022810

I figured out where the habit of saying "Knick" or "Celtic" likely comes from: in the context of "I will be a Knick," it almost makes sense. Still I think the best way to approach the dilemma is with the more verbose, "I will be a member of the Knicks."

*Ma*

Read by my brother at my mother's memorial service, followed by two passages from I am Waiting (Lawrence Ferlinghetti):

It may come as a surprise to many of you but my mother raised me to be a radical liberal. From Our Bodies, Ourselves as an integral part of the library, to Helmut Newton's photography displayed for all to see, to her favorite poem when I was young, I am Waiting by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, there can be no doubt of my mother's intentions as far as her children were concerned. Even the act of sending us to St Bernard's was itself revolutionary, for what better way is there to raise anti-establishmentarians than to give them the means to question authority? True, she became more and more conservative as time went on, but I like to think she stayed true to her original identity, and it is that same identity within myself to which I always return. I am who I am, and Ma always made sure I knew I was on the side of the right, good and just. I am proud of the man, the men, my mother raised. Though I can't know whether or not she'll be watching from here on out, I do hope and trust I will make her proud as long as I continue to be myself. I am sure of myself because of her, sure of my good intentions, secure in the sense of self I've found. She was my greatest champion, the only woman I've ever known who actually believed in me (the only person!), believed in what I could do, what I could be, believed in my dreams. As you hear the first and last passages from I am Waiting, ask yourselves this question: would _you_ read this, over and over, to a five-year-old if you didn't, in your heart of hearts, intend to make him into a bleeding heart and a hopeless romantic?

I am Waiting

I am waiting for my case to come up

and I am waiting

for a rebirth of wonder

and I am waiting for someone

to really discover America

and wail

and I am waiting

for the discovery

of a new symbolic western frontier

and I am waiting

for the American Eagle

to really spread its wings

and straighten up and fly right

and I am waiting

for the Age of Anxiety

to drop dead

and I am waiting

for the war to be fought

which will make the world safe

for anarchy

and I am waiting

for the final withering away

of all governments

and I am perpetually awaiting

a rebirth of wonder.

I am waiting

to get some intimations

of immortality

by recollecting my early childhood

and I am waiting

for the green mornings to come again

youth's dumb green fields come back again

and I am waiting

for some strains of unpremeditated art

to shake my typewriter

and I am waiting to write

the great indelible poem

and I am waiting

for the last long careless rapture

and I am perpetually waiting

for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn

to catch each other up at last

and embrace

and I am awaiting

perpetually and forever

a renaissance of wonder.

*Poem*

Who's Looking?

I was watching the winter Olympics

and I remembered when my ex walked out--

six years ago. In late spring.

Had to be because I remember

watching Apollo Ohno's cocky self

just before she walked out.

Six years later, I still can't say

for sure _why_ she left.

I suppose if I knew that,

I'd also know why the stars shine,

why rain falls, and why we're all

dying from day one.

I can't know, not really,

not the salient truth of the matter.

In looking back, I realize

it makes all the difference who's looking.

*Flash-Nonfiction*

I realized that you never saw my troubles. MS, as it is for most, was completely invisible to you. I thought that by telling you about my numb feet, about the debilitating vertigo, about the impossibility of crowds, I thought as my wife you might understand and sympathize. I couldn't have been more mistaken. You said to me once, "It's not like you're dying." Do you know how much that hurt? Do you know there isn't a day that passes that I don't wish I _were_ dying? Do you know how much more awful it is to watch your body steadily disintegrate, until you can't do anything for yourself, until you can' remember why it is you keep pressing on, until you can't do anything that would make you feel like a whole person? Of course you don't, and you never had the courage to wonder what my life was like. Within two years of your deserting me, I got to a point where I can only barely walk a half a block; as I have a heavy disease burden I knew this would be the case. Now walking is only the tip of the iceberg of my disability. If you'd had the courage to say no before we started, I wouldn't have a massive, gaping hole in the middle of my life. I can't work anymore, can't go to poetry readings alone, can only just barely make it to the coffee shop on the corner, so I wonder if you can tell me how I'm supposed to meet women now? I'm trapped at home with an ailing heart and a faulty body. I wonder if you knew when you left that you would be the last woman I ever loved.

*Poem*

I remember standing with you

in torment to think that one day

our lives together

would come to an end.

I am certain

I felt that way;

you, I suspect, already

knew you could never

be with a disabled man.

Perhaps you were unwilling

to accept I was disabled,

or would be imminently.

We met once for drinks

and I told you I wasn't mad

about the whole abandonment

thing, though I had every

right to be furious;

you abandoned me,

your disabled husband,

but still I would have

forgiven you.

One moment we embraced

and I could have sworn

we really loved each other.

The next minute

you were gone.

Out for drinks later,

I was sure we would in fact

be friends,

but after two emails,

you cut me off completely;

you acted as if my contact

was totally unwelcome.

In the end, I am terribly

happy that I am not you.

I can only imagine

the world of hurt that

you've descended into;

I can only say,

despite you're being a normal,

I wouldn't trade places

with you to save my life.

*Quotations*

No one says a novel has to be one thing. It can be anything it wants to be, a vaudeville show, the six o'clock news, the mumblings of wild men saddled by demons.

--Ishmael Reed

I would trade all of my technology for an afternoon with Socrates.

--Steve Jobs

Let's face it. We're undone by each other. And if we're not, we're missing something. If this seems so clearly the case with grief, it is only because it was already the case with desire. One does not always stay intact.

--Judith Butler

The American people and the governing class have accepted that war has become a permanent condition. Protracted war has become a widely accepted part of our politics.

--Andrew Bacevich

Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense.

--Buddha

I was faced with the simplest life question I've ever had to answer. I asked myself whether, on my deathbed, I wanted to sigh and say, 'I could have written a novel' or 'I wrote a novel.' Believe me, the answer was simplicity itself.

--Elizabeth George

Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him.

--Dostoyevsky

Truth disappears with the telling of it.

--Lawrence Durrell

You never find yourself until you face the truth.

--Pearl Bailey

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

--Kahlil Gibran

Peace love and ATOM jazz