June 8th, 2019


in the maze of her imagination

4 june 2005
at o'hare international airport - or -
"there is no cherry coke in concourse c"

at least i've got my priorities straight, yeah? i wonder what kind of ghosts haunt airports. ghosts keep those regions best where regret and uncertainty lie. so long the ambitious samurai has left his wife and child languishing in poverty, surely it must haunt him in some way at some time, surely that guilt must build in long silences before culminating in the empty caves of once-eyes he turns to that next morning, that morning after a night when the woman who he'd abandoned took him back into her home, her bed, her body, very much of living flesh and bone.(1)

is the airport itself a ghost? it could be, white and translucent, mysterious lighting, a sort of gloss that allows you a glimpse of yourself far more easily than of its true nature. what is the true nature of an airport? different things for different people at different times. that's pretty ghostly. there's the ghost world of regret and the ghost world of travel and maybe they are concourses in the same terminal.

my gate changed three times.

i scruffled through security, set off alarms with shoe buckles. my backpack didn't start out too heavy, but apparently it wasn't done being heavy yet. it is very heavy, now. and the placating new age music down the moveable walkway corridor meshed exceptionally well with the flux of the overhead neon. i couldn't walk, even, i just stopped and stood and stared at it, my mouth hanging open. it sang and it flickered and it danced. the weaving waved glass windows rippled along the sides. ghost world? how about "LSD experience," up the moveable walkway, the rainbow streaks of neon chasing you on your way. at the end of the walkway i needed to run back to the beginning of it because i thought it would do me good to see the whole affair from the beginning again, which it did.

i wanted to do it a third time, but figured i'd better get into this hallway to walk all the way left down to gate C25, to learn actually we needed to gather in the opposite direction on the right at C15, to learn yet again that either i'm really not seeing things right the first time or some security guard somewhere very much enjoys seeing me heave sighs and stomp off the other way, wrangling my much too heavy backpack. for the time being, i am monitoring that gate sign very closely. if another gate change occurs, i'd like to see it when it does. of course, i might need a restroom before boarding. i'm a little scared to leave the gate, though. i don't know what i'll come back to. maybe a free trip to detroit. maybe a top hat with a duck. our plane is waiting.

the gate seating has seen more fashionable days. they seem to follow on amusement park tour tram's philosophy of comfort and visual appeal. when will the pounding carnival music begin? how many times will the merry-go-round go round? the more the merrier, after all, isn't that what they say?

june 10 2005
here we are again: never failing the wilderness. our neighbors, however, fail to see the advantages in this. i swear i'm not generally a shallow or an evil person, but if god were planning to give one of the thirty dozen little children in campground ten a bad enough ear infection to necessitate a return trip home this summer, regardless, i wouldn't mind it being right now. i didn't ever think one group of campers could ever be quite so loud.(2) we are thinking of taking down the whole tent and reassembling it elsewhere, it has been so bad.

ben is coming up the walkway, putting things into (or taking things out of) his car. at least i hope that's ben. maybe it's a beetle thief. or a really big beetle.

we got a new lot: lot 49, sort of by the cabins and it's so much quieter now. we half disassembled our tent, after my shower, my hair still wrapped around my head in this ridiculous powder pink towel that very adorably (however preposterously) dropped a corner neatly over my right eye. and we marched past campground ten, myself in my pink towel, our half-assembled tent in our hands, with dirty looks and sharp shoulders. i mean, sure, thirty dozen children, there's going to be some noise. but they forgot to bring a flashlight and had to drive their monster truck to the bathhouse, which is not five hundred yards away. also apparently forgot their lantern, because the monster truck was up and running all night because they needed the headlights. they sure didn't forget the DVD player, though, and put on "sponge bob squarepants" full blast to "keep the peace" at "quiet time." i mean, yes, kids make noise, but if you don't teach them some respect for the marvels of nature, how are they going to learn?
(1) kwaidan, 1965
(2) "prove me wrong, children! prove me wrong."