Violet sentence

It was while the young man was choking his wife, fingers around her rapidly purpling throat, that he realizes that that moment, right now, is the lowest one of his life; he is causing pain to someone, something that he thought he himself was incapable of, like that voice in your head that says Oh no, ugh at sights of violence, the voice only the young and inexperienced have, speaking thoughts that older people have outgrown because they, through life, have caused suffering and felt hurt.

A change is gonna (going to) come

She twirled her fingers at us, writing in the air with dancer’s fingers.  Then she wrote with a borrowed pen (all pens are borrowed) on the bar napkin in front of us “I AM A DANCER.  ARTIST.”  She also added, “ANGER” above “DANCER” and grimaced and smiled at the same time.

We are in a bar, and the quiet counter in front of us, between us and the bartender, between us and the alcohol, is of deep brown wood.  The bartender, a dapper man named Steve, ambles up and down the bar serving drinks, words, and glances of his handsome bearded face.

On the back of the bar there is the usual motley collection of bottles, of substances and unguents, filled with dreams, miseries, and the occasional liquid laughter.  Off to one side, near us, sits an absinthe fountain, ready to be used, crystal clear and clean.  We have partaken of absinthe before, the last time we were there, and we did not like it.  Rare is the person who likes the taste of licorice, the taste of anise, bittersweet and cloying.

The woman next to us, next to the three of us (Tom and Jerry were to my right, and I am Bulldog for the night, with a scowl and wink), continued to write on the paper that Steve had kindly provided.

She wrote, A CHANGE IS GONNA (GOING TO) COME, and looks up at us with a expectant look on her face and gestures upwards, to the music.  She starts nodding to the music, moving her body in the subtle ways that indicate she is locked into the music, and the music is in her.  Her eyes become unfocused again and she leaves us.  But before she does, she adds “OTIS REDDING” to my question of “WHO?”

Otis Redding, for those not in the know like us, was an American soul singer-songwriter who lived from nineteen forty one to nineteen sixty seven.  Nineteen forty one was when a decree in Germany outlawed the used of Blackletter Gothic typefaces in favor of Antiqua.  It was also when Hungary and Romania declared war on the United States in World War II.

Otis Redding was born the same year that Cheerios (first named CheeriOats) was introduced.

I was born by a river, oh my

In this little old tent

Oh, just like this river

I’ve been running ever since

It’s been alone

The woman, the dancer continued to dart in and close to us and away, down the bar to her other friends-acquaintances-bar-goers, who were clustered around another woman, with dark hair and a heavy-lidded gaze.

Before we knew it, the other woman was on top of the bar, dancing, slinking towards us (but not before she knocked the light above the bar about a little) and swaying to the music.  She came straight for us with purpose and intent energy, spontaneously dancing to the music and to us.  When she came near us, she leaned down low and steadied herself on my hand.  Then she swooped between Tom and Jerry, and continued on her way back to her side of the bar, spent.

SHE SAW US AND WANTED TO SHOW MUSIC, our non-dancing-yet-a-dancer companion said.  We wrote back to her, prompted by Tom, WHATS YOUR INTERPRETATION OF THE MUSIC?  She laughed and wrote back to us, I HAVE NO DISCIPLINE => AT ALL.  NO CLASSES.  ONLY EXPRESSION AND EXPERIENCE.

We learned that she worked with inner city youth.  Dance, expression, ANGER.

Lord, I’m coming but I know, but I know

A change is gotta come, now

Yes, it is, my oh, my oh, my oh

PEOPLE CANT FEEL SHIT, she added.  We looked at each other, and nodded gravely.  That is the only appropriate response, a grave nod.  At that precise moment we ran out of things to say, or at least I did.  Rule #34 of a bar conversation; philosophy must be intertwined with questions otherwise it devolves in a downward spiral of non sequitur statements about the meaning of life, love, and the pursuit of whatever brought you to the bar today.

