Within these words I find solace during desolate days. Within this city I find sanctuary, creativity, retribution and symbolism distilled from wicked ways. But more important than the “finds” found in those first two sentences, are the insights from them which I’ve now claimed as my own; insights which were first discovered by others, and then shared by them, and are now incorporated into my personal lifestyle and points of view.
And I’ve read a poem whose first line consisted of six words which had been left unwritten, with a series of dots appearing on the page in their stead. And then that line of dots “blended into” the second line of the poem which was “Has been left unwritten.” But then it took a long time for me to realize that the unwritten first line of the poem must have been “The first line of this poem.”
And I’ve imagined that the crowned members of America’s elite writing establishment once sentenced me to live first in L.A., and then in Manhattan, and also required that I admit that in order to get from that West Coast city to that East Coast borough, I needed to fly over that literary elite’s so named “fly over country.” Oh, and yes, I was also required to acknowledge that many of the west and east coasts’ liberals are very wealthy.
And recently I found myself driving an old Chevrolet down one of our city streets. I stopped at a red light, and when it turned green, I squealed out and laid a long black mark on the pavement. But just then I noticed an elderly man walking on the street there. I pulled over and rolled down my passenger side glass. The man came over by my car and said “Is that the proper conduct for a mayor to be displaying?”
And I answered “I find that nowadays there are many moments during which I just can’t help myself. And at such times I feel as though I’m a prisoner to the imagination of writers. But maybe that cliché about things happening for a reason is at least partially true . Maybe all our lives were supposed to follow God’s directives for us. And maybe we’ll need extra help doing so when we face inevitable changes.”
Well, my home is a somewhat large house on the north side of our city. And it’s the same home our former mayor Ralph Hawk lived in while he was still here with us, and served as our administrator and mentor. And from some of the uppermost rooms of my house I can look southward past the so-called “artistic enclave” which exists just north of the river, and can see the entire south side.
And sometimes, as I gaze out of some of the windows of these upper rooms, I find myself thinking back. And gosh, sometimes when I think backward I’m overcome with a sense of the most bitter anguish. And it descends upon me as memories of all the conflicts I’ve known; not military conflicts, but disputes, failures, non-fulfillments, anger, lies, gossip, a tendency toward self-pity, non-conformance (with non-conformance and conformance as of course being determined by such people who have somehow assumed themselves to be better than all others, and of course many of whom consider themselves to be liberal politically), and many more undesirable traits and phenomena.
But for me the lion’s share of all the negativity I’ve known ended on the day Ralph Hawk welcomed me to this city, and immediately predicted that I’d soon succeed him as its mayor. And while personal demons may not be as significant in my life any longer, national problems now distress me. What kind of nation are we living in wherein someone who shoots someone else in the back while that person is walking down the street is looked upon as a hero? And what kind of a nation has judicial magistrates who try to block the deportation of very dangerous non-citizens from its’ soil? Oh my God, all the left-wing indoctrination we’re subjected to in this land! And oh how it’s led Americans to stray from the most basic decency!
But this morning, as the month of March nears its end, I’m feeling very alone and alienated here in this north side home. And I’m beginning to understand why the month of April has always been anticipated with such fervor by writers in this forum. So, I suppose it can be said that once again my thoughts are only upon my reactions to outside influences; and, because that’s quite often the case, I’ve quite often been told that “me” is all I really think and care about.
Yet, maybe the world would be somewhat better if people cared about themselves more. Maybe then they’d try to improve whatever situation they may find themselves in; and maybe then others wouldn’t have to think about, and take care of them so much and so often.
But I don’t want to think about such matters too much today. I want to free myself here, in this city where freedom is beyond being only free. I want to experience the improbabilities of bizarreness! And I want to know some of the insights and possibilities offered to those who exist where the non-normal is the norm.
Yes, and here are some words for the pretenders of April. But before I disclose them, I want to tell you that a girl visited me here this morning. And she wasn’t the type of girl one might expect to meet while walking down Main Street. And she expressed herself somewhat crudely – I thought. But she had some interesting things to say. And after I promised to relate her words verbatim (I had her tape them) in a second part of this disclosure, she said what was on her mind, thanked me for having listened to her, and told me that our city’s “overlords” had sent her to me. Then she laughed slightly and said “Goodbye George, I hope you and your readers didn’t expect that some sort of relationship was going to develop between us.” And then she left.
And now, with hands outstretched above my head, I’m looking out a large glass pane. And outside I’m seeing that Earth’s eternal sun is aglow. And, to me, its protruding rays are offering new ways to live. And those rays are saying to me “Grant us your attentions. And don’t be continually striving to find more rules and complications. Consider the stations fate has decreed to be yours, and then seek out the commitments they demand of you.”
And after I’d heard those figurative words, it seemed I heard some people talking in an adjacent room. And they were making some loud noises. They may have been having a party. I don’t know. And it almost seemed as though I heard the voice of the girl who’d just been with me. It sounded as if she was one of those talking and making noise in that other room.
And God, I feel so frightened now! But I’m also so liberated – so loosely alone in a world of unknown sounds that come to me from what are, most likely, realities concurrent to my own. And God that’s shocking! What a dreadful, and yet enlightening perception it is to realize that other forms, from other places of existence, share this planet with us!
And yes, I’ve come to learn of them. They’re on other tracks of realism which differ from our own. And while our lives are significant, so are theirs. And let me confirm, one same God guides their footsteps just as assuredly as it does ours!
And, I suppose for those who don’t exist here, in this city, it’s difficult to imagine the magnanimous future we face here. Ours is the chance to truly know of the past, present, future, and even next life to come; but we still need to do all the mundane little tasks that are required if we wish to live on here from day to day.
But as I said earlier, I’m all alone here today. I’m alone where all three time spans seem to be closing in upon me. Yet, I know that I’m still alive. And I know that the girl who visited me this morning is also still living. And I’ll share her words with you in Part Two of this disclosure. But I think now, more than ever, that there are others, out there – out there in different realities of Earth’s existence. And they want us to hear them. And they want us to know, that like us, they’re also looking forward to April beginning.
