After a tense ride to the airport and an even more intense parking debacle at an inaccessible airport hotel, we finally settled into our room, drank and ate, and put ourselves to bed. Shortly before this, the girls got to reminiscing about Peder some. Julie told a story about the time that the two of them almost burned down the woodshop of the art department. I was too spaced to get my recording up and running in time to capture their talk and as soon as I got it running they changed the subject to other people more loosely connected. I may need a different device for recording, something smaller, less obtrusive and easier to conceal. It’s been my experience that people who know they’re being recorded tend to pull their punches and generally aren’t as natural in their speech. It’s something to be aware of: conversations start fast. In some situations I’ll need to keep my finger on the trigger, so to speak.

In places like these, cars, asphalt, chewing gum are natural. These stunted, misshapen, wayward trees that have persisted between parking lots are the aliens, intruders, breaking up what would otherwise be unadulterated open space for street combustion and locomotion. The smooth part of locality, ringed on all sides by the comforting presence of chainlink., is broken jarringly by a giant, wizened cedar, its lower trunk curving toward the fence and up, as if in defiance, then rueful acceptance.
The god of rapid travel is served at this concrete altar, the pooling motor oil libations to a god of death whose own existence is as much a mystery to himself as it is to me.

One day, we’ll all fight about what the actual import of this particular moment was, and yet, somehow, we will all necessarily agree…

A conversation between two sides – between passion consuming and love sustaining.