I QUIT MY JOB OF 14 1/2 YEARS, Gabrielle said.  Gabrielle was the woman who danced on the bar for us.  I DANCE FOR GOD, she wrote on our crowded paper, 4 MEDITATION – “SWEAT YOUR PRAYERS!”

Gabrielle’s cousin, a man of substance and watches, a suave Costa Rican, founder of a renewable energy outfit, shimmied over to us and mimed carefully, the only way a drunk person can mime carefully, with swaying movements and concentrated motion.  We cleared up the matter of our deafness, and moved on to his cousin Gabrielle’s breast size and birth order in his family. Then he wandered off with his cousin and left the bar.

It’s been too hard livin’, oh my

And I’m afraid to die

I don’t know what’s up there

Beyond the clouds

It’s been alone

I’M THE INHERITOR OF REAL TIFFANY LAMPS, our dancer friend said, after showing us her tattoos on her belly.  Presumably they included some kind of a tiffany lamp pattern, as well as a stylized “NATURE” on her right side, and a “NURTURE” on her left side.

Lord, I’m coming but I know, but I know

A change is gotta come

Oh, yes it is, my oh, my oh, my

I LIVE IN THE HOOD, she scribbled.  MY FACE =/ MY IDENTITY.  We finally thought to exchange names, and she wrote several names for herself, from her Facebook name to her stage name, to other names, identities.  One of her names was JEANIE, though.  They were all different paths to experiencing her, to connecting with her, and I felt like there could be millions more, thousands and hundreds of ways of connecting to each other person, billions of linkages, until who we were drowned in the sea.

There’s a time

I will go to my brother, oh my

I’ve asked my brother

Will you help me please, oh now, oh now

Our encounter with Gabrielle and her cousin, with the dancer named Jeanie, with each others’ discomfort and beer-fueled relaxation ended as we wrapped up and left.

He turned me down

And then I asked my little mother, oh my

I said mother, I said mother

I’m down on my knees

Walking out of the bar, I realized that I’ve walked out of that bar trillions of times, and each time I have, I have left a little richer and poorer, knowing that change is gonna come.

I can see

“I’m sorry to say, Ms. Garcia, that your son can hear,” Doctor Collingwood said behind his desk.  ”We performed all the standard tests.”

Dolores Garcia sat mutely in front of him, on his expensive leather chair.  It stretched taut below her, as if it were holding her tight in her grief.  ”What?  Could you repeat that?” Dolores said.  ”I don’t understand.  Did you say … hearing?”

Doctor Collingwood sighed with a puff of his cheeks and stood up.  His lab coat swinging with him, he walked around the desk and stood next to Dolores with one hand on her shoulder.  ”Yes, he can hear. But it’s okay.  There’s no cause to panic.  I’ve asked Doctor Quigley, our visualogist, to speak with you.”

After the doctor finished speaking, Dolores sat there and said nothing until the door to her right opened, admitting a young woman in her mid 20′s.  She had brown hair that came down to her shoulders and red shoes.

“Hello, Ms. Garcia.  I’m Doctor Quigley, and I’m here to help you with your son.”

—

“He’s only one year old!” shouted Mr. Garcia, red face punctuating his words.  ”God damn it, this doesn’t make any sense.  Why can’t we just treat him normal?”

Doctor Quigley leaned back in her chair and looked at Ms. Garcia, who was sitting next to Mr. Garcia.  ”You have to understand that this is a process.  Your son is special; he was born with the ability to hear.  Fortunately there is a way to provide your son with the tools he needs to grow up and integrate nicely in society.”

She leans back towards the Garcias and adds after a short pause, “Tools such as this.”  She holds up a small box with the words IRIS AMERICA on it, and a stylized logo of an eye.  ”This is the latest technology, and I believe it’s the best thing for your son.”

—

To be continued.

A conversation

“So, call me Frank,” he said with a half smile on his face.  ”I’m going to tell you straight.”

