There is a way to be curt with a field. The runnels of self-pity, the sludge of preponderance. I don’t use words aright, alway. I am dumb as a post. I mean dead as a post. A goat cast asunder a ship. The sounds come out wooden. This must be the sea left over. I went where the sea met the mud, the slag of the alluvial guts of some dragon-sing, the earth’s spit and image. So I am curt with the field, a-winter the shelved bark I gnaw like a scarab come home. And that is me protesting love. I mean into you a field of sound. Green as.
The poor old man was not right. When we opened his fridge, we saw that it was filled beyond our wildest imaginings, if people actually had “wildest imaginings” about the insides of refrigerators. Do you get excited about a refrigerator’s guts? Some people do. But only a small number of the items in the Frigidaire were actually food. The shelves were chock-full. Ass to mouth were rocks, tools, books, chewed gum on a pink plate, tiny oil paintings of cats he had known, anything really. Anything he could fit in there he had crammed in. Old loon non-censorship universe. There was a brick. What is the expiration date of a brick, we wondered. We asked him why he felt the need to keep such items in there. He said he didn’t want his refrigerator to feel “unrealized.” He knew it existed to make things cold. And he was sympathetically “feeding it things” that it could chill. We understood that he meant in his own schizophrenic way to say that this is what some people do in relationships. They give things to the other person to freeze. Sometimes things get frozen to death. It was confusing to him. Whether the fridge was his lover or not. There was a goldfish in there frozen to death in the ice cube of a Mason jar. He also said he liked his milk to be so cold that he couldn’t even hold it. He was a very, very old man. Now the fridge is out on the concrete in front of his house. So I guess we don’t have to go inside today. Or ever. “Your refrigerator rocked,” Katy said to the air. So we smiled and left.
Abra and Jamal sit in a cafe of sad people.
The cafe people are sitting in wire chairs that pretend they are
chairs on the Parisian street. The people are sitting at small marble tables
that want you to know that they are small marble tables, that they are smooth
and round and grey, and conscious of being small and round and smoothly
grey marble tables.
This is how it is in a cafe that has a name like this one.
The furniture is aware of being special like the children of those
with money, it is too sad to talk about any further.
There are thoughts designed to shut the mind down and there
are thoughts designed to set the mind flowing the way rivers
do when you look at them.
A random crowd of people can be either of those things. It
Abra was sitting in the cafe in the past tense and Jamal
was in the future tense. They were neither of them looking
down at phones, but looking at the other people looking
down at phones. The people were leaking sadness the way
the small phone screens were leaking light.
So Abra and Jamal wanted to finish their pastries, drink their teas,
and get up and walk away down the sidewalk.
Just then it was all about the sadness of the sidewalk ambience
about them. Abra pushed her napkin towards Jamal in a gesture
of dissatisfaction. Jamal stared at the napkin and nodded almost
subconsciously. A timer had been started that was set to begin
the walking away, and the timer was set to anytime soon
The ambiance that was sad people looking down at phones would soon be
retreating behind their backs. They would not look back
but would look into the excitement of oncoming headlights
and honking horns, the silhouettes of people running
across the street, in front of all these headlights, crossing
the dangerous river of people’s will to be somewhere else,
which is the most of that thing of which the world is made. If
we are to tell something like the truth.
There was Abracadabradara.
She was known to be and held to be, when in the arms
or voices of those who loved her, just Abra.
And there was Jamal.
He was Jamal everywhere.
They were poor when it comes to money, but not everything
comes to money. So they were not poor.
The relationship of Abra and Jamal in the world was unspecified;
that is, the world didn’t know what to call it. But that was a problem
for the world and not for Abra and Jamal, who were often
just together. This is how people with unspecified relationships
often are. They are just together.
Sometimes, they liked to eat toast together and read books
together, sitting in a rainy window nook or the window
in the back that looked down on the trainyards.
And sometimes they liked to read books and eat toast
in the rainy nook or the trainyard window. They liked
to mix it up. They did not read toast and eat books,
as some people do. Doubtless, those people were around
Abra and Jamal at many different times, as they walked through
the city on their innocent travels, as they walked down the
sidewalk together, which is what sidewalk is about. Innocent travels.
I mean, If we examine the matter of sidewalks. So many people
seem to get it confused, what sidewalks are about. But sidewalks
are for that. The sidewalk is for innocent travels. Yet this gets
so twisted up everywhere. Maybe there should be a guide.
Doubtless it is true, that they were around them
as they walked. The readers of toast and the eaters of books. They were
not horrid people, they were just different. Probably they were
innocently different as all the flowers are. As flowers are in a field
which is all wild. Everything is wild. Wild doesn’t mean bad.
You know that and I know that but there are some people who pretend
horribly not to know that. What gives them the horrid idea to pretend?
Maybe they are not horrible people, maybe they only have horrible ideas.
I don’t know. You go and check. I will stay here. These people against
wildness are often the wildest people of all. They are the people
who want so often, so terribly, to bite.
You never know what is behind a wall until you get there, and then,
sometimes then, it’s much too much, much too late not to know. Then it is.
Probably you have learned this by going behind a wall and seeing
for yourself. This happens to everyone.