2020 – This was written during a bout of sciatica that left me unable to sit or drive so onto the train I went writing
along the way.
1.
Actual Cambridge Somerville night starts with hustling off train from Porter to Davis sunny streets with houses and stores to Theater she running up from behind embracing, onto looking at latest movies and restaurants and stores to Mem Tea with Russian Caravan and Zen Red and Elderberry samples giving new easy energy to bum leg feeling better laughing our way back now dusk with funny remembrances by Rosebud I remembered and she remembered and we remembered not that long ago but was winter then and now Sept summer we go wayward to Asian macaroon shop for raspberry and almond, to comic game store we don’t plan, only enjoy all there is and there’s a lot like outdoor bar street scene conversation bubble tea and families at tables on street outside with high platter pizza and tall beers and everything looking so good forgetting doubts and live
Sweet parking lot goodbye onto fast walk to Porter rail waiting for train, have time to sidestep into Toad for Makers Mark, watching duet country guys live music has depth, thin crowd and surprise angel conversation at bar then off to train about ready to roll.
And this train is a party train with youngsters, laughing and older people too and conductor with funny old face maestroing the party west and north thru Belmont Waltham Lincoln and Concord to wayward Fitchburg. Asian laughing kids hysterical next to Afro, pants to thigh, smokester jokester out asleep but not asleep, waking dreamer most on window phones to the universal social stream Saturday night blur dream humming thru space altogether one thing we are with many expressions of hope and love and wanting and not wanting, letting go nothing, waking up asleep. We have no idea what is in front of us, only no questioning faith truly no worries about hurtling thru space past woods and deer and still birds in trees and the teens get off at Concord with t shirt “anti social social climber”.
2.
Lying back on seat again moving thru space and time past Brandeis, messages everywhere appearing, connecting, moving forward, the train, letting go lying flat, conductor don’ care ‘bout my feet up scribing this Saturday late afternoon September, chilly earlier this morning dark hurricane Dorian passed thru last night leaving sunny skies happy Saturday night goin’ to see my baby sweet hand holding talking down streets amongst porches Tip O’Neil’s old Orchard St, the Street I used to live on, with sleeping smart America no need for worry we have it all here and it’s OK to wonder why we worry when we have each other and no need to think past tomorrow.
3.
So I take the train to Porter again, no driving with bum leg this is better, riding bike to station, the train I endure from my place, looks sleek and strong with conductor smiling behind dark shades, head to upper level deck to read pomes by Jackie Duluoz and write this while wheelin to see my gal in Davis Sq. Lying on the seat hearing the chatter of kids and seeing old man sleeping and hipster girls chatting and tickets cheap $10 round trip and good for the whole weekend. Now past Walden to see my sweet pal with smile and laugh and we’ll walk thru busy Davis and Porter this day and evening under the stars and sighs and sorrows and understandings and quarrels looking for laughter and love it’s all there in one ball of string of people and places why do we question what we can’t know?
4.
Lying down on seat with pinched leg looking up out window blue sky what is this day Friday with new haircut and trim shirt headin’ for Porter Sq again if only I could drink like I could drink when younger but now happy lookin for tha place outside white knuckled crazy clients and coworkers and god knows what anti dream world of money.
5.
Back on train Friday night hot sept 20 last day summer 80 tomorrow ‘19 this day in the universe thinking of JK dropping down lower to the place of no pain only mystery beauty place, gals and guys heading to work conductor with boxer face patient while the money swipe goes thru everyone in their daydream or my daydream stream anyone’s dream this short space we have after eternity and before we go back to eternity whatever eternity is I dunno going to see Phillip Glass movie with gal pal Black Sea she knows and I have no idea but can dream too.
6.
Back on train Sunday afternoon blue sky girls talking ‘bout reefer madness not sure they know 1920s film that’s called the same, fast chatter and why are Sunday’s different than Saturday’s with young laughter, why older world not as funny except when letting go of responsibilities annuities gratuities niceties and stacks of recipes.
Onto thinking now of Tyr, who I met at Debra’s, W. Concord, Tyr the Bhuddist who lives with a group called ‘Conscious Nomads’ In Bali, Tyr who has only one bag of possessions with laptop yoga matt and iPhone plus the warm coat he leaves in Germany for when he’s there but not there much, living in Bali with Thich Nhat Hanh who now paralyzed greeting people without voice but grasp of hands.
And the train has teenage girls riffing, conversation overheard funny “woman get me my shoes (laugh) my life so hard (laugh) my mom is dead and my dad doesn’t love me laugh I can’t believe there’s a Jeremy Reindeer (laugh) I’ll use my heart how’s that rude excuse me professor I’d like some money (laugh) why isn’t it called like epic game (laugh) two sides of the Mario card go faster (laugh) tell Emily about my slave bod and steaky they have too tame a girlfriend before they kill you (laugh) then we’re all in a hole and I can’t get out and their all at my house and this epic gamer with checkered shirt and hightops (laugh) I love you and like her dad died of a drug overdose (laugh) crack (laugh) is that him? No president Bush! Why is his neck so big laugh, because he’s ripped.” This all true, as fast as I could write, heard it.
