Why we love stretching the rhombus.

Had lunch overlooking Chicago at the Holiday Inn today with Charlie. (Segue: who was telling a joke in the Chicago Tribune today, btw?) Chinese take öut, coke, psychopharm chit chat, a new position to prescribing drugs to clients, a shoulder strap that never seems to sit straight, feminism diddling at dawn, two reports that linger in the back of her head. 34 degrees outside. A reprieve in the shape of a five foot five inch woman in black boots and jeans curled into and draped over a red lounge chair on a Tuesday..."Aperture as an opening, as a hole, slit, crack, gap." Pull apart the entire camera till its in pieces. Take the lens and hide it in a book. Take the shutter and hang it from your ceiling: prevention. Though the take out wasn't very good, there's something to be said about small escapes in the middle of a day when you have a chance to put it all aside...Blink. Blink. A to do list that's piling up needs tending to. A myspace letter. An email. A facebook letter. 100 text messages. I need to dust off my pencils and buy some new stamps. 10019. 90504. 02139. 94127. 05401. 78201...Destinations. November, the official novel writing month in the US, is a few days from being over. I have some serious making up to do. In the back of my head, I keep thinking there's a goodbye that I'm missing. There was a day like that where it was avoided or maybe it was a pencil written letter that I never sent but should've. Perhaps folded up into a paper airplane and dropped out of the window I was sitting alongside this afternoon...Envisage, something in a bottle: an introduction that was missed (yes, there will be many of them). In the background: "...if you see me walking down the street and i start to cry...walk on by....walk on by." An obese woman's proclamation came in a whisper from under the awning of an old building. Inside, a young slinky woman afraid to go outside. The house was being pulled apart by the community piece by piece. The rocks, outside the home, were building themselves up from the momentum. The obese woman, softer eyes than you've seen in years, is fuming. She couldn't wait till the house was completely törn up (not sure why 'torn' pulled a bjork just now) and the girl inside would have to confront her. The windowsill, the pink insulation, the borders to the doors. It all went. The girl inside got scared and hid under whatever she could till everything was gone sans one side of her home. The women outside, far from savvy, mustered up all her guts, stared at the slinky girl in the face and said softly *for its the only way she ever knew how to speak* "You fucking bitch. Don't you know I have it harder than anyone. Do you know what its like to be 300 pounds and the only person that will talk to you is someone who has made their decision about you before you speak? ...I'm sad I couldn't have been there before the house had come down. I'm a hundred and fifty pounds but I'm sure I could have worked well enough with lumber, a hammer and nails to rebuild in the dark when no one was looking. From the top of my head, there are at least 10 or 12 PsyD students who would have put on their sweats for the sake of saving the two very people who should have never lost their allure toward one another.