I must quit sleeping in the afternoon.
I do it for my heart, but all too soon
my heart has called it off. It does not love me.
If it downed tools, there’d soon be nothing of me.
Its hammer beat says You are, not I am.
It prints me off here like a telegram.
What do I say? How can the lonely word
know who has sent it out, or who has heard?
Long years since I came round in her womb
enough myself to know I was not home,
my dear sea up in arms at the wrong shore
and her loud heart like a landlord at the door.
Where are we now? What misdemeanor sealed
my transfer? Mother, why so far afield?
                                               —Don Paterson
                    The New Yorker, 23 January 2012

siren song

She sings incessantly every waking moment. She has long since ceased to recognize faces. There is no knowing whether she is suffering. Never a whiner in her full, she gives no sign of complaining on this slide. Her erosion is a lot to envy. Five years ago being scorched into slow extinction seemed the worst lot available to man. All love meant then was wanting to assume it upon oneself. That old longing is back in force. How can she consume this degradation? Why must it remain hers alone? This privacy of laggard death is beguiling. It is worth reaching for. It will not elude your grasp forever.

family dinner

― Thank you for visiting.
― It’s my pleasure, Mother.
― Where are we going?
― To a restaurant.
― Are you working?
― Yes, I am working.
― Do you have a job?
― No. I don’t have a job and I’m not getting paid.
― Why not?
― I haven’t had a job for 21 years, Mother.
― How did you manage?
― I worked as a consultant. Then I went back to school. Then Erin and I had our own company. We employed people. Then I worked on my own. I had several clients.
― What happened?
― The company ended up in a lawsuit. I still have clients, but I am no longer taking any work from them, for the time being.
― Why not?
― I don’t have the time. I must write.
― How will we manage?
― We have money.
― Are your lawsuits finished?
― Some are.
― What about the rest?
― I am still being sued for defamation by WebEx.
― Why?
― Because I stated that Min Zhu raped his daughter Erin and used his company, WebEx, to cover up his child rape.
― Isn’t it true?
― Yes. That’s why they will lose.
― Why did you say it?
― Because he threatened my life.
― How so?
― Do you remember going to court with me nearly two years ago?
― Yes.
― Do you remember why we went?
― You were carrying a gun. You got arrested.
― Do you remember what happened?
― What happened?
― I got acquitted. Don’t you remember the look on the prosecutor’s face?
― She was very disappointed.
― Do you remember why I got acquitted?
― Because you were in fear of your life.
― Do you understand now why I said these things about Min Zhu?
― Yes. But don’t you want this to be finished?
― I do. So do the Zhus. In fact, they have tried to drop their lawsuit.
― Why didn’t they?
― Because I wouldn’t let them get away with malicious prosecution.
― What do you want?
― I want them to apologize. If they don’t apologize, they will be shamed to no end.
― Why do you want them to apologize?
― I refuse to live my life with a scintilla of concern about their threats.
― Will they apologize?
― No. Please eat your dinner and drink your wine.
― It’s too much for me. Do you remember Father?
― Yes, I do.
― Why did he die?
― There was a fire in your apartment. He tried to put it out. He was naked. He got burned.
― How did the fire start?
― We are not sure.
― Did I start it?
― It’s not your fault, Mother. You are not responsible.
― I carried him out in my arms.
― Yes, you did. I saw the bruises on your arms.
― Why did Father lose his job?
― He chose bad business partners. It runs in the family.
― Did he do anything wrong? Father never did anything wrong.
― He worked with crooks. He got accused by association. There was no evidence of his wrongdoing. The plaintiffs withdrew their claims.
― So why did he get fired?
― He got disciplined because his partner failed to get them licensed. His department found out about it and fired him for working on the side without asking their permission.
― Was that all? The State fired Father for moonlighting?
― He had worked for the State for twenty years. He was making a lot of money. The State is running a budget deficit. They can hire two junior analysts with his salary.
― Did he do anything wrong? I always trusted Father.
― He chose bad company. That was enough.
― Have you heard from Erin?
― Erin and I haven’t spoken for years. You must mean Rachel?
― Yes.
― I’m no longer talking to Rachel.
― Is it because of me?
― No. It’s because of me.
― Are you seeing any other women?
― I’d rather not talk about that.
― Why can’t we live together?
― We would drive each other crazy. I must be able to work. We are paying our friends to take care of you for now.
― Am I driving you crazy now?
― I’ll manage.
― We don’t have to see each other if I am disturbing you.
― I like seeing you. I’m sorry I don’t have much to say. I’m saving it for writing.
― What are you writing about?
― Everything.
― Are you writing about Father?
― Yes.
― Will you be able to publish your writings?
― No doubt.
― Can you show them to me?
― Some day.
― Have you shown them to anyone else?
― Yes.
― Did they like them?
― Yes.
― What did they say?
― They always say the same thing. They’ve been saying that for decades. That’s not what counts.
― It means a lot to me.
― It’s not that important. Good night, Mother.
― Good night.

nap time

Michael’s mother Maria has Alzheimer’s. She was widowed on March 1st by an apartment fire of mysterious origin. The fire started right next to her couch. Instead of alerting Michael’s father Isaak, Maria repaired to the bedroom. She laid in bed by his side reading her book. Meanwhile, the fire was smoldering and gathering force. Her husband spent eighteen days on life support in a burn unit. Michael spent most of that time living and sleeping next to his deathbed.
    Michael sleeps furtively, in snatches. After briefly falling asleep in the reclining chair, he dreams of his father. Isaak’s face is smooth. His skin glows. He wants to stay, but he must be going. Nothing Michael can say or do will change that.

Edvard Munch, By the Deathbed, 1895, oil on canvas, 90x120cm

    Michael dreams of his mother. He is riding his motorcycle down Sunset Blvd at night to pick up Maria. She has once again wandered away to Beverly Hills. Instead of finding her on the agreed upon streetcorner, he comes across a paddy wagon. Maria’s voice comes from the back. The constables act like a couple. Michael asks them to release his mother into his custody. They refuse. Michael gets the male officer in a headlock. He draws his gun. The female opens the container at gunpoint. His mother is inside. She rests in a white cardboard box. She has shrunk to the size of a wizened doll. Her lips are moving. Michael hears nothing.

Edvard Munch, Night in Saint Cloud, 1890, oil on canvas, 64.5x54cm

a raging and savage beast of a master

[John Travolta] said that Cary Grant once gave him weight-loss advice. “Cary Grant told me to forget the whole thing about food, eating—just make it not important. I didn’t like that piece of advice, but often I had to use it to lose weight for film. Now cut to 20 years later: I told Marlon Brando what Cary Grant had said, and he said, ‘Don’t listen to Cary! You eat what you want, when you want it. You deserve it. You’ve earned the right!’ Of course I liked that advice, and as you can see, to this day I adhere to that advice!”

— “The Trials of Travolta”, The New York Observer, 12 December 2004

Harper’s Weekly, Vol. VIII. — No, 390.
New York, Saturday, June 18, 1864.

Rebel Cruelty — Our Starved Soldiers. — From Photographs Taken at United States General Hospital, Annapolis, Maryland

    Cary Grant’s advice resonates with the detachment of Epictetus’ Encheiridion. In its Hollywood applications, it might not be meant to follow its classic prototypes in suppressing the remaining six deadly sins. On the other hand, Michael’s neighboring community standards readily embrace the application of same technique, mutatis mutandis, to rid oneself of ugly fat between the ears. The trick is to forget this whole thing about thinking, reason — just make it not important. This exercise is most helpful in anticipation of old age. Continue reading a raging and savage beast of a master