May 05, 2005


I could write about Los Angeles. I could tell you about the desert at night. I could tell you what it is like to hang out with people who you thought for years next time you saw them would be at their funeral. Instead, I tape recorded some of it, and it will go onto the MP3 blog when it launches, like, next week. A little story I am making. On Cali's porch a baby possum, smaller than my foot, crawled right past me, with it's stiff little tail like a fifth super arm, helping it get down the steps, and unfortunately, I have no way to incorporate that into a recording, so my telling will have to suffice. Baby possums are not scared.

I have been back in the Chi-Boogie since 1 am Weds, and I have already taken a vow not to leave the central time zone again, perhumps, for weeks, in tembling ode, or rather, commitment to Chicago and the Mid-Western states, so sturdy and dirty and loving you back with a hearty thunk, with it's earnest early summer. The big lilac bushes in front of the house are blooming, almost obscuring all the supermarket circulars and take out menus and metallic chip bags stuck in it's brancy bottom end. The yard is a fantasy of kid trash and perennials and weeds, with four shitty, rusted up and basketed Schwinns chains to the stoop as sentry. I love Chicago because everything here is broken or crooked and burnished perfect from it's previous 46 years of disrepair. It makes me want to press my face to the rails of the Green Line el trax and pledge allegiance to the fallow lots down Lake street, that have laid empty since they burned in the riots.

Posted by Jessica at May 5, 2005 01:56 PM | TrackBack