Gesamtkunstwerk.
Bring your seat backs to their full and upright positions and stow your tray tables, we’ll be arriving into Modernism shortly.
Sort of. My Raleigh Sojourn and I arrive, safely into Kansas City. I’m still nervous about bike breakage, so straight away I set out to rebuild and check her out for any handling issues. Everything’s good to go. Shoutout to unionized airport baggage handlers worldwide. And even those crazy motherfuckers in the TSA. I love the cat and mouse game I’ve been playing with them for a few years now. I save my inspection notices and scatter them throughout in the bike bag. They place another one in there every time; yet also collect the previous ones from all up in there and pile them all neatly on top. It’s like I’m saying: “I know you’re watching me so check me again why don’t you” and they’re replying: “we know you know we’re watching you and will check your shit each and every time.” Thanks for doing your job guys and gals, you’re better than the politicians and amazon delivery drivers, I guess.
Bau. Bow. Bao. So what does it all mean?
the human body as a geometric puppet
the bicycle as a shared discipline of both craft and art
colors as emotional forces
words as structural elements
Jane, stop this crazy thing!
Back here on planet Earth, I’ve gone and pushed back my departure outta KC by a day to avoid some storms. Predictably, those storms then delay a day as well. Well played Mother Nature. Maybe windy, rainy riding was meant to be. I have the day off, either way. I no bike; I walk; meandering through the city to help bring back my navigational skills. It’s been a while and I don’t trust my post meningococcal brain nearly as much as my old one. Neuroplasticity developing as I make my way up Grand Blvd. My hotel has a Jim Leedy Bar which sounds like it’s super awesome but it’s kinda empty and lame, so I skip their breakfast and instead Messenger Coffee and Ibis Bakery set me straight. I wanna say the coffee slaps, though that might be forced usage. Go ask the cool kids.
So I walk and I navigate and I ponder. River Market. Crossroads. Cool names of areas. My consciousness evolving as I move. My thoughts drift. Downtown KC is like downtown Buffalo in ways. Big and empty and crumbling. Probably bumping and jumping 24/7 back in a different era. Not today. The similar state of the downtown area of 80% of American cities truly is the proof in the pudding that capitalism is clearly completely collapsing. The question to ask is “do we want the United States of America to collapse with capitalism or progress into something beyond?”
Something beyond human life simply being line items on a billion (and now trillion) dollar multinational corporate conglomerate’s budget sheet. Is there life beyond the profit motive for the average American citizen? Or are we all inevitably tied to this lifestyle, unable to pivot and dedicate ourselves to something more collectively minded, something more beneficial to our quality of life?
These massive stretches of pavement and buildings constructed in an era of wealth and productivity, intended for a much-higher-than-current capacity — they scream emptiness, loneliness, and decay. Entire downtowns with less than five or six pedestrians per square mile and more than 5000 empty cavernous office spaces or empty chic short term apartment lofts in the same span. A total waste. Sparsely populated by a pedestrian few who are either too eager to spend too much money or too eager to ask me for my money. Totes inefficient. These delineated spaces for the hope and allure of a few tourists or individual enterprises at the cost of local residents and their rightful place in a population center. Airbnb might be killing the world. Law Firms with five partners occupying three floors in a world of virtual meetings and AI might be killing the world. The rent is too damn high. It’s a worldwide occurrence but a distinctly American epidemic.
The profit margins and justifications for such waste are all based on bullshit much like roadway studies that tell us just one more lane on the road will cure crippling rush hour traffic. Just one more lane!
Or the idea that another parking lot will solve any problem. Just one more lot!
We evaluate a things’ potential or capacity based on some average that is inevitably betrayed by the peak of that average. All those cars not being driven taking up all that space for maybe 30-40% of the day.
And with that thinking right here and now in downtown anywhere USA, happy hour and nightlife is to one day what the holiday season is to the entire fucking year. That tiny, brief period justifying enormous waste. It keeps growing because of that small brief period when it shouldn’t exist at all. One more lane for a rush hour that only expands as public transportation dwindles and becomes more for the poor. One more airbnb for hipsters who aren’t relocating anyway. One more credit line for Christmas gifts we don’t need. What’s next? Bookmarking the weakest chapter of a good book. Where and how does it end? Why can’t we look at the whole pie.
I’m startled out of my American day-mare with a refreshing dose of camaraderie. A longtime acquaintance — at minimum a business colleague and at max a brother in arms in the fight for what’s right — lives here in Kansas City. I haven’t see Steddy P since 2013, when I booked a small run of hip hops shows for him and his partner DJ Mahf. They are absolute legends in Missouri, amazing performers and wonderful dudes… like 90% of my homies from the 1997-2015 indie hip hop world. Like the quality of these humans is so high that I legit feel like somehow this thread of dudes are the only solid, stand up men in our age range. We are passing away in increasing numbers and so I try to take every opportunity to check in and re connect with these old friends whenever possible.
I’m not sure how things with Steddy and I left off, but right now as I stand here hugging the proudly-part-owner of Record Bar KC they pick right back up as if it was just last week they were rocking Buffalo, Toronto and NYC. We chat for a bit. He’s given up the touring musician life for now, focusing on being a single dad of twin boys and managing the three music venues he’s always got an ownership stake in. It feels good to see him doing well. It feels good to show up for my people. Connection gives me strength and hope, I even take a photo without showing my ass or giving the finger. I don’t have a hat to hold so I solidarity salute it is.
Later, I indulge in something called contrast therapy. Real bawse shit. For $25, I get an hour in my own locked spa room. Back and forth between 175° infrared sauna and 48° cold plunge I go. It’s shocking but healthy. I don’t take pictures. Truly refreshing and probably that last time I’ll be this comfortable and pampered for weeks.
It’s also likely my last night indoors and in an actual bed for a bit, so I pass out early, eager to push out tomorrow morning. LFG.
