Death Is Not the End

Portland, OR: It’s 11:24am PST. I’m listening to Murder Ballads by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I’m at the airport waiting for my flight back to Chicago. I’m early and drinking a cup of tea. That was my goal for the day. Introspection, music, books and travel will fill the rest.

This is such a beautiful corner of the world. I know I will move through it again, and again. I also know that I’ve learned and changed a lot since I was here last. According to the train-ticket-turned-bookmark sitting in front of me, that was 11:12am on May 24, 2009.

I’m not unhappy to be here, at the airport, leaving. I just wish my destination was different. I’d like nothing more than to be on my way to the next city. I’d like nothing more than to walk off the plane in another city that is not my own, to walk briefly into a small and empty room, then walk back out.

I lose 2 hours on this flight. I gained about 60 on the one here. I’ll write more about it later. I should go.

No Train to Stockholm

Chicago, IL: It’s 5:03am. I’m listening to Cowboy in Sweden by Lee Hazlewood. It’s dark outside. I’m getting ready to leave for the airport. The walk I’m about to take to the train is becoming a ritual. Something about that makes me feel good. I have a bag packed with the usual: books, notebook, clothes, camera and music. In a few hours I’ll be in Portland. I met some good people out there a few months back, and I’ll be staying with them again.

This might be my last trip this year. Since January, I’ve walked through Portland, Austin, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Minneapolis, Seattle, Dallas, the San Francisco Bay Area and now Portland again. I’m trying to do all I can with the time I have. I don’t know that I am, but I’m trying. The time is all there is. It demands to be valued and respected. It’s worthless if it’s not worth everything. When I’m home, I tend to get caught up in where I’ve been and where I’m going. It’s disrespectful to where I am and I know that. So I try to keep going. I want to keep living on less and doing more. I want to leave a dent in the next year that’s larger than the one it leaves in me. I should go.

Tonight Will Be Fine

Done This One Before (part 3)

Chicago, IL: It was nighttime in Dallas as we made our way downtown. We drove through Deep Ellum. Deep Ellum has a history rich in the arts and entertainment. It’s home to many galleries and clubs. Many artists have passed through over the years. Some came to live. CK and EK pointed out a club where they saw Slayer play. I know Black Flag played there in the early 80’s. In the 30’s, it was a thriving area for jazz and blues artists. While it’s hung in there alright, it’s not exactly what it used to be. I’m told this is a city that doesn’t like to hold onto things. It’s a concept that, in many ways, I understand. Just not in this way. Still though, there’s a creative energy that moves through the streets. Some parts have died but the breathing hasn’t stopped.

Once we made it downtown, we stopped to eat. It’s good to be vegetarian, sitting next to another vegetarian, in a car driven by a vegan. I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself one, but I do avoid most of the things that they exclude altogether, like dairy. EK spotted an Italian restaurant that served a no cheese pizza. That was dinner. We shared the pizza, a bottle of wine and some good conversation. My studies show that at least 2 in every 4 people have a passed-out-drunk-woke-up-naked story, maybe more.

We went from the restaurant to the Function art show at the CorinthPark warehouse. The name Function refers to the endless functional aspects of art and how it permeates life. It also refers to the single memorable celebration that this night was designed to be, and was. It’s easily one of the best things I saw that day. There’s absolutely no way I would’ve found it on my own. That fact was not lost on me.

Outside of the warehouse were scattered groups of people, hanging out around fires and one of the sculptures. This particular piece had already been skated on, and evolved into a seating area as the night wore on. Inside were many vibrant spaces and rooms. The noise performance group Ascites played throughout the night, further animating the atmosphere. They were intense. The people inside and out were friendly and appealing. There was a strong sense of artistic community. All of it rolled together was very stimulating. I won’t forget it. I have the photos, the music of Ascites and these words to ensure it. They allow me to return to it, and more importantly to move on from it.

We left CorinthPark and arrived at The Cavern. CK, EK and TF all decided to come along for the Dax show. The opening band was still setting up when we walked in. The Cavern has a very distinct upstairs and downstairs. Downstairs, it’s your typical small club and dive bar. Upstairs, it’s much more relaxed and open. CK and I hung out on some couches upstairs and talked. When the opening band finished playing, we made our way downstairs and directly to the front of the stage. The show was about to start and that’s what I came for.

It was around midnight when Dax started playing. The more I see him play the harder it is to explain how much his voice soothes me. How much it tears me apart. It crushes then rebuilds me. It’s the single most resonant and sonorous sound I’ve ever come into contact with. It moves me like I imagine the roar of the lions in Africa would. It moves me more than that. I’ve traveled through states and through time zones to hear it, to feel it. He often makes mistakes when he plays. I’ve heard it on all the bootlegs I own, and at all the shows I’ve been to. It never matters. I can’t explain why other than to say that, beneath that resounding voice, it all seems so wonderfully insignificant. If you don’t hear it, there’s nothing I can say to change that. If you do hear it, you don’t need me to say a word. That night, like so many others, I sang along to every word of every song; including “Done This One Before.” Then, before I knew it, what had hit me with the force of a train disappeared almost instantly into the night. The music stopped. The lights came on. It was time to go.

