So you're lost, uh? Happens a lot out here. You walk around for days, seeing things, losing your bearings, crying out for God, But He can't hear you. You can scream and scream but nobody'll ever hear you.
When I had to work Shea Stadium for a Mets-Braves game _ Atlanta pitcher John Rocker had recently given an interview in which he denounced New Yorkers of all Colors and preferences _ I was assigned to a parking lot, where numerous drivers asked me for directions to various highways. When my first answer _ __ have no idea_ _ seemed to invite denunciation and debate, I revised it to __ake the first left._ For all I know, those people are still lost in Queens.
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When I had to work Shea Stadium for a Mets-Braves game _ Atlanta pitcher John Rocker had recently given an interview in which he denounced New Yorkers of all Colors and preferences _ I was assigned to a parking lot, where numerous drivers asked me for directions to various highways. When my first answer _ __ have no idea_ _ seemed to invite denunciation and debate, I revised it to __ake the first left._ For all I know, those people are still lost in Queens.
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Superorganism. A biologist coined that word for our great African ant colonies, claiming that consciousness and intelligence resided not in the individual ant but in the collective ant mind. The trail of red taillights stretching to the horizon as day broke around us made me think of that term. Order and purpose must reside somewhere other than within each vehicle. That morning I heard the hum, the respiration of the superorganism. It's a sound the new immigrant hears but not for long. By the time I learned to say "6-inch Number 7 on rye with Swiss hold the lettuce," the sound, too, was gone. It became part of the what the mind would label silence. You were subsumed into the superorganism.
The fate of all things cherished and expensive, to be lost at hazard, and well before their time
And the geography of the thing--the geography of them--was completely and hopelessly wrong.
A basic reality of life is that we all struggle. We hurt and have hurt other people. We all feel lost sometimes. This isn__ all we are, but it is a part of who we are. The only question I have when I__ with someone is, __an they admit it? And will they let me admit it too?
New York had pushed and bent and bullied, driving me underground to sort out the madness and sculpt my Being with my own hands in self-discovery on its cold pottery wheel and in the white heat of its kiln. The City enabled me to learn who I really was, as a pixelated man and member of Humanity.