The Most Sensitive And Alert Human Being On The Train
Wedged pleasantly in the sardine can of the subway train it was hard not to be appreciative. A scalp visible beneath a sparse forest, an unnoticed blister, dry skin that had never been noticed or thought of. A bit of life. A scab as unknown as the cells it consisted of, a universe of cells.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
polisci degree
Cairo
We were very lonely in Cairo’s Coptic quarter. Our surgeries had yet to heal and we undoubtedly looked frightful to the inhabitants on our evening walks. We received only looks of terror or menace, except for some of the children who seemed to accept us. But even some of them couldn’t help but burst into tears at the sight of us. Passing two buildings full of pigs and chickens being fattened for eventual slaughter, we imagined the exclamations of the proprietors, as well as the community members, not to mention the sounds of the animals themselves, if an escape was fashioned and the future meals spilled and dispersed raucously out onto the cobble-stoned boulevards, running madly, for the first time, out in the world. The crowing and squealing of the beasts, the shouts of the people. Then we imagined the scene again, this time with the jailbreak conducted in utter silence on all sides, excepting only the sound of hooves and chicken nails scraping the road surface, the fevered flapping of wings in the alleyways. And then we rolled through it once more with the Coptic quarter’s thoroughfares carpeted with the lushest and deepest and most sound-muffling of fibers, these billions of fibers stained and/or dyed the royalest of royal blues.
We were very lonely in Cairo’s Coptic quarter. Our surgeries had yet to heal and we undoubtedly looked frightful to the inhabitants on our evening walks. We received only looks of terror or menace, except for some of the children who seemed to accept us. But even some of them couldn’t help but burst into tears at the sight of us. Passing two buildings full of pigs and chickens being fattened for eventual slaughter, we imagined the exclamations of the proprietors, as well as the community members, not to mention the sounds of the animals themselves, if an escape was fashioned and the future meals spilled and dispersed raucously out onto the cobble-stoned boulevards, running madly, for the first time, out in the world. The crowing and squealing of the beasts, the shouts of the people. Then we imagined the scene again, this time with the jailbreak conducted in utter silence on all sides, excepting only the sound of hooves and chicken nails scraping the road surface, the fevered flapping of wings in the alleyways. And then we rolled through it once more with the Coptic quarter’s thoroughfares carpeted with the lushest and deepest and most sound-muffling of fibers, these billions of fibers stained and/or dyed the royalest of royal blues.
bawler
Town Crier
I am the Town Crier. Everyday I go up to the tower at daybreak and again at sundown and cry the day’s beginning and the day’s end. Every time I open my mouth up there in the tower my voice comes out and every time it comes out different. But no one has ever noticed. Or at least said anything.
I am the Town Crier. Everyday I go up to the tower at daybreak and again at sundown and cry the day’s beginning and the day’s end. Every time I open my mouth up there in the tower my voice comes out and every time it comes out different. But no one has ever noticed. Or at least said anything.
blahck
Continue
I still think back to the day when we were walking past the barbecue joint and on a hunch I accused you of always, compulsively, scoping each car's hood or tail for identification purposes and you admitted to it, that you'd always done it, as long as you could remember, and that you were shocked that I had guessed that that's what you were doing, and that it was right after your admission and your shock and your questioning of my hunch, that I told you that I thought we should stop seeing each other, that I knew it was rather disgusting and shallow on my part, but the fact that your eyes compulsively sought out car makes and models at the behest of your nervous soul somehow told me unequivocally that I just couldn't continue. And how this produced more shock and how you laughed in my face and called me an idiot and pointed out to me that my eyes without fail compulsively sought out the most beautiful woman in the environment, whether it was subway car or street or restaurant or anywhere at all, even if you were around and I tried to hide it, and wasn't it basically the same, weren't we in large part cars without drivers careening around specially-built tracks, and didn't I want to take back what I had just said, about not continuing, because it was so foolish and hypocritical? And how I did take it back, the majority of my unequivocal-ness reversed in a moment, and we continued.
