Two and a half hours from now

And on to December on Lawrence Ave., where a small dog barks, repeats. The black snow shimmers, ice in oil, before headlights creeping from my left slink off to my right, red taillights. The gated corner stores, the billboards peeling, the gritty bowed faces fill me with energy and importance. In December, I feel warm.
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Boner Chicago

Some scrape the sky, some bung the low,
All of them got girth.
In throbbing pulse, steel purple glow,
This city sure got worth.

The men they swim in millions,
Small fish biggish pond.
They whipped: their fate: to impregnate,
Hot dog's a magic wand.
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Introduction

Ashamed of the recent rash of nonsense that has been spilling out of me, I thought I might try a coherent post. I live in Chicago. I am from the suburbs of Chicago. I tend to despise New York for being too self-absorbed. I tend to despise Los Angeles for the same reason. I like to think that Chicago, and the Midwest in general, provides a framework to be self-absorbed without losing focus of the problems of society as a whole, and the role of yourself in those problems.

I love the Cubs. I hate the Cubs. I could never envision a World Series on the North Side of Chicago. To have a World Series would disorient me badly. I am good at dealing with disappointments because I expect the Cubs to disappoint. Life is mostly disappointments. I am good at dealing with life. A Cubs World Series would drive me insane, driven insane like a ball off of Derrek Lee's bat into the right-center field gap, scoring the runner from first.
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