Muir Woods

Howl

Chicago, IL: 11:37 pm. Home. Exhausted. About 13 hours ago I stood outside of a record store on the historic Telegraph Ave in Berkeley, CA. In the window hung a bit of area-related musical history, including some old show flyers, photos, newspaper articles, etc. There was a Black Flag flyer from their July 14, 1984 show at Ruthie’s Inn, a local club that was very instrumental in the punk and thrash/metal scenes. I tried to imagine what it would have been like to have been there when all that was happening. It must have been something else. As soon as I got home, I grabbed Get in the Van and looked for Rollins’ journal entry about this show. I found it. He talks about how a guy got onstage and punched him in the face. The punch knocked him out cold until he eventually came to at guitarist Greg Ginn’s feet. The crowd was yelling at him to get up and finish the show. Of course, he did. I wish I was there. On a side note, 10 days later is Rollins’ journal entry from Chicago. It was written while at the Metro, and he talks about traveling with 12 people in a van and how he slept on the hump of the wheel the previous night. He also talks about how he’d like to put out his own book one day. 25 years later, I read many of them repeatedly.

About 12 hours ago I stood at the top of Sather Tower - also known as The Campanile - looking out over the entire Bay Area. This final look at so many of the areas I had spent the past few days exploring was a sobering one. Less than an hour later, I was back at the airport.

There’s so much I saw that I want to write about. I didn’t really have the opportunity to do it while I was out there, but I will write more as soon as I feel less beaten down.

Tender is the Night

Berkeley, CA: I flew into Oakland about an hour ago. I’m now sitting at a coffee shop in downtown Berkeley; drinking some coffee and reading from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night. As it turns out, I will not set foot in San Francisco until tomorrow morning, but Berkeley is a fine place to be right about now. It’s around 60° here, about an hour before sunset. The air is crisp and refreshing; the best.

Walking through the airport in Chicago, there was a great deal of interest in McDonald’s. By the time we landed in Oakland, interest shifted to the death of Michael Jackson. I don’t understand people sometimes. None of that matters though. Nothing can beat this air right now.

Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie

Chicago, IL: It’s 10:21am in Chicago; hot and humid. I prefer not to bother with the AC anymore, and this only makes me less inclined than usual to want to be home. This is a good thing. I reside in a nice storage space and I don’t ever want it to become more than that. I sleep here and I keep a few things here. Other than that, I want to be out there. I put a great deal of value on time, and I think it’s best spent exercising the mind and body. These are the only places I’ve ever struck what is pure and golden. In a few minutes, I will walk to a train that will take me to a plane. In a few hours, I will walk through San Francisco. In a few days, I will be out looking for more. More.

May Every Bird Sing Unto You

Bondy carries in his voice the curious spirit of youth, but also the strained melody of an old dog that has been out wandering the world in the rain. He is keen to the silent beauty found in sadness; and he brings it to life just enough to not kill it. He writes songs that move like cool breezes on lonely highways in the middle of nowhere: dancing through starlight and across sobered faces. This is music that breathes to fill the small, darkened rooms of America at night. More…

Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

05.31.09 Chicago, IL: 9:19 pm. Last night I got some decent writing in then headed to The Mutiny for the Eschatol show. My co-worker-friend plays guitar in the band and I like to make it out to their shows when I can. They are all immensely talented musicians, and they play with a genuine passion. Their songs are like soundscapes to get lost in. These things combined make for great music and great nights in the small clubs of cities everywhere. The show last night was intense. It’s not just the music, it’s them. They command a certain intrigue to watch and listen. Some bands approach a stage as though they are approaching a lion. Some bands approach as the lion. They are the lion.

The show ended late and I got home late enough that early might be the better word to use. I slept for a few hours, dusted myself off, then headed back out the door and onto my bike. I picked up enough food to “prepare” a meal that I then delivered to some people I know at Comer Children’s Hospital. Some of the strongest people around will walk in and out of places like this all over the world. In the lobby, I came across a poster-sized version of Dr. Seuss’ Oh, the Places You’ll Go! and I paused to have a look. I am familiar with the book. I own a copy actually. It’s been years since I’ve pulled it off the shelf however. That mistake is a big one that I won’t make again. What a book; so much wisdom in an object that takes only a matter of minutes to consume. As I stood there reading it, it began to sink deeply in me. It is so relevant in so many ways to so many things. I was fascinated by how closely it was tied to some of what I had written just the night before. When I warily returned home later, the first thing I did was grab it off the shelf and read it several times. The copy I have was a gift, and it has an inscription to me on the inside cover. This inscription meant a lot to me at the time, but I didn’t realize until today how much of it never registered. Well, today it did.

