Have Seen -

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have seen

Jack Galmitz

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have seenCopyright © Jack Galmitz (2014)ImPress, New YorkISBN 978-1-312-03732-8

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even

my shadow crouched in a corner

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The collagist

thought it was destiny that he had walked the streets of New York City foryears bending down to pick up scraps of colored paper, bits of string,

burnt out match boxes, cigarette stamps from foreign countries, pieces offabric, old magazines and books, rumpled paper from fast-food chains,brown paper bags.

http://cowbird.com/story/88093/The_Collagist/

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Spanking new

At the car wash, all the night shift workers came over to Jesus and one ata time gave him a hearty pat on the back. He had rag dried his one-thousandth car and hadn't lost a tread.

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Once at Jones Beach

there all the lifeguards assembled, tan bodies shaken, unsure, two of theirlong white boats pulled up onto the sand, a cordon of adults kept thechildren back, didn't speak of the terrible sea.

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The fal l

He was so used to the reflective mesh vest worn by the crossing guard atthe local public school that she had become as invisible to him as the

trees and the blue mailboxes. Then one day in autumn, when the newschool year began, he noticed she was gone.

http://cowbird.com/story/88116/The_Fall/?utm_source=cowbird&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=loved






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Snagged

On the bank of a stream, a boy felt a tug so heavy that he was frightenedthat he had hooked the Leviathan. A weathered fisherman came over tohelp him. "You're hooked to something on the bottom," he said. "Maybean old bike or rocks." He tried to let out slack, but to no avail. He told theboy he would have to cut the line and suffer the loss of his gear. The boylooked downcast. "What's the matter, son," asked the old man. Did youthink you had caught a sea monster or something?" The boy didn'tanswer, but he wondered if the old man was a mind-reader.

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Like counting

finding the best stone is often a matter of happenstance. usually, thosehalf buried in the sand or mud were the best. With one as flat as a sanddollar, he let heave sidearm across the pond. He counted the leaps theway one counts the stars: sure at first that it can be accomplished andthen given up.

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Red snow

it's satisfying to see a baby seal under 12 days old lying on its back on thesnow in the sun. It smiles, its coat white as the blinding floe. After 12 days,its coat changes color and with that change it is game. They come fromLabrador and Newfoundland, jump quickly from ships, and with clubsbeat the pups to death and skin them, flipping some still alive into heaps.How hard to grow old.

http://cowbird.com/story/88096/Once_At_Jones_Beach/



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The Boy

was born late in the marriage of his parents. So late that they hadn’t th eenergy or interest in exploring the world with him. They were

disappointed that he had added nothing to their lives, and he could feelthis, so he withdrew from them. He collected stamps in lieu of a familyand friends, particularly foreign stamps that came in bulk. Since they wereinexpensive, his parents always obliged him in his requests for more. Theyeven bought him a magnifying glass on a stand, so he could look for longperiods of time without tiring his arm. The glass magnified 7x, whichmeant he could virtually see the engraving lines with such clarity that itseemed as if he were inside the stamp.He particularly liked stamps of places, of cities, ones that showed streetsand monuments. In those he could walk and look and find all sorts ofhidden places - public and personal.His ancestors came from Russia, though as Jews they were farmers in theWest, peasants subject to pogroms, many of his great grandmothers andtheir female children raped, the men beheaded. It was his grandfather,who smelled like a cigar up close, who came at aged nine to America.That day he received a package of fresh stamps. He opened it anddumped the contents on his bed. He scanned the images and colors. Onestood out and he placed it under his microscope at his desk. It was dated1966 and was Russian. There was a small map on its upper right handcorner with the location of the place marked in the far west. He wasdelighted. There was a castle there of white stone and behind it amountain. Trees grew large to the West and in the distance were moremountains. Groups of people walked in front of the castle, each with a


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small boy pulling one of the adults ahead. He was intrigued.He had no way of knowing that the stamp depicted the home of Russiandissident Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who would later be exiled to America -Kislovodsk, city in Stavropol Krai, Russia. Had he known, he would also

have known that the region of Stavropol was built as a military fortress,built by Don Cossaks, the very military men who had raped and beheadedhis ancestors. He also had no way of knowing that the name meant “cityof the cross,” which might have confounded him. It was located in themiddle of the Caucasus Mountains and helped Russia secure control overthe region. It was the child, a boy, leading on every happy group beforeand around a church that looked to him like a castle that made him happy.The real history of the place depicted in the stamp meant nothing.

