Crazy Eyes

It was dark as we drove into the parkade last night and the front of the car dipped as we descended down the ramp to the lower garage. From the left side of the ramp beneath the guard railings suddenly popped a head like a surprised coyote caught in the headlights of our car. The eyes abulge with curiosity and in this case a touch of the crazies.

I call this individual Mr. Crazy Eyes. He lives in our building and I have spoken to him on several occasions all of which have had some memorable content and none of which have been in any way normal.

On this given evening, Crazy Eyes was doing like he does many evenings and he had his guitar and amplifier setup in the last stall next to the ramp. He was on break between imaginary sets and thus having a his forty ninth cigarette of the night while the crowd in his head called for an encore. I have run into his solo performance several times and at first I understood that if he is a musician practicing then doing so in his apartment might be annoying to neighbors hence, practicing in the garage. I think that this in only part of the picture.

Crazy Eyes seems to crave attention like many koo-koo for coco puff folks do. What better place to set up to busk then at the gate of the lower garage where both tenants and passersby can gaze on your single chord glory? Unfortunately, single chord glory is exactly what it is. I have seen him play on three different evenings and each time the same single chord ending in the same flourish is repeated. Strangely, it is neither poorly played nor uninteresting but seems to be the sole progression in the endless open jam he hosts for the crowd of thousands in his mind.

His appearance is what turns his slightly nutty demeanor into a masterpiece. The first time I saw him in our lobby I remember the phrase, "plastic surgery nightmare" running through my mind. He has definitely had some work done and his face looks far too tight. The nose is most certainly sculpted, the cheekbones possibly too. The eyes. Oh the eyes. That overly tight skin just make those crazy eyes pop out even more. If he would just blink, they might seem a little more normal but I don't think I've ever seen him do it even once. Instead, he Charlie Mansons you into the corner of the elevator while he says something crazy to you. These interjections require neither prompting nor response as he tends to continue the conversation without you.

Here is a couple of unprompted gems he has said to me:

- Looking at my bike helmet: "Are you a courier? You look like a courier."
- Looking at my bike helmet on another occasion: "You know, you don't even have to wear a motorcycle helmet in some states!"
- "Do you shop at Trader Joes? You need to buy this salmon (pulls out of bag). It's amazing" The salmon smelled old
- Looking at my surf board and me wearing a wetsuit pulled down to my waist, "Were you surfing today? How were the waves? I heard they were fifteen feet!"

I've frozen up every time he has spoken to me. Getting locked in the tractor beam of his unblinking eyes I am terrified and baffled as the stream of crazy bullshit gushes from his collagen injected lips. Please Crazy eyes, I just want to ride up to the third floor without hearing that the jet contrails in the sky are the government spraying mind control drugs.

As I finished grabbing the last of our bags and entered the lower lobby to wait for the elevator I heard him begin singing along with his jam and damnit, it wasn't bad.

I wonder when he will announce his tour dates?