tract movement update

they're on the move again. 

this weekend the tracts were dropped in Florida and Texas.

but who knows where they are by now...

Answers from Portugal by way of New Orleans

I've been traveling between Chicago and New Orleans, taking my time in Memphis, Clarksdale and Natchez too. My name is J. F., I was born in Portugal, and that's where I live.

It was on my way back from New Orleans to Chicago that I was given this book. I wondered what the purpose was and I still do, but I'm glad someone did it, as it made me think of what's this trip all about and what's the purpose of traveling. 

What first moved me into this trip, like the character in this chapter, was the need to find something, the need to find who's left and what's left of the landscape that created the Blues, those raw feelings put into words and music.

Mostly, it's not there anymore. You won't find any wise old man delivering himself in words and music, but I believe that when you search for something, even if you don't find it, you find something that has a lasting effect on you. 

You find how to enjoy your freedom in a way that really suits you, which is not as easy as it seems. You define yourself in the path you choose and in the moment you decide it's time to leave. 

I could fly from New Orleans to Chicago, but that feels more like time traveling. I need to feel the gap between places and there's something about long distance trips aboard a train. It's not comfort, as your body struggles to find it in an ice cold environment. It's a soothing effect, to know that among all the decisions you need to make, you are now on rails, there's no way you can get lost. You also won't have a flat tire.

August 28th, 2008

-J.F.

The First Mystery

This tract was mailed back from Seattle. The train-riding author covered her tract in poetry, thoughts, and snippets of conversation, including this:

"friends are like stars, although they aren't every day visible, they are still there"

and

"she said to me that she is crying almost every day... not because she is depressive or sick and tired of life, but she loves every single day and is afraid of dying too quickly"

I opened the tract with Davina Pallone, the artist who designed this tract (there are five editions-- she used paper that she made from actual plants as part of the design.) We were totally giddy looking over the comments. Marissa Bell Toffoli is the author of the poems in this tract, but lives in San Francisco, and hasn't gotten to see the finished tract yet. 

stuffed full of mysteries

I was so nervous to go to the P.O Box and look. I put it off for a couple weeks after the deadline-- because, what if no one sent their tract back?

But when I got there, the box was stuffed full of them.

-Amie

Mostly brief encounters in Seattle

I'd checked the schedule online and knew that several trains were leaving the Seattle terminal that afternoon, so I took the bus there at 3:00 pm, and there was a line for the next train. I took in the scene, maybe 80 people waiting in line- plenty of people to choose from. Who would be my first targets?
I pulled out the train tracts from my backpack and the line started to move. No time to waste, I walked up to two people who seemed like they'd be interested- backpackers. Travellers with stories to tell. I introduced myself and gave a brief introduction to the project. The guy was from Spain and didn't speak English very well, and his friend was from here so she helped to explain. In the couple minutes of our interaction, the guy decided this was interesting and the girl wasn't sure it was. I pointed out the return address and that the postage was paid one moment before they received their seating assignment, and they were off. It occurred to me that the American may have been wary that there was some catch, something to pay, some ulterior motive. In future interactions I made sure to spell out that no donations were being asked for or fees being charged.
Results of my interactions on the whole were mixed. Different aspects of the project appealed to different people- some were excited about being part of this artsy creative project while others were afraid they wouldn't be able to contribute anything creative enough. With several people who were interested in the project I found myself encouraging them to write whatever they felt like writing, without regard for deep poetic lyricism or some other such nonsense- just write whatever, wherever. Interestingly, I find myself at this moment giving myself the same encouragement. I don't necessarily consider myself a writer, and neither did most people to whom I handed these beautiful creations; such beautiful products were worthy of lofty, or gritty, or raw well-relayed human experience, with each different design seeming to ask for a different kind of story from their new temporary owners.
The two tracts I'd be most interested in reading are the ones I handed to the train conductor and to the 65-year old woman who had never before been on a train. I hadn't thought about giving a tract to the conductor until after everyone was on board and his train was in fact the next to arrive, and we started talking. He was immediately interested and said his parents had encouraged him to write a book about his experiences as a train conductor, a post he'd held for some 30 years. He thoroughly enjoyed his job, and made it more fun by making up stories from time to time. One of his favorites was of an elderly woman who had a habit of taking her canoe down the white water river the train went next to, usually at the same time the train went by. This story he would broadcast to everyone on the train over the speakers, with obvious gusto- he relayed the white-water blow-by-blow of Little Miss So-and-So (he had a name for her) to me the same way he would on the train. You had to look quickly or you'd miss it!...which in fact everyone did, because the story was completely fabricated by this conductor. He just loved the story and getting people to crane their necks in awe and curiosity toward the river. I'd expect some good material from him.
Then, secondly, the woman who'd never been on a train. She was nervous about the trip, she said, but she liked writing, and was really excited to have something to do to take her mind off her fear. I think this project meant the most to her of all the people I met.
Most people were interested in seeing the different designs when there was a minute to look through them. If I remember correctly, the tract with the light pink lacey material housing a plastic cockroach was the last to be disseminated, and to someone who actually appreciated the juxtaposition.
Giving away beautiful gifts is always fun. Thank you for providing!
Sander

