have traveled all over and only Chicago’s buildings make me feel the weight of my smallness. You will feel the world as it is, all bodies, all lives, all history. Go to Dusty Groove. Just go. Take a food tour: a hot dog from Hot Doug’s, a jibarito from Borinquen, fried chicken from Crisp … there is more, but I’m getting hungry. Go to Smart Bar. It doesn’t matter what night. Any night will be perfect. Take a shot of malort. Any bar should know what I mean. Then take another if you’re especially brave. I think you’re brave.
oh oh oh.
basically terrible at tumblr want to be alone in my house listening to cafe tacuba and reading a thousand years of solitude but you know not finished with anything yet.
today, in my snit, in my comedown from brinksship, my thunderstorm that never bursts, my windows open, my here we go again, Liz tells me it is about adjusting the view, about going for it anyway, about being quick, about what did you really want?
tonight it is balmy and deep green, the color of barrack and camp tents, of the beginning of a summer, the throaty oaks of it, and I lie on my back alone in the bay window room of the only place that was mine alone, that i tried to make myself but never really, and i think, I’m alone on a summer night in the middle of a buttery lit ceiling fan wood floor, in a room of my own, I’m almost off Diviasadero or NE 23rd and the ancient bed and orange light the twilight room in Casa Azul and the fields of moon and mezcal, if anything, I managed to do something right.
take it back, today has been
so, broke even, I guess.
"There is a road, no simple highway, between the dawn and the dark of night, and if you go no one may follow, that path is for your steps alone."
things I want to do with four weeks to go. sigh.
I saw the movie version of Michael Chabon’s Wonder Boys well before I read the book. I thought, and still do, that it was one of the best movies ever made about being a writer. This was before I became serious about writing, but when I already knew most movies about writers are bullshit. I’ve…
i feel most of these things about Wonder Boys.
oh good only the rest of the frakking weekend of me and design suite and deep, deep shame about how impressed I was with this draft.
let’s go.Played 85 times.
current mood while on second draft of project: tom hardy and other brit talking into a walkie talkie at the end of Layer Cake muttering, bingo bongo. tango foxtrot. blah blah blah.