“She had many suitors I noticed as I hurtled along just above her gliding up above in thin air. The gentlemanly thing was to step aside. She was a Diana bold a and free! “– DREAM
Confessions of a xenophobe. [random image montage of various figures espousing their doctrines on particular types] Defined as someone who sits there and breaks down all the reasons why one cannot get connected to someone else from a foreign culture. A treatise that is excruciatingly detailed noting every objectionable characteristic both male and female and listing them as reasons why it would be inauspicious and possible self-destructive to mix and mingle with anyone who was of a foreign background. There was something very ugly about this. But is a very odd way very convincing. Leaving one with a lasting sense of total ambivalence.
He moved away to the outer reaches of the far Western suburbs of the city. Moving out there with his new girlfriend leaving his mother by herself alone in her house [a one story 1930’s vintage white wood sided house]. Though he had moved on he still had a bedroom back there along with some other things. He wasn’t quite sure where his girlfriend had found their new residence [another smaller one story late 1930’s vintage house]. The street name and address were not immediately apparent though he moved furniture back and forth from his vehicle. Feeling a sense of trepidation he called on the phone to let her know that he was OK and perhaps comfort her in his absence. To his surprise the unexpected voice of a maid answered! She told the man that his mother had gone out. [the man’s worried face] Something that was very uncustomary. A horrible feeling came over the man that something terrible might have happened to his mother in the interim. [the man stares at the station wagon’s open gate parked not the street]. The man was now at the mercy of both his girlfriend and whatever fatal news that might come to the fore about his mother’s demise. He turned back from the street with his phone in his hand and walked over to a metal desk. The one side being more vertical than the other due to a metal attachment that effectively destroyed all its usefulness and utility. Though his girlfriend and some other acquaintances did not seems to take notice of this, he vowed to trim off the offending section of the desk and restore it to functionality.
There was a run on gasoline in the late nineteen-forties. A line quickly forming about four old style yellow gas pumps before an old ramshackle building. A red car trying to turn about to align with the pump in a space just vacated and another speeding up from a distant entrance far behind. The man imposed his large sedan betwixt the two and allowed the red car to continue the arduous maneuver. Another turbaned man dressed in the Middle Eastern garb of a Sultan detrained from the parked auto and bowed in thanks to the man in the sedan and prepared to pump his own gas. The aggravated driver left out of this arrangement behind the sedan swinging around still tried to impose himself between the two. The sultan motioned to the side of the building and several men in fez’s appeared and dragged the interloper from his car as he loudly protested. At the sultan’s direction this offender was bent forward and his head was unceremoniously lopped off. The sultan turning back to the man in the sedan so as to reassure him with another bow with a wave of his hand with a “Salaam Alecum!”
The man now back at home in his old neighborhood had heard that his parents believed to be deceased were staying at his cousin’s house just across the border of the next state to the north in Wisconsin. Just above the first county but not as far north as Milwaukee. He wasn’t quite sure how to get from my current destination to the appropriate route going north since it had been a long time since he had gone up to that area. He started out on foot down the street but soon magically transitioned to an automobile by the crossroads. He arrived after some time navigating the roads by dumb luck. He found a factory on the same property that his cousin owned under a company name that his father had once held title to. An ad agency that his long deceased father was once the head of but had now defaulted to this relative. Entering the establishment and walking through the workshops in back he was shocked to see his elderly mother working away unhappily at a bench before long rows of tables beside other workers. The item before her that she painted was a mediocre example of production glass. Something far beneath her station as an accomplished artist of many decades in her former existence. The work of the day requiring these items to be covered with an industrial gesso in different varieties of garish colors. Something of an exercise that had the quality of mere finger painting to it. It was hard to imagine anyone being anxious to purchase the final product? The expression upon the man’s mother’s face betrayed a sense of profound unhappiness suggesting an perpetual awareness of having tumbled back down to a much lower rung in terms of any regard for her inherent talents. He was simply a guest in his cousin’s house. Not an interloper but certainly not much more than an itinerant poor relation. All he could do was to find some place to lay down and rest.