Tuesday, June 23, 2015

I intended to go to work today, but just as I started to leave the house, an interesting looking old lady walked her dog across the street and towards the First Baptist Church. When she entered the front entrance and I could no longer see her, I walked out the door, but just then, a little boy kicked a soccer ball towards the pool, but not very far, because he was small and weak. Perhaps he was the old lady’s son. Or grandson. Soon the ball stopped rolling and I began to walk towards the car until I heard the sound of a Beethoven Symphony in the air. It was quite beautiful, and fairly long, and so I didn’t move until the end of the Fourth Movement, about twenty minutes roughly, and then I began to weep, but only as an exercise for my acting class, which I would be attending the following June, and which often would ask that I weep for them. With that in mind, I decided to go back into the house and check my bank balance, as the classes would prove to be expensive, too expensive if you ask me, but as soon as I went on the computer, somebody turned on the radio and there was lightning. I heard a car honk. I wanted to check the weather but the lights went out. A baby in a blue wraparound started to scream. I thought it would be fun to play the saxophone. I used to speak French. The lights went back on and I saw a picture of beautiful old decrepit baths in ancient Russia. I imagined myself in such a bath. They looked so beautiful that I fell asleep and dreamed. I dreamed I was at work. I had a dictionary. I was clean and old and weak. I dreamed I went home.


When the fortune teller told me that something beautiful was about to happen in my life, and the dark green parts of my heart would soon turn to spring, I felt relieved and excited. If only every fortune teller told that to everyone who walked in their door, it would be wonderful for everyone who walked in, and everyone who ever met everyone who walked in. People would wake up every day and look upon each occurrence in a new way: that cashier smiled at me. The mailman has a package. There is someone sitting in my chair. The bartender says “No Charge.” The melody begins in C. It is almost my birthday. The band plays a waltz. The sun doesn’t seem to want to set. What does it mean? It means that something will happen. You can feel it. If nothing happens, it’s even more wonderful. That means that something is about to happen. You can feel that, too. Don’t worry if the sun sets today just as it normally might. Don’t worry if the cashier frowns. Just wait. Just wait  a little longer. Just wait as long as you can.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015


I took a photograph of the sign that read THE MONEY MUSEUM but the guard stopped me. “You may not take a picture of THE MONEY MUSEUM” he said. “You may only take pictures of the money.”

Tuesday, June 16, 2015


I listened to a great deal of music in the last three days, in a number of different venues. One thing I noticed every time: when a musician played rapid, repeated triplets, the audience burst into big applause and hollering. That was the only thing I noticed that was consistently true everywhere I went.

Now all the places I went to were Blues clubs, but you can hear rapid triplets everywhere. You can even hear them in “Free Bird” and such.

Rapid triplets aren’t that hard to play. They might be a little hard on the fingers if you do them for a long time, but that would have to be a really long time. In fact, many musicians play them when they are trying to think of something else to play. It’s sort of like “you know” or “uhh” or “that’s an interesting question” in conversation. 

I think people applaud repeated triplets because they hear them once and they like them but then they have the opportunity to hear them many times. Maybe they become comfortably with them as they become more familiar. Maybe if they hear them enough, they want them to fly away, like a mother bird might to her young. Perhaps the audience is saying “You can do it” knowing that they will go away, and they will miss them, but that they will be fine once they do. And they even know that someday they will come back. They will look different, but they know that they will come back.

Perhaps they return when they miss the big applause and all the hollering.

Sunday, June 07, 2015

I remember the last day of my childhood. I spent the early morning watching the sunrise at the beach. It was a long drive and the girl who drove me didn’t have a license. Now the beach is gone and the car is gone but she is still alive. The part I remember best was last night before morning. The kiss.

Monday, June 01, 2015

Recently I was talking with a friend about living in the Lower East Side of New York City in 1979 with all the demolished buildings and poverty and homeless people and whatnot. And then she mentioned drug dealers.  I thought about what courage it must take to be a drug dealer. After all, you spend the day talking to drug addicts and crazy people and people who don’t have enough money for drugs but who want them and people with guns and knives who also want drugs. Anything could happen. You could write a really interesting book about being a courageous drug dealer in the Lower East Side of NYC in 1979 and all the things that could happen or did, although I think that it might be easier to write haikus or sing songs especially in the winter. I wonder if any of the drug dealers lives were boring. I can’t imagine they were very boring. Maybe a little boring. But just when they started to get boring, something interesting would probably happen every time. And then there was also the Dobermans, she said. 

And I thought about how courageous you would have to be if you were a Doberman in the Lower East Side of NYC in 1979, because everybody would hate you right away which is probably why they barked so much. They probably just wanted love but all that got was hate and so they barked, I said. Some people loved the Dobermans in the Lower East Side of NYC in 1979 she said. Oh, I doubt it, I said. I feel I can safely say that no one loved Dobermans in NYC on the Lower East Side in 1979. And then we got in a big fight about that. I think we really didn’t disagree - I think we were just a little blue, thinking about the world and how much things have changed in New York City since 1979, particularly in the Lower East Side, which I imagine so different - I haven’t been there since.

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