The hurt that runs through it
Like a river
slow and sure
piddling itself out
yet always with a little more
in store.
Walking down the street,
round the bends,
up the alleys,
remembering
nothing.
Oh well.
BW/AMW
A New, Improved Manhattan Project: Pt 2: The Proposal
[Anti-Weapon / New Manhattan Project]
And so I began to work on the problem:
Now that the world is wobbling, our weapons too fierce and goodwill and political, cultural/societal, economic and environmental solidity all too strained: what we need now is an anti-weapon. A weapon that undoes the effects of dangerous substances including but not limited to weapons.
My first thought was a Cloud Of Protection (COP — an unintentional acropun) that would immediately rush to, envelope, and implode a nuclear explosion as it began or a poison gas as it started to expand. I thought I’d combine that technology with anti-diseases that people could catch and which would fight off all possible plagues. But the science keeps beating me, and I fear I’ll not manage anything more than a damp fog in my bathroom — a sluggish, lazy, rather weak fog hovering over my porcelain tub and encouraging mildew right up until the blast that melts everything.
So I’ve decided to try another tack:
A wisdom meme. A short koan that’s very easy to solve. As I understand it, meditating on koans can help the minds of devoted practitioners skip their normal tracks and jump into a complete, whole-being insight of what is actually most fundamentally going on. I think they work because the Truth is all there really is and It shines through each conscious moment, so to the extent one’s thoughts escape the heuristic loops and background assumptions used to navigate and/or slumber-through the perceived realities, those thoughts will immediately find themselves centered around and radiating off the Truth with clarity and passion — with the compassionate delighted laughter of wisdom, which the Truth, I suppose, possesses infinitely and shares freely to the degree a body (well, the interwoven flow of feels/notions/ideas within a body) stops yammering, holds still, and listens clear.
[Why don’t drugs work? Don’t they cause us to skip our normal tracks? Hmmm. We need to jump the tracks but not slip into any other tracks. And we need to also come gently back into focus so our ideas and feelings can get a good poetic hold on what exceeds them. We need to oscillate between far-out and sharp. We need to let go of everything, even pure pleasure and the delight of salvation and insight; and then gently bring everything into a more mundane focus; and then expand out again into the infinite giggle; and then focus again; … .]
The problem with traditional koans is that they’re pretty difficult to use and pretty much never work on their own: they take a great deal of prayerful consideration, meditation, devotion to the search, etc — goods that most people frankly aren’t inclined to develop. Obviously, discipline’s commendable and we can’t fault a spiritual leader for telling their flock that they really oughtta get to work, really really should put and keep Truth first! Still, time is of the essence, and at this point we can’t afford to be sticklers for formalities. Furthermore, the difficulty inherent in traditional enlightenment techniques coupled with the glory associated with wisdom can encourage one to put on wisdom-airs — which causes trouble. I therefore propose that we formulate a koan that’s as effective as the best ones, but that’s also much much easier to crack, that in fact one couldn’t help but immediately solve.
But how? How to come up with a phrase or sentence or two that cuts the reader or listener in half, slicing straight through all the blah blah blah and bringing the conscious mind into a full (or adequately full) experience of the Truth within — that deepest widest sense-of-things that lines the back of a person’s conscious moment, gradually building up on the back of their thought like slowly developing film gathering more and more light — ? While most people do get wiser as they get older, we don’t usually ever get nearly wise enough. We need to speed the process up exponentially. However, it must also be perfectly safe: quick revelations may be only partial (or even completely illusory), but the violence of speedy insights tempts one to believe them complete — which can help unwise impulses do what they love to do: co-opt bits of goodness and wisdom, mix them up in a confusion cocktail, and use the resultant perversion to justify and aggrandize folly.
Hmmmm.
And so I call for a new Manhattan project: Let’s put a bunch of spiritual geniuses together with wordsmiths, psychologists, linguists, and other pertinent wunderkinder and have them come up with an irresistible enlightenment meme.