I stood there and listened carefully.  I mean, you listen carefully when a revolver is pointed at your face.  Or even your general direction.

Frank chewed something in his mouth as he stood in front of me.  We were standing outside my cabin in the woods behind Bend.  The green fir trees surrounded us, bark dripping with the smell of Christmas.  He then spit something dark out and on the ground and cleared his throat.

“Are you going to tell me your name,” asked Frank.  ”I don’t believe we have…met?”

I closed my eyes briefly.  That’s probably another thing that you shouldn’t do when someone is pointing a gun at you.  While my eyes were closed, I replied real soft, “William.”

“What’s that, I couldn’t hear you,” Frank said.

I repeated myself, only louder, and opened my eyes.  I hadn’t realized he was leaning forward, until he leaned back a little.  He seemed satisfied.  As satisfied as a man holding an antique six-shooter can.  Which is to say, pretty smug.

“Well, William, can I call you Will—” Frank paused.  I nodded my head.  ”Okay, Will it is!  Anyway, Will, can you tell me something?”  I nodded again.  ”That’s good of you.  To be willing to tell a perfect stranger something.  Even one whose has his gun pointed at his face.”

Frank paused for a few seconds while he seemed to collect his thoughts.  ”Can you tell me, in as few words as possible, what you are doing here on my land?”

Before I could catch myself, I said loudly, “What?  Your land?  What do you mea—” and caught myself.  ”Well, what do you mean?”

Frank frowned fiercely at my outburst, and his finger tightened slightly over the trigger of the gun.  You can tell how tense a shooter is by how white the finger gets over the trigger.  That’s something I learned online, on the Internet, in some Guerillo webpage where they also told you how to build a doomsday shelter and liquor stills.  In any case, back to Frank.  He was still shaking his head.  Then he started to talk.

“Will,” he began, and lowered his revolver slightly.  ”In the little time that I have gotten to know you, I’ve grown quite fond of you.  I hope that the feeling has been somewhat mutual, minus the natural effect of me, a perfect stranger you have only known for, what, five minutes, threatening you with potential grievous body harm.  I would hate for our great friendship to be soured by petty things like anger, resentment, death, and all that foolishness.  So, let me ask you again, what are you doing on my land?”

It was in that moment—that tense moment where Frank watched me with those dead eyes of his—that I realized that his question was very legitimate; because out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that my cabin was no longer there, and that, in fact, there were only trees as far as I could see.

I was no longer at home.

Geode

After a critical look up and down at my outfit, she held up a ticket and took a long drag from her cigarette.  “That will be ten dollars, mister.”

Ten dollars?  Do I look like I’m walking around with fairies shitting hundred dollar bills?  Then again there’s plenty of fairies here.  Yet again, I found myself at one of those San Francisco events.  Yes, the kind with lots of drugs and alcohol.  Except this one had more tits than usual.  I hand the chick behind the booth a blue-tongue and sauntered in.

The crowd, well, crowded around me.  With me were my deputies, my crew.  We were here to find someone—no—not just someone.  Geode.  She was serious business.  And we had to get the jewels back.

“Come on.  Let’s go that way,” I said to Prism.  She was wearing one of her over-the-top costumes; makeup completely covering her face and a tutu.  ”Really.  Did you have to wear that costume again?”

“I’m underdressed for this event.  I wish I had put on more,” said Prism with a sneer.  ”What, don’t worry.  I can handle anything that’s thrown at us.”

Behind them Line and Pyramid walked up.  Pyramid was wearing, well, almost nothing.  That’s the nice thing about these kinds of things.  That everyone wore almost nothing.  He could get used to this.

“Bye guys.  I’m going to party,” said Pyramid happily.  ”See you all later!”

She sauntered away, along with Line.  He shook his head and watched her disappear into the crowd.  Even though they had just met, he would have like to get to know them more.  Especially Pyramid.