There were some things that I needed to see this weekend. These were two of them.

This is what I wrote last night:

It’s time to go. When I am stagnant, my thoughts gather and settle like dust. They transform from pure and lucid notions to impure piles of dirt; sitting dark and heavy upon claustrophobic shoulders. Near-constant movement is important if not essential to my well-being. I need only brief stops along the way to assemble the discoveries, or to listen when it is exhaustion that speaks the loudest. Mostly though, I keep moving.

When in motion, the dust rises and I am able to see each speck for what it truly is. I become both lost and alive in purity of thought. It is in motion where I find a brightly burning beauty that consumes and dispels all else. To keep moving is to keep burning. To keep burning is to keep living. Without that fire, there is nothing.

I find myself walking hours to outpace the stillness, traveling miles to outrun the complacency. I find myself reading voraciously to retain even the tiniest new fragment of knowledge. I find myself finding myself. Assembling. When I am done, I will be still. Until then, I keep moving. It’s time to go.

And I End Each Day in a Song

05.24.09 Somewhere between Portland, OR and Chicago, IL: 2:51 pm. On a plane headed back to Chicago. The woman sitting next to me is stringing together beaded bracelets. She just made one for me at random. It is unlikely that I will ever wear it, but that act of kindness really made me feel something good. Yesterday, I spent the morning at the Portland Saturday Market and the Portland Farmers Market. The latter was especially great: a spread of locally and organically grown food, and a seemingly good group of people soaking it in along with the morning air and sunshine. I know this sort of thing exists in many cities, including Chicago, but it’s better in Portland. I saw a woman pushing a stroller and tattooed on her fingers, where you might typically find LOVE or HATE was the word BAKE. If there is a greater city, I have yet to see it. Most of the rest of the day was spent walking, reading, writing and just sitting and thinking.

I managed to get at least 6 hours of sleep last night and still catch the sunrise through the window again this morning. I needed both. Returning “home” is always depressing; the better the trip, the worse it gets. I know this going in and do it anyway. There really is no other way in my opinion. Well, this one was the best, and so it hurts the most. The next couple of days are going to be rough. I will crave being far and moving. I feel this way most of the time anyway, but it’s always enhanced and hanging right in front of my face immediately following a trip. Over the course of these coming days, I will spend a great deal of time lost in music, books, physical activity and exercise. Sitting here at this moment, I am immersed in Kafka and the music of Will Oldham and Scout Niblett. I know this feeling will lift, and I know it will return again. I know that. I know I will emerge with a greater vision and focus, having grown 10 feet taller.

Comfort You

05.23.09 Portland, OR: 6:58 am. I am partly awake and partly asleep. I have been this way since about 5:30 am. Today is Saturday. I’ve had about 8 hrs. of sleep since Thursday and my head is in that special place. For the past hour or so, I have been staring out the open window beside the couch I am on. A crisp breeze is moving in from outside the window. There is a fantastic view of the sun rising from somewhere behind the Fremont Bridge, as the city quietly hums. Yesterday was perfect and I have a lot to say about it. More later.

7:07 pm. I am sitting at Stumptown coffee shop. They are playing an album by the great band White Magic and the coffee is great. This is a good place to be right now.

Yesterday, I got into town about 11:00 am. On-time. Early actually. Portland has a train that runs from the airport into the downtown area. This is a huge plus in my book, and a good sign of a good city. The train is clean and speaks in a pleasant female voice, announcing the stops and which sides the doors will open on: “Doors on my left.”

