Texas Star, Fair Park, Dallas, Texas
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“A Boat
O beautiful
was the werewolf
in his evil forest.
We took him
to the carnival
and he started
crying
when he saw
the Ferris wheel.
Electric
green and red tears
flowed down
his furry cheeks.
He looked
like a boat
out on the dark
water.”
― Richard Brautigan
A pond in Fair Park.
From Aurora Dallas 2013
Performance art is about joy, about making something that’s so full of kind of a wild joy that you really can’t put into words.
—-Laurie Anderson
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Dallas Arts District, during a Patio Sessions Concert
“Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.”
― H.P. Lovecraft
About a year and a half ago, I read a book called New Orleans Noir – which I enjoyed a lot. It was a collection of DARK short stories all set in a city I love very much… and a city, despite all its frivolity and fun, that has plenty of opportunities for that side of the human spirit.
The book was part of a series of noir short stories tied to individual cities. After reading it, I had a thought, “I wish they would do one of these on Dallas – but they never will.” I was wrong.
I missed it when the book was published or I would have gone to some of the events. I didn’t find out about the book until it made the rounds on social media. When the publication of Dallas Noir popped up in my facebook feed I was really excited. And in this day of ebooks and instant gratification, fifteen seconds later I was looking at the table of contents.
What was even cooler is that I have personally met two of the authors – I read their stories first.
David Haynes is an Associate Professor and Director of Creative Writing at SMU. About a decade ago I took a couple of classes in fiction writing from him through the Writer’s Garrett. I’ve always been amazed at how much more I learned from these than from my college writing classes (which set my writing back over a quarter-century – it’s my college writing classes that are responsible for me being a chemist).
His story, “Big Things Happening Here,” Oak Lawn, was more than excellent. Unique, subtle, very “literary” – it tells the story of two men that witness someone being abducted in a tony suburb and are drawn into a vast conspiracy… or maybe not. A thought provoking tale of the possibility of a secret undercurrent of modern life – an illustration of the adage, “Simply because you are paranoid doesn’t mean they are not out to get you.”
Next I read a story by Catherine Cuellar, “Dog Sitter,” Love Field. I have met her a number of times at events in the Arts District and bike rides. Her contribution was on the more civilized edge of the noir genre – a story of a domestic worker that kills a passerby by accident. It’s a finely characterized tale which captures the delicate and difficult life led by those right under our noses, yet right outside of the mainstream of society.
After those two I cranked through the collection in order. I was familiar with many of the writers – I’ve been reading Ben Fountain and Harry Hunsiker for a while. There was a wide variety in all the stories – which made it as enjoyable as a box of chocolates – but the locations were all familiar. They did a good enough job of inserting locations and people that any Dallasite will recognize to give me the creeps as I ride/drive/move around town and see things that remind me of the stories.
The last story was by Jonathan Woods, “Swingers Anonymous,” M Streets. I enjoyed his collection, Bad Juju & Other Tales of Madness and Mayhem – driving down to the Pearl Cup on Henderson to hear him read one night. I’ve always admired his writing – because he doesn’t fuck around. He writes like a truck wreck… the story comes at you two hundred proof and on fire. True to form, his story in Dallas Noir has a classic “grab your attention” opening line:
We all went over to Pauline’s to admire her breasts.
How can you not finish a story that starts like that?
Dallas Jail complex with the Margaret Hunt Hill bridge in the background.
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From Aurora Dallas 2013
“Actually, I do happen to resemble a hallucination. Kindly note my silhouette in the moonlight.” The cat climbed into the shaft of moonlight and wanted to keep talking but was asked to be quiet. “Very well, I shall be silent,” he replied, “I shall be a silent hallucination.”
― Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita
From Aurora Dallas
From Aurora Dallas
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Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs round these velvet rims
And strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this trap
Well run till we drop, baby we’ll never go back
Will you walk with me out on the wire
`cause baby Im just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta know how it feels
I want to know if love is wild girl, I want to know if love is real
—-Springsteen, Born to Run
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I had started calling her Lucy shortly after we met; I didn’t like the name Lucille. That’s how our television show was called I Love Lucy, not Lucille.
—-Desi Arnaz
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Well, I’m your Vitavigavegivat Girl. Are you tired, run down, listless? Do you pop out at parties? Are you unpoopular?
[pause]
Well, are you? The answer to all your problems is in this little ol’ bottle, Vitameatavegamin.