“Well, shall we, ladies?  Let’s go.”

Box, Prism, and Star entered the crowd.

—

On top of the rocking bus, they scanned the crowd.  Geode had yet to turn up.  They were dancing to the beat of anonymous bass on top of the platform built on bus along with about twenty other revelers.  The bus jumped on its feet along with the music.  It was almost dusk, and the shadows played tricks with his mind.  It almost seemed like the crowd multiplied in front of him, body interweaving with body in crazy patterns.

“Come on, let’s get off and move on,” Prism said.  ”Let’s see what’s happening down the street.”

Box sighed.  ”Don’t forget what we came here for.”

Prism replied only with a smile and led the three of them down the ladder, through the bus, and out into the crowds.

—

The next thing he remembers is a beer in one hand and a cup of sake in the other.  Looking around he could only see a line of other people also holding beer in their hands.  Their faces seemed to melt into alternatively laughter and screams.

—

They eventually found Geode in a place of ill repute, and precisely where they knew they would find her.  The black tent.

“There you are,” said Box.

“Here I am,” said Geode.

The tent breathed next to them, almost as if it were holding its breath.  Sometimes it would inhale people and other times it would exhale people.  The air was almost cold, wrapping them in shivers and goosebumps.

Prism and Star were running interference, distracting the crowd of people around the tent.  Talking up a storm, asking people how they were doing, and oh, yes, they haven’t seen each other in ages.

Box and Geode stood off to the side, studying the crowd.

“You look nice,” said Box.  ”I like your costume.”

Geode pursed her lips and studied herself critically.  He would study her critically too, all day long.  But he wasn’t here to do that.  He had a job to do.

“I think its better for you if you stay with us,” continued Box.

“Okay,” Geode said.  ”Lead the way.”

—

“We need to blend in,” said Star.  ”We should do what other people are doing.  Like that kissing booth.”

Kissing booth?  The eighties called and asked for their party games back.  Who does a kissing booth these days?  Honestly, he was starting to wonder if this was his crowd after all; all these half naked hippies.

The kissing booth was surrounded by harsh shadows and was on the sidewalk, off of the black street.  The only thing it needed was a spotlight above it to make it look all mysterious and inviting.  You could see people doing god-knows-what in the park behind the booth.

“Yes!  We should do it together,” Prism added gleefully.  ”Come on, let’s do it!”

Seriously?  Was this what he had come to?  A kissing booth?  Well.  At least the girl in the booth was cute.  Cuter than the girls he remembered behind the kissing booth in middle school.  A lot cuter.

—

Wolf and Comet sauntered up to them out of the darkness.  Behind them slunk Mirror.  The trio, as they were called.

“What are you guys doing here,” exclaimed Prism.  ”I didn’t know you were going to be here too?”

I shook my head.  Wolf and Comet were a couple to watch out for.  You didn’t want to cross them.  Comet could build a missile and, well, Wolf—you didn’t want to cross her.  I needed to go over and pay my respects.

“Geode.  Stay behind me.  Don’t make any sudden moves.”  I walked over to Comet.  ”Hey, man.  How are things going?  This here is Geode.”

After greetings were exchanged, we moved through the street.  It was almost time.  Mirror walked behind us.  He had dark sunglasses on with a cape.  You couldn’t see anything behind those sunglasses on.  Just your reflection.

—

We lost the trio in the crowd not much later.  Privately I heaved a sigh of relief.  You never really knew what they would do, especially Mirror.  You couldn’t tell what was happening behind those sunglasses.

On the other end of the street, we watched the fire show while we danced to the music.  A woman got up on stage and lit two goddamn hula hoops of fire and started weaving about.

“Wow,” said Star and Prism.

What was so special about flaming hula hoops?  I could do that with a few hours of practice, thought Box.  It was time to move along.  Best not to stay in one place too long.

“So, about those jewels,” Box said to Geode.  ”Where are they?”

