DIALOGUE

LAX/Hades

One image of Hades is an enclosed space where the bodiless souls wander aimlessly and without hope, direction or meaning. Dark, empty stares looking for empty spaces into which to cast their glazed focus. Sleep allows some minor, fleeting respite but what kind of sleep is found in Hades? Little and restless, devoid of dreams. When a shade fitfully returns from a tormented moment of unconsciousness, so close to appearing alive, s/he is embarrassed at his/her presumption and the surrounding shades frown primarily because they have been reminded of that sweet sleep only known to living beings, reminded that such sleep is no longer theirs. Some young and new inhabitants in Hades move more quickly and as if they have some other place to be. Some will begin to talk, especially if they have entered Hades with other shades, but soon the sheer weight of the oppressive, endless wandering coupled with the surrounding empty eyes silences the conversation that has held less meaning the longer it takes place. Looking past or through another shade is expected. To look directly into another shade's eyes only affirms the mutual sense of angst and intensifies the emptiness. Moans, sighs, and the occasional angry growl are the only sounds. Faintly something like music can be heard but it too is only a shade of music and easily ignored or annoying. No shade will ever recognize his/her favorite song from the living world, nor would s/he admit it if s/he did, and who would s/he tell or who would care to hear? In truth, there are some shades who appear to converse for sounds are emitted from their bodies in the direction of other shades, yet to a living ear the sounds are empty, only a vain attempt at filling space. They only amplify the deafening silence. Some shades even mysteriously hold small stones to their ears as if they hold some link to the living world, but the look on their faces reveal that nothing can cut through the surrounding emptiness. Eventually, those who are called down mysterious corridors will never return. Many shades who arrive through the same corridors offer visages that show the other locations of Hades are no better.

Horse Dancers/Chicago-O'Hare

I am reminded of days of my youth, walking horses and the clip-clop of their hooves across hard floors. That clip-clop is now high heels and dude boots. You can tell which is the dominant foot by the heavy clop compared to the lighter, less trusted clip. Women, in general, are more balanced in their clip-clopping, more clop-clop. There are the frustrated tap dancers who slide the toes of their dominant foot before each clop, clip-slide-clop. One man so fearful of his clip foot sounds like a pogo stick, clop-clop-clop. The true travelers who are not meeting their single lovers wear sensible, comfortable shoes yet there is still a slouching grace in their soundless glide. But no one looks up to watch anything but the clip-cloppers.