those casual cruelties (not to mention causalities)

mes amis

greetings from a snow-dust laden and laced new hampshire. i’ve only a few things to report.

1. there is some snow on the ground.

2. despite the above fact, it is not quite bone chillingly cold.

3. i wore my moon boots and attended the petite dejeuner offerings this morning.

4. i consumed both yogurt and freshly cut fruit as well as a tasty greek omelet that was not ostentatious in size but, quite perfectly suited for my hunger.

5. there was talk of music—pop and otherwise—with the various hilarious terms thrown around. subdominent line, resolving flip flop, bidledee bip bop. I pointed this out with aplomb and demonstrated the absurdity. thank heavens the playwright to my left rolled his eyes and said, “ooh go speak italian and tortellini!” there were chuckles.

har har har

har har har

6. a doctor sitting across from me explained her project—a non-fiction book about triage in disaster areas. she then asked, “what are you working on?” i blushed, for i feel that my project is not of equal social importance! and yet i feel the soul is perhaps the most important thing to keep enlivened and alive! (and i should very much hope my project revolves around the enhancement of the soul.

7. i made the requisite jokes about my project, master of deflection that i am. the young musician asked: “how are you writing a musical without the composer?” i responded, “i just am.” then, feeling further ashamed and wanting to lighten the mood, i proclaimed, “i am writing fake song demos that i know will change!”

8. at this point an older poet entered, her boots fresh with snow. the staff lady who accompanied her said, “the coffee is there.” we were crowded at the table and said hello.

the table was groaning!

the table was groaning!

9. the heated conversation about pop music and subcontinental music lines continued, something about what make a song catchy. (i wanted to proclaim, “a song is catchy if it is tuneful and with fine rhythms!” but my lack of knowledge/correct vocabulary in the area, and my previously embarrassing statements and proclamations prohibited me from further chime ins.

10. i realized the older poet, new to this bizarre colony with its own unspoken codes and customs, sat alone at a table across the room.

da sola

da sola

11. i was overwhelmed. we at my table had said, “welcome” but in fact, we had enacted no welcoming gestures, merry with our conversation as we were.

12. i sprang from my seat and approached the poet. “would you like to come and sit with us?” i asked. “we are crammed but can easily make some room for you.”

13. she smiled, between nibbling a muffin. “yes,” she said. we walked over to the table and some room was made and we sat down.

14. the lively pop music conversation continued. it would have perhaps been exaggerated to turn to the new person and ask questions. but i could not help but wonder, “have we learned so little from the ways of youth and cafeterias?” … “have we forgotten the feelings of anxiety of arriving new to a colony like this?” … “where is our education ? our manners? our fundamental kindness?”

15. in conclusion, i hasten to add that mine was a heroic act. or even all that kind. i was simply and overwhelmingly shocked by the rudeness of les autres and felt the need to correct it as best i could. i can only hope to blame the incident on the early hour of the day, the slow in take of caffeine and the lively music conversation, for i know that my fellows at the table are not such delinquents but kindly awkward people in and of themselves (much like me…!)

16. at any rate, i hope the new poet feels welcomed. when i arrived it was at a more social moment (cocktail hour) and i politely refused the martini i was offered. still, it is nice to have that social interaction when being new to a group…is it not?

well hello

well hello

ciao for now,


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