Geode smiled behind her round sunglasses, small twin disks of ebony.  She was dressed up as a Matrix character.

“Its all good.  They’re inside me.”

“Inside you?”

She smiled coyly.  ”Yes, inside me,” she purred.  ”Why do you think I’m called Geode?”

I took a few steps back.  I had never thought about it.  It seemed blindingly obvious in retrospect.  And what was also obvious was that I was screwed.  The client wanted the jewels.  The jewels were inside Geode.  No way to resolve that one.

—

A hour later they were back at the black tent.  It was nearing time to leave.  They had successfully shaken off all pursuit and lost everyone except Chin.

“Box,” growled Chin.  ”What are you doing here?  I thought I told you not to show your ugly face here again.”

Shit.

“Oh, nothing, Chin.  I don’t take lip from anyone, most especially not the likes of you.”

Chin narrowed his eyes and stared at Box.  Chin was sensitive about his face, especially his chin and lips.  Ever since the accident.  This wasn’t going to end well.  Me and my mouth, getting into trouble since 1980.

Inside Joke

“Voofarallen,” she giggled.  ”Voof!”

Rudy roared with laughter in response.  ”Yes,” he said, “yes that’s exactly what it was!”

Margot continued, “Voof!  Oh god, those things, do you rememb– yes, Oh god!”

With a sigh, Rudy leaned back on the wooden chair.  ”I love you, you know that?”

“Oh, honey.  I love you.  Do you want your cake now or—”

“Yeah, I’ll take some,” he said, and added after a moment, a quick “thank you.  You didn’t have to—” he abruptly stopped.  He sat there swallowing for a moment, teeth clenched.

“Rudy?  Whats wrong?  Rudy?!”

—

“Tell me something,” said John.  ”We’ve been together for a few years.  I’m curious if there’s something I don’t know about you.”

“Well, there was— Oh, God, there was this one time when,” laughed Margot, “when we went down— we, being my late husband– we would go down to the surface and look at the Voo—.” Margot stopped talking, and leaned back on the metal chair.  ”We— t–the Voo—”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, no, you don’t understand.  It was so funny.  The Voof.”  Margot giggles again, and she feels like she could go on giggling forever.  Just sit there and shake her body and feel the tears streaming down her eyes.  ”The Voofarallen!”

“The what?”

“The Voofarallen! Oh, God!”

“The Vooparalin?”

“No, the Voofarallen! The little things down there!  I haven’t laughed so much in my life.”

“Oh, those.  I don’t see what’s so funny?  I mean, after all, they’re just two-legged creatures with those weird little arms—”

“Yes, those!  Weird little things, Voofarallen!” Margot throws her head back in a guffaw.  ”Oh, ha ha ha, yes!  Rudy, yes, you know Rudy,  I’ve talked about him often, but yes, Rudy, Rudy was down on the surface and  noticed something interesting— those weird little arms moved and grasped and moved impressively for such huge beings!”

“I still fail to see what’s so funny.”

“Look!  For such a big head, sharp teeth, and strong legs and that tail—look at those arms!” Margot begins laughing again. “It just keeps on going and eating all those other terrible lizards.”

Box

Prism said, “Do you want to go?  It’ll be fun.”  The words glowed on his phone and if he crossed his eyes a little bit, he could almost see the pixels on the screen.  Like little soldiers lined up, a firing squad of light.

Box looked up from his phone and scanned his small bedroom.  Up on the wall was a marathon bib with the numbers 11134, and his name, Box, above it.  Next to it, hanging off to the side, almost as an afterthought, was a 10k bib, with the numbers 846.  He liked to run, but hadn’t run for some time on account of being sick.  Nothing serious, just a touch of bronchitis.

He thought about it some more.  Did he want to go?  Yes.  Was he tired?  Yes.  But it didn’t matter.  It was important.  So he typed back before he could change his mind, “Sure.  I’m in.”