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I was alone

at the station. It was late. The time of night when the ferocious day slept.It was misty and halos formed around the globes of light on the platform.It was an elevated station. Midway the length of the line. If I leanedforward and down I could see the little town below, empty of people, as ifthe boy who owned it was sleeping and left it on a table. The platformwas concrete - had not absorbed the fine rain. Its color was the same.I thought of Salvation, probably asleep with his eyes half open, waiting forme. I repeatedly looked left around a bend to see the approach of lights

of a train or its rumble. At this hour, it would be distinct, a musicalinstrument. No telling who could approach, who could enter the stationnow.There was a giant shadow as light sprung on the side of the building, thefaded advertisement for Horowitz’s Clothes shown, the length of the trainstopped. I entered. I looked around to find the safest place to sit. Therewas a homeless man bundled in clothes asleep at the other end of the car.No one ranting. I made sure I faced no one of the few there.

I rarely went out. It’s been years since I’ve lived like that. Nothing outthere except danger.I thought of Salvation standing at the doorway when I got home. He was amixed. I got him after I saw the city’s animal control vehicle remove alarge dog from an apartment with a tightening loop around its neck thatchoked it if it tried to escape. I thought how someone could send theirdog to a most certain death because they had grown tired of him or weremoving or what. The dog was old and no one would take it and it wasgoing to be given an injection and it would go to sleep after some time. Itwould see the surroundings; the strangers; the end of time.There was little furniture in my apartment. Sagging couch. The necessities.A few collages I had made and framed. No mirrors or anything. I was anold man with a dog. No reason to reflect on it. I patted Salvation’s headand he lifted his paws up to my chest and licked my face. I hoped he went

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first because I didn’t want him left alone. He couldn’t fend for himself.They’d lead him away and kill him. They’d probably do the same for me orwould if they could. After all, I lived in a rent-controlled apartment.

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Will you be

Valentine's Day might just not have existed in their house. They wereliving together almost twenty years now and the man had stoppedrunning to Chinatown to buy his wife a jade necklace or gold pendant fora few years now. The woman had the excuse that they didn't celebrateValentine's Day in China; once or twice she bought him cake for theholiday. Now, he had to watch his sugar count as it was borderlinediabetic.He spent most of the day in their bedroom surfing the computer, lookingat nothing special, constantly returning to searches under his name orrifling through his mailbox. His wife was in the living room on her web-site on her computer. Every once in a while she laughed to herself and heknew someone in China had sent her a message that amused her. At thesame time, the television was on one of the Chinese stations, even thoughhe had warned her just the day before that she was wasting electricity.The bill was nearly $400.00 for the last month.If he wanted to salvage something of their relationship and buy her a gift,it was nearly impossible. There had been heavy snow for two days andthere was a foot of snow on the ground. He couldn't get out and aroundanymore in that kind of weather. They had aged together; that was theone certainty of their marriage. Besides, he knew she likely didn't know itwas Valentine's Day or if she did she was not going to be buying himanything. It had come to that- tit for tat- and it was stuck there like a carthat just couldn't free itself from a rut of ice.

It had been a couple of years since they had had sex together. He hadtrouble because of medications he was taking; she was eight years olderand didn't want sex anymore, anyway.When he did pass her on his way to get more coffee, she had pointedthrough the window and said "it is a fine day." He agreed and continuedon, as if it were an office and they happened to work there together. It

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didn't occur to him that she might have been hinting at something besidesthe weather.

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For love

he answered the doorbell. The woman standing there was Japanese and

entered without invitation. She carried a black bag and wore a black cape.When she stood about centered in the room, on the granite floor, sheremoved the cape and handed it to him to be hung up with care, as if hewere her butler. He looked her over: her hair in bangs, but long, straight;her leather bodice with breasts bare; her black stockings. The face of aNoh actress- pale with the slightest expressions bearing great meaning.She ordered him into the bedroom and told him to wait.

He lay on his bed on his back. She entered quietly and directly walked

over to him and told him to remove his clothes and roll half-way over.She began to stick her index finger inside his hole. She used the wetnessthat accumulated to slide it further and further in. She worked it till shecould get two, then three fingers through. He squirmed in delight as herfingers reached the spot in there that aroused him.

She told him to lie on his stomach. She opened the black bag she had andtook out a thick strap-on. She put it on tightly, so she could ram hard.She told him to raise himself, to stand on his hands and knees. She wentover to his face to show him her hard on; she poked his cheek with it.Then she went behind him and slowly worked it in. When she had builtup enough moisture, she began to ram in and out- a piston, sure as that.He squealed and she said beg me and he begged.

