DEC 17 & 18December 17/18, mark your calendars. Suspiria will be playing.
I think this is exciting. Cant you tell.
But seriously.
Dario Argento classic on screen. I don't know if i would quibble about selection, but I hope they have some good beer available per usual at Studio 35.
was that you, my dream come true? the toothless hick who was driving a rusted out beater-blue late model pickup while i waited for my ride out back? i know, i feel so bourgeois now having thought you were one of the guys helping renovate the house down the street...
i know, it was early for both of us. i hardly noticed you, and i must have seemed sufficiently unthreatening to you. you drove by and i just kept waiting. if that was you, who stole my 198X Ross touring-style bike, i hope that it will get you where you needed to go... that place on angels' wings... or maybe you will find some other love-struck fool like me who will buy it for 40 bucks and you can get a couple cases of genessee cream ale.
sincerely,
clintonville resident you ripped off this morning around 8am i think.
ps. i am willing to ignore your indiscretion and pay you 1 dollar you slimey alley-crawling bicycle thief. that bike was mine. it is too tall for anyone to comfortable ride, the brakes suck, the seat is terribly uncomfortable, the frame is too short horizontally, the pedals are weird, the crank and chain squeak, the gears barely function, and it is rusting. but it is my bike. and i am willing to take it off you and forget the whole thing for as much as 1 dollar.
last night while waiting for my friend brian to pick me up and head home after work per usual, i was approached by a sweaty and desperate looking man sweating profusely. the upper half of his shirt drenched with sweat, perspiration beading off every visible patch of skin and quite thoroughly pouring from his brow. he said his car had broken down a few blocks over and his wife and 1 and 3 year old daughters were stuck and he needed to get them home but didnt have money for cab fare, about forty dollars.
making the calculation in my head that it was as likely true as it was false with a large margin in between more false, i decided to err on the side of caution and give him what i had, six or seven dollars.
'well dont you have any more?' no, thats what i got. theres more people over there [that i am sure you can harass]. 'cmon i need another $32' i dont have it man, thats all ive got. 'well lets go to a cash machine and get the rest (gesturing toward the chase bank two blocks away)*' hey, why dont you just head over there, theres a lot more people you could ask. 'man im telling you ive asked everyone, lets just go to the cash machine, ill pay you back' nah man just go over towards broad street theres more people to ask.
'man i asked them they arent helping us out. i need to get my wife and two infants home and i just need a few bucks. cmon help me out' ehh... 'cmon ill come back* and give you the $32, it aint nothing to me, ive got $440 in my checking right now' well why dont you use your debit card at a cash machine or call a cab that accepts debit cards? 'oh i dont have my debit card on me. its at my house and the cabs i already tried need to charge my card up front.' no you can get them to take you home and they will let you get your card so you can pay them, i have done it before with cash. 'all the ones i called wouldnt. cmon we can just go to a cash machine and you could just get the cash out.'
'im serious i will bring the money back to you when i get home, i have another car.' im not going to be here. im getting picked up in a minute. 'well i will bring it back to you wherever you are.*' man i dont have the money and im not going to a cash machine. i wouldnt care about getting the money back but also i just dont have it for you. why dont you head over there and ask some more people? 'ive told you ive asked them. why cant you just give me the money?' no. im not giving you the money. im sorry*, i just cant do it.
'well can you give me a cigarette?' yeah...
* 1) yeah fucking right im going to let you stand over my shoulder while i punch up my pin, 2) yeah fucking right im going just stand here for [however long it takes for you to get a cab]+[get home]+[get the money]+[drive back], all the while truly trusting you to come back the whole time 3) yeah fucking right im just going to give you my home address 4) i really was sorry... somewhat that i couldnt give someone the benefit of the doubt and hand him cash without wondering if it was for his family or some random schedule 2 narcotic, but primarily that i ended up feeling like such an asshole.
thanks, sweaty man, for making me feel like such an asshole. it doesnt feel so good to be doubting the intentions of a human in need. whether my six or seven bucks went to get his family home or to buy some random crystalized chemical is irrelevant. he has a life and he can chose to do with it as he pleases. the burden (so grandiose and bourgeois) of whether its forage cash for his family, or panhandle aggressively for drugs, has less to do with me than is emotionally reasonable to care. however, i was moved because he made me out to be some asshole. first, i was an asshole to myself. i should have said no sooner. i tried to plead and bargain and be diplomatic in an effort to get out under his thumb, when in reality i should have taken the power in the situation. second, i was an asshole for not cutting him off sooner and wasting his time. it may seem silly, but i should have saved us both the trouble and just said no, piss off.
