I HAVE SEEN THE CITY
I HAVE SEEN THE CITY is a lucid, confused travelogue derived from a three day Greyhound Bus ride from Portland, Oregon to Chicago, Illinois. What was once thirty two notebook pages was boiled down to one thousand two hundred and seventy six words in ‘zine format, which has been even further condensed to three hundred and eighty seven as a look in to the piece:
“Language is the first compromise we make.
- Eugene Timmerman
15 July 12:13pm
two sunsets, two sunrises to go.
an observation: there are a lot of mountains in the west.
2 June: Toronto, ON
i can’t simply drag my feet while these kids are running through the continent doing amazing things. will i find relevance?
i’d really like one day to develop my own alphabet.
“she shows me a constellation
of the bites and marks i left on her body
of bruises from the way we share
our bed with seven other mares”
Oregon behind me, i wonder if i’ll ever come back. It’s certainly better than looking ahead. Towards Idaho.
16 July 12:52pm
horses drinking from straws.
i’ve taken living by the water for granted.
suddenly and spontaneously, in the vacuum of crushing boredom within the bus, an ad hoc community forms. bonds usually do not surpass discussions on sports (ex. bears, lions, orioles) or wilderness (ex. bears, lions, orioles). sometimes, more common in extended trips, riders will offer couches and telephone numbers if one is ever, y’know, in the neighborhood or y’know.
two kids playing cops and… protestors?
“you are resisting arrest, ma’am you are resisting arrest!”
why is it surprising that pepperoni pizza combos aren’t vegetarian?
it’s strange. i’m so frustrated, yet so perfectly calm. drugs? or breaking point?
are those mountains or storm clouds in the distance?
smells like rain out here. good rain.
17 July 9:46am
Iowa. nothing to write.
an observation: this trip became much less bearable when i ran out of drugs.
whenever i see a young mother and her child, i feel strongly inclined to ask, “did you orgasm the night you conceived?” it’s really a curious subject.
too exhausted to go to a sex party? who are you?
traffic jam. more to write, no space to write it in.