The meme written, translated into all possible languages and cultures, and released into the info-aether, there will be several pleasant days watching enlightenment sweep the world: a plague of blessedness. And then — the otherwise inevitable game-over disaster thus prevented by a new world that now really does want what’s best and really does know how to get it — we can all settle into exploring, playing, creating in thought: we can get down to business: laugh-dancing through the possibilities, which are infinite, which overflow, which contain and are ultimately burst asunder by the most charming, playful, kindly giggle that, as it turns out, more fundamentally contains than is contained by them.
Thank you,
Signed:
The Drafter of the Proposal
And many others who sign with a flippant shrug and “totally, man!”, little suspecting how the Truth will flood their world, overtake them, become them, make them new and carry and keep them always home.
And some who sign with a taunting “hah! this’ll show ’em!”, scarcely aware (in the back and sides of their thought) that it will show them as well, that it will show everyone — all of us.
If you like our essaying, First Essays has a lot of essays.
And of that lot, A Readable Reader has a selection of the most readable ones.
We’d love it if you’d
[Buy a Books]
Books So Far: Superhero Novella, A Readable Reader, First Loves, First Essays
Books Coming Summer 2020: Fixing Frankenstein, NYC Journal Volume 1
&/Or, sign up for our mailing list:
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&/OrVisit our Pure Love Shop
&/Or write to us at Editor@PureLoveShop.com
[Anti-Weapon / New Manhattan Project]
[Something Deeperism Institute]
Previous Version:
From A New, Improved Manhattan Project: Pt 1: Preliminary Worries
I am worried that we lack the clarity and shared purpose required to pull it together and put joyful-justice/just-joyfulness first when faced by something awful–or maybe even when merely faced by something that particularly reminds us of awfulness.
I am concerned. But what can I do about it?, that’s what I’d like to know. Or rather: what should I do, and am I allowed to go take a walk?
……
And so I began to work on the problem:
Now that the world is wobbling, our weapons too fierce and good will, political/cultural-organization/communication, and economic- and environmental-basis all too strained–what we need now is an anti-weapon. A weapon that undoes the effects of dangerous substances including but not limited to weapons.
My first thought was a Cloud Of Protection (COP–an unintentional acropun) that would immediately rush to, envelope, and implode a nuclear explosion as it began or a poison gas as it started to expand. I thought I’d combine that technology with anti-diseases that people could catch and which would fight off all possible plagues. But the science keeps beating me, and I fear I’ll not manage anything more than a damp fog in my bathroom–a sluggish, lazy, rather weak fog hovering over my porcelain tub and causing mildew right up until the blast that melts everything.
So I’ve decided to try another tact:
A wisdom meme. A short koan that is very easy to solve. As I understand it, by meditating on koans, they help your mind skip its normal tracks and jump into a complete, whole-being insight. I think they work because the Truth is already all there really is, so if you can just get your thoughts to find a groove that allow them to escape the heuristic loops used to navigate the day-to-day perceived reality, they will immediately find themselves centered around and radiating off the Truth with clarity and passion. The problem with traditional koans is that they’re pretty difficult to use and pretty much never work on their own: they take a great deal of prayerful consideration, meditation, devotion to the search, etc–goods that most people frankly aren’t inclined to develop. Obviously, discipline’s commendable and we can’t fault a spiritual leader for telling their flock to really get to work, to put and keep Truth first! Still, time is of the essence, and I think at this point we can’t afford to be sticklers for formalities. Furthermore, the difficulty inherent in traditional approaches to enlightenment coupled with the glory associated with such grand wisdom tempts one to imagine oneself to be wiser than one actually is–which causes trouble. I therefore propose that we formulate a koan that’s as effective as the best ones, but that’s also much much easier to crack, that in fact one couldn’t help but immediately solve.
