The Lost Pedestrian

i’ve been utterly consumed with this performance of late, which is why you don’t see me around here very much anymore. and it’s affecting (effecting?) my balance.  i swear i almost slipped on the ice at least 4 times today. actually, 5 if i count the time i actually did slip on a icy sidewalk in front of the gym where I came to do my stretches and balancing exercises. at work, i stumbled through 2 presentations, and tripped on the carpet upon which I dropped my 25 pound 2010 macbook pro. i guess i should be worried that i am slipping and tripping so much. what makes one day clumsy and the other day not?

i’m considering expanding upon an earlier blog post as a performance, which may or may not be a good idea. and I have no idea how anyone could memorize this for the stage. I guess there are probably some people who are very good at memorizing. it feels impossible to me. 

I feel rather… be-leaguered tonight. I can’t blame it on the weather. I’ve looked at maybe 93 apartments today in just about every neighborhood in this city.

• I’ve seen closet sized studios in resplendent neighborhoods,
• I’ve seen 3000 square foot lofts in with ceilings higher than the heavens in desolate neighborhoods,
• I’ve seen duplexes, tri-plexes, garden apartments far beneath the core of the earth
• I’ve seen bedrooms under stairwells, bedrooms with closets larger than entire apartments
• I’ve seen kitchens inside of bedrooms with new granite countertops and stainless steel appliances
• I’ve seen kitchens outside of bedrooms made entirely of particle board
• I’ve buildings that don’t allow pets or plants
• I’ve seen buildings that don’t allow children, or people who may have been children at one time

I can’t really tell what I’ve looked at anymore. They all kind of blur together. Which means I’m considering all of them. I’m just one of those people who is completely open to all possibilities. I can see myself living anywhere. Like literally anywhere. Landlords and leasing agents show me these places, and they ask me for immediate decisions and I’m at a complete loss for what to tell them.

And then they warn me that there are people waiting in line for these apartments. That it’s an owner’s market, not a renter’s market… Or maybe I have that in reverse. Or maybe it’s a squatter’s market. But they tell me if don’t act now, the apartments will be gone forever because there are more apartment seekers than there are apartments.

And I tell them, “Well, if that’s the case, maybe all of us apartment seekers should live together in the last remaining apartment in the city.

And they say, “Well we should warn you that it’s a small studio.”

And I say, “Small? Compared to what?”

Then… they give me these blank stares before they say, “So out of the 67 places we’ve shown you today, what are your top choices?”

And I say, “I don’t know. Where do you see me living?”

And they say, “We don’t think we really know you that well.”

And I say, “Well, from what you do know of me so far, where do you think I’d feel happiest?”

And they say, “Gosh, That’s a close call. It’s really up to you.”

And I say, “I think you’re asking an awful lot from me.”

And they say, “Well, if we offered you our advice, that would be unfair to you in the long-run because we’d essentially be short-changing you of this opportunity to learn how to make your own decisions. And we wonder if you act this way with other leasing agents, or if you act this way only with us?”

And I say, “What are you suggesting?”

And they say, “We’re not really suggesting anything. It’s just that we’ve noticed some patterns here that are characteristic of people who have never quite learned to take responsibility for their lives.”

And I say, “How could you even say a thing like that? You barely even know me.”

And they said, “We’re just trying to be helpful.”

And I say, “I don’t have time to learn how to take responsibility for my own life and make own decisions!”

And they say, “Sometimes you have to make time. What are your priorities right now? Maybe you should journal about this. Thinking about what you like and don’t like about each apartment might help. Let’s try this now.”

And I say, “Yes, that might be helpful. (walks to desk?). (While scribbling in journal, speaks the words aloud).

February 1, 2015. I may have found the ideal apartment in Ravenswood Manor. It’s really spacious and the floors look like wood and the layout is perfect for me. The only drawback is that the balcony is directly above the Burger King parking lot. But then again, I’m really not much of a cook, so maybe that isn’t a drawback at all. I just wish it weren’t so far from the train. But how many times do I actually take the train? Maybe if I took the train more, I’d save money on gas or shoe repairs or air for my bicycle tires… and then I could actually afford the bigger apartment above it. But a bigger apartment would take longer to clean, and, thinking realistically, do I really have any time to clean? And then i add up all of that extra money I’d be spending on floor wax. I guess it’s possible I might be getting a raise, so that might not be such a big issue. But I shouldn’t really take that into account because I can’t stand my job, and if I signed the lease, I couldn’t afford to quit for at least another year. Another year of putting up with these fucking mandatory company bowling parties. Why did I even take this job? I should have accepted that job offer in Wisconsin or wherever the hell it was. I guess it felt a little too close to home, which didn’t really make sense because I’ve never really had a home.” (Looks up from journal). “So how was that?” I ask the leasing agents

And they say, “OK. Let’s put away the journal for now. What’s your gut telling you?”