A hour later, Box had a costume ready.  He had gotten out a old white Banana Republic shirt (only a little faded) and colored on it with oil crayons.  It was a fun moment, because it took him back to his childhood, where he would color on white paper.  The paper was a sea where he rode fantastic and outlandish boats up and down the stark whiteness, stopping at islands of lush ideas and tripping over shoals of frustration on his drawing ability.

And on the white shirt he drew a Supermanesque jewel, with the numbers 99 and half of a percent sign.  He accompanied this with a old burlap sack from Costa Rica as a cape.

When Prism and Star arrived, Prism said, “You need some makeup.  Something to complete your costume.”  Star headed into the bathroom to wash her hair and face; she had gotten up in a hurry that morning and was feeling ‘yucky.’  Prism then got out her makeup jar, a clear plastic jar repurposed from some past life as a food container.  Almost immediately black residue spread on her hands.

“Damn, one of the makeups must have leaked out,” she said.  ”Can you get me a paper towel?”

Box got up from where he was sitting in front of her, where he was ready to receive a black eye.  ”Sure.”

“Wait!  Put water on it.”

“Okay.”

When he sat back down in front of Prism, he noticed the pile of makeup was spread on a old Trader Joe’s paper bag.  So many colors, so little time.  What kind of faces could one make with these, he wondered.  How many identities, how many lives could you paint?  Or would they all be the same, the makeup only a thin veneer in front of what amounts to the same person?  You are unique like everyone else?

Prism then made a black eye magically appear on Box’s eye, with the assistance of thousands of people via the phone.  From the people who were working the American Telephone and Telegraph wireless center to the person who wrote the blog post explaining how to apply makeup to create a black eye (first apply some purple lipstick foundation then powder either black or blue on top of it, then fade out to either red/blue or green/yellow depending on how old the bruise is).

Soon enough they were all done, dressed up and ready to go.  Step step step they went down the stairs and out on the street, a few rights and straight on until they reached the Bay Area Rapid Transit station that would take them downtown San Francisco where they were going.

But first before they got to San Francisco,they would experience the loss (and regain) of a phone, chance upon like-minded strangers, and discover their polygon selves.

THE CURIOUS AFFAIR OF THE PHONE
(or, the not-so-curious affair of a very ordinary loss)

CAST OF CHARACTERS

BOX, a dashing young man with dewy eyes
PRISM, an effervescent young woman
STAR, a pigtailed and happy young woman
PYRAMID, a woman with a killer smile
LINE, a mysterious man with a hat

 

SCENE:  STAR, BOX, and PRISM are on a Bay Area Rapid Transit train.  They have just left a station.

STAR

Begins to frantically search her pockets, the plastic bag on her lap, and her general vicinity.  Oh no!  I’ve lost my phone.  Begins to panic.  I think I left it on the platform!  Gets up and runs to the door to watch the platform flash by, with a forlorn look.

PRISM

The platform?  Oh no!

STAR

Continues to panic.  That’s it.  It’s gone.  I’m going home.  I can’t do this.  I’m going home.  There is an awkward pause when everyone is watching STAR panic.  BOX looks quickly through STAR’s abandoned things on her seat which is in front of him.

PRISM

Wait, let’s not panic yet.  Remember I’ve gotten my phone back three times when I lost it?  Remember?

STAR

Two times.

PRISM

Point is I got it back!  I’ll call your phone and everything will be ok.  You never know!

STAR

Begins to calm down.  Okay.  Tells Prism her number so she can call.

PRISM

Mumbles indistinctly on the phone.  A nice woman answered but we were cut off when we went into the tunnel.  They wait in silence for several minutes as the train passes through the tunnel.  Box and Prism watch Star.

Oh, hello?  Yes?  Can you leave the phone at the ticket station?  What?  Nobody was there?  Oh great, okay, thank you.  Hangs up.  A nice woman answered.  She left your phone at the ticket station!  Everything will be okay!