But how? How to come up with a phrase or sentence or two that cuts the reader or listener in half, slicing straight through all the blah blah blah and forcing the conscious mind to fully experience the Truth within–that deepest widest sense-of-things that lines the back of a person’s thought, gradually building up on the back of their thought like slowly developing film gathering more and more light. While most people do get wiser as they get older, we don’t tend to ever get nearly wise enough, and our youths are full of dangerous folly. So we need something that works exceedingly fast. However, it must also be perfectly safe–a problem with quick revelations is that they may be partial but the violence of speedy insights tempts one to believe them complete, which can help unwise impulses do what they love to do: co-opt bits of goodness and wisdom, mix them up in a confusion cocktail, and use them to justify and aggrandize folly.
Hmmmm.
And so I call for a new Manhattan project: Let’s put a bunch of spiritual geniuses together with wordsmiths, psychologists, linguists, and other pertinent wunderkinder and have them come up with a an irresistible enlightenment meme.
The meme written, translated into all possible languages and cultures, and released into the info-aether, there will be several pleasant days of watching enlightenment sweep the world like a blessed plague. And then, the otherwise inevitable game-over disaster thus prevented by a new world that now really does want what’s best and really does know how to get it, we can all settle into exploring, playing, creating in thought–we can get down to business: laugh-dancing through the possibilities, which are infinite, which overflow, which contain and are ultimately burst asunder by the most charming, playful, kindly giggle that, as it turns out, more fundamentally contained them than it was contained within them.
Thank you,
Signed:
The Drafter of the Proposal
And many others who sign with a flippant shrug and “totally, man!”, little suspecting how the Truth will flood their world, overtake them, become them, make them new and carry and keep them always home.
And some who sign with a secret “hah! this’ll show ’em!”, scarcely aware (in the back and sides of their thought) that it will show them as well, it will show everyone–all of us.
Authors: BW, AMW
….
What is this?
A three essay series called “A New, Improved Manhattan Project”
Part 1: Preliminary Worries
Pt. 2: The Proposal
Pt. 3: Some Tips for the Geniuses
Whatever happened to selling evolving ebooks on the world-wide web?
Well, nothing’s being posted, but the somewhat-begun books are still available:
Love at a Reasonable Price are listed and linked-to here:
Intro to Love at a Reasonable Price
Intro to Diary of an Adamant Lover for sale here:
Buy the Books
We also are still selling cat totes and epistemologically controversial baby onsies:
Buy Cat Totes!
&/or Objectively Cute Baby Onepieces! (advertised here: An ad for an “Objectively Cute” baby wrap
But what are we really up to?
I dunno, Bartleby and Andy are writing something once in a while and then sometimes going back and editing things. I think they’ll go back to the ebooks before too long. We’ll see.
Flashiness these days
He wore a leopard hide coat, had payments on that.
Platform boots with black patent leather tops.
He rocked a loose lipped wag–kept the women in scud.
Bow down daint–sweep’in longbrim marquis ‘cross the ground.
Goddamn plum velvet tight-leg pants.
Goddamn sweet violet ruffle-front shirt.
Flashy–
And not a paycheck behind.
Together–
Working nine to five.
Classy–
right smooth as the jam.
I knew him,
when I’s just a lad.
I heard his
cool tumbledown talk.
I watched him
strut across the yard.
I knew him,
when I didn’t know.
Your block is well-lit on this sunshiny day.
You ride it–old arch-frame bike shake and sway.
You own it, ’cause your out to play.
But now you’re older and the time’s clip-clop.
AMW
Der Mammut
Ich muss unbedingt weitergehen. Jetz aufzuhoeren waere eine Schande–eine unausstehliche Schande! Es gibt ja so viele schoene Moeglichkeiten wenn ich nur ein bisschen weiter gehe. Aber wenn ich hier Aufenthalt mache, habe ich nur ein bisschen altes trockenes Grass zu fressen; schlammiges, fragwuerdiges Wasser zu trinken; und spitze Steine als Bett. Nein, das darf nich passieren! Also: weiter!