She then rolled him over and separated his legs and entered. In thisposition, he could wrap his legs around her and draw her in. She poundedhim hard and then ordered him to meet her as she rammed him. She wasgood, with strong round buttocks, and a motion that was manly.

He did as she told him and moaned each time they were in accord.

When it didn’t work after some time, he took himself to Japan, to a sexclub, where he watched the fem-doms pay for their tickets and chosewhich one he would approach. In this pursuit, he always had the womanput a leash around his neck and take him to the bar, where he would lay

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at her feet like a faithful dog. She would always take him to a roomreserved for customers and dress him as a woman and then finger himand go through similar motions as the other woman did. However, hereshe would humiliate him, call him her wife, tell him he was hers for the

night, forever.

He would like naked in his bed and move in synchronization to hermovements. He would do this until he spurted. If not he went to China,to a secret rendezvous for such people and a woman would take him to aprivate room, paying the old male attendant for the use of it. He wasnever dissatisfied. And he never used his hands; that would havedestroyed the effect. He admittedly was no Cocteau, who, it was said,could reach orgasm by merely thinking.

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Check out

the cashier took her time swiping items and more often than not did itmore than once. When the items were calculated, she moved to baggingat a pace guaranteed to hold her job but not over-burden herself. The linegrew longer and shoppers with full wagons would not let those with oneitem ahead of them. Everyone was impatient. Everyone felt their timewas more important. Everyone reached extremis. The cashier was paid asalary on which she could not live. If she hurried to satisfy the customers,she would end up everyone's servant. People looking for a cashier wouldalways find her available. The very idea was intolerable.

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If you recite

The professor was sitting at his desk facing the woods off the backyard.He was retired now for some time and was writing poetry. Hisconcentration was divided between the words and watching his twenty-eight year old autistic daughter, who at this moment was recklessly ridingher foot scooter around the entire house. He was fearful she would either

hurt herself or break something, and in that order. He had raised heralone. His wife had left him when she saw that he was going to care forher at home and not put her in an institution. It was not cold-heartednesson her part; she just didn't have the capacity for sacrifice that thecircumstances called for. Her husband did not blame her, although heremained single after that, which amounted to most of his life. He tookwhat solace he could from teaching at one of the Universities in theMidwest and writing. Also, he practiced Buddhism and went to a local

Vietnamese Buddhist temple regularly. He even contemplated moving toVietnam, as he had visited it many times, in an attempt to make up forwhat his country had done over there. In all his poetry books werescattered snippets of phrases from Buddhist texts. The one thing all thereferences had in common was the inference that if you recited theBuddha's name just once, you gained immeasurable merit. The professoronce told a friend that he considered his daughter a gift. She had taughthim so much about patience and selflessness. His friend blushed to hearthis.

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A living doll

He had curly reddish hair receding now that he was fifty-five. Unmarried,painfully shy, except with the few neighbors he had known sincechildhood in his isolated neighborhood of Hawtree Creek, he was going toretire from his municipal employment as an elevator inspector. He hadinherited his house on stilts in a blue-collar neighborhood where an inletled to the West Hamilton Beach from his parents, now deceased. Thearea was very private- any outsider was unwelcome and would feel all theeyes in every house boring into them if they walked there.

The man had saved money and was going to do what he had beenplanning for years: he was going to buy a living doll. They were made toorder in France and were very life-like; he had chosen a blonde modelwith blue eyes and even chose the breast size and general shape of hispartner. He had even bought her a wardrobe, since she was going to behis life-mate after he retired. The neighborhood being so closed to

outsiders, only the day the doll was delivered would draw suspicion; but,he was so well-known, being an original inhabitant, that no one wouldthink anything of his behavior.

He had put in his retirement papers and it was only a few weeks till heworked his last day. After that, he would be all hers- Wanda, he namedher. Oh, was he going to be the best husband, lover, companion shecould ever want.

