Surrealist Doodle

Surrealist Doodle
This was used as the cover of Karawane in 2006 and I have included it in on a number of bags and postcards over the years. Someone on the subway asked me if it was a Miro. I was very flattered!

Friday, August 17, 2007

Scribblings on the Minnesota Bridge Collapse

I'm a little late getting this out, as the bridge tragedy here in Minneapolis was just over two weeks ago. I guess it didn't occur to me to publish it right away. It's mostly just some scribblings with no editing, but I think some good moments. I think it will go into something similar to my 9/11 piece, Love, Longing, Language, Lust. I'm thinking I might as well do a collection called Love and Disasters because those things seem to come up simultaneously for me in various configurations. Anyway, here goes.

When a building breaks open, a weighty air rushes out, settles like soot on the living bodies around it, perhaps small bits left behind of every other spirit that walked entered passed through traversed, bits of each one of us undusted fingerprints left behind, suddenly shaken from the surface.

Downtown silent downward faces. Quick glances away from eye contact, the silent bus ride getting there. When the bustle of the farmer's market at noon gets quiet you can hear the helicopters in the dances one short city mile away. All the cliches rush out -- heavy heart, the brick on the chest. My insides are full of cement limestone seeming to harden and weigh down my steps. I feel my legs move disconnected from my torso in some kind of cast.

No one mentions the people who lived under the bridge. They were not supposed to exist, so their disappearance is just another wish fulfillment self-fulfilling prophecy. You were never here (anyway). I pray too that you never existed in that moment that you (re) appear now Houdini of the under/overpass, uncensused neighbors.

Street preacher shouting "thou shalts" adds to my headache, piercing through several blocks of sound barrier. At least say something consoling I shout to him in a footstep, in a breath(er). At least put your arms around someone, move away some stones, show yourself (to be) a miracle not a menacing voice another layer of soot settling in an aftermath.

To forget even a moment seems a sin.

How long is the right amount of time for forgetting?


I also have some scribblings and old journals I've posted on my MySpace but that I don't think I'm going to repost here right now. So any of you out there on MySpace, check out and read me blog.

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