The Great moment. Inescapable but ever elusive. To all those bygone long past moments of brilliant conversation. Time that went nowhere. How can one be expected to write a love story in a land of equally elusive happiness?
Dispensable experience. Walking into the floodwaters of the Kennedy Expressway after a downpour. Leaving an unspecified female friend to fend for her own just opposite the viaduct. Having come from a bed watching a movie and being edged out by a young man inviting coitus with one of two equally tender aged females friends. I leaving the second one on her own.
The left forearm and neck bearing a question mark for which the attendant has no forthcoming answer. “Guess“, she replies. Women in the coffee shop coming in behind me carrying small white bags with monosyllabic purposefully misspelled title that suggest a more persuasive form of elegance by a duality of intelligence inferred by lurking cleverness. In days long past these same floors might have been freshly varnished to the same effect. The wainscoting cleaned regularly and all visibly around made to appear new. “Les femme reconnoiters!” This pursuit in a sea of humanity becomes a play of costumes. The persistent appearance of the Liberal fringe. Old campaigners keeping this myth alive. The ‘Frenchies’ across this moat confined to their self-inspired bubble. A celebration of diffidence subsumed by the inevitable sameness of the moment. Other facades whitewashed upon same simply to soon disappear.
The perfect day for the patriot’s lie. Gille d’Rais. Things oriental and small and though delicate, inconsequential. One’s likes and dislikes having nothing to do with it beyond the accretion of a life of prejudice. What constitutes worth in an individual beyond the viewer’s self-interest? The mop comes out for the first time in what must seems like months. The conversation abeam to the port side turns to a worship of plastic wealth. From the cult that provided the preface, ‘dys’ and attached it to function. A graceful retreat from these auditory clutches by the cliff of the mother and daughter wannabe social climbers.
I am just another pair of defective eyes that counts the flaws in others but thankfully cannot take in my own. I can only sense them in myself. The big ‘WE” are all condemned to be like we have always tend to have been. What after all gives me the right to claim a special sense of awareness? Especially if I am not willing to acknowledge happiness in all its many forms? Good times long past. Have I ever enjoyed them? A voyeur always. Safe in my own folly of eternal distance. Whatever one tends to tell you, the victim always takes center stage. “Smack, smack, smack!“, went the old tuna lipped man. Though I would have been pleased to see my family live on for another number of years I feel ready to put them to rest and search out myself.
“La grand ensemble d’famille!” Triplets plus one. Quite a family indeed he mentally observed! And my hips have borne the brunt the mother’s expression seemed to say. The genius was to be found between the notes in the measures and pauses. Something that sparkled propelling those from good past the expectation of excellent. Interval versus dynamics. Do not hurry to then end up late having missed the progression of the whole. It was true that he had no time to consider the relative cost of personal baubles. Accoutrements that suggested wealth and position were far less interesting than the drama of attainment behind their wearing. The immaterial collection of same casual if not blatantly frivolous when weighed against the finality of the inevitable.
One could assess how close to the brink anyone in the room might have felt through the count of so many age spots backhanded. Change known as age crept up on everyone. As if a cloud overhead masking the faux light of night to restart darkness once again to the benefit of a celestial calm. The inevitable fidget of restless youth sounding across the auditorium like cannons blazing. Rustling pages turned bringing out the demons in sympathetic participation from both old and nearly as young. Frustrating? Perhaps? Escape from boredom to the regret of others suffering from their nerves suppressed. An inability from all corners to sublimate the displeasure and conceit. The programs final selection coming off pedantic in contrast.
The motherly bear’s suppressing hug come too late. One of the key sources of communal ire. The name of Mozart attached to it no iron clad guarantee of universal interest by all! My first new car was purchased from Marina Towers. It turned out to be a piece of shit. An albatross that I would have willingly laid to rest. But I was too arrogant and proud and the papers were signed. Never aware enough of have consulted my father who would have known better. Such is the foolishness of youth.