And I say, “My gut? My gut doesn’t even know I’m here. Maybe it doesn’t even matter where I live. Maybe what really matters is when I live, like I’ve always wondered if I was born in the wrong century. Do you ever think about that?”

And they say, “To some extent. We think you can live just about anywhere and you never know what your life will be like until you actually live there. Trust us, you’ll know when you get there. But if you’d like to fill out an application with a check for the security deposit and first and last month’s rent, we can hold the apartment for you.”

And I say, “OK. But which one?”

And they say, “Gee, that’s such a tough call. Would you mind if we thought about that?”

And I say, “Of course not, take all the time you need.”

And they say, “Are you really sure about this? If we’re inconveniencing you, you’d tell us, right?”

And I say, “Well, I can’t imagine that ever happening.”

finally… finally, 3 years in the making,  I finally found an apartment. absolutely the most perfect place. a loft. lots of open space. quiet. dog friendly. an actual kitchen. and closets. close to the train.  tomorrow, I was going to meet with landlord’s niece to sign the lease because the landlord was in the hospital recovering from cancer surgery. but i just received an email from the niece informing me that the landlord had just died. And she left nothing in her will about the building. And since the family did not legally own the building, they could not legally rent it.

so now what should I do?

ever since the day i joined this cloud appreciation society, i have seen very few interesting clouds. i know they are out there, but i don’t always have the presence of mind to witness them. and the ones that are remarkable enough for me to try to capture with my iPhone camera, i can never quite capture. and i end up deleting them. the photos, not the clouds. there are so many things that are beyond my capacity to capture, to describe, to transmit, to decode.

i’ve started to work on a new performance, my first attempt at directing other performers in 2 years. i am not sure if i can convey this, but i see parallels between my attempts to capture the clouds or the moon, and my attempts to describe to my performers how i would like them to perform. both seem slightly just beyond my reach. not that i will stop trying to reach them. what else am I here for?

this post has been deleted due to excessive negativity.

over Thanksgiving weekend, the thought finally occurred to me that there are so many other ways to be treated rudely besides being with family. But then I felt awful and guilty about saying it. Just because they never ask you how you’re doing, what you’re doing, or they walk out of rooms in mid-conversation, or if you ask them questions, they say “I don’t really want to talk about it” and then they walk out of the room, or they don’t talk to you at all because their focus is on their laptops and playing solitaire or buying or selling things or texting.

But then, when non-family members are visiting, they are suddenly transformed, and are engaged and entertaining and caring and fun. They take on entirely new personalities.

but then, when I returned to work today… I usually can get away with arriving for work 2 hours late and then I usually stay 2 hours late, but I never tell anyone or ask for permission.

But today, when I arrived late, the first person that greeted me was one of the faculty who told me that students and faculty were complaining about my late arrivals. Which mystified me because I’m here most of the day and I never see anyone. And why are they not speaking to me directly, instead of through this faculty member who only talks to me when she has a complaint?

And it’s all so scary because I am passive aggressively doing my best to get fired. But then I fear what that might lead to… and it’s December and cold and not the best time to be homeless.

And that led me to think of my family with an invigorated love and appreciation. 

And you know, I really hate being negative. This is my final negative post.

“my time is the time i am living right now and even if i like the world less and less – with good reason – it is mine, absolutely. No retirement, no retreat. I don’t know what it means to grow old and it is first and foremost my youth that guarantees the youth of the world. One day, in circumstances i will never know, time stood still for me … time has never ceased not to pass. How, if time is passing, could anyone work for twelve years to produce something?”

Claude Lanzmann

i am adapting one of my videos for live performance. i have no idea how well this is going to work. i may regret it. but here’s where i am so far.

A            Hi

B            Hello

A            I didn’t think you’d still be here.

B            I’m still here. Where else could I go?

A            I don’t know. I thought you may have gone to Wisconsin or something for the weekend.

B            That would have been nice. I wish I had considered that.

(pause)

A            What happens to people like us who have nowhere to go?

B            I guess we wear out our welcome. But people are too polite to say anything.

(pause)

A            Fewer pleasantries would make the world a lot easier for both of us.

B            I’m sorry that you feel that way. I feel somewhat responsible for that.

A            Life is never what you think it will be until you’re almost finished with it.

B            What time is that supposed to happen?

A            In about 20 minutes.

B            At tea-time?

A            Of course.

B            I should know this. I think I watch too much television, but never live television.

A            Me neither. Why should we?

