I wondered if you would be coming back.

I listened, absorbed into her situation, isolating myself from anything else surrounding me.  Normally I’d have an internal fit at the audacity of a woman hijacking my time and space.  The appeal of her energy flow was the generous spirit, despite her speaking of herself.  She had an immediate issue, and the anonymity of my being a stranger made an easier release.  She asked about me. I answered briefly and urged her to continue.

I could have stood there and listened forever how long.  She told me that her daughter said that she needed to do something about her tits.  I disagreed.  Her figure was appealing, and that was inspiring because she was older than me.  She smelled delightful and her teeth were good.  To write of it now stirs me beyond lust.  I imagined following her around — listening more.

She touched my arm here and there.  If she had kissed me, as strange as that might be, I would have suggested that we exchange phone numbers.

When she left, I couldn’t focus.

I wondered if you would be coming back to tell me more about Israel and your daughter in the Israeli army.

 

To my loved ones:

Dear diseased neighbor with bloated belly,

How dare you!  So you feel it’s okay to say that my stomach looks like yours?  You goddamned wench.  I have uterine fibroids.  Thanks for reminding me that I’m accursed!  Yes, I have issue with the fact that I do situps every other day but still appear to have a pot belly at times.  It sucks that this has happened in the last couple of years when I had been able to have pride in a flat stomach into my middle forties, glad to have at least had that, if not big titties — no I don’t really want big titties — but anyway — HOW DARE YOU!  And learn how to air smooch.  When we greet each other, you needn’t plant slobbery diseased lips on the side of my face — ungh! — just threw up in my mouth.

Dear homeless drunken neighbor in wheelchair,

Aw, thanks for offering me Chinese food this evening.  But how the fuck you can afford to offer me dinner when you’re homeless is beyond me.  I dunno but it was a sweet gesture nonetheless.  During my winter hiatus, don’t forget that offer please, as I may be broke and have to take you up on it.  We’ll have a very “scenic” dinner in the park, overlooking the Hudson River.

Dear other homeless neighbor,

Sorry I said bad things about you and your wife in another post that I wrote about the homeless people in this neighborhood.  I’ll eat those words — I swear.  I come home every day to you sitting by the park playing chess tournaments with locals.  I suck ass in chess and think that you could teach me lots.  Mr. Homeless Man, can I please play with you?  I promise I have no qualms about touching communal chess pieces.  You’re obviously a respected member of the community and I should kick myself for being such a dick — or shall I say — such a twat.

Dear “Jane”,

I’m so so sorry.  Had I known you would be going around offering free pussy to average looking men, I would have coached you better.  I hope you’re living a happy life now, and that all that had occurred between us is behind you.  I love you.  P.S.  Please stop dying your hair orange just so that you don’t look like me anymore.  It makes you look, crack-whorish.

Yours, all y’all,

Aunt Sandee

Inside of a Living Orb

Today I interpreted life scientifically — as scientifically as one who never studied science could interpret it.   I’m an organism in some larger chain of events inside of a living orb.  Being with my friends last night helped to inspire this perception, though I do see life that way periodically.   It’s interesting thinking about why people might breed, how some people have chemistry that’s more compatible to life, how some people don’t have this chemistry — how they might be weaker links in the larger chain — why symmetrical people get all the damn benefits.

My friends are a couple that I met about six years ago.  The husband’s a physicist.  He likes explaining basic physics to me.  We have the same politics — not everyone else’s.  I like talking to them because they understand where I’m coming from.   We went to dinner and to a music festival.  Between violin sets at the festival the husband told me more physics stuff.  Ask me what he said and I’ll tell you a big blank I don’t remember — he did say something about atoms however.

I told him I should study physics in old age to keep the neurons fired up.  He has a Ph.D. in it.  I don’t think I’ll be doing that.  I have always liked the idea of using physics metaphorically in my creative writing.  I might hire my buddy as a consultant when I write my next novel.

Coincidentally or not, the Humans of New York Facebook page featured a young woman who said that she wanted to go back to school to study physics, while she had originally received a degree in art.  She says physics is like art.  Wow…  I’m onto something.