I still think back to the day when we were walking past the barbecue joint and on a hunch I accused you of always, compulsively, scoping each car's hood or tail for identification purposes and you admitted to it, that you'd always done it, as long as you could remember, and that you were shocked that I had guessed that that's what you were doing, and that it was right after your admission and your shock and your questioning of my hunch, that I told you that I thought we should stop seeing each other, that I knew it was rather disgusting and shallow on my part, but the fact that your eyes compulsively sought out car makes and models at the behest of your nervous soul somehow told me unequivocally that I just couldn't continue. And how this produced more shock and how you laughed in my face and called me an idiot and pointed out to me that my eyes without fail compulsively sought out the most beautiful woman in the environment, whether it was subway car or street or restaurant or anywhere at all, even if you were around and I tried to hide it, and wasn't it basically the same, weren't we in large part cars without drivers careening around specially-built tracks, and didn't I want to take back what I had just said, about not continuing, because it was so foolish and hypocritical? And how I did take it back, the majority of my unequivocal-ness reversed in a moment, and we continued.
yyy
Fall
A beautiful afternoon despite the passing of an opportunity that might have been pretty sweet. Spring has arrived. Warmth. Shorts and a t-shirt evenings. You want to take a walk and go ahead and do it. Everything is just fine.
A beautiful afternoon despite the passing of an opportunity that might have been pretty sweet. Spring has arrived. Warmth. Shorts and a t-shirt evenings. You want to take a walk and go ahead and do it. Everything is just fine.
zzzzzzzzz
Apology
I apologized to my brother and I apologized to a woman on our second meeting, in regards to something I did or said, which I can no longer remember, on our first meeting. I apologized to my father and I apologized to the bus driver when it turned out that I was fareless after she had already closed the door and resumed her route. Apologies seemed due and were given to friends, at various times, for being late, or canceling an appointment at the last minute. I apologized to a woman, a different woman than the one mentioned above, many times, for breaking her heart and not loving her like she wanted me to love her, by which she meant like I had loved her before, when I had loved her, and not like now, when I didn’t love her at all, all of a sudden. As a child, I apologized to a shopkeeper while standing beside my mother, who had forced me to return to the shop and the shopkeeper and apologize for stealing a gold-plated box-shaped locket, which I had wanted for some reason unknown to me now, and my apology was tearful and red-cheeked and accepted by the shopkeeper, who really was just a girl in the mall, probably a teenager, and I don’t doubt she and her friends had a good laugh over my apology after she left work, though I have no way of knowing the nature of that laughter, whether it was good-natured or cruel, just plain petty. I apologized to managers and bosses, roughly once a year, for quitting their employment and moving on, though I never once was actually sorry and always felt happy or blessed, lucky to escape with my skin, as the saying goes. I’ve stepped on toes, literally and figuratively, and doing so has elicited apologies. Inadvertent bumps have seemingly required apologies, as I gave them without question, as I have given apologies to waitresses and waiters when I just couldn’t decide. I apologized when I lost a loaned book and I apologized when spilled red wine stained a borrowed one. I apologized to my creditors for not paying them. I apologized to my mother. Pulled over on the side of the road, lights flashing in my rear view mirror, I apologized to various officers of the law, hoping for leniency. I apologized post-premature ejaculation for my lack of control and the cessation of pleasure and for the absence of an orgasm, too many times, including times when I didn’t apologize out loud, knowing that my apology wasn’t wanted, but anyway feeling apologetic and sorrowful, inside. Jesus Christ received my apologies when I was a child and then a teenager for my failings, desperate apologies I have no reason to think weren’t forgiven, but it’s been a long time and now I can’t think of a situation where I could honestly apologize to Jesus, though I don’t want to tempt fate, and actually, as soon as I say that I can’t think of a situation where I would sincerely apologize to Jesus, it becomes clear to me that it might do my soul good to apologize to many of the great men and women of history, Jesus certainly, and Lao Tzu and Einstein and Nietzsche and Amelia Earhart and Marty Buber and Magic Johnson, for not properly honoring their actions and contributions and spirits. Many times, I have apologized for my existence with a down-turned face and flushed skin, many times this happens on the street with strangers approaching, my eyes go down to my feet and I silently apologize for my existence, sometimes I apologized prior to contact, a pre-emptive apology, given by avoidance, by not showing up, by not appearing. I apologized to my sister and my father. I apologized to my step-mother because I didn’t return her car to her by the time she wanted it, because, mainly, I drank way too much alcohol the night before, so much alcohol that I couldn’t properly set an alarm. I apologized for wearing a shirt somebody made a disparaging remark about, though it was an ironic apology, meant to gently reflect the person’s shallowness back in their face and hopefully prompt an apology on their part, which didn’t work, and has never really worked, though I keep trying it, as I think my principles are sound. I apologized for drinking