theres now in downtown columbus something called the 'homeless coalition' or something like that. its like newsies for homeless grown-ups. the homeless people sell these newspapers (that cost $1; no tossing a homeless guy a few coins in this scenario, and who's going to ask him for change?) about homelessness, likely perpetuating a cycle of supporting the paper when you read it you buy it. they homeless people are paid to sell the papers based on commission. its funny, theres one older homeless guy who is more hip looking than anyone else downtown. anyway, i dont think we have a 'homeless problem' as in being overrun with homeless people in some begging way. we have a homeless problem in that now we have semi-legitimized panhandling on every street corner and the further you walk, and the more people you dont buy the paper from, the more of an asshole you become.
imagine walking past 8-year olds on crutches with muscular dystrophy donation tins every city block. and not giving them money. it feels like that.
the other day, the high functioning person (i dont mean that as a euphemism for someone who is developmentally disabled) who hangs around the tarbucks in my building all day was going on and on about jews and conspiracies. occasionally it must seem to him that i am ignoring him when he prattles on with his insights. unfortunately for him, i just think he gets along with himself so well that i wouldnt want to interrupt their conversation.
he hurt his foot the week before last, and he has a car and parks for 5-6 hours a day downtown just to drink crappy tarbucks coffee and appear hostile. i wish i had the kind of money to do just that, although i think he must have more endurance for that than i.
he has a nice smile but a crooked grin.
i have spent my fair share of time, too much time really, talking to people who are incoherent. obviously in bars. random fuckers off the streets too who just werent entirely thread through each eyelet. people who ramble. my mom. and incoherent thought-speech is certainly an art form. some people focus on an exploitative style, mostly the drunks who are after something like ass or money. the downtrodden focus on the downtrodding style, whether they are talking about who is doing the downtrodding or rather how they plan to exact their retributive downtroddation. my mom is normally incoherent because she talks out loud to herself at whoever is around. thats my favorite. in most conversations im only half there, so it is only appropriate that the speaker only be half there. be it they half there in sobriety, wit, or focus it is all the same to the ear itself.
a.b said she wanted to know what i was thinking more often. i explained that only about 3-5% of the things i think make it to my lips. its not that i cant sequester my thoughts when i need to, like when im writing or reading. but when my mind is left to its suchness it drifts from thought-moment to thought-moment with a languid (though not tired) fluidity. in each moment is a splash of aspects of mind, each one vying for attention. i told her i wish there was a roller coaster to strap her into so she could watch the phantasmagoria unfold. like dropping inks casually into a viscous solution, each aspect is hard to grasp but impossible for me to look away from. these aspects rarely manifest beyond their thought-moment.
this all begs the question, how is Juniors mind wired? when i stand there, facing the opposite direction leaning against the cold marble support column, staring deliberately at the columbus newspaper news ticker, while he continues talking about how the jews framed the arabs on 9/11, how does he arrange his arguments? are they arguments, observations? is he even appropriating a mind tract of being convincing, or is it something else. are they daydreams of how he would do it? is he just some schizo on SSI with a drivers license? perhaps he is narrating the events unfolding in his mind for the benefit of all. his brain is a thinking tank, his voice a fount.
of course sometimes he just mutters obscenities to himself... but he's never bummed a cigarette or asked for money as far as i know.
twice in the past two weeks i have had to go to places on high street, which used to be perfectly convenient as i rode the high street bus. now, i ride the #4, indianola to wherever. they are separated by not more than a three minute bus ride on the # 8 (#s 2 & 4 run parallel). however, there must be something about the way they overlap that makes the timings humbling to the most patient of travelers. while waiting for the second transfer (where i pick up the #4), i have been greeted with the bus stop view accompanying this post. i like this stop, at least for what its worth in the late autumn. it makes me think of a yo la tengo song. i think this is indianola and chittendon. the buildings all around are in serious disrepair. i wonder why they havent been torn down, and i wonder why i think they should be torn down. i dont know if that mentality is a consequence of living in blighted old youngstown, or if it's actually reasonable. i dont think i would mind sitting here during a warm, afternoon may shower (provided i was attired appropriately).
some mornings, i dont have coffee, or cigarettes, or both.
this morning it was the former, though i bought some of the latter nonetheless. when this is the case i walk to weber mart, which has a terrific selection of corner store goodies from car food and beer selections to your classic modicum of head shop bowls/wraps/grinders and skin mag offerings. as well there is a great picture in the back of a girl with a big butt.
anyway, after i prefer the bus stop to the south because it is next to the above pictured house. i cant help but think of swiss family robinson. its a great looking house. it looks like it might have started off as a one room dwelling, and then some eccentric bought it and installed room after room, complete with secret passages and staircases that go nowhere.
however, due to the proximity to campus dwellings, i think a bunch of assholes live there. and their collective lack of imaginings closed up these passages.
8:59AM