B            I can’t even watch the news.

A            I hate the news. I know nothing about what is going on in this world. And I am happy about that.

B            Me, too. Like at dinner last Sunday, my friends were all talking about some revolution going on in Tunisia, and I was like this close to admitting that I had no idea what they were talking about. And the funny thing is that I didn’t even feel embarrassed about it.

A            I understand. I like being lost.

B            Me, too… I like living on a cloud. In a cloud.

A            Yes. I like the world I have created. Alone. No interruptions from the bloody news.

B            Come again?

A            The news.

B            No, say it like the first time you said it.

A            I don’t understand. How did I say it?

B            You said it with a certain… an accent of some sort.

A            I did?

B            Yeah, there was something about the way you said it that reminded me of somebody … sort of Mary Poppins’ish.

A            I’m not quite sure if I remember her. Was that the woman with the flying umbrella and all of those birds that would swoop down and attack people?

B            I don’t remember any birds. Maybe we saw the wrong movie.

A:           I don’t think we were allowed to see the movie.

B            I didn’t even know there was a movie. All I remember is the book. And the only reason I remember that is because you used to read it to me as a child.

A            When who was a child?

B            When I was a child.      Or maybe when you were a child.

A            Wait, that’s impossible. I don’t think we were children at the same time.

B            No, I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, you read it as a child would read it, in a child’s voice, but for all I know you could have been in your late 70s. Who has time to think about age anymore?

A            I know. Age is just a number. They say it’s the loneliest number.

B            You’d read it over and over and over again, always in this strange impenetrable accent.

A            We weren’t allowed to use accents.

B            But didn’t we speak in different languages?

A:           We only spoke in one language until we built that tower whose top was in the heavens.

B:           But the Lord came down to see the city and the tower which the sons of men had built.

A:           And the Lord said, “Indeed the people are one and they all have one language.

B            Let us go down there and confuse their language that they may not understand another’s speech.” (pause)

B            But were we still allowed to sing?

A            Technically we could sing. But nobody could figure out how to make the words rhyme. And then having to memorize them on top of all that. Nobody had time to sing except for people with huge trust funds.

B            Wait. I thought we had huge trust funds.

A            I know. That’s what everybody thought. But just because we lived on a tobacco farm of 600 acres with 23 indentured servants and 12 flocks of geese and 8 herds of stallions and 32 cows, and 6 stretch hummer limousines and 5 private jets and 7 personal chefs, and 2 screening rooms, and a geodesic dome, and stockpiles of firearms and our own armies of private contractors does not mean we had trust funds. I hate it when people who don’t even know you make these blanket assumptions about your life.

B            Sp what would happen to people who could sing but who didn’t have trust funds? People like you and me?

A            They would transport us in trucks to this huge stadium where we had to give oral presentations in front of large groups of people. And you had to speak really quickly because if didn’t finish your presentation by halftime, they’d cut you off. And they’d project your face speaking on these jumbotrons. Even if you used audiovisuals during your presentation, the camera just stayed on your face. I had to do these like 17 times. I’d be presenting and every time I looked out at the audience, they were either yawning or jotting down notes. Nobody ever gave you any feedback. Not even my parents. And whenever I looked at them, I’d forget where I was on the page and I’d freeze up. Totally freeze up. Like every single time. And that’s why they sent me to art school.

B            Wait, I thought we weren’t allowed to have art schools?

A            We had art schools, but they didn’t allow you to make art in them.

B            Is that why you were suspended? For making art?

A            I didn’t have time to make art. But I got really really good at not making art. I think I got so good at it, that someone on the faculty must have felt really threatened. Like I could even threaten anyone, right?

B            I can’t remember you ever threatening me.

A            Well that’s because you had status. You were a status symbol. At least you were a status symbol for me. [pause] I hope you don’t mind that I said that.

B            No, I’m really glad that you said it. I’ve wanted to say for a long time, that I feel the same way about you. But I was afraid if I said anything, you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore.

A            I know. I feel the exactly the same. I was worried that if I said anything that would make you feel uncomfortable and we’d both feel self-conscious and it would destroy our relationship, whatever that is.

B            That’s exactly how I felt.

A            You know, some people out there believe we are exactly the same person.

B            Maybe we are the same person. Maybe that’s been our big problem.

A            I think you’re right, but I never thought of it as a problem.

I’ve spent most of the weekend reading the latest medical/psychiatric journals, peer-reviewed, and there is mounting evidence within the community  of the health benefits of memory loss. Recent experiments demonstrate that too much memory can lower stamina, hinder consciousness,  increase the incidence of  heart failure and stimulate hyperactivity of cognitive processes.