Ich bin aber ein bisschen muede. Und auch gelangweiligt. Selbst die Vorstellung, die schoene Welt um die naechste Ecke zu erreichen und geniessen langweiligt mich. Also veilleicht einfach mich hier sitzen, nichts machen, einschlaffen, alles vergessen. Die schoene Moeglichkeiten koennten bestimmt noch einen Tag warten.
Also.
Quitting
I give up.
I quit.
I’m done.
If I had money, I’d go travel and take yoga classes and long walks. But since I don’t, I’ll just work from 9 to 5 and then goof off the rest of the time.
I’m done. I quit. I give up.
There’s nothing I want to do except leave all the time. I feel vaguely guilty.
I should start a gratitude journal.
I’m gratitude for being healthy.
I’m gratitude for the lonely bored ache shoving the top of my back–in that dip beneath my shoulders–so that I fly forward and down, hands sprawling desperately forward to catch my scraping fall onto the asphalt driveway. It teaches me that people hurt and we’re all God.
Do you ever want to be an energy being? I do quite often. Like the guy from that episode of Star Trek. He could take on any shape and drift from world to world, exploring in the possibilities. Once while on earth being a human, he fell in love with an earth woman. The story ends sad, but I still think it would be nice to be able to zip around as a beam of light and then take on any shape and any mind and explore and create and be invincible and more powerful than all the weapons on the world. It appeals to me. If I had it, I would put on a slightly younger me and go to some cities I miss and a few others that I feel nostalgic about even though I’ve never actually been; I’ll go to these cities and sit about in cafes and bars and imperviously smoke cigarette after cigarette, speaking whatever language the locals speak. Maybe I’ll pick up women too–who knows?
You’d think I’d take on the shape of a sperm whale, but suited up with an IQ 300 brain and dive to the bottom of the sea while contemplating general relativity. You’d think I’d make use of my powers like that. Oh and maybe I’d end up doing stuff like that. But for now, I’d just be me with a younger body and invincible lungs. I guess I could be super intelligent in the cafes and bars as I dissipated.
Of course, people and their institutions would change and eventually cease to be. So that would add a lonely wrinkle to the enterprise. I mean I always feel a little lonely anyway, but I think it would be worse once I’d outlived the people and world I grew up in. Not that I’m done growing up. Anyway, maybe once everything that had flowed in and out of the young warbling me was dried up and blown asunder, I’d take on a child’s form and grow up again.
Ah! But then you see how it must be! Reincarnation and all that. Must be true. And ultimately it is God that is each of us. So God experiences every possible permutation. I don’t know why. Does God know why?
Anyway, I always feel like taking off. I don’t know where I’d go. I wanted to be a writer. Why was that anyway?
So I quit.
AMW/BW
A New, Improved Manhattan Project: Pt 1: Preliminary Worries
[Anti-Weapon / New Manhattan Project]
I live in the world. I worry. Won’t it just have to go off the rails? Nuclear war still clearly a threat; nuclear terrorism now clearly a threat. Antibiotic resistant bugs still being carefully crafted by reckless agricultural practices. Strange rumors of cracking ice and swirling storms. Prison industries profiting while perfectly good people get thrown away. “Race” and other tired old delusions still keeping us from being ourselves and meeting one another for real. And so on.
And look how the United States lost its shit after 9-11. Plus the corrupting influence of money and advertising in the US election cycle coupled with gerrymandering moderates out of the House while everyone tucks into their private media sources for a dose of agreement and amplification in the echo chamber: the politicians become more and more beholden to a few while the many become more and more divided over the glory of their good-good wisdom and the horror of their neighbor’s evil-evil stupidity.
How worrisome!
And yet here on the ground floor of the US, we mostly go on our merry way. It is fun. We like the sunlight and enjoy chatting with friends, family, and acquaintances. We slip into comfy beds with our lovers; we stroller our kids around vibrant, bustling streets, full of life and fun. We have to go to work but not all the time and there’s opportunities to find more congenial, more rewarding work.