There were varying amounts of alcohol flowing through all of us at that point, and there was no way I was letting anyone drive. These people were way too good for that. I shared a very convincing story about a couple of twins I used to know: It was New Year’s Eve. They’d been drinking and were in a car in Tennessee. There was an accident. The one driving lived. The one in the passenger seat didn’t. I’ll never forget getting that phone call on New Year’s Day. I’ll never forget going to his wake. I’ll never forget seeing his brother walk in. They let him out of jail only to attend the wake and funeral. He had burns on his body and limped toward the casket with a cane. I’ll never forget his fiancé forcing them to open the casket so she could take one last look. I’ll never forget the tears. That was years ago. I still think about them both all the time. I don’t share this to bum anyone out. I share it to remind you of how beautiful you are. I share it to remind you to love yourself and others. I share it to remind you to live. I share it to remind myself. I will never forget.

So, we were standing in front of The Cavern getting ready to jump in a cab. Dax was standing out there too, apparently also on his way to wherever he was going. EK said something to him about how I was a big fan and came all the way from Chicago. I think she may have told him I loved him, or something along those lines. And she said he should show me some love back. Dax walked over and wrapped his arms around me. Oh how small, lame and drunk I felt at that moment. I hugged him back anyway.

Eventually, we made it safely into a cab and dropped off TF. CK, EK and I went back to my hotel. EK made a phone call before falling asleep. CK and I stayed up talking until we fell out around 4am. After a quick goodbye, she left about 3 hours later. I was up and moving shortly after. It was Sunday. I woke up EK before checking out. We went back to The Cavern to get her car. She then gave me a ride to the airport. We had a good talk before saying goodbye, and that was that. A short time later, I was on a flight back to Chicago.

I keep a bullseye in the distance. I try to always be moving toward it in one way or another. It reminds me what’s important and what’s not. Sometimes I can see it but can’t focus on it. Sitting on that plane, somewhere between Dallas and Chicago, my vision was intensified. I gained perspective. I gained knowledge. I was overcome by the feeling of being slightly wounded and boundlessly inspired. It’s the perfect combination. I was still, but on fire. My eyes stung as they closed shut, and I fell asleep with the roar of lions in my ears.

Done This One Before (part 2)

Chicago, IL: It was a little after 5:30am on Saturday. I woke up to 3 loud voices coming from the other side of my hotel room wall: mom, dad and child. I could barely hear the roar of the highway over them. I imagined it probably wouldn’t last long. Who wakes up at that hour without a plan to get moving quickly? About 2 hours later, they moved out of their room and in front of my window. It was time to get up. How considerate of them. I didn’t even have to ask for a wake up call. After a shower, complimentary coffee, banana and oatmeal, I was back on the streets of Dallas.

The Arts District seemed to be worth a visit, so I headed in that general direction. I walked along McKinney Ave for most of the 3 miles. McKinney cuts directly through Uptown. Uptown is an urban neighborhood lined with various retail shops, restaurants and bars geared towards yuppies. It’s a good street to walk along, as long as you keep walking. It’s not an area I could spend too much time in.

I eventually made my way to the Arts District. It was kind of a ghost town outside of the many visual and performance art facilities and museums. I did some writing in my notebook, and had a cup of tea at the Dallas Museum of Art café. I decided I would come back to the DMA if I had time. But first I wanted to check out the Crow Collection of Asian Art across the street. It was free and I had Asia on my mind. The art was great, but reading about the different pieces was truly fascinating. There were 2 lion sculptures that caught my eye. The placards talked about the first studies of lions in Africa. Their roars are said to be powerful enough to shake an entire vehicle and the teeth of the people inside. There’s an intensity to that that most of us will never know. It’s out there though. I look for it everyday.

I was still interested in seeing the DMA and the Nasher Sculpture Center, but it was almost 2pm so I decided to call CK first. I can’t even remember the last phone call I made or answered before that one. The telephone is one of my least favorite technological devices. It’s going to be really hard to top the Segway. Anyway, I called CK and we decided to meet at 4:30pm on Lower Greenville, in front of The Cavern - the venue where Dax would be performing later that night. I was at least 3 miles from there so I started moving in that direction. I stopped for a veggie sandwich on the way, ate quickly, then kept walking. I made one last stop at the hotel to make sure I had everything I’d need for the rest of the night, then headed out.

