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Woody believes in people. A Wobbly named Joe organizes fellow steelworkers to fight for a workers paradise here on earth. Joe believes in ideals. Edith believes in miracles. Leah believes in nostalgia. Samuel believes in tradition. A high school girl named Sally refuses to get an abortion. She knows she carries something special within her. Sally believes in life. A city worker named Mazie ceaselessly prays for her incarcerated son doing 10 years at Cook. Mazie believes in redemption. A jazzer named Bix helps to invent a new art form out of the mist. Bix believes in creativity.

An architect named Frank restores the Rookery. Frank believes in space. A soldier named Ike fights wars for democracy. Ike believes in peace. A Rabbi named Jesse sermonizes on Moses. Jesse believes in liberation. Somewhere in Chicago a kid still believes in Shoeless Joe. The kid believes in the integrity of the game.

An Imam named Louis is busy building a nation within a nation. Louis believes in self-determination. A teacher named Heidi gives all she has to her students. She has great expectations for them all. Heidi believes in the future. Does Chicago have a future? This city, full of cowboys and wildcatters is predicated on a future! Their skin is gray, hair disheveled, loud ties and funny coats, thumb through slips of paper held by nail chewed hands.

Selling promises with no derivative value for out of the money calls and in the money puts. Strike is not a labor action in this city of unionists, but a speculators mark, a capitalist wish, a hedgers bet, a public debt and a farmers fair return. Indexes for everything. Quantitative models that could burst a kazoo. You know the measure of everything in Chicago. But is it truly objective? Have mathematics banished subjective intentions, routing it in fair practice of market efficiencies, a kind of scientific absolution?

I heard that there is a dispute brewing over the amount of snowfall that fell on the 1st. Liquidity, can you place a great lake into an eyedropper? Its 20 below and all liquid things are solid masses or a gooey viscosity at best. Water is frozen everywhere. But Chi town is still liquid, flowing faster then the digital blips flashing on the walls of the CBOT. Dreams are never frozen in Chicago. The exchanges trade without missing a beat. Using the tools of butterfly spreads and candlesticks to achieve the goal. You better be or soon will. WEBS, Spiders, and Leaps are traded here, along with sweet crude, North Sea Brent, plywood and T-Bill futures; and most importantly the commodities, the loam that formed this city of broad shoulders.

What about our wheat? Still whacking and breadbasket to the world. Oil, an important fossil fuel denominated in good ole greenbacks. I think he sends it to Bangkok where child slaves spin it into gold lame'. Sorghum, I think its hardy. Soybeans, the new age substitute for hamburger goes great with tofu lasagna.

Corn, ADM creates ethanol, they want us to drive cleaner cars. When does a seed become a commodity? When does a commodity become a future? When does a future expire? You can find the answers to these questions in Chicago and find a fortune in a hole in the floor. Look down into the pits. Hear the screams of anguish and profitable delights. Frenzied men swarming like a mass of epileptic ants atop the worlds largest sugar cube auger the worlds free markets. The scene is more chaotic then Haymarket Square Riots multiplied by Democratic Conventions.

Amidst inverted anthills, they scurry forth and to in distinguished black and red coats. Fighting each other as counterparties to a life and death transaction. This is an efficient market that crosses the globe. Tijuana, Shanghai and Istanbul's best traders are only half as good as the average trader in Chicago. Chicago, this hog butcher to the world, specializes in packaging and distribution. Men in blood soaked smocks, still count the heads entering the gates of the city. Their handiwork is sent out on barges and rail lines as frozen packages of futures waiting for delivery to an anonymous counterparty half a world away.

Many striver rows compose its many neighborhoods. Nordic stoicism, Eastern European orthodoxy and Afro-American calypso vibrations are three of many cords strumming the strings of Chicago. Frozen tears lock their eyes onto distant skyscrapers, solid chunks of snot blocks their nose and green icicles of slime crust mustaches. They fight to breathe. Sent armies of sons and daughters, barges, boxcars, gunboats, foodstuffs, cannon and shot to raze the south and stamp out succession.

I must see and read the great words. Through this American winter Abe ponders. The vista he surveys is dire and tragic. Party partisans in the senate are sworn and seated.


