Sunday, February 9, 2020

And then, visiting his mother...

It seemed to him the last most deepest talent, sadly, or sad, perhaps at the root of all, all the others somehow having been squandered to time.  Music, acting, whatever presentations of his self’s physical being as a speaking presence.  Girls, women, money.  “All pissed away...”
But maybe there was one gift still left, to somehow, like a physic or a mathematician, to apply.



The sports bar was noisy and crowded.  He didn’t want to go, but keep her entertained, too tired to grocery shop at 6.  Basketball, a war, shouting generals, muscular tattooed minorities...  like Vietnam.  The locals gathered, the local university, wearing of the orange.  A large kid next to us, yelling to make his voice heard over the weight of his rasp.



In such a situation one thinks most largely of all the lost opportunities, typically seen as the time of life when his own talents matched all the possibilities on offer, girlfriends, studies, careers...  he’d been too shy, introverted, keeping his talents hidden.  And thus falling into creepy situations he was better than.

And so he needed something positive to find within himself.  One last overriding completely unlikely talent at the base of them all.  After all, wasn't he good at self-inspection?

The pained gift of kindness, even to disastrous people...


Doing the dishes, looking out the kitchen window.  A Piliated woodpecker.  He called his mom.  Where’s my cane.  Oh, www, my ankle...  she got up from the old Eames chair, came to the kitchen.  He found the bird in the binoculars, and she saw the flash of red as he passed the glasses to her.

His way of thinking was completely different.  Ecological, beyond ecological...
As his father had taught him.


But, ahh, what can you do...  time has gone by, no longer slim...
Indeed, he’d done a great job hiding, putting away all his talents, times, chances.  The guitar.  Other less explored musical and rhythmic abilities.  And they weigh upon him as he rises.

Wisdom.  All a part of the terrible process of wisdom.

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