Me arrives and scours the airport for cigarettes. Now, this man sits close to me on a bench. Strong accent. I bum a cigarette off him. The airport sells only marbolo lights and newports – I don’t want either. He says “opportunity rolls the carpet your way” and offers one from a pack of blue american spirits, the kind I want anyways. I sit close and he talks fervently with a woman who asks if I need a light (no, I have a red lighter which security didn’t catch).
i hear him...“everybody in this life strives to be somebody. But it’s the opposite that you should do. You are nobody! Everything is symbolic. It’s a world of symbols. You are a dream. It’s all symbols. You worship the symbols. But you don’t even know the meaning of them, really… Yup, it’s very beautiful.”
He speaks in a language I cannot recognize every few sentences. A phrase here and there.
“we will get to all this later” he says.
We get back and sit on the porch for a while, drinking beers and chatting, then we play cutthroat at a nearby bar, drinking cheap beer and laughing. My sleep penetrates the mattress and I wake up and leave quickly, walking over the freeway, contemplating the possibility of the oncoming trolly veering off course and crushing me. How long would it take them to identify me; how my body would like and if they’d discover things most people don’t know; if people would laugh…
Then to a museum after some dark, strong coffee, finishing a book and those hips of solitude wrapping around me as I lay in an empty shell room with a big cut in the ceiling. The sky pours through and I wonder about being alone. The good and bad parts. That desire to share things with others and then the parts which sink into your blood and swim around and become the you under the surface. The secret bubbling beneath the skin. The soul, solo.
now, again, off to hike to Gasworks park.
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