I walked through the same Mexican neighborhood as the day before. It felt and smelled the same. The air in different parts of different cities does things to me that I’ll never be able to fully explain. I don’t ever want to figure it out. I just want to keep breathing it in.

Shortly after I got to The Cavern, I spotted CK. She was in the back seat of a car driven by her sister EK. Their friend TF was in the passenger seat. I had no idea where we would be going or what we would be doing, so I got in the back seat. Everyone introduced themselves. Very simply, they said they were going to show me Dallas. Then they started naming all the places we should go. I don’t always feel I’m where I should be. I’m almost always trying to get there, but rarely there. I think it’s a good thing. It’s what keeps me going. But it’s nice sometimes to spot one of those moments and walk alongside it. I found one and was walking through it.

We drove to White Rock Lake. EK parked the car, and we all got out to have look. It was a beautiful sight, bordered by a huge trail, trees and immense homes. I took a couple pictures as it was just starting to get dark. From there, we went to the Dallas Arboretum, which was unfortunately closed for the day. We then stopped at CK’s place so she could run inside to grab something. I needed to use the bathroom, as I tend to do, so we ended up all going in.

Once inside, CK cracked open a bottle of champagne. We all shared the bottle and had some interesting conversations about travel, music and life. I learned some things about them, some things about myself, some things about Dallas and some things about Chicago. EK has been to Chicago twice and was shocked when I told her I hadn’t been to The Chicago Diner (EK is vegan, CK is vegetarian). She told me I should go. I told her I would.

This is one of the many great things about travel: the perspective gained. If you really want to get a different perspective on something, you’ve got to reposition yourself. If you’re always up close or always far away, you’ll always be missing something. Chicagoans and Midwesterners in particular can stay isolated and ignorant, just by staying put. It’s that easy. Many are content with this. Many prefer it.

Then there are others who feel as though they’re trapped in a jar. I know that’s how I feel. And I want to break the glass. I want the perspective. I want the knowledge. It’s one of the reasons I strive for near constant movement and engagement. It’s my way of simultaneously confronting and outrunning the conflict that haunts me.

Where was I? We left CK’s to head downtown. It was dark out. We were told about an art installation/after party. We were on our way. Night was the notion. We were the explosion.

Done This One Before (part 1)

Chicago, IL: It’s 10:23pm. I’m sitting at my desk listening to some Dax Riggs bootlegs. Right now I’m listening to the 10.20.07 Lafayette, LA show at the Blue Moon Saloon. There’s a cover of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads” on this one that blows me away. I have a more recent recording from Dax’s 05.30.09 show at Stubb’s in Austin, TX. The recording is awful, but it includes a cover of Ronnie Lane’s “Done This One Before.” I’ve been mildly obsessed with this song since my first listen. I sing it almost every morning and night. I listened to it over and over in the air between Dallas and Chicago. All I could think about was the night before and all the inspiration racing through me on the night after. That and getting myself into an empty room where I could pick up my guitar and play this song.

I never look forward to coming home. I’m hesitant to even call it that, but I always look forward to things like picking up my guitar and getting on my bike. These are 2 of a small number of things that I don’t know what I’d do without. The bootlegs are another. They’re easily some of the most powerful and magical things in my life. The recordings could be taken away from me tomorrow, but the music on them will stay with me forever. They’re a part of me. I carry them in my mind. They can’t be taken away and that means a lot to me. Much of the way I live is based on this exact concept.

So, I’ve been back in Chicago for a little over 24 hours. It’s Monday. On Friday, I woke up at 5am to head to the airport. Looking back, I wish I would’ve booked an even earlier flight. I’ve started to like waking up to darkness and heading to the airport. It’s hard to get moving at first, but once I make it outside and take my first steps toward the train, I immediately feel alive and at ease. It only happens the way it happens when traveling at odd and dark hours.

I got to the airport and sat down to have some tea while waiting for the plane to board. I read a little and watched the people walking by. Many of them came from what is consistently one of the longest lines I see at the airport: the one in front of McDonalds. I don’t understand how people can willfully put something so awful into their bodies. It’s an accepted addiction. I guess that’s it. Families, each with their own oversized bag and drink, are addicted. They’re no longer feeding themselves, but rather their addiction. The older I get the more I realize that my opinions and beliefs are just that, mine. I would never try to force them on anyone else. I work hard not to. But that doesn’t mean that I’ll always be willing to accept, or able to understand opposing opinions. This is a good example. I don’t accept it. I don’t understand it.

I eventually boarded the plane and, after a brief stop in Houston, landed in Dallas. I took a shuttle from the airport to my hotel. Dallas has public transportation, but it would have involved taking a bus from the airport to a train that I don’t think ever gets all that close to my hotel, so I opted for the shuttle. It ended up costing me about one third of what a cab would have, and I was the only one in it. So basically, it was in fact a very cheap cab ride. And I have my usually absent common sense to thank.

