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No Rainbows in the Carpet
Jul. 15th, 2001 05:11 pmI am dehydrated, and five pay phones have gone dead on me - five in quick succession, like falling dominos or shuffling cards, each cutting out halfway through the number I'm dialing. I have left several unheard messages for Valancy, disembodied strings of digits cooed into a black receiver, tricks to soothe the piece of plastic. (Petrolium remains of dinosaurs. How offended they must have been when the meteor hit and somehow the hamsters won. Now they take out their agression on me, a homeless airport crawler, proving their godhood by denying me contact.)1
Despite this, I am saturnine. Despite the fact that an engine just blew out - fortunately while we were still on the runway. Some force is determined to keep me in Atlanta2; this is the third flight which has failed to take me out.3
I have spent most of my day in an unused elevator, the only quiet place in the airport4. At the very least, this series of delays has granted me the opportunity to read The House of Leaves, something which I've put off for over a year despite my keen interest. It seems appropriate -- eerily so -- the talk of dehydrated explorers with no end in sight, in a room which shouldn't be there.
I briefly ventured from my haven in order to secure victuals; as a result, I lunched with a hippie lady I'd never met. We talked of woods and poetry and the function of travel. She's always lived in woods but yearned for the sea; now her children are old enough that she can finally fly.
In contrast, I've been on the move for as long as I can remember, airports a function of my skin. Perhaps it's appropriate that my journal -- the record of my life -- exists only online, even though the media limits me to words alone and not the illuminations for which I am renouned. Nor the diagrams, the flow charts and collages. The electronic world my only constant.
I worry that I am being drawn further and further in, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. I spend less time online than I have in the past, and go out more. Regardless, I am gradually detaching from reality, from a certainty about the regularity of place. None of it seems real.
Here we go again.5
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1Val never did receive my messages - not until after the fact, and even then they were garbled by her machine. Nevertheless, she met my flight -- a different flight hours after the first was supposed to arrive. Even though I wasn't sure she still existed, I knew exactly where to find her -- far ahead and just a bit to the left.6
2My reasons for being in Atlanta I shall explain in a later entry.
3They're treating me quite well -- first class, meal vouchers for lunch and dinner. (I just spent one to buy seven bottles of water, survivalist mode rising to the fore.) And the flight vouchers I've been given along with the low cost of the entire journey have caused me to make a substantial profit.7
4If there had been a chapel in this terminal, I would likely have chosen it over the elvator.
5Statements of this sort should not be misconstrued to mean that I am unhappy.8 It's just strange how it creeps up on you, the dislocation. I've been travelling so long I can't imagine not living out of my backpack.
6I've been doing this a lot lately. It was the same with Khirsah and Ailei although I'd never met them.
7Perhaps Val and I shall fly to Michigan, despite my well known diatribes against the state.
8The adjective I most often use to describe myself is "Fortunate." I also say that Fortune must be in love with me, for she has no better reason for such coyness.9
9'Fortunate' also implies 'resourceful', not to mention intimating 'for', the several meanings of 'fortune', and the multiple interpretations of 'tune'. Plus 'ate' and by extension 'eight', infinity, the double of 'four'(for). Further iterations should be self apparent to the linguist or codebreaker.
Nevertheless, I maintain my faith that things happen when they should and teachers appear when you need them.
Note: I call the flight attendent "Miss" and the ticket lady "Ma'am". This degredation disgusts me; it has to stop. I envy the Russians their "Comrade."
Despite this, I am saturnine. Despite the fact that an engine just blew out - fortunately while we were still on the runway. Some force is determined to keep me in Atlanta2; this is the third flight which has failed to take me out.3
I have spent most of my day in an unused elevator, the only quiet place in the airport4. At the very least, this series of delays has granted me the opportunity to read The House of Leaves, something which I've put off for over a year despite my keen interest. It seems appropriate -- eerily so -- the talk of dehydrated explorers with no end in sight, in a room which shouldn't be there.
I briefly ventured from my haven in order to secure victuals; as a result, I lunched with a hippie lady I'd never met. We talked of woods and poetry and the function of travel. She's always lived in woods but yearned for the sea; now her children are old enough that she can finally fly.
In contrast, I've been on the move for as long as I can remember, airports a function of my skin. Perhaps it's appropriate that my journal -- the record of my life -- exists only online, even though the media limits me to words alone and not the illuminations for which I am renouned. Nor the diagrams, the flow charts and collages. The electronic world my only constant.
I worry that I am being drawn further and further in, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. I spend less time online than I have in the past, and go out more. Regardless, I am gradually detaching from reality, from a certainty about the regularity of place. None of it seems real.
Here we go again.5
_____________________________________________
1Val never did receive my messages - not until after the fact, and even then they were garbled by her machine. Nevertheless, she met my flight -- a different flight hours after the first was supposed to arrive. Even though I wasn't sure she still existed, I knew exactly where to find her -- far ahead and just a bit to the left.6
2My reasons for being in Atlanta I shall explain in a later entry.
3They're treating me quite well -- first class, meal vouchers for lunch and dinner. (I just spent one to buy seven bottles of water, survivalist mode rising to the fore.) And the flight vouchers I've been given along with the low cost of the entire journey have caused me to make a substantial profit.7
4If there had been a chapel in this terminal, I would likely have chosen it over the elvator.
5Statements of this sort should not be misconstrued to mean that I am unhappy.8 It's just strange how it creeps up on you, the dislocation. I've been travelling so long I can't imagine not living out of my backpack.
6I've been doing this a lot lately. It was the same with Khirsah and Ailei although I'd never met them.
7Perhaps Val and I shall fly to Michigan, despite my well known diatribes against the state.
8The adjective I most often use to describe myself is "Fortunate." I also say that Fortune must be in love with me, for she has no better reason for such coyness.9
9'Fortunate' also implies 'resourceful', not to mention intimating 'for', the several meanings of 'fortune', and the multiple interpretations of 'tune'. Plus 'ate' and by extension 'eight', infinity, the double of 'four'(for). Further iterations should be self apparent to the linguist or codebreaker.
Nevertheless, I maintain my faith that things happen when they should and teachers appear when you need them.
Note: I call the flight attendent "Miss" and the ticket lady "Ma'am". This degredation disgusts me; it has to stop. I envy the Russians their "Comrade."
