VOICES

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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.