Robbing the Void

that’s what the recent century that I rode around Lake Tahoe was like. I couldn’t have dreamt better weather, and our entire team rode swift and strong. With no official time goal other than completion before course closure (roughly 12 hours or 6am to 6pm), and since I’m mad, and afflicted with cycling sickness , I set a personal goal of six hours. Don’t let me fool you, it’s not as aggressive as it sounds. While it certainly is challenging given the topography, it’s not impossible.

I’m on a plane, bound for Tahoe to ride a century. For those wondering what that is; it’s a 100 mile road race/ride on a bicycle (yes, completed in one day). If you’ve read my profile, you already know that I enjoy cycling. Immensely. If you haven’t read my profile, you know now - ‘cause I just said as much. Cycling is awesome! I enjoy it at least as much as I enjoy architecture (more so even) because cycling works my body, like architecture works my brain. If it’s not obvious, I intentionally use the term “cycling” in lieu of “bicycle riding” in an attempt to convey relative intensity. I break it down like so:

It’s already April (25 to be exact) and I’m late for this party. No matter, poetry harbors no schedule, and that’s one reason it’s so awesome. There are other reasons this is so; Poetry is the literature of everyman - anyone can write it; Poetry need not follow “top down” writing conventions - it has a rebellious nature that attracts me; Poetry spawns easily in the mind, when the mind is open to free association - which is habitually so for mine.

As an architect, sometimes the membrane separating my “inside” reality from my “outside” reality gets dangerously thin . Especially when talking with other “like minded” architects, or architecture students. When this happens, sometimes my tendency to free-associate runs amok, confusing the hell out of those around me (because, of course, they’re only getting half of the conversation that is taking place in my mind). Why this happens I don’t know - I don’t really care (even though I have to laugh at myself for it).

For this architect, the summer’s been crazy. It began with an actual project, and it will end without one. I can’t say I’m surprised - I had a gut feeling about it. The project (a residential tower) ramped up from zero to full burn in the span of four days and cast it’s intense heat into the universe for eight weeks. Alas the intensity was unsustainable. The owner faltered pulling the plug just last week. It was like a great big hug of hurt , but without the actual fire.

Or what not to do on your J4 vacation. I've been busy since NeoCon. I had a furniture showroom project (for the event) which was completed just in time, and the party was outta' control. Close on the heels of that was Spring Fling (an industry benefit party that's held here every year). Put on by one of the bigger developers in the city, everyone gets all fancy and hangs out on the riverfront for the evening. Most go from fancy to sloppy in a few short hours : ) The beginning of Summer is such an inhibition obliterating time in Chicago. I guess it's all the Winter angst making 'em crack.

*Um, not really*

Ahhh, the mantra of ultimate personal action. I love that phrase because it’s a scalpel; it’s Phaedrus’ knife. It precisely divides one’s desire for something from one’s willingness to invest in it’s production. Everyone knows that an investment of this sort is commonly made with one’s own blood, sweat, and tears hands. Sometimes it also requires some money and resources, depending upon one’s skill level.

I walk. Just, walk. Moving from the point where I entered this existence to the point where I’ll exit. Like many I’m intimately familiar with my own start point, and know nothing of my own endpoint; not the when, the where, nor my proximity to either. Common sense demonstrates the endpoint to be in flux, undetermined, and inevitable.

Nodding, I close my eyes to focus on relaxing my arm. A needle finds it’s way into a vein on the back of my hand. I could’ve had a port installed. But in my chest!?! Nooo thank you! Between pain and the possibility of an infection that close to my core, I’ll take pain any day. “Here goes,” she says opening the drip valve. I feel a cold burn creep into my vein and up my forearm, followed almost instantly by the “taste-slash-smell” of the chemo entering my bloodstream. It smarts a bit so the nurse slows the drip and the sting subsides. I can hear the incessant bleeping of some daytime talk show. It sort of pisses me off, but since they’re in this room, whoever’s watching it probably needs the distraction. So I just sit silent, eyes closed, focusing on the pulsing sound of the IV pump. burn this moment Hours later the side effects kick in. Lasting about a week, and ranging from a glowing (though chemically induced) sun tan, to incessan...

The vast territory of madness in my mind that I inhabit is a freakish and scary wondrous place. I can assemble visual representations of it in minutes (it’s not difficult).

Curious?!? Good! Who I am is Izzy Darlow. Where I am is irrelevant. What I do is anything I can muster the will to do, and what I believe is likely to emerge from reading the entries populating this web-space. You can trust that I am human and that, is about it.