Posts Tagged ‘ new orleans ’

sub-entry 28> episode [10 x (end - 1)] \/\/ on what episodes must eventually do

October 3, 2010
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sub-entry 28> episode [10 x (end - 1)] \/\/ on what episodes must eventually do

My boots sunk into the centuries-old grime-covered stone floor of the corridor that lay far beneath the St. Louis Cathedral. In front of me: a river of warm light, its wind blowing back my hair and jacket. I looked down at my hands, which were covered in hardened black wax. I could feel the golden symbols simmering on the skin of my face and neck, reacting to the pull of the wonder. In front of me, the bits of wonder leaped out of the stream like fish now and again, slow-motion arcs of bursting yellow fireworks reaching into my vision and kissing the backs of my eyes, leaving their mark.

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Sub-entry 27> episode 3.0405 \/\/ on the various embodiments of correspondence

September 26, 2010
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Sub-entry 27> episode 3.0405 \/\/ on the various embodiments of correspondence

New Orleans, five weeks ago - or tomorrow afternoon. Most of the time it sleeps, stretched out through the middle of the city, half-curled up like some sleeping dragon. Half a mile wide and who-cares-how-many miles long, it cuts through the city like a scimitar, curving down and up again, giving the city the scar that forever earns it the moniker “Crescent City.”

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sub-entry 25> episode 22.40 \/\/ on the illusions of control and on controlling illusions

September 19, 2010
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sub-entry 25> episode 22.40 \/\/ on the illusions of control and on controlling illusions

...the clown nodded to Scape and quietly slipped out from under the car. I, on the other hand, hadn't thought about how I was going to sneakily get out of my own hiding place, which was a trash can, and ended up just tipping myself over, so that the trash can spilled me and some trash onto the sidewalk.

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sub-entry 24> episode appendix ii \/\/ on medicine and the chaotic impulse

September 12, 2010
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sub-entry 24> episode appendix ii \/\/ on medicine and the chaotic impulse

Walking down Saint Roch Avenue (Roch is pronounced “rock,” as in what this city is not built on), down the middle of the neutral ground full of giant oak trees, past all the colorful shotgun houses and the men playing horse shoes in the grass, you come to the Saint Roch Cemetery. I've always known where it was – I'd always meant to go there some day. But the fact was, I'd never stepped foot in there before. This was a sub-entry for an episode that hadn't happened.

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sub-entry 23> episode 172.1 \/\/ on what you are divisible by

September 5, 2010
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sub-entry 23> episode 172.1 \/\/ on what you are divisible by

Drip. Drip. In the darkness, it's all I could hear – the sound of liquid slowly dripping into a puddle of itself. Drip. Drip. The smell of plants and herbs wrapped around me like a cloak, making my skin tingle all over. It hugged me tight, then whispered into my ear, “Follow me out of here, and all will be well.” “We already had this conversation, remember?” I said. “So I know that you're lying. But I'm going to follow you anyway, because I need to come back to life. I have things to do.”

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sub-entry 22> episode 80.4 \/\/ on chasing (and catching) inevitability

August 29, 2010
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sub-entry 22> episode 80.4 \/\/ on chasing (and catching) inevitability

New Orleans, circa 1935. Canal Street, with its bustling shoppers and rushing business workers, chosen to forever serve as the border between the European charms of the French Quarter and the tall business buildings and statue-guarded city buildings of the Central Business District. Even in the midst of the depression, people walk to and fro with places to go, things to spend their money on. But to me this street on this particular day meant only one thing: a way back to where I belonged. I rushed past the hoards of people, followed closely by the clown. (I feel like I should call him something else, something more fitting now that I've remembered who he is, but the fact is he doesn't have a name. And in my defense, he is dressed like a clown. I'd have to remember to ask him about the whole dressing-up-like-a-clown thing.) I felt my wrist start to twitch. “Not yet!” I said. “This sub-entry just started!” “It's not ending,” said the clown, stopping to look into the sky. “Something's coming.”

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sub-entry 20> episode 72 5/8 \/\/ on souvenirs and the things they bring with them

August 15, 2010
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sub-entry 20> episode 72 5/8 \/\/ on souvenirs and the things they bring with them

There is a fellow up in the clouds who looks down on all of us who live here in Louisiana. He doesn't have a big white beard and his name isn't God or Zeus – it's actually Albert, and he's about as nice a fellow as you're likely to meet. But this sub-entry and this episode don't really have anything to do with Albert, except that he had pulled the lever up there that made the clouds dump their thousands upon thousands of buckets of water down upon the city of New Orleans. Now, I'm not gonna say that if you haven't seen it rain in Louisiana, that you haven't seen it rain. Because what it does here doesn't fall under the definition of rain – it's something else entirely. What happens here is enough to make you question the way you're going about your life. It's enough to alter the way you see things – or alter the way that things see you.

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sub-entry 19> episode 0100.11010 \/\/ on the reflections of impermanence

August 8, 2010
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sub-entry 19> episode 0100.11010 \/\/ on the reflections of impermanence

The apartment building smelled of must and lavender, as if somebody had walked through the hallways waving fresh lavender in the air just yesterday but now even that scent was growing old and musty. I and my mosquitoed compatriot, Scape, stopped at the door to the apartment. The buzzing hallway light just above us flickered right on cue, and I pushed the door open to apartment 10. The door creaked (like they seem to do in this kind of situation) and the room beyond the door was dim, the air thick. I walked in and the room was in shambles – the desk, dresser and table were covered in heaps of torn and crumpled paper. Blanketing the walls and the dirty window were maybe a hundred moths, all twitching their wings and waving their antennae about. The old man who lived in the apartment was standing on the cluttered desk, writing a seemingly endless stream of ones and zeros on the wall with his finger, which was dripping with black ink. Across the room was the boy, maybe 14 years old, shoving notebooks and a compass into a shoulder bag. The boy barely looked up at us when we entered.

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sub-entry 18> episode 2 1/4\/\/on things that were and things that have yet to be

August 1, 2010
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sub-entry 18> episode 2 1/4\/\/on things that were and things that have yet to be

New Orleans is often considered the most haunted city in the states. Sure, there are the ghosts out there who go “Woooo” when people walk past dilapidated houses – but it’s ghosts like that who give the rest of the ghosts here a bad rap.

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sub-entry 17>> episode 50.6 \/\/ on ghosts of places and people

July 25, 2010
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sub-entry 17>> episode 50.6 \/\/ on ghosts of places and people

As I drifted underneath the electric lamps of Spanish Fort, passing by the upscale restaurants and cabaret shows and heading towards the amusement park rides, I tried not to make eye contact with the ghosts.

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