My hotel was a dump along the highway. I’d planned to stay with some locals, but they backed out on me. So it goes. I was just glad I had a place to stay. And the people working there were friendly. So again, I was glad to be there, dump or not. Since I was on the first floor, with a window looking out on the walkway and common areas, I immediately shut the curtains. I was reminded of what Townes Van Zandt said about hotels, and how day and night become seamless after shutting the curtains. This is included in the Be Here to Love Me documentary. I highly recommend it, even if you’re not a fan. I will never get tired of people who so expertly craft beauty from sadness. He’s definitely one of them.

I quickly ate the food that traveled with me from Chicago, then left to wander the streets with my camera, books and notebook. I was interested in checking out the Lower Greenville area. I walked at least 3 minutes before getting lost. It was perfect. I was by myself, with nowhere to be other than lost and wandering through a city that’s not my own. Perfect. I ended up walking through various residential neighborhoods trying to get back on track. Some of them were seemingly very affluent, with many large houses. The few people I saw were white. The more interesting neighborhood I wandered through was a little more rundown, with a lot of character. Based on the large number of people I crossed paths with, it was mostly Mexican. There was a such a great energy there. The air was filled with an awareness, or something like it. I still can’t quite grasp what it was.

I eventually came across a coffee shop. Before I headed in, I noticed that Greenville Ave was basically right around the corner. I sat at a counter facing the window. I had 2 cups of an awesome organic black tea while reading, writing in my notebook and watching it get dark outside. Some of what I read focused heavily on SE Asia. I really want to make it out there sometime soon. At the moment, I’m eyeing Chiang Mai, Thailand. It seems like a great and intense place to be.

It was dark when I made my way out of the coffee shop and onto Greenville Ave. Greenville is a well-lit row of restaurants, shops, bars and live music. I walked along it taking pictures before heading into The Libertine Bar. The Libertine seemed to have a good atmosphere and a good selection of Belgians, so I stayed. It was very dark, but I found a corner table with a single bright light above it, so I was still able to read. There’s a part of me that’s really surprised I don’t see more people reading in bars. But then there’s this larger part of me that’s not surprised at all.

I decided to try a Maredsous 8. It was very good: dark, malty and slightly toasty. I got to talking with my waitress, and asked her for suggestions on things to do the following day. She had plenty and started writing them down. I decided to have dinner and a second beer. I tried an Orval, which I didn’t like as much as the Maredsous 8. It was lighter in color and very carbonated. It was good, just not my style. The only vegetarian option was the best vegetarian option: a Mediterranean plate complete with with hummus, pita bread, olives and a few other things. Damn, that was some good hummus.

The talk with my waitress, who I’ll refer to moving forward as CK, continued. I mentioned that I was supposed to have stayed with locals, and how those plans fell through. CK very kindly gave me her number and address, and offered me a place to stay. I told her I didn’t think I would be able to get out of my hotel reservation at that point, but that I very much appreciated the offer. I gave her my e-mail and number, and told her she was also more than welcome to stay at my place any time. And I meant it. She was extremely likable.

We made loose plans to meet up the next day, and I was very grateful for this. I think that cities are best experienced alone or with the locals, especially when they’re as likable as CK. It’s encounters like these that make me never want to turn back. Before I left to wander through the night and back to my hotel room, I left a good tip and a ginger candy. I stole the beer list.

Only the Shadows of Their Eyes

Dallas, TX: It’s 11:26am. I’m sitting at a desk in a hotel room, getting ready to head back to Chicago. I met some good people here. One of them is still asleep behind me. I have a lot to say about the past couple days. Soon. I should go.

Soul of a Beer Can

Living Is Suicide

This will be short. It’s 10:57pm. I’m listening to The Best of Richard & Linda Thompson: The Island Records Years. Earlier tonight, former Governor of Texas George W. Bush was in Chicago to “speak” at a Turnaround Management Association event. What a piece of shit. I have a packed bag and I’m ready to go.

Tomorrow I’ll be waking up at 5am to head to Houston, then Dallas. Dax Riggs is playing at The Cavern on Saturday night, and I wanted to be there. It was all the reason I needed to book the trip. I’ve been to Austin twice in the past 2 years, but never to Dallas. It’s not high on the list of cities I want to see, but it’s one I haven’t seen, and therefore one I want to see.

It dawned on me a couple nights ago that I’d been to another city in Texas once when I was very young. My memories of that trip are vague overall, but several strange and vivid mental images have stuck with me. My Mom is writing a book about a relationship she was involved in around that time, and she e-mailed me the chapter where she talks about the trip. I read it tonight and it was one of the most intense experiences I’ve had in a long time. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all. I’ll write more about it when I do. I don’t want to sleep. It would be ideal if I never slept again.

Burn Everything and Sing