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Our Chief Justice, adorned with golden bars will adjudicate the proceedings. It is the perfect counterpoint to an ageless Abe thinking with malice toward none and charity towards all, will heal the wounds of the nation. Abe our granite angel, Chicago goes on, The Union is strong! Out my window the sun has risen. According to the local forecast its minus 9 going up to 6 today. The lake, a golden pillow of clouds is frozen in time. I marvel at the ancients ones resourcefulness and how they mastered these extreme elements.

Past, present and future has no meaning in the Citadel of the Prairie today. I set my watch to Central Standard Time. Can I give you a map? I see he recently had his nails done. Stepping out of the hotel, The Doorman sporting the epaulets of a colonel on his corporate winter coat and furry Cossack hat swaddling his round black face accosts me. The skin of his face is flaking from the subzero windburn. I step outside. The Windy City flings stabbing cold spears flying on wings of mph gusts. My outside hardens. I can feel the freeze deepen into my internalness. For how long I cannot say.

I commence my walk among the spires of this great city, the vertical leaps that anchor the great lake, holding its place against the historic frigid assault. The gloves, skullcap, long underwear, sweater, jacket and overcoat not enough to keep the cold from penetrating the person.

Like discerning the layers of this city, even many layers, still not enough to understand the depth of meaning of the heart of this heartland city. Sandburg knew the city well. Set amidst groves of suburbs that extend outward in every direction. Concentric circles surround the city. After the burbs come farms, Great Plains, and mountains. Barrow to the Horn, many capes extended. On the periphery its appendages, its extremities, its outward extremes. All connected by the idea, blown by the incessant wind of this great nation. It is a message of power.

Always more. Much much more in Chicago. Sandburg spoke all the dialects. He heard them all, he understood with great precision to the finest tolerances of a lathe workers micrometer. Sandburg understood what it meant to laugh and be happy. All fighting for life, trying to build a life, a new life in this modern world. I wonder if Old Man Wrigley watched his barges loaded with spearmint and double-mint move out onto the lake from one of those Gothic windows perched high above the street. Would he open a window and shout to the men below to quit slaking and work harder or would he between the snapping sound he made with his mouth full of his chewing gum offer them tickets to a ballgame at Wrigley Field that afternoon?

Would the men below be able to understand the man communing from such a great height? I listen to a man and woman conversing. They are one step behind me as we meander along Wacker Drive. Do you know what I mean?


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  4. I think to myself. What level are you I wonder? Are you perched atop the transmission spire of the Hancock Tower? Is she a kept woman? She is majestically clothed in fur hat and coat. What level is he speaking of? Many levels are evident in this city; many layers of cobbled stone, Pennsylvania iron, Hoosier Granite and vertical drops.

    I wonder if I detect condensation in his voice? What is his intention? Is it a warning of a broken affair? A pending pink slip? Advise to an addict refusing to adhere to a recovery regimen? What is his level anyway? Is he so high and mighty, Higher and mightier then this great city which we are all a part of, which we all helped to build, which we all need in order to keep this nation the thriving democratic empire it is? This seditious talk! People are transported above the din of the street, looking down on the common pedestrians like me. The cars, busses, trains and trucks are all covered with the film of rock salt.

    Salt covers my bootless feet and smudges my cloths as well. The salt, the primal element of the earth covers everything in Chicago. It is the true level of this city. The layer beneath all layers, on which everything rests, is built, grows, thrives then dies. Excerpt: Carly had given up trying to get rid of the pollen and now simply stood there looking a little spaced out. Growing concerned, she approached her co-host and gently gripped Carly's shoulder. The blonde's only reaction was to turn her head slightly and blink at her.

    The sweet smell was stronger now, and Kate got to taste it as well when Carly's lips landed on her own. Stunned, she stood there while the blonde actually kissed her. The flavor was sweet and seductive, Kate's tongue darted out to gather more of that sweet taste. Realizing she was frenching Carly, Kate pushed herself away, and held her co-host at arm's length when she tried to renew the kiss. Looking Carly in the eye, she could tell the blonde didn't realize what she was doing. There didn't seem to be a mind there. Create Widget. About Jane Mesmeri.