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By Nik Kohrt
WHEN I FIRST ARRIVED HERE, the city was dizzying
in size and activity. The landscape was a carnival of events that I
strolled through. I was amused and amazed. However, the action of
moving through everyday life was dulled somewhere along the way. Now
that progression is acted out on a tightrope somewhere above
consciousness and consideration. More aware, less affected. Immunity
to chaos and the people in my environment creep up on me now in yawns
and glances dodged. I can feel myself becoming desensitized, slipping
towards detachment. I'm left whirling not in awe, but at a loss as to
what to do. This is when I consider leaving again.
I MET RANDOM TRAVELERS between Kentucky and
Mexico. Most of them were the kind with Kerouac paperbacks on their
dashboard and Leonard Cohen in the stereo. All of their conversations
involved posing vague questions about politics and philosophy while
turning up their palms, like the answer might fall into them. I couldn't
reciprocate enough to satisfy most of them. They talked in this
acrobatic sort of prose, and that seemed more of a trendy regurgitation
of what they had read than a conversation.
THE ELEVATOR RIDE up to my room is disappointing. The
people in
my building seem to be on a mission to make as little contact with
others as possible. Sometimes I consider asking them what makes the
carpet or the ceiling so interesting instead of my usual "How's it
going?" Funny though, I catch myself doing the same thing lately. Given
the opportunity, I could name the four colors that make up the fibers on
floor of the elevator, too.
THE
THINGS I
REMEMBER ABOUT RENO are vivid. The best things were sevens;
people were just okay. I stayed for a night in a hotel a couple
blocks from the strip. A visit longer than that would have
smudged the shine that glossed over the whole glamorous episode.
I spent money on slots that gave nothing back, and chatted
with some locals who did the same. I didn't expect much more
though, and the experience seemed fulfilling at the time,
maybe even too fulfilling. The night I left, the lights and
the people gave me a sick feeling in my stomach like eating
too much cotton candy.
LIVING
ON-CAMPUS at an art school makes me feel like I'm part of
a play. Being surrounded by art and artists makes the world
I live in seem less real. I begin doubting the authenticity
of things and people I pass everyday that I normally wouldn't
think twice about. I find myself questioning a couple of scraps
of metal on the sidewalk. Installation piece or garbage? The
city has become a gallery of tricks and political statements.
The pane of glass I used to view my landscape through has
become something closer to a fun house mirror.
It's
certain that my friend, Daniel, has been affected
too. A month
or so ago, he was helping me move my things into a
room on
the sixth floor. For some odd reason, my roommate
and I have
four garbage cans bet-ween us for one dorm room. The
strategic
placement of these seemed imperative to me. I asked
Daniel,
fairly seriously, "This one needs a home, where
should I put
it?" And he, also serious, replied, "Well, I think
your best
option is to tie a string to the bottom of it, hang
it upside
down from that pipe on the ceiling, then put
Christmas lights
all around it. So when you put trash in it, it all
falls down
to the ground. But see, the lights will illuminate
it, so
you'll always know where it is."
It's
too late for him to be saved.
Daniel
is an animation major, and shares more similarities
to an
actual cartoon than anyone I know. I'm rarely
surprised by
him. Whenever he's around, I have this sneaking
paranoia that
an ACME Anvil is about to drop on
me.
IT'S HARD TO RECALL
all of the elements of the transition I encountered
moving
here. My memory has a tendency to leave out the
times I felt
well-adjusted. Events and activities become routine
all of
a sudden. The ground where I stand is too familiar,
too weathered.
My objectives used to seem sweetly laid out. Now
they're lost
in the smoke and mirrors. And a carousel ride is all
that's
left of my intentions. I am endlessly spinning.