BOX

Now we have to go back?  Let’s get off then!  Points at the doors, which were already open on the platform.  They all rush off, but not before Box drops his own phone and is helped by two kind (and cute) women.

SCENE:  BOX, STAR, and PRISM are on the original train platform, waiting for the same train.

STAR

I’m so glad we were able to get my phone back.

BOX

Looks like we’ll have to wait 14 minutes.  Starts fidgeting.  Let’s go sit further down the platform.  They all sit together, in their costumes, taking a breather.  PYRAMID appears from stage right, walking up to the trio.

PYRAMID

Hi.  Smiles shyly.  Are you guys going?

BOX

Yes we’re going too!  Are you?

PYRAMID

Yes, yes I am!  Smiles brilliantly.

BOX

Have you been before?

PYRAMID

No I haven’t.

BOX

Points to LINE, who is sitting next to Star on the seat.  How about you?  Have you been before?

LINE

Yes.

BOX

Oh, nice!  To Pyramid.  Are you from around here?

PYRAMID

Yeah!  I’m a teacher.  Another smile.

BOX

Ohhh nice!  To the others.  She’s a teacher.  They all share a moment of companionable silence while they wait for the train.

TRAIN

Yes.  I’m a surprise character!  Just goes to show to never trust the character list at the beginning.  Well, just the other day I waited an extra few seconds to let a deaf-blind man catch up to me and enter without having to hurry overmuch.  What do you think of that?

CONDUCTOR

Wait, that was me.  Not you.  You do what I tell you to do.

TRAIN

Good point.  Pause.  So they’ve entered me.  What do you say we put this behind us and go forward, eh?

SCENE:  The interior of a train. Box, Pyramid, Prism, Star, and Line are sitting together on the train. The train begins moving.

BOX
To Line and Pyramid. Do you know how to get there?

LINE

Yes.

PYRAMID

I’m following him.

STAR and PRISM

Chorus.  We’ll follow you two.

PYRAMID

To Box. So, what’s your name?

BOX

People call me Box.

PYRAMID

Hmm.  Let me think. I need a name that people call me by too.  Call me Pyramid!

PRISM

I’m… Prism!  P-R-I-S-M.  Dazzles.

STAR

And… I’m Star!  Jiggles her star earrings.

LINE

I’m Line.

Another companionable silence ensues.  They rock back and forth as they await their destination.

EXEUNT

Once they got on the streets of San Francisco with two new friends leading the way, they started to really feel the draw.  Getting money from an Automated Teller Machine was only a brief distraction.  Once they got onto the rocking bus, they knew that it was almost time. On the bus a number of characters surrounded them.

Box wondered where these people came from.  How did the enormous black man chugging a huge can of Tecate beer come to be on this particular bus, clearly headed the same way as them?  Were the almost (delectably) naked girls sitting in front of them also feeling anticipation?

Line put on his costume, which consisted of a felt robe snuggie completely covered with cute cats in various cute cat poses.

“Why is the bus rocking,” asked Box.  ”This is weird.”

“I know!  I’m feeling seasick now,” mimed Pyramid.  The bus was rocking back and forth gently, almost as if thrown by unseen waves of energy.  They all stood together, crowded in a mass of humanity, a Chinese businessman, a jaded hipster with knowing eyes, an uptight blonde with big sunglasses, shouting, talking, jostling, getting on and off, going forward and backward.

Then all too soon they arrived, scrambling off the bus and getting in line, behind other people, behind everyone.  Outlandish costumes battled with ordinary street clothes, refereed only by a woman on stilts who met every gaze with a wink and a tweak to your head, occasionally transferring a hat to an new owner by fiat, as if saying, “This hat belongs better over there, on this head.”  As if she could somehow see the truth from above, reading fortunes in the whorls and parts of hair.

