convergences.

at left: lining pages, 1958

at right: volo bog (via maggie), 2010

things in the world, they eventually come together.

 (phantom limbs can find their host)

my monday was a bit disorienting. 

but beauty, it found its way through the wires. 

day one hundred forty-two.

welcome back to the suburbs, where trader joe's is more than just a fever dream, cable television and couches are steady companions, and people in line behind you at target expect you to care about the presence of vince vaughn's yoga-instructor mother.


i worked up until my bus ride yesterday, and one of my books had a familiar looking cover image.

Waterfront reporter by Felix Riesenberg, Jr. (at left), and husband from another time (at right):

day twenty-six.

i spent the weekend in chicagoland, celebrating my friend ashley's upcoming wedding.
we took the weird chicago bus tour (of the red light district & haunted pub varieties). it was a lot of fun and crazy. i would be interested in doing it again, but perhaps the "devil & the white city" or al capone versions.

we did pay a visit to one of these, in an unassuming walk-up:

and then i had a moment of convergence, when a photo from an hour before converged with some bathroom graffiti:

we finished the night at a place called lulu's, for baskets of fried things.
this guy showed up:

i ended up with a hotel room to myself, since not many stayed the night.
one bed was entirely dedicated to my unused pillows:

the dessert table at sunday's shower:

many more pictures, stories to share, but perhaps via other avenues.
for now, i have a healthy sleep deficit to dismantle.