—–It’s the impression I get around here that, for the moment, we are just straightening things up, getting ready for later. We are relaxing after a drama that took more out of us than we thought it would, or needs some thinking over, or time to settle in to see what the full ramifications are, I guess, and we aren’t talking about it. We’re tidying up, repairing, mulling things over, gaining our strength, before we actually get back to the central game, I mean business of life, proper. Being on the sidelines, having time out, doing some serious idling, gives you perspective. Yes, it’s very often the impression I get, that this isn’t the time, right now, to be too explicit. Though one could, if one’s skills were quite as sharp, as they have ever been, rip into the heart of the matter. And a kind of wisdom has crept in, that says without saying it, that nudges you with the salient truth, that it never will be the time, we never will face life squarely. With a dulling insistence, some new prerogative, or an old worry, some damned distraction will have us making further dealings, like a sustained trick was being played–to see how much we can take. Gee, you will say to yourself, it is almost like I am being asked to show I can, after dallying around and being wasted by these amusements, put it aside. Put what aside? Well, you have it. Once everything is cleared away, we will define and address the crisis head on. The crisis? What crisis?
—–I get the constant impression around here that the main part of life is not what we spend our time dealing with, but that nevertheless it, the main part, has been somewhere acknowledged. I have to guess it was deferred to a later time when, well, we have more time and clearer heads to deal with it. There is no question of our original focus, or our stored up strength; it is only a question of . . . timing! Though sometimes the horrible feeling I get is that no one remembers what the main question was. Or they will say, what question? Was there a question? If by chance I should pipe up, they will just look at me.
—–Mystery! It has been blasted from the area, like it was at that demolition site where the old Monroe Theater used to be. They are going to build a 24-hour Rite-Aid Pharmacy there, so if you ever get a headache, or still have a headache from the blasting . . . Yeah, today, and despite the rain, they are blasting the hell out of that corner lot, as if to rid the memory of it. What memory? It isn’t as if this was a coherent city, ever, was it! I drive by there and I would like to pull over and step out, like a man in charge, and look around. I would like to think about this situation from where it is happening, before it has completely happened. But how can you do that? You would be in the way of some blind bulldozer, rearing up over a pile of bricks, in the middle of the picture. There is no place to survey what is happening. In life, where can you stand? What is the best place to observe what is happening? This is both a general and a specific question, folks. Does anyone know? I get the feeling that no one has stood back and looked at the main issue, not this one small rip in the street, but the whole terrain, I mean, for so long they are now crippled–for lack of exercising that facility for, um, seeing it. That would see it! And no one is sure how to get a perspective. It’s like they studied philosophy in college, and that one professor fired them up, a couple semesters even they were on the edge of understanding great things, magnificent, transcendental terrains opened up. This was imagination! And it was too hard. No tools to connect ideas in the abstract, and in the mind alone.
einstein-on-bike—–But anyway, life is long, and this was a long pursuit, it was life itself, this strain of potential, or recoverable, meaning, this philosophical inquiry. Seriously, really, there would be plenty of time during life to deal with it. Plenty of time during life to deal with life! Now that is a good one, for a poster. Like Albert Einstein on a bicycle. Here we are, I say, and I get the feeling that I can’t afford to stop and look at the traffic, and besides I am in it. Driving the car down Monroe Avenue. With the the radio soundtrack, it is a movie. You are an inveterate observer, don’t try to tell me you participate in much. It is never the right time to have a dead-on serious conversation, and it never is the right time either to totally enjoy yourself. We are kind of uncomfortably, but leisurely, stranded. Boy, isn’t that the truth of it. And the way you feel most of the time, not able to focus and not able to get perspective, spinning in the middle of the scene, dallying in anticipation, killed by the very mood. About to laugh, and then laughing, and knowing it relates to nothing you can put your finger on, but . . . that is just it, you see, I am perennially off balance.