[Editor’s Note: This essay was written in the late Summer of 2017 in Brooklyn, NY, USA, Planet Earth, Nondescript Spiral Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy.]
Meanwhile some groups tell us they very much plan on killing a bunch of us — hard to say how many: 30, 300, a few metro-areas’ worth, the more the better — and get the rest of us to discombobule and blow our hand. The freedom to speak your mind and a safe, orderly setting with a functioning government are wonderful and they are still ours to watch fade on out.
In a representative Democracy the citizens must serve as a final check on corruption and idiocy in the political class. We are not doing a very good job of fulfilling our basic duty, which is to together guard against political corruption, meanness, and other obvious idiocies. The rich feed television to the poor; and judgment’s a storm gathering a thousand miles — the relatively young Leonard Cohen might yet be wrong, but the route oute is difficult to discern.
When a major city is destroyed by a nuclear bomb or everyone at the President’s congressional address is killed(A Worrier’s Suggestion), or even when the citizenry notices that such darkdooms are not necessarily a priori impossibilities, the citizens need most of all to stay calm and resolute. They need to work together to make sure that they keep first things first: yes, immediate safety and order are extremely important, but the very most important thing is that we hold these truths to be self evident:
That all people are created equal and are endowed by the Light within with the right and duty to live well (clearly, honestly, fully, joyfully, creatively, beautifully, kindly) and justly (honestly and impartially, with respect and kindness towards all).
[Some Philosophizing moved to Outtakes!]
I am worried that we lack the shared clarity and purpose required to pull it together and put clear competent kindness first when faced by something awful — or maybe even when merely faced by something that particularly reminds us of awfulness.
I am concerned. But what can I do?, that’s what I’d like to know. Or rather: what should I do, and am I allowed to go take a walk?
Authors: Proposers
If you like our essaying, First Essays has a lot of essays.
And of that lot, A Readable Reader has a selection of the most readable ones.
We’d love it if you’d
[Buy a Books]
Books So Far: Superhero Novella, A Readable Reader, First Loves, First Essays
Books Coming Summer 2020: Fixing Frankenstein, NYC Journal Volume 1
&/Or, sign up for our mailing list:
[mc4wp_form id=”6431″]
&/OrVisit our Pure Love Shop
&/Or write to us at Editor@PureLoveShop.com
[Anti-Weapon / New Manhattan Project]
[Something Deeperism Institute]
From Before:
I live in the world. I worry. Won’t it just have to go off the rails? Nuclear war still clearly a threat; nuclear terrorism now clearly a threat. Antibiotic resistance bugs still being carefully crafted by reckless agricultural practices. Strange rumors of cracking ice and swirling storms. And so on.
And look how the United States lost its shit after 9-11. Plus the corrupting influence of money and advertising in the US election cycle coupled with everyone tucking into their private media sources for a dose of agreement and amplification in the echo chamber: the politicians become more and more beholden to a few while the many become more and more divided over the glory of their good-good wisdom and the horror of their neighbor’s evil-evil stupidity.
How worrisome!
And yet here on the ground floor of the US, we mostly go on our merry way. It is fun. We like the sunlight and enjoy meeting friends for a chat. We slip into comfy beds with our lovers; we stroller our kids around vibrant, bustling streets, full of life and fun. We have to go to work but not all the time and there’s opportunities to find more congenial, more rewarding work.
Meanwhile some groups tell us they very much plan on killing a bunch of us–hard to say how many: 30, 300, a city’s worth, the more the better–and get the rest of us to lose our shit and blow our hand. The freedom to speak your mind and a safe, an orderly setting with a functioning government are wonderful and they are still ours to watch fade on out.