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Critical care

I worked for a law firm that represented injured workers. I was in thebusiness for twenty-years and was trusted with responsibilities equalto that of an attorney. One case passed my desk and I felt I had to dowhatever it took to take care of this client. Usually, I didn't. In this case,the man had his hand masticated in a machine at work and was onsuicide watch in the hospital. The insurance company had not begunvoluntary payments and I felt a duty to intervene. Besides, I knew themanager of the insurer personally. We had worked together manyyears before.I called the insurer and asked for the manager. After I explained wewere old friends, I was put through to him. "Howard, how are you?" Iasked. "Fine, Jim, just fine. What prompts this call?" "Well, you havethe case of Juan Fernandez, a man who lost his hand at work, and werepresent him. I'm asking that you begin voluntary payments to him,so he doesn't have to worry about his family on top of having thetrauma of losing his dominant hand." "I'm afraid I can't do that Jim.""Why not?" I asked. "Because we're not under any direction from theWorkers' Compensation Board to make payments." "Howard is thatyou?" "Yes, don't you recognize my voice?" "I meant is that who youare." "How can you contest the claim? What are you going to argue -that he intended to injure himself or that he was intoxicated?" "Eventhose defenses rarely hold up." "Well, we'll take our chances.""Howard," I found my voice rising, "you ought to be ashamed of

yourself," and with that I slammed the receiver.I usually didn't speak to the boss unless absolutely necessary. This caseI brought to his office.

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Standing there

He was the younger brother of a friend. His outside shot made him and

with it he had made the high school varsity basketball team, even at fivefeet five inches tall. It was a strong team, with the center at six feet nineinches tall and expected to make the pros. I was jealous. Basketballmeant almost everything to me for many years. When it came to indoorbasketball, with the wooden floors and the overhead lights, and theadults organizing the tryouts, I lost all my abilities. He wore the team jacket. With his notoriety, he dated the most beautiful girl in his grade,which I think was the eleventh or tenth.

It seemed to be contagious, because his father, who was president of thedry-cleaners' union, had suddenly become wealthy and bought anexclusive house sheltered amongst trees along the Little Neck Bay. Myfather had once owned a cleaning store in Washington Heights, but due tocompetition had to close it. He now drove a truck.The boy's father was so proud of his son's accomplishment that he builtfor him a basketball court - full court, so he could hone his skills.Then one day, as he was outside on the court, the ball fell from his handsand he stood there lost. He stayed like that the entire day. Then, for theweek. Then, forever. The doctors his father took him to see said it wascommon for schizophrenia to manifest at the boy's age. They hadmedications to help him function as well as possible, but he would neverbe the same.

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A miracle

John Bellmore was blind since birth. He was now in his early sixties. His

disability did not keep him from being an avid fan of the basketball teamof the College of the Ozarks. It was a small, Division II college, and itplayed annually in the NAIA Division II Men’s Basketball Tournament. Onewinter night, McDonald's hosted a half-time show: anyone who firstscored a three-point shot would win a meal a day at McDonald's for ayear.John, of course, couldn't see the backboard or the rim, but he had signedup for the competition. He was placed at the head of the key and pointed

in the direction of the basket. The audience was small, but as the gym wasalso small, it seemed packed with people. The room grew silent as Johnwas ready to shoot. He was told anytime he was ready and he threw theball from his right shoulder in a most idiosyncratic way. Nonetheless, theball went through the hoop, a swoosh, no rim, all net. The crowd cheeredwildly. It was a Christian College and well things like that were more thanwelcome there.No one questioned whether winning a year's worth of food at McDonald'swas a good return on such an exploit. No one in Point Lookout Missourithought perhaps the high-calorie, fat saturated fast food could do anyharm to a sixty year old blind man. Perhaps, they were right.

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Mr. Jones

Only Jones would stand outside surrounded by snow in the biting coldlooking up and down the street for a UPS truck. Most people would haveconcluded long before 10:00 PM that the driver was simply not going tofulfill his obligation to attempt to deliver. From the information Jonesfound on the computer, the truck went out at 8:26 AM. By 10:00 PM hewould have been working 13 and-a-half hours. He discussed this with aUPS representative over the phone, who said he could not track down thedriver’s whereabouts.

Jones’s wife had long before given up on the package. It only contained amodem for their computer and it could wait till the next day. She made atelephone call to her niece, and Jones heard her laughing. The sound oflaughter was like waving a red cape in front of a bull. He did all the work;he did all the worrying: she just gossiped and amused herself. Hewondered why he married her. She had nothing in common with him.

And the way she kept a home; clothes thrown on top of chairs and tablespicked up and brought from the street; her grown son’s excess belongingsstrewn throughout the living room, cardboard boxes randomly tossedbetween the dining room table and the closet, so that it was impossible toget anything out of it. It was as lost as the package and it crossed hismind that he should leave. He didn’t belong there.

At 11:00 PM, after watching one of the few television shows he couldtolerate, he took the pills he needed to sleep. He smoked in the living

room until he could feel their effect. His wife called, but he didn’t answerher. He hated her. He hated her son. He hated where he lived. He hatedhis life. He hated himself.