The line moved with quick spurts.  We were channeled like energy into where we were going.  Once we got to the entrance, we were invited in after a critical glance at our costume and the payment of the entry fee.

Once in, we have yet to find our way out; we are still lost among the maze of fire and love, searching for the kiss that would complete us, for life-giving words, and above all, the person within us that has always been there.

Just posted this message on OkCupid

With one specific person, I was feeling funny, so I sent her this message today:

Hi =) Standard comment about your appearance. Follow up mildly witty comment about my comment. Self-deprecating remark.

Declaration of shared interest gleaned from your profile. In-depth comment showing I am savvy purveyor of said interest. Query as to whether you’ve also seen or done a related thing.

Small pithy anecdote about something that happened the other day. Subtle tie-in with something on your profile. Blanket philosophical statement.

Expression of anticipation for your follow up reply.

The “Aha” Moment

A friend was animatedly telling me, eyes wide, almost breathless, that she knows what her “sign” is, her spiritual sign, the sign that, when she sees it, she knows everything will be okay. She pointed upwards to the black night sky, sprinkled with stars. “Shooting stars,” she said. “When I see one, I know that everything will be okay. What is yours, do you have a sign?”

It took me a few minutes, but I realized that I, too, have my “sign.”

I like “aha” moments. They are my spiritual sign, my indicator that something good is happening, will happen, or has happened.

You know, those moments where you reel a little, the air kinda-sorta contracts around you, and you suddenly! Know something. And you get that small thrill of wonder, of feeling things click in place. Almost like the feeling you get when you snap two difficult puzzle pieces together–you know, those puzzles with wide expanses of blue and white sky, where all the puzzle pieces are the same.

“Aha” moments come along of their own accord. They are strange creatures, with unusual habits. Or they are the most ordinary things, with pedestrian glamor. When you meet one, you almost want to pet it, to cuddle up with it all by yourself, your very own pet. But you also want to leave it behind and run down the street and find the nearest person and tell them about your strange craze.

What wondrous food these must consume, to cause moments that inject that gleam in your eye, that quirk in your smile, or that extra quick breath. Where do they come from, and how do they touch us so?

I believe they are a magical melding of our minds with the whispered massage of our environments, along with the catalyst of information, be it from ourselves or other people.

Sitting at a fire, looking at the flames flicker, the orange circle of light fighting back and forth with the press of the night, one can easily conceive of a titanic battle of wills between the light and the dark. One knows that the combustion of matter, the consumption of wood, throws off energy in the form of heat and light, and that the light travels at c, and heat dissipates according to the laws of thermodynamics. One hears that the smoke from the fire is getting in their eyes, and oh, it stings! And this is just one tiny moment among the countless moments that we experience in our lives.

One moment follows another, vast sums and annotations of information, chapters and verses of mythology, skeins of sensation and sound. The “aha” moment is at the intersection of these, at the crossroads of everything, where a new synapse is formed between neurons, or perhaps not just a singular snyapse, but a new synapse superhighway, a veritable Eisenhower interstate system linking life and knowledge together.

I also like seeing these moments in other people; I get a whiff of secondhand “aha.” A voyeuristic high, with secret smiles and fond bittersweet memories. I especially enjoy it when I’ve helped the moment along with paltry words or signs, expressed in the poor channel that is human language when compared to pure thought.

I imagine myself standing in that synapse crossroads with them, looking up in the far mountains that rise up from a quiet plain. I usually feel good about myself, almost full to bursting with secret pride, that I helped drive the car there, when I really just had held the wheel for a moment or two–if that.

I saw a girl understand racism for the first time in her life. I felt a man see that his language could be interpreted differently. I felt the unyielding and beautiful truth of a thirteen mile run. I heard a child say with all their heart that they missed their mother, even though she had only left for the night a few hours before.

When I saw or felt these things, I knew I would be okay, that everything was just as it should be. That nothing more is needed than to be fully present in the single life that we are given.

Mother Nature