B O N D P H O N E.
Words and pictures by Chris Lamb.

I am growing bored with my country, as of late; the Etch-A-Sketch border lines and landmark eateries that make up territory are becoming too worn, too well-loved. I don't mean America, by any means - there's still too much too see, too many places to go. I haven't lived on San Francsico's Valencia, preferably over that diner with the library of used books and perfect avocado sandwiches. I've never seen Albuquerque or any of Arizona. I've never gone to Rock City or any of those states in the middle with the long names that start with an M. My personal map of the world is a shaky diamond, Houston to Birmingham then up the South East coast with a brief jump to the West coast for a few weeks, then ending up in New York. I haven't been any where, I haven't seen anything. My first trip to San Francisco, my first time going farther West than an old battle ground or two in Houston, I saw the great American desert from above and was awestruck. I took in the contrast of snow-capped mountains against baked khaki Earth. And there, thousands of miles over the earth, traveling well over four hundred miles per hour, I understood the beauty of creation. I saw the world as astronauts must see it, as the sum rather than the parts, and a unified, peaceful sphere light years away from the pollution and war that were actually tearing it apart. I Understood. I Believed. Then I promptly fell asleep and forgot the whole thing.

It's Summertime in Manhattan, proper and muggy with the sort of humidity you have to peel off and leave in a pile next to your clothes before collapsing in front of a fan. I'm working at a coffee shop and, as of last week, proofreading on the side. I don't make much, but I make enough to pay rent, feed myself and my bartenders, and can almost justify the occasional new phone or music binge. It's not life, but it's living. When people ask if I'm keeping busy* I say yes, sure, because it certainly feels like I am. I work, I sleep, I eat and read and drink and watch TV shows pulled from the internet. Sometimes I write, and when that happens I try to ignore the lack of direction or intent that plagues my words. Time passes.

This is not enough.

The part of my brain concerned with cute coincidence latches on the frequency of Dis - capital city of Hell, nickname of Hades, general not-good-meaning word - in my life at the moment, and its use as a prefix. Disinterest. Dissatisfaction. Dishelveled. The old claustrophobia of 2004 that landed me in Alphabet City on two week's notice with three suitcases to my name has settled in, draw to sent of patterns and paths worn in the sidewalk of my neighborhood. I eat the same food and shop the same stores, I work the same hours and see the same people. I have stopped exploring, stopped bluffing and barnstorming my way into parties and situations I have no business being in. I can't remember the last time I felt rocked back on my heels, hit all at once by the realization that I live in New York City. I have settled, I have grown comfortable, and it has lessened me.

It is time for change, now, before the need to breathe sends me running for another city just as I'm getting to know this one. I have caught myself in the process of forgetting how things work, the truth-or-dare decision making that takes hold in the wee small hours and makes us gods before sunrise, and only pray I can make up that lost ground. It is time for dumb moves and proper challenges, for living on my toes rather than life and work as a repetitive motion injury. This is indeed the year that makes us grow up; that doesn't mean growing old. Gimme gimme gimme life, gimme danger, little stranger.

This is the fifth or sixth Go Get 'Em Tiger post I've made here, at least, and this time, swear to God? I really want to mean it. Bring on the Summer.

posted by chris  # 4:08 AM