In a representative Democracy the citizens must serve as a final check on corruption and idiocy in the political class. But we’re too busy playing policy expert with our chosen pundits and otherwise goofing off to focus on the task at hand; and we’ve been too completely lulled and badgered into writing the “other side” off as “hopeless” to work together as a nation: we are not doing a very good job of fulfilling our basic duty, which is to together guard against political corruption, meanness, and other obvious idiocies. The rich have their TVs in the bedrooms of the poor; and there’s a mighty judgement coming–the relatively young Leonard Cohen might yet be wrong, but the route oute is difficult to discern.
When a major city is destroyed by a nuclear bomb or everyone at the President’s congressional address is killed, the citizens need most of all to stay calm and resolute. They need to work together to make sure that they keep first things first: yes, immediate safety and order are important, but the very most important thing is that we hold these truths to be self evident:
That all people are created equal and are endowed by the Light within (deeper and wider than any concept or feeling, though some concepts point better towards it than others–here I picked “the Light within” because because and sometimes we mention “love” with a similar argument) with the right and duty to live well (fully, joyfully, creatively, beautifully, kindly) but also justly (justice = no shortchanging souls in order to achieve your goals; aka: your goals can’t forget that you and other people are full, complete humans; aka: beneath every goal must be the deeper goal: that the Light in our centers bursts evermore through the rags and we all move more and more for real).
We know that sense-of-things deeper and more fundamentally than any doubts we may conjure against it or any dogmas we might use to justify ignoring or co-opting and betraying it. It is a good idea; it is our idea. This idea informs us that we can and should work together to make this democracy of the people, for the people, by the people be just and kind to all the people in this land and the world.
I am worried that we lack the clarity and shared purpose required to pull it together and put joyful-justice/just-joyfulness first when faced by something awful–or maybe even when merely faced by something that particularly reminds us of awfulness.
I am concerned. But what can I do?, that’s what I’d like to know. Or rather: what should I do, and am I allowed to go take a walk?
Authors: BW, AMW
…..
What is this?
A three essay series called “A New, Improved Manhattan Project”
Part 1: Preliminary Worries
Pt. 2: The Proposal
Pt. 3: Some Tips for the Geniuses
Whatever happened to selling evolving ebooks on the world-wide web?
Well, nothing’s being posted, but the somewhat-begun books are still available:
Love at a Reasonable Price are listed and linked-to here:
Intro to Love at a Reasonable Price
Intro to Diary of an Adamant Lover for sale here:
Buy the Books
We also are still selling cat totes and epistemologically controversial baby onsies:
Buy Cat Totes!
&/or Objectively Cute Baby Onepieces! (advertised here: An ad for an “Objectively Cute” baby wrap
But what are we really up to?
I dunno, Bartleby and Andy are writing something once in a while and then sometimes going back and editing things. I think they’ll go back to the ebooks before too long. We’ll see.
The man who gives out flowers
2 of 2 occurrences marked by the author on the coldest Valentine’s Day in NYC recorded history.
It was on Valentine’s Day at about 9pm on the C train, heading towards Brooklyn, clacking all the way and screeching in the turns. A black man about 60 reclining back, long legs spread wide on either side of two giant bags full of recent purchases (a small appliance in one; an inflatable mattress in the other) stacked one on top of the other. The train wasn’t very crowded, so no one cared that he took up so much space. Dressed in a nice coat, with nice black slacks and nice walking shoes. Blue knit cap. Takes a Corona out of one of the bags, opens it quick and starts drinking, hiding it in the open bag between swigs. His underjaw juts a little too far forward. He is tall and though starting to age a little in the face and getting a little paunchy in the middle, still looks pretty strong, sturdy, vigorous. He looks forward beneath his knit cap with a slight pursed smile–like both his eyes and lips purse forward a little in a gamesome smiling.