[Checks the bottle label]
That’s it. Vitameatavegamin contains vitamins, meat, megetables and vinerals. So why don’t you join the thousands of happy peppy people and get a great big bottle of Vitaveatyvemeanyminimoe. I’ll tell you what you have to do. You have to take a whole tablespoonful after every meal. It’s so tasty too. It’s just like candy. So everybody get a bottle of… [pointing at the bottle] This stuff.
Irving Arts Center, Irving, Texas
Larry Whiteley
Dwelling, 2005
Painted Steel
Irving artist Larry Whiteley makes flowers and more from steel
Larry Whiteley, Dwelling
Larry Whiteley, Dwelling
Behind Dwelling, you can see Star Flower, by James Surls.
The Bank of America Plaza Building (the giant green thing) reflected in the mirrored sides of the Dallas Hyatt Regency. Taken from the Union Station DART platform while I was waiting on a train home from the Tweed Ride.
Bank of America Tower reflected in the Hyatt Regency, Dallas, Texas
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Today was an event I was looking forward to, the Dallas 2013 Tweed Ride.
I had what was, I guess, the bare minimum – a tweed jacket from Goodwill and a tweed cap a friend had found on Amazon. So I was ready, if only minimally so.
The ride was originally scheduled for a week ago, but had to be postponed because of the ice storm. The weather was impossible that day, but it was pretty cold today – low forties, overcast, foggy, with a wicked north wind screaming in like a wave of icy razor blades. The last tweed ride – two years ago – was on a preternaturally warm day and had a huge turnout. Today looked like the opposite. I had to think hard about whether I wanted to go. It was nasty outside and the house was warm. I had plenty to do at home.
I futzed and dutzed and prepared as best I could. I decided to ride my commuter bike, and strap on as much crap as I thought I needed onto it. One pannier was packed with my camera and tripod and the other one I filled with two vacuum bottles of hot coffee. I also filled a small flask with some rum, just in case.
Though it wasn’t authentic, I wore a modern thermal vest under my jacket – hoping to keep my core warm.
And I set out to ride my bike to the DART station. As I turned north into the wind, at the end of my block, I decided to turn around and go home. I was out of breath – since the ice storm I’ve been hanging around and am not used to riding… I felt ridiculous in my silly getup. But most of all, the cutting cold wind made riding simply too miserable.
But then I thought about how decisions about giving up go down. The problem is; the pain, the uncomfortable cold, and the icy wind are all too obvious negatives… while the positives of actually braving the elements were out there in the uncertain future, and not for sure. How do you judge the merit of something that you don’t actually do? If you give in to the immediately uncomfortable and reject the possible future… you won’t get out of bed in the morning.
So I sucked it up and pedaled on. As I rode toward the train station, I noticed the clouds breaking up to the north and by the time I reached it the sun was actually breaking through the clouds, and the vicious wind began to break. I bought my pass and the transit gods sent a train in at the exact second I arrived on the platform (that is rare – I’m usually cursed and get to see my train leaving as I pull up – and have to wait).
The ride started by the Grassy Knoll at Dealey Plaza in Downtown Dallas, behind the famous wooden fence. I had thought that the interest in the assassination site would die down after the recent fiftieth anniversary, but there was a huge crowd of tourists wandering around… looking askance at the small crowd of people wearing odd clothing, standing around with a motley collection of bicycles, and shivering.
The crowd wasn’t huge – the cold and the postponement had taken its toll – but there was enough. We set out and rode through downtown, looping past Klyde Warren Park for photographs, and then down Main Street – past the Dallas Eye – and across the Jefferson Viaduct Cycletrack into Oak Cliff.
About two weeks ago, some folks and I had spent a few hours sweeping the track clean. Unfortunately, the ice storm had forced the city to sand the bridge heavily and the traffic had pushed a lot of sand and rock into the bicycle lanes – making our work worthless and the track difficult and dangerous. I took my time crossing – I didn’t want to ride fast through that slippery gravel, but the sun was still out and the view was really nice.
We rode into Oak Cliff, through Bishop Arts and on to the Turner House, where there were refreshments and photographs. We couldn’t stay too long – it was a long way from home, so I rode back across the river and caught the train downtown.
The temperature dropped after the sun went down and the ride home from the station was very cold… but bearable.
Tweed is warmer than you think.
The Tweed Ride posing in Klyde Warren Park
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Dallas Observer Article and Photos of the ride
Charming Portraits of People With Their Bicycles at the Dallas Tweed Ride
Bill Chance 