Apple

I’ve got an apple, and I’m not questioning it. Like any good fortune, it should simply be accepted and enjoyed for what it is. There is no valuable information or lesson to be learned from belaboring the origins of this apple. I found it in my lunch, which means that I must have put it there myself. What could be questionable about an apple? It’s not complex. When good things find their way into your life, they don’t need explanation.

An Ordinary Crucifixion – No. 4

The woman bagging my groceries was retarded. She was also missing some fingers. They did not appear to have been missing since birth. Their absence looked like the result of some terrible accident. Her right hand was perfect, but on her left hand, each finger ended at the first joint. Her thumb was the same way. She was able to make reasonable use of the little stumps that remained, but she was definitely missing the top two links from each one. She was smiling and bagging and doing an excellent job of it. She was grouping things logically and efficiently. She was more content with her life than I am with mine.

Stephanie the Bartender

Our favorite bartender got a new job at a new bar. Now she’s managing a different one, instead of simply tending the bar at the Tiki Lounge. The new place is just down a block and across the street. It’s not really new. It’s been there for a while, but we’ve never been there before. Her hours are different, and the place is obnoxious. She’s not there when we are. We can’t stand the new bar. It sucks. We’d go just to hang out with her, because Stephanie’s that cool. She’s got a magical personality. She has told us when she’s there, and that we should start coming in then. I suppose I could if I got a new job. We’ve tried going back into the old bar, to give the new bartender a shot. He’s a big fat guy with a shaved head. Nice enough guy, but bad taste in music, not as much character, and not nearly as nice to look at.

Tail

There was a dead dog by the roadside. I saw him on my way home from work. It was a large German Shepherd. Not horribly mangled, ripped open, or splayed out, just dead on his side. No visible blood from my vantage point. Head turned at an odd angle, by the side of the road. Cars were passing quickly and frequently, very close to the dog. So close that the draft coming off of them made his tail move slightly. It looked like it was wagging, barely, sadly and lethargically. It looked like he thought he still might be able to convince somebody to help him, like his situation could still be fixed. In that way, he exemplified the unbreakable spirit of a dog. Even when his predicament was beyond hope, even in death, he was optimistic.

Gym Friends

Periodically I make new friends at the gym, normally with guys with whom I have very little else in common. They’re great guys, but there’s really not much I can talk about with them. Generally, the guys you find in any given weight room are very into sports and not much for art, music, literature, or poetry. I’m pretty sure that I’m the only powerlifting art fag in North America. At least that’s the case around here, in Pittsburgh. You couldn’t pay me to watch sports. I just don’t care. Besides that, I really don’t go to the gym to socialize. I like to hit the weights hard and get out quickly. Regardless, I was shocked this past Saturday morning when a visibly excited guy came over to me, asking about my tattoos. I’ve got Renee Descartes’ “Cogito” tattooed inside my right bicep, and an icon that I drew up representing Occam’s razor on my right shoulder. Apparently this guy has a Ph.D. in philosophy, and has been teaching it in Belgium for the past six years. You don’t often find philosophy geeks in the gym. Not really art or literature, but close enough for me. It was a fun conversation, him leading, me trying to keep up. I got my ass handed to me. It was magnificent.