A heavyset gumdrop-shaped (while seated anyway) black lady; 40ish; light brown skin; with big thighs in tight green sweats (of a substantial fabric and probably with at least tights beneath–there was a heartiness to the outfit that reminded one of a thick layer of blubber). A thick brown jacket coat, open for the train ride and with a light blue hooded sweatshirt beneath. Leaning forward with her elbows on her thighs, one hand holding a nice new athletic backpack, the other holding a clear cup with some milky coffee drink. Looking towards the rubbery subway flooring; tired half-opened lizard eyes; mouth a little compressed, forcing her round, full cheeks out a bit more. A tired person, done for the day.
The man across from her pulls a bouquet of flowers out of one of his bags and presents it to her, gesturing it forward as he asks if she’d like them. Her face lights up. She smiles big and overawed like she’s about to burst out with delighted laughter. But she doesn’t laugh. She accepts the flowers with a big smile. Smells them. “Thank you! Thank you!” He gives a little nod and takes another swig of his beer, which makes her big grateful eyes wobble a bit, but not drastically. “I’m going to put these next to my heart tonight–when I sleep–I’m going to keep them next to my heart.” He, with half-shut cool eyes and a knowing half-smile and half backwards-nod (as in you nod backwards–assenting) says, “be well.” She has a mild Brooklyn accent. She repeats her plan and he repeats, “Be well!”
He finishes that beer and begins another (he drank the last beer in about a minute). She is still smiling over at him, and so she notices the quick beer progression. She’s sitting up a little more now–still leaning a bit forward but no longer with her arms on her shoulders and no longer looking down–looking towards him with a shy, blink-away-and-return smile. Now she pulls her shoulders back and straightens up and looks up and over to him, her gaze arching: “I don’t like beer” she says smiling thin, shaking her head a little from side to side. “Me neither” he says with a pouty smile. “I used to drink that–when I was a teenager–but …” He nods slight, judicious. She turns to one side, looking now down the fuselage, not quite across. At the next spot she looks around from side to side, as if she isn’t sure if this is her stop or not; then she gets off, thanking him again as she leaves, “thank you papi, thank you papi, thank you!–!”
At that stop a tall pretty early-40s thin black woman with high cheekbones and an elegant, shoulders-back, chin-up ease strolls on the subway. She stands by the pole by the door–diagonal to the man with the flowers and the beer. She’s left her faux-fur-lined hood up. He takes out another bouquet and offers it to her. She smiles but with a skeptical twist in her lips, small nose, big eyes: “No!” with that fixed smile through knitted brow and ironic eyes that one gives to a perhaps harmless but still dubious proposal. He, with a slight forward-shrug, puts the bouquet away and sips his beer.
He got off when we got off. I saw it.
Witness: AMW, dramatic recreation: BW; accuracy we can vouch for: not all the details, but something like this.
Two homeless men
1 of 2 stories from the coldest Valentine’s Day in NYC history.
Sitting there, crowded subway. People squished on either side–arm around your girlfriend and her shiny, slippery, puffy coat; and the wide round thighs and big black coat of the person on your right spilling into your experience, hemming you in, holding you tight. People all along the overhead poles, standing in front of you closer than people normally get, leaning over you, their coats unzipped and faces staring at an ad-lined concaving wall over your head.