ridin' 'long the City of New Olreans...

I didn't realize how crazy the train schedules are until I "missed" the first train.

So, armed with my oddly cryptic Amtrack schedule book I made it early the next afternoon to a pleasantly full station of folks in New Orleans. I went in to the waiting area with a friend, who soon ducked out of the building to take a call, leaving shy little me to do my muling.

In an attempt to feel somewhat "normal", I approached the counter and talked with the attendant about the project, giving her the first tract. She was pleasantly surprised, thanking me for brightening her day with the colorful little book (my own design- "The Neon Crisis"). After that...with my confidence up....and my "teacher mode" switched on...I made my way towards the rows of waiting passengers (there were about 18 people there). Most of the folks on the side near the counter had been eyeing my exchange with the counter attendant...

I fanned out the tracks in my hands, offering the passengers to "take their pick" and participate in a nation-wide art project. The first man (an elderly fellow) wasn't sure what to do with me, or my offerings...and refused because it was his daughter that was getting ready to board, not him. So, I made my way to the next eager looking, guitar-carrying red-head, who told me that he was "on his way to see his ex-wife and would love to get his mind off of the anxiety he was feeling about it".

The next couple of tracts were taken pretty much without question...I offered each person their choice of tract and a breif explanation of the project. I was met with lots of smiles and noticed people quickly diving into their selection as I made my way through.

So....one of my personal favorites was the roach model...which turned out to be the last one left in my hands when I made my way to the "last party"....a gaggle of middle-aged women,all with big bleached-blond hair, mom-jeans, painted visors, and tourist t-shirts...loaded down with bags and bags of store-bought something-or-anothers. I walked into their little fortress of plunder as they were excitedly showing off their purchases and talking about getting back to Texas. I offered them my same smile and excited description of the art project...before presenting them with the final tract. They seemed pleased with the project idea...so I handed the pretty pink book to the nearest representative...who SCREAMED and threw the book on the floor!! (Which lifted me to a crazy degree of giddiness) I assured them that the roach was not real, and that it was part of the art...so the next lady in the pack reached down, picked up the book, glanced at it, shoved it in her shopping bag and said a quick thank you... complete with a fake smile.


I loooooved this project and I really loved muling the tracts!
Can't wait to hear about everyone's adventures!

Toy Cockroach

When I was handing out tracts sometimes I'd kind of try and intuit which story the person I was talking to might like, then I'd choose a tract for them, others I would present a little spread of tracts, and let them choose based on the design and title. No one would pick the cockroach tract.

I designed that one, so I didn't want to, like, push anyone or guilt them into it.

I didn't think, as I was making it, about being under the buzzing thousand-island colored soda lamps at midnight on a dark train platform, trying to get someone to accept a very real-looking plastic cockroach under a thin layer of silk organza.

It made sense, with Chantal O'Keeffe's story. She writes about the nature of roaches: "– they like good food, like her chocolate chip cake, and they like comfort, like her 300+ thread count sheets. She learned the last part when she pulled back her comforter and found not one, but two roaches in the dent of her pillow."

None of the cockroach tracts have come back yet.