7.
More light flashing thru windows like abstract animation parking lots and overwrought kids smiling on phones late September Saturday sun dream on the way again to Cambridge to see my sweetheart and studio art and sidewalks of 2019 unreality. TVs on fire with how could this be, reason on trial, and the train keeps pulling up to raised platforms and conductor smiles a smirk and kid teenagers antsy and old men going to Bruins game.
Moving thru treescapes backyards robot voice over loudspeaker “Kendall Green”, wind blows fall flowers 82 degrees and people happy while the Anthropocene takes hold gripping silently species die off unseen to phone addicted eyes, “next stop…” yeah right is that really the next stop ? Or is there no stopping wild eyed money machine loving and babies and 1950’s nostalgia no need for natural selection rejection protection attention surplus order more please.
Is there was there ever a reason for us and woods and spectacles unknown unknowable unfathomable train bell rings another stop with t-shirt guys on boarding, shirts saying ‘Vancouver Canada’ ‘Reebok’ ‘Hilfiger’ wildlife people passing by onto the train, can’t remember the best of them and laughing yellow shirt guy red face why so happy, why not ‘suppose.
8.
Saturday sunny October morning frost last night, kids on train platform chasing each other swinging teddy bear wild smiling spinning round free oblivious, on train again to Porter and brother then pick up son at Tufts to Newton and cemetery and our family plot back to 1800’s and my dad going into the ground, what does it mean or not mean the continuum, each of us a part, no need to wonder why this day. My dad gone penniless, after I spent months wrestling a VA marker, free he who passes in probate.
Head of the Charles also today, girls speaking German no need to know what about, sun shine steel train going north to Fitchburg purple yellow Chermayeff designed T logo clean Saturday, conductor with this is a joke look, and into train me having wrong ticket, he grunt no problem, imagining comparable Europe interactions watching unknowable communication me the same.
Wondering again why is a Saturday better than a Sunday sunshine, my pinched leg better no need to lie down yet people talking unintelligible “I can’t tell if she is taking… you know what I mean can’t tell “ older people dull conversations looking at each other and the world streams by in quiet 2019 glory so many words piled on top of each other and we’re packed beside each other, ‘next stop’ says the train, woods growing dying seemingly silent but having a depth of sound we too loud to hear, words and people piled on top of each other overheard conversation ‘I should put my order in now’ ‘ next stop… like you know’ older people locking it down, Elizabeth Warren shouting, like kids earlier not saying anything but noises coming out expressing dimensions older people can no longer express or understand.
9.
Back on the train Saturday with kids rolling bikes onto ramp and milky eyed conductor with dreadlocks and smart beautiful sunny fall day Saturday able to sit fine no pinched nerve now but with clipped wings from previous night, too dense to explain saying goodby, how long should a goodbye be? Again she not happy, so drop down to peaceful place, trying anyways, Saturday, Saturday no such thing as Saturday, JK opened the door, spontaneous prose, the prose, the understanding that opens to a wider place, simple and free.
And can anyone tell me which way amour is? What it is, where it is, how to find an keep an hold an grow why elusive with trappings bound to attachment, Yogis know better but luvy duvy more fun till it isn’t. So it goes this day in eternity don’t forget eternity is all there is with no past future, better that way. Sa don fret, we bless, in internity infinite eternal internity alright.
10.
Friday dark later in November now, cold quieter on the train when a dreadlocked dude snaps at guy behind me yapping on phone, tellin him to tone it down, I nod yeah tone it down, but the no front teeth conductor tells dreadlocked dude to can it, let the guy talk loud on his phone, say la vie, Afro bashed again to white guy, disturbing – rolling on the train, nothing to see out windows except lights like stars on industrial night we all lonesome for eachother but invisible dividers protect our silence, now approaching Lincoln, but not really Lincoln, no can see others, except too much makeup blond across the aisle and giant cockney capped guy going to see Celtics with giant friend wearing Knicks jersey get out Boston Friday night, the bars will be hopping on Causeway St cause Kyrie gone and C’s free to romp with Taco and Marcus and Jaylen and all good in green 2019 see you in June, loud mouth predictors not realizing it’s about chemistry not salary, understood.
11.
Sunday train to Belmont meeting friends, November clocks fall back, me fall back too, on autopilot, going forward with unknown navigation, the where and why conveniently determined but unconscious, unchosen, direction of days months years. Can it ever be? 5 year divorced, my dad recently buried, kids in college gone… what photos are there to take, what words to say? Going alone or together? I dunno on the train, I shake off questions, don’t ask plowing forward, self-conscious and myopic, strange partners these directives are.
The November earth and sideways light so beautiful and strange, most want to go south – after the leaves fall from the northeast storms and first ice and frosts landscape stripped bare to its bones, long shadows, mid-afternoon light Magritte made famous, the truth it reveals of what lies beneath summer’s lushness, pul the carrots, cut the last Swiss chard, and pick raspberries in November darker red, gooey, like the blood of fruit so real and neglected unnoticed by those who live nearby, why I have no idea, content with quiet thin light and darkness, November’s soul.