A young white man enters by the door across and eight feet over. Subway’s not yet so crowded that you can’t see him clearly. He’s unshaven with a stubble growing long, looking like porcupine quills lying down. A thick blue jacket. Not a thin guy, but not fat either–a little stocky, chunky, horse-shoe-shaped. Gray hood and blue knit cap over his head; a fringe of dark hair showing beneath the cap. Dirty faded blue jeans. Pale face a little horseshoe shaped and not quite fat but not quite thin or square, kind of edging towards heavy; and the corners of the eyes and lips slanting down sadly, in resignation, which matches his monotone that is a little nasally and maybe borders on whine but that is more like the pained, self-conscious deadpan of an AA confession: (the speaker pauses to glance down from time to time; then he revs back up–head babybirds a bit back and up as he plaintive shouts the top of his next volley, a height from which his delivery soon drops down into a steady doldrum) “Hello, I’m very sorry to disturb you. My name’s (witness honestly forgets). I am 29 years old and I am here because I am homeless and I am out of work. I can promise you that I will not be out of work forever; I am going to get a job and get myself back on my feet as soon as I can–that’s a promise I’ve made to myself. And even though I’ve got an education, I don’t care–I’ll wash dishes if I have to, anything it takes. I’ve promised myself that much. But today I am here asking for some help because I am homeless and out of work. I tried to find a place to sleep all last night, but I couldn’t lie down anywhere for more than a few minutes without feeling like I was going into hypothermia.” He went on to say that he checked himself into the ER last night because he was so cold. They kicked him out after 45 minutes but it was worth it just to warm up for a little while. He’s been trying to get enough money for a warm meal; he’s about halfway there; if anyone could be kind enough to help him out–. A 40ish black lady sitting behind and to one side of him, stout and wrapped up in her coat and hood and hat like a baby in a papoose, poked at him; he reached back with a cupped hand and she inserted something into it. She had a round face, a small, flat, round-edged nose, big eyes, a slight smile on her full lips as she looked a little up and to her left towards the troubled young man.
The man heads away from you, and you can’t see him in the crowd. At the next stop a medium-build, sharp-cheeked black man in a sturdy green workman’s coat (the kind that looks more solid than puffy and more matte than shiny–you see them on construction workers) and worn but clean and wrinkle-free black jeans. He gives his speech in a clear voice with his head up. He’s homeless and he’s out of work, but he’s not looking for a handout. He’s got these papers from a local homeless advocacy organization that he is selling for a dollar, two dollars–whatever you want to pay.
The newcomer heads towards the same direction as the other guy. Then there’s a little bubble in the crowd like when a pebble makes ripples in a creek. Arms overhead, stumbling back a little: “.. I didn’t even know …” Backpedals towards your spot, talking loud and stern towards the direction he came: “But do it the right way! Do it the right way! Do it the right way.” And a little later, looking over with a flash in his eyes like he heard something offensive; but he’s right next to you and you heard nothing; it could also just be the pique of recalling and further unpacking a past grievance: “you’re 37?! I’m 53! I’m retired! I’ve been at this since 9:30 in the morning!” (It is about 2pm) “And what is this? [arm stretched out long, but limply, pathetically] You gonna just hold out your hand and say oh, gimme gimme gimme–what is that? And you wonder why people don’t give you nothin! You can do better than that–you can do better than that, son,–you can do much better than that!”
Where was the original guy? You can’t see him. The new comer finishes scolding and exits when the doors open at the next stop. You feel sad, overwhelmed.
Witness: AMW; Author: BW; Accuracy: Not all the details, but something like that.
The Story of Isaac
A young boy walks up a sandy mountainside with his father, a righteous man who has found favor with the Lord, the creator and sustainor of all things. A young boy in the time before time, his cloak sunny and flecked with dust, walks up the hill, wondering what’s up.
An old man who talks with God walks with a heavy heart up a grade a little steep for his years. Why has God asked this of him? Everything was going so well. And yet everyone knows that it’s not supposed to be easy. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be real–right?
Isaac, just a boy. Come along, I’ve got a need.
Isaac, just a lad. Skip to it, I’m commanded.
Isaac, just a kid.
What does God ask of me?
What do I invent?
What does God let me get away with?
Where do I embellish?
Who takes Isaac by the hand,
up to the cutting stone?
Betrunkene Nutzlosigkeit
When your boyfriend is drunk on a Saturday afternoon
What can you do, really?
What options do you have?
You can disagree, but that won’t make him sober.
You can acquiesce, but that won’t make him useful.
And so I guess it is probably for the best,
that I fold and turn this shiny blue paper
into a symbolic angelfish,
that floats easy and forgetful
near a knobby coral
somewhere in the light blue.
Yes, that’s what I’ll do.
AMW