I met up with one of my hosts, Liam, and we walked a few blocks to get some food. Liam is also vegetarian, so that made things easy. We ended up getting what is called a “Whole Bowl” from one of the many street vendors in the area: rice, beans, tomatoes, avocado, olives…that sort of delicious thing. We stopped at Jamison Park to eat and meet up with Liam’s lady friend/housemate, Joanne, who just so happens to be vegan. Excellent. They were both very welcoming and we got along just fine. After we ate, we walked to their place so I could drop my bag off and get familiar with the area. We hung out and talked for awhile, and again, we got along very, very well. We have a lot in common and it made for some interesting conversation. It’s always good to meet people you get along well with, especially when you have plans to sleep at their place for a couple nights. I guess that goes without saying, but it can be very difficult for me much of the time. People are hard. These two individuals are not however, so I will just leave it at that. Good, good people. If either of you happen to read this, thank you again.

I eventually headed out on my own to wander the city. I went to the same coffee shop I’m sitting in now. Immediately afterward I went to Powell’s Books. Powell’s spans a full city block, has several rooms on several floors and an extensive collection of used, new and out-of-print books. It is extremely vast to say the least. You could spend days there. On this day however, I decided to call it quits after about 2 hours. I left with a couple books by F. Scott Fitzgerald and Thomas Wolfe that I paid less than $10.00 for. I wanted more but held back. I felt lame for not being able to navigate myself towards something more obscure and rare, as this would be the place to find it. I hope to get there eventually. In the meantime, I have a lot to learn.

Geographically, Portland is divided into 4 areas: NW, SW, NE and SE. The Burnside Bridge divides the North and South areas and the Willamette River divides the East and West. It is a big but walkable city, and it is extremely bike-friendly. There is also a street car if you are so inclined to go that route. Again, key elements to what is at least my notion of the perfect city. I spent the rest of the day walking the NW and SW areas, stopping off at various spots to read and think. The day and the air were beautiful and refreshing. I could not consume enough of either. As the sun set, I sat outside a coffee shop drinking tea and reading Black Spring by Henry Miller.

After a bit more nighttime wandering, I headed over to Deschutes Brewpub for one of those tasty Portland beers I’ve heard so much about. I sat Indian style at a table outside and drank their “Gluten-free Golden ESB” while I finished reading Broken Summers by Henry Rollins. It was one of those moments. I found myself deeply submerged in it, and it lasted long. There were several quotes I came across that hit me very hard. This is often the case when I read Rollins, but the combination of finishing the book on those particular passages, while being where, how and when I was left me staggering. I don’t know how to explain it any better than that, but if you are going to get it…well, then you’ve already got it.

To top the night off, I took out my iPod and listened to the Scout Niblett/Will Oldham cover of Van Morrison’s “Comfort You” several times over while staring out at the night sky. I had heard this version of the song many times before this trip, but it moved me like it never had before on my flight in earlier and I felt the need to listen again. I found myself holding back tears on both instances. It is such a beautiful song.

A great day. A perfect night.

Just before I left to walk back for the night, a girl holding a well-worn copy of a Nietzsche book, that I could not identify by name, approached me for some change. How could I say no to that? I couldn’t and I didn’t. I realized then that I needed go back to Powell’s today to pick up Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Nietzsche and the copy of Rollins’ A Dull Roar: What I Did On My Summer Deracination 2006 that I had temporarily passed on earlier; I picked up both right before heading to the coffee shop that I am leaving right now. More later.

And I Fly when I Walk Now

05.21.09 Chicago, IL: 11:39 pm. I just finished packing a bag with my clothes, camera and laptop. A second bag is packed with little more than my iPod and a few books: Black Spring by Henry Miller, The Complete Stories by Franz Kafka and Broken Summers by Henry Rollins. I will wake up too early tomorrow and be in Portland, OR by 12:00 pm. From the PDX airport I will take the train downtown and get right to walking the city. I am exhausted but anxious to leave. I won’t be sleeping much tonight. It won’t matter much tomorrow though. Tomorrow, everything before it will feel like a distant and hazy dream.

It’s Happening Now

I am no longer able to see them as more or less than human. They are therefore no longer able to see me as such. I will stop pushing them away. I will not let them get too close. I will stop moving away. I will not stop moving forward. Had I not spent so much time in the dark, I would never have seen the light. Had I never seen the light, I would never have seen the night. And so it goes. Whatever the day, I will leave it well-lived and behind; taking with me only the memories of what mattered.