this week i

arrived to scenes unchanged.  airport lounges earthly purgatory.  important south asian men wear dark vests, white sleeves.  piss this way, my king


woke for jersey-based temple guardian watercolor penciling.  bangladeshi flag differs from japan's by just one green/white click of ms paint fill tool


summited, with its terracotta shape of water-ers, tiger centaurs, true to scale mermaids.  what word meant jazzhands before the twenties roared?


read black like me by john howard griffin

"see you around, slick"

"they're getting sassier every day"

he did not commit this indignity against me, but against my black flesh

in a moment she reappeared to hurl my change and the ticket on the counter with such force most of it fell on the floor at my feet..her performance was so venomous, i felt sorry for her

"you don't want to even look at a white look down at the ground or the other way"

"every time we buy a gallon of gas, we pay a penny to keep the beach up so the whites can use it"

the dead voice one often hears

i was the same man who could not possibly have bought his way into this room a week ago.  my inclination was to marvel at the feel of the carpet beneath my feet, to catalogue the banal miracle of every stick of furniture, every lamp, the telephone, to go and wash myself in the tile shower - or again to go out into the street simply to experience what it was like to walk into all the doors, all the joints and movies and restaurants, to talk to white men in the lobby without servility, to look at women and see them smile courteously

we took a taxi to mike wallace's office

hanged my effigy on main street

"if you want to hang on to this job, you better show us some teeth"