I Walk Between Raindrops…

I look out for those around me — woman, brother, friend, stranger. I pass along expertise, one man to the next. Know-how survives me.

I am good at my job. Not my work, not my avocation, not my hobby. Not my career. My job. It doesn’t matter what my job is, because if I don’t like my job, I get a new one. And I never take it too seriously.

I can speak to cats.

I listen, and that’s how I argue. I craft opinions. I pound the table, take the floor. It’s not that I must. It’s that I can.

I can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, I make you. From your hairstyle, from your shoes, from your posture. I infer.

I own up. I grasp my mistakes. I lay claim to who I am, and what I was, whether I like them or not. Some mistakes, though, I let pass if no one notices. Like dropping food on the floor.

I can tell you I was wrong. That I did wrong. That I planned to. I can tell you when I am lost. I can apologize, even if sometimes it’s just to put an end to the bickering.

Style — I have that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It’s a set of rules.

I love the female body, the revelation of nakedness. I love the sight of the pale bosom, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. I am thrilled by the wrist and the sight of a bare shoulder. I like the crease of a bent knee.

I know how to ridicule.

I know how to lose an afternoon. Playing Xbox 360, reading graphic novels, browsing thrift stores. I know how to lose a month, also.

I welcome the coming of age. It frees me. It allows me to assume the upper hand and teaches me when to step aside.

I understand the basic mechanics of the planet. I can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. I can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. I understand electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a checkmate in three moves.

I do not know everything. I don’t try. I like what others know.

I do not rely on rationalizations or explanations. I don’t winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. I don’t see myself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep.

I resist formulations, question belief, embrace ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. I revisit my beliefs. Continually.

I am comfortable being alone. Love being alone, actually. I sleep. Or I stand watch. I interrupt trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Me, both of them.

Sometimes I go and sit in a crowded place knowing I won’t spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes I stand on the street corner observing the chaos, ignorance, and apathy. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. I refract my vision and gain acuity. This serves me in every way. No one taught me this — to be quiet, to cipher, to watch.

In this way, in these moments, I am like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off someone when he is like that. You shouldn’t. Who knows what I am thinking, who I am, or what I will do next.

~ by davenewworld on May 9, 2009.