I don’t know

Wednesday, 22 May 2002

Your regular?

Found two red-tailed hawk feathers in the yard. That’s just the kind of yard we have. Pat would really like that. She’d say something cool about it. She’d cock her head to the side and say something so cool and I’d pretend I didn’t think she was that cool but she’d know she was. I’d call her Diné to make fun of her but she’d know all I meant was the world was at her feet since her grandma’s teeth and all.

Two girls thought I was worth smiling at and quickly looking away from while still smiling. My wife on my arm and all. You heard me right. What? We didn’t cover the wife? Well, for goodness sakes! Let’s get right down to the price of eggs. …Who’s kidding whom? There isn’t that kind of money available now that the Caliphs and Maharajas are on a peacetime budget.

I guess when friends and family die there is a tug at your coat. The more and closer the stronger. That tug is not exactly unwelcome when you’ve been sidling up where there’s no balance to be had all those years. And those dreams.

I realized “Forty Six & 2.” I beat him to those words 8 years: “In My Shadow.” Either an amazing footnote or a useless boast. What else am I?

Adam Haley, 1986, Taos, NM More realizations. They could have, should have, called the cops on me when I drew that knife on Trent. I’ll never know if I have murder in me because I always stop when the chance comes up. My last chance to be tried as a juvenile, slim though it was, lost to whatever latent love I had for what the coke hadn’t erased in him. And to Cort sanely talking him into leaving the room. We talked since on account of some meddling kids. He seems quite a person again. I hadn’t considered that then. Luckily, Liz and Co. considered it in my case while having difficulty looking up the number for the police. You’re not Generation X if you could dial “911” in high-school. Or maybe it was just more juvenile self-preservation. They couldn’t turn me in for violence because they risked being caught for the drugs. Silly teenagers!

I wanted to write more. To describe an apology to a French girl without admitting hate is ever wrong when it’s pointed at that which destroys. You told me many times hate is a bad thing and you were never more unhealthy or more stupid. Hate of injustice, hate of slavery, hate of ignorance, hate of the dust of a small town on your shoes. Even hate of the distance and the lack of words by carrier across purple mountain majesties, sargaço roses, and so on.

At least there is no evil in the world. I am painting again and I know some of you aren’t useless. Some of you might even eventually justify not being dead instead of Adam.

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