On the second to last day of the year I took a long run alongside the Atlantic Ocean. OK, it wasn’t that long, maybe an hour, I dunno. Is that long? As I stared off into the infinite sparkling distance, the entire ocean turned into champagne and as the bubbles washed ashore I felt like I was some sort of boozy yet benevolent King Midas. Well, more like King Midas as a child. I felt childish. I felt light and lithe. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for a former self to see myself as I am now. Aloft, floating, just sorta swirling around, taking it all in. Ever present, never there. The priests have arrived. We’re late to the party. Auld Lang Syne and all that other shit. And for that I’m grateful. For that we struggle and for that we are blessed.
The ocean no longer has any ability to move me. The peaceful calm and militant cruelty isn’t a metaphor about anything. It’s just us anthropomorphizing bodies of fucking water. All experiments on the part of nature have come back negative.
And for that I’m grateful. For that we struggle and for that we are blessed.
I was on the A train the other morning. A homeless man waded through the crowd and started in on what appeared to be the usual sad soliloquy as solicitation. Except something was different about his delivery. Not sure if it was the pitch itself or some altogether greater vocal affectation, but it seemed to mean something to the others sitting around me. Soon everyone around me was handing the man money. No coins, cash only. I swear I saw someone hand him a $20 bill. Then after quietly collecting his offering he sat down* in the train car, not far from me. The passengers all sat next to the man inside a weird forcefield of communion as he folded his bills neatly into his crusty pockets. Once we hit the 42nd street stop the man jumped right up and walked out the sliding doors unashamed and untouched by fear and evil. I never heard a word he said. I never learned his story. I was listening to Beatte Harab but I bet his plea was nearly as good. I ran up behind him, grabbed him in the station and handed him a crumpled dollar. And for that I’m grateful. For that we struggle and for that we are blessed.
*A pregnant woman gave up her seat. Or was it a crippled elderly lady? I can’t remember now