too much. I apologized for missing work due to sickness I caught at the workplace. When the pressure became unbearably intense and I released the enema after two minutes instead of twenty, I apologized to the nurses, who understood and were uniformly kind, for which I was grateful. At a loss for words, I apologized. When I ran out of gum and was unable to offer any, I apologized. I apologized for breaking things, accidentally or not, and I apologized for my laziness. I apologized for not understanding and I apologized for hearing something other than what was said. I apologized all over town, basically, my whole life long. But I never apologized to you. You, who deserves apology most. I always fought you. I always tried to kill you. Smother you. Which I could never do completely, though it’s true that your offering is different every day and the many, many days when I pushed you away and denied you are days I can’t get back. I will never be able to do anything with those days. What could have happened on those days will never happen. I do not know why you are so patient. Anyone else would have left, but then I guess it must be said that you are not a human being. We are petty monsters, us humans, basically. Which you know, I’m sure. Of all my apologies, this apology is the most heartfelt, the most important to me. I think I’ve always been afraid of you. There is no way for me to know how I’ve maimed you. I can only imagine your injuries, your posture, and I can only do so because of you, of course, which is ironic. I don’t know why it’s only now I begin to realize the breadth of my atrocity but I have started to realize and I am sorry, I apologize, I sincerely and solemnly do. I apologize for near daily acts of atrocity. When you were only and always offering your hand, your car. I apologize without expectation. I have hopes, but not expectations. I’m sorry if parts of you have died. I imagine arms turned to gray, cracks forming from desiccation as you retreat deeper, into the torso. I apologize for not using you like you ask to be used. I apologize for not honoring you, for ignoring you, shunning you, spitting in your face and then running away from you. I apologize for not apologizing sooner. I apologize in advance for further transgressions. I know I will try to kill you again. I know I will refuse you again. It’s become a habit and I apologize for that. I don’t want to hurt you, but I know I will, and I apologize. It’s my intention to change my ways. Never have I felt so confident that I can. I don’t expect, remember, but I hope. I want to feed you, clothe you, water your poor arms. I want to treat your wounds, I want to lie down with you and tell you that I’m sorry, that I’m sorry for all I’ve done. I want to whisper my apologies into your ear. To say to your corporal manifestation that I apologize for everything I’ve ever done to this day and for everything I know I will do in the future to your beautiful, wondrous self. For warping you in the past and for future warping. To apologize for doing wrong when I could have done right.
I apologized to my brother and I apologized to a woman on our second meeting, in regards to something I did or said, which I can no longer remember, on our first meeting. I apologized to my father and I apologized to the bus driver when it turned out that I was fareless after she had already closed the door and resumed her route. Apologies seemed due and were given to friends, at various times, for being late, or canceling an appointment at the last minute. I apologized to a woman, a different woman than the one mentioned above, many times, for breaking her heart and not loving her like she wanted me to love her, by which she meant like I had loved her before, when I had loved her, and not like now, when I didn’t love her at all, all of a sudden. As a child, I apologized to a shopkeeper while standing beside my mother, who had forced me to return to the shop and the shopkeeper and apologize for stealing a gold-plated box-shaped locket, which I had wanted for some reason unknown to me now, and my apology was tearful and red-cheeked and accepted by the shopkeeper, who really was just a girl in the mall, probably a teenager, and I don’t doubt she and her friends had a good laugh over my apology after she left work, though I have no way of knowing the nature of that laughter, whether it was good-natured or cruel, just plain petty. I apologized to managers and bosses, roughly once a year, for quitting their employment and moving on, though I never once was actually sorry and always felt happy or blessed, lucky to escape with my skin, as the saying goes. I’ve stepped on toes, literally and figuratively, and doing so has elicited apologies. Inadvertent bumps have seemingly required apologies, as I gave them without question, as I have given apologies to waitresses and waiters when I just couldn’t decide. I apologized when I lost a loaned book and I apologized when spilled red wine stained a borrowed one. I apologized to my creditors for not paying them. I apologized to my mother. Pulled over on the side of the road, lights flashing in my rear view mirror, I apologized to various officers of the law, hoping for leniency. I apologized post-premature ejaculation for my lack of control and the cessation of pleasure and for the absence of an orgasm, too many times, including times when I didn’t apologize out loud, knowing that my apology wasn’t wanted, but anyway feeling apologetic and sorrowful, inside. Jesus Christ received my apologies when I was a child and then a teenager for my failings, desperate apologies I have no reason to think weren’t forgiven, but it’s been a long time and now I can’t think of a situation where I could honestly apologize to Jesus, though I don’t want to tempt fate, and actually, as soon as I say that I can’t think of a situation where I would sincerely apologize to Jesus, it becomes clear to me that it might