My 'day' job involves the dead, yes, but my 'night' job involves art students. Usually I go straight from one to the other, with just enough time to have a smoke and get a soda before I get nekkid. So I decided that I would do this in a public place that I spend a lot of time in but rarely pay attention to, as my nose is usually stuck in a book. I got to SAIC in enough time to sit with my back to the central pillar of the front patio area and write.

As an addendum to this, it is painful for me to write due to shoulder injury, and I was sick, which I though would be the perfect conditions for a true stream of consciousness essay. It is reproduced here with no after the fact editing or spell check.

And as I was trying to find a picture of the front of the SAIC Columbus building (no luck) I ended up discovering that my favoritest artist/writer in whole wide world is an alumni of SAIC. Edward Gorey did his only semester of formal education here, and is from Chicago. I didn't know that half an hour ago...


It's raining. I love rain. It is providing a background sussurus to the louder surf-sound of rush hour traffic, a constant ocean of cars flowing in between SAIC and Grant Park. There are small pocket conversations going on on either side of me, 3 people sitting & one standing to the right and 3 people sitting to the left. I can't make out whole conversations just snippets, words & phrase that surface out of the whole sea of sound. 'Is that her real name?' 'Plaster wreaks havoc on my hair.' People walking in and out of the main SAIC doors pass to either side of me. That is an impressive purple poncho. He has an nice obviously hand knitted scarf. I'm shivering from sitting on the concrete and the chill weather. 'I love that too, man!' An interesting green patchwork railroad cap. The video screen playing on the wall shows still photographs that I can't quite make out but catch the corner of my eye every time they change. Less traffic, a brief lull, but much honking of horns to the left. That red Tercel really needs to get it's brakes checked. A beautiful redhead walks by looking so depressed I want to go tell her that I think she's beautiful just to see her smile. High heels loud on the concrete clack past & behind me. A slight breeze, bringing smells of exhaust, cigarette smoke, & faintly under all the cleaner scent of the rain & the lake. Splashing sounds, someones sneakers are soaked through, they leave damp footprints as they squish past. The trees haven't quite turned yet, green leaves falling before thier time. 'Security officers are dragons.' Grey car across the street, flashers blinking in no discernable rythym. It's almost unnerving. Black truck w/very squeaky brakes. Confused guy in a baseball cap walks by, probably a tourist looking for the museum. Sudden outflux of people walking out of the doors, getting in the last smoke before class starts. Girl walks by, her clothes a crazy-quilt of black & grey, Victorian hippie style almost, her faded pink hair under a knit cap. Guy stands in front of me, McDonalds bag in one hand, smoke in the other. He seems to be regretting one of them, & I think its the bag. 'Do you think it will work?' Guy in a plaid shirt, I've seen him before but never modeled for his class. People sit or stand randomly, looking like a kinetic version of Pink Floyds Echoes album cover. Very preppy older guy w/a map, asking for directions. Can't make out where he wants to go. CTA bus drowns out all noise for a second, then fades away. Strong turpentine smell suddenly, can't see who it's coming from. A girl comes out, one of her pictures is being projected onto the wall. She is very pleased and calls a friend over to see. More people coming in now, the door behind me slams irregularly w/thier passage. There are still two groups chatting, but everyone else out here seems to be lost in a private world. 'Say, it's so good.' Bright laughter behind me. A short guy with a canvas almost as big as he lock steps past me. A girl comes forward wearing galoshes w/a brilliant floral pattern on them. Traffic is briefly louder, then fades as the light turns green. The flow of students is constant now, shuffling feet drowning out the traffic from the road that is 40 feet away. I must join them now, my own steps soon to fall from this place.