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Monday, October 20, 2008

Pathos in Prose

I had lunch with my comrades, my seed-heavy wayward revolutionaries - a pot luck. We decided we would not bring food for the body but food for the soul. We passed around a few cigarettes and opened our hearts to each other in a park in Red Hook at an old picnic table. We fed each other substantial spoonfuls of childhood memory, vulnerable expressive idea, offered gulps of personal opinions - no judgment involved! This type of honesty and utter acceptance, my patrons of revolution, is a strip lit path toward revolution.
We sat their with Sir Jesse and listened to his story about the first time he put on reading glasses. How he stood completely still in that same place for 62 hours. 62 hours! His initial feeling of pleasure and empowerment enabled him to ignore the countless Duane Reade workers trying to pursued him to exit the store or at least reposition further from the cashier area. How the longer he went without acknowledging anyone or moving from where he was built mental strength upon courage, and furthermore how he underwent physical tests of endurance from not sitting to rest. He pissed and shat in his pants multiple times! He was not fearful of what others thought or said, or when they took pictures and giggled. Despite managers and watered down rent-a-cops Sir Jesse stood there with dignity for his own accord, then when he was ready - he chose to leave. He went back to his apartment and turned on the romantic comedy When Harry Met Sally. I love that guy more deeply in a wayward way now.
We sat their with Ben the Spider and listened to his story about the day he didn't eat a pie. For weeks - hell - years, Ben the Spider has said, 'eat a pie, save a life'. He opened up the painful memory of the time he was loitering on the street and feeling woozy. A good-natured family passing through happen to pick the Spider for asking directions. The Spider was turned around himself as his focus was all off and he sent them down a one-way road. They thanked him graciously - fifteen feet and one right turn later a hummer suddenly ended the life of that honda civic and any other miserable existence inside the civic. The Spider played audience to this real life real time drama. (He also found one of the five year olds fingers in his jacket pocket. Weird that it happen to fly in just right like that.) His blood-sugar was low for he disregarded his innate predispositional beliefs for the importance of sweets earlier that day at a diner. Ben the Spider feels the burden of that familys miserable deaths. I understand his pain and passions more fully. I, also, love that guy more deeply in a wayward way now.
So as you go about your seemingly boring lives: readers, seekers, and re-seekers; open yourselves up to each other. Share yourselves, don't be shy. I'll bet the person behind the eyes on the other side of the table is just as fucked up and has just as much baggage.

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