A little while back I signed on to contribute to a developing website dedicated to the happenings of Logan Square. My intentions were to cover the cultural beat in the neighborhood, among other things. A couple of hours ago I received word that the site will be no longer, the creator had taken a job, there would be no time. Having already invested my own time as well as the time of local organizers, artists, and musicans of both local and national acclaim, I decided to get real.
'Fuck it,' I said. 'I'll do it myself.'
And with a copy of Levon Helm's Dirt Farmer on loan from my neighbor, a plate of pita and hummus, a few cigarettes, and a six-pack of IBC root beer, I set out to create The Logan Square Dispatch.
Somewhere in the middle my dog Coltrane and I went for a walk. Under the hum of the streetlights we strolled down Altgeld along a current of crickets and locusts. They droned unseen from thickets of overgrown wildflowers crowding the sidewalk. We cut through the alley behind Bernard, snouts of faceless dogs snorting up sand and gravel where wooden fences gapped from the alley surface. Lichen green, brick red. And under the hum of the street lights we walked down Kimball towards home.
Logan Square is where we live, Logan Square is where we get high.
Welcome, Squares, to The Logan Square Dispatch. This will be our home until it isn't anymore.
Stay tuned for concerns of local culture.
