A Tale Told By an Idiot, Full of Sound and Fury...

I saw her tonight on the train, just a little heap of filthy clothing and deep brown skin, curled up into a little ball--a balled-up skeleton--on one of the seats. I didn't even notice her until she spoke. She said:

"Irma! Every day they raped a woman, every day a woman and a child were raped and tortured. Every day, Irma. Just so that your sweaty ass could have sex with Carlos. And you act like you're above it. A woman and a child were raped and murdered, Irma; that's the significance."

She spoke with an odd lucidity, as though she were reading lines from a play, or a poem that she had written. As though it were a performance for the rest of our benefit. And she stared at us with tired slits of eyes and spat at Irma, who was the seat in front of her. Or Irma might have been her, for all I know...she might have been crazy from guilt.

I'm sorry, little skeleton girl, for whatever memory--real or imagined--brought this on.

I don't know why I see things like this so often, but this sort of thing happens to me all the time: moments in life that are like little scenes, little bits of theatre. Since Saturday I've felt like I'm being led through a play, from one scene to the next.

Here's the scene where you talk with the canvasser and you make friends and get to see each other as more than money. Okay now on to the scene where the man in the bunny suit walks by and then the crowd of people following him like he's Jesus. Was that inspiring? Good...now we move forward to you getting your hair cut and meeting with a group of kids selling everything they own so that they can take a bike trip to California. See that glass head? Buy it...

I sometimes think there's a cosmic significance to it, that the Universe--or whoever governs it--has some reason for showing me these things that I just don't understand yet. But I really think the answer is more simple than that. I think I get a life that shows me these little snippets of theatre and magic and connection because I travel alone so often, as a result of which I'm always paying attention to the world around me, as opposed to paying attention to my traveling companions. But, like the weird correspondences from around the world, I like this aspect of my life.

Today I met with Steve at Ennui, which is always great. He's very warm and has a great deal to offer to people, and everytime I hang out with him I end up with a kind of warm fuzzy, because he reminds me of who I am when I'm not busy trying to be what this city wants me to be. Tonight we shared stories of how we each came to Chicago, and he introduced me to his friend, Renee (This is the scene where you meet Renee, the photographer with the blue, blue eyes and the hood, who is making a film in Roger's Park). We discussed acting, and art, and the curiously budding artistic scene in Roger's Park. And the way that, when you start working on an artistic project, artists seem to come out of the woodwork to help.

Anway, this is Renee's Page. Some good work on it. And here is a link that she provided to Inpatient Artworks, which has several other photographers on it, as well as links to a literary journal. When it isn't my bedtime, I think I'll have to go check it out.

Strange evening. My dreams will seem mundane by comparison.