It’s been suggested by some biographers that various creative types are a superstitious lot. I take issue with that claim. 

Anyone who knows what it’s like to use the wrong tool for the job will understand. Here I sit writing with a (gasp!) ballpoint pen. I’m forced to do so because my real pen is currently indisposed due to its lengthy service regimen. My real pen is not a ‘lucky’ pen. It’s not the only pen that I can write with. It’s simply the best pen. 

The pen in my fist right now sullies the bound journal where I scrawl my mind into some sense of order. The ink hiccups along, some letters missing portions of themselves until nigh illegible. It’s unsightly. If I were not a visual artist as well, perhaps it wouldn’t rankle so. It’s an insult to the paper.

Not that anyone asked, but I conduct my scribblings with my father’s ancient rapidograph pen. He gave me all his old drafting supplies. Poppie taught engineering in the late 40s-early 50s, & had many small cases filled with slide rules, compasses, mechanical pencils, & the rapidograph set. I’d been using disposable rapidographs already. It’s way cheaper to buy bottles of india ink instead.

These pens take some upkeep. They have to be cleaned regularly or they clog with dried ink. I dismantle the entire thing, soak the inky parts in solution, refill the chamber, ‘prime’ the nib by tipping the pen up & down until the ink flows freely. Lots of work for just a pen, one might say. Here’s the clincher: it makes the most satisfying scritchy sound when writing– just like those historical scenes of characters writing with quills. It makes writing not only tactilely & visually pleasing, but audially sublime.

I may be peculiarly specific about my tools, but superstitious? Naw. My method lends itself to greater imagination because it involves more senses. For some, it may be the clicking of keys on a laptop that inspires. To me that sound means editing & research. It just hasn’t the same enjoyment factor. As I type this, the editing software tells me ‘hasn’t the’ should be changed to ‘doesn’t have the’. Rude! ‘Hasn’t the’ is perfectly reasonable. The software is a writerly buzzkill.

This has been a long, roundabout prelude to sneaking in where I don’t belong. I’ve never been a good candidate for stealth. My appearance doesn’t give off Joe Average impressions. Prior to actually befriending my neighbors in one area I lived in, they referred to me amongst themselves as ‘Ramone’ (as in the band) whenever sighting me walking my dog. That’s a fair assessment. Shaggy dark hair, sunglasses, black leather jacket– I woulda called me that too.

None of my forays as persona non grata required the use of lockpicks, glass cutters, or grappling hooks. All crimes of opportunity, possible only by being relatively small & lithe. It wasn’t the illegality that fascinated me. For it to have been lawful the circumstances would’ve been: 1) daylight, 2) open for business (i.e., public), & 3) NOT deserted. Especially 3. It wasn’t a thrill to be breaking a law. There are umpteen laws you can break that result in zero enjoyment, far as I’m concerned. I wanted to be where I shouldn’t be because it was empty of people. Or that was always the plan.

April was a friend I briefly hung out with. She had a wry sense of humor, was game for unusual entertainments, & we got along really well. For whatever reason we fell out of touch. I don’t even recall her last name. I will always remember when we slipped into Woodland Park Zoo around midnight, though. Right under the chain that held the entrance gates closed. There was just enough give to squeeze through.

It was a warm summer night with clear skies. The zoo was undergoing some renovation, expanding some exhibits, adding new ones. We knew that there were security personnel on the premises, but assumed they’d be inside some building drinking coffee, doing crossword puzzles, whatever else guards do. Possibly patrolling, but a flashlight’s approach would give us ample time to flee.

Creating a disturbance was not on the agenda. We merely wanted to see what the animals do at night when no one is there. A naive goal, I admit. I was really keen to hear their vocalizations, a kind of jungle-by-proxy. Had we come equipped with night vision goggles, this might’ve stood a chance of being anything other than an exercise in futility.

As we crept from the entrance down a side path, whispering & giggling nervously, we couldn’t see much beyond the foliage. The moon was out. Some streetlights nearby provided a distant glow, but it was dim. Then we came to the first roadblock.

Construction fencing crossed the path, so we veered into the landscaping. We pushed through shrubs, making it seem even more as if we were entering The Bush, as is said Down Under. We stepped over a small rail, a reminder to patrons to stay on the path. Then we came abruptly to the edge of a moat. Both of us shuddered with the idea we could’ve fallen in.

A few paces behind us was the backside of a sign. We had to push through more flora to skirt round to the front. Here is where we found out we’d been skulking around in the new baboon exhibit. Though fairly certain it was not yet occupied, if you’ve ever seen any nature shows with baboons, they’re scary as fuck. I would’ve been less alarmed had it been a hyena exhibit.

We attempted to hightail it elsewhere, only to be stumped time & again by plywood barriers, chainlink fencing, orange plastic netting. The buildings that housed smaller creatures were locked tight, obviously. We got turned around by all the obstructions. It might be a good time to interject that we’d ingested hallucinogens. The confusion was compounded not solely by being too dark to see, but by not being able to trust what you’re seeing.

Suddenly a flash of light swept by, accompanied by the sound of a small engine. A tiny truck was driving along the path, presumably with a guard behind the wheel. I vanished from sight beyond the (now-convenient) plywood. April crouched, deer-in-headlights, behind a teensy shrub, like some slapstick maneuver.

I realized where the entrance was right as the guard stopped to investigate. I grabbed April & we made our narrow escape. I don’t know that the zoo would’ve pressed charges, but we weren’t pursued. Still, it was worthwhile to explore a somewhat empty place. I don’t advocate trespassing, but for those who enjoy abandoned places I understand the draw.

Sometimes you just like a thing. It may be a stupidly high-maintenance pen that makes a lovely scritchy sound, or poking one’s nose where it doesn’t belong. To each their own. No superstition about it. Except I swear this story would’ve been better had I written it with my real pen.