do my soul good to apologize to many of the great men and women of history, Jesus certainly, and Lao Tzu and Einstein and Nietzsche and Amelia Earhart and Marty Buber and Magic Johnson, for not properly honoring their actions and contributions and spirits. Many times, I have apologized for my existence with a down-turned face and flushed skin, many times this happens on the street with strangers approaching, my eyes go down to my feet and I silently apologize for my existence, sometimes I apologized prior to contact, a pre-emptive apology, given by avoidance, by not showing up, by not appearing. I apologized to my sister and my father. I apologized to my step-mother because I didn’t return her car to her by the time she wanted it, because, mainly, I drank way too much alcohol the night before, so much alcohol that I couldn’t properly set an alarm. I apologized for wearing a shirt somebody made a disparaging remark about, though it was an ironic apology, meant to gently reflect the person’s shallowness back in their face and hopefully prompt an apology on their part, which didn’t work, and has never really worked, though I keep trying it, as I think my principles are sound. I apologized for drinking too much. I apologized for missing work due to sickness I caught at the workplace. When the pressure became unbearably intense and I released the enema after two minutes instead of twenty, I apologized to the nurses, who understood and were uniformly kind, for which I was grateful. At a loss for words, I apologized. When I ran out of gum and was unable to offer any, I apologized. I apologized for breaking things, accidentally or not, and I apologized for my laziness. I apologized for not understanding and I apologized for hearing something other than what was said. I apologized all over town, basically, my whole life long. But I never apologized to you. You, who deserves apology most. I always fought you. I always tried to kill you. Smother you. Which I could never do completely, though it’s true that your offering is different every day and the many, many days when I pushed you away and denied you are days I can’t get back. I will never be able to do anything with those days. What could have happened on those days will never happen. I do not know why you are so patient. Anyone else would have left, but then I guess it must be said that you are not a human being. We are petty monsters, us humans, basically. Which you know, I’m sure. Of all my apologies, this apology is the most heartfelt, the most important to me. I think I’ve always been afraid of you. There is no way for me to know how I’ve maimed you. I can only imagine your injuries, your posture, and I can only do so because of you, of course, which is ironic. I don’t know why it’s only now I begin to realize the breadth of my atrocity but I have started to realize and I am sorry, I apologize, I sincerely and solemnly do. I apologize for near daily acts of atrocity. When you were only and always offering your hand, your car. I apologize without expectation. I have hopes, but not expectations. I’m sorry if parts of you have died. I imagine arms turned to gray, cracks forming from desiccation as you retreat deeper, into the torso. I apologize for not using you like you ask to be used. I apologize for not honoring you, for ignoring you, shunning you, spitting in your face and then running away from you. I apologize for not apologizing sooner. I apologize in advance for further transgressions. I know I will try to kill you again. I know I will refuse you again. It’s become a habit and I apologize for that. I don’t want to hurt you, but I know I will, and I apologize. It’s my intention to change my ways. Never have I felt so confident that I can. I don’t expect, remember, but I hope. I want to feed you, clothe you, water your poor arms. I want to treat your wounds, I want to lie down with you and tell you that I’m sorry, that I’m sorry for all I’ve done. I want to whisper my apologies into your ear. To say to your corporal manifestation that I apologize for everything I’ve ever done to this day and for everything I know I will do in the future to your beautiful, wondrous self. For warping you in the past and for future warping. To apologize for doing wrong when I could have done right.
Feb 17, 2011
Rehearsal
In preparation for the club, where he would go in two months, if the promises of his birthday party were really to be taken seriously, he plastered his walls, half with photos of the uber-beautiful, Hyo Jin, movie stars, athletes, and so on, half with lepers, the maimed and burned, the just plain ugly. Because the club, to just go in like that, would be difficult. The photos of the hideous were much more difficult to find and much more costly and time-consuming. A trigger in every direction his goal. Inferiority. Superiority. He needed practice and he needed it now. The uglies, in a way, because of the work involved, becoming valuable, beautiful. Of course they sickened him as often as not. Then he’d run to the gorgeous ones. Not all them had fake expressions and they were the worst.
In preparation for the club, where he would go in two months, if the promises of his birthday party were really to be taken seriously, he plastered his walls, half with photos of the uber-beautiful, Hyo Jin, movie stars, athletes, and so on, half with lepers, the maimed and burned, the just plain ugly. Because the club, to just go in like that, would be difficult. The photos of the hideous were much more difficult to find and much more costly and time-consuming. A trigger in every direction his goal. Inferiority. Superiority. He needed practice and he needed it now. The uglies, in a way, because of the work involved, becoming valuable, beautiful. Of course they sickened him as often as not. Then he’d run to the gorgeous ones. Not all them had fake expressions and they were the worst.
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