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Spray paint is sold

He had lived in New York City to see a number of waves of graffiti writingon public and private property. He hated it. The most recent wasoccurring throughout his neighborhood. The Latino youths had spraypainted his own building and made it look like a part of a slum. Henoticed that they had climbed fences of private homes across the streetand spray painted letters on garage doors and even on the marble finishesof newly built buildings.

He had enough. He found the site on the internet to make a complaint tothe New York Police Department and wrote a scathing letter condemningthe local precinct and accusing them of having relinquished control of theneighborhood to the vandals. He also complained about the state of hisown building; how graffiti was decreasing the resale value of the property.

He forgot about the letter. He never really expected a reply, or, in theevent that he received one, it would be a general response without teeth.

To his surprise, his complaint had been investigated and he received aletter from the Lieutenant of his local police precinct. He must havegotten an earful from the NYPD, because he explained in detail all thearrests they had made and what efforts they were making to combat asituation they were well aware of. The Lieutenant ended the letter byasking him to please in future first notify him if he had any complaintsabout the precinct. He gave him his direct line and signed the letterpersonally.

Within a week, the police were using high-powered steam blowers toremove all t he graffiti from his building’s wall. He had a short stint as ahero in the building. Then, within a few months, graffiti began to appearagain on the wall; usually the initials of the perpetrators.

Like cockroaches, he thought.

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The old barbers

From the hospice bed he could only make out the color of the day throughthe window. He couldn’t see objects. His small family surrounded him.It offered small comfort, particularly as his wife kept weeping, whichrevived his own sorrow. He was certainly ready to die. He had beenwaiting for it for some time.

He remembered when he was a boy his mother took him to a barbershopto have his hair cut. In those days, all the barbers were middle-agedItalian men, who spoke with Italian accents. They always leaned on yourback as they cut your hair and it was comforting in its way. One of thebarbers told his mother that he would be bald when he grew older. Shetold him not to say that, as she was a superstitious woman. The man heldup the boy’s double cowlick to show why he would be bald.

When one of the other barbers heard the boy had two of his toes on eachfoot webbed, he said the boy would die from drowning. Please, hismother protested. Please don’t say that.

In the hospice, he thought how wonderfully accurate the old Italianpremonitions were. Here he was dying from pulmonary edema, his lungsfilling with water. The doctors gave him medication to relieve thesymptoms, but he and they knew it was the end. But, as that old barberhad prophesized, he was dying from drowning. As to his hair, well, he hadlost it years ago, when he was in his thirties.

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GG

I first heard from a man living in France about half a year ago whointroduced himself as Gaston Galmiche and told me that he hadassembled a site devoted exclusively to the dispersion of the Galmiches ofthe world. He claimed that my ancestors and all the ancestors of thosewith similar names as his derived from the fact that all Galmiches hadlived in France in the 14 th Century.

I was a bit frightened, firstly, because I didn’t know him, and secondly, ashe was dark skinned like me, but had the look of a man well-preserved, asif he was dead yet lived. I was in my mid-sixties and his skin showed hewas older, maybe in his mid-seventies, yet he had long black hair, with a

wolfish face, and his skin, though wrinkled, appeared youthful.He put me up on his site for Galmiches. He said he would look into myfamily ancestry. I admit I was intrigued because no one in my familycould trace our ancestry earlier than my great grandfather in WesternRussia. It was odd that no one knew of the family before that, as if it hadsprung up there for the first time. Gaston said my family might have leftFrance during the French Revolution for political or persecutory reasonsand traveled like many of the clan to Eastern Europe. My family, he said,

may have gone even farther into Russia.I recently heard from him:

Hello Jack, Search for links Galmiche-Galmitz:I did not progress on the individuals. But I found the phonic evolution ofFrench Galmiche (g a: l m i: s) left during the French Revolution towardsthe Central Europe.

In Central Europe the name is written Galmiš and Galmisz (bothpronounce as galmiche in French).Then in the Eastern Europe the name is written Galmisz and Galmitz.Then of the Eastern Europe towards the USA Galmitz and Golmez.I continue research,

GG

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Perpetually

There’s a man named George - I think that’s his name, unless that’s thename he refers to me by - who sits on the sidewalk between a landmarkchurch and a Chinese supermarket in front of a wrought iron gate. Hewould be noticeable, since he is the only person in the entireneighborhood who is sitting, except for the fact that he is as gray andwhite as the concrete street he sits on. His hair is white and his face isashen and half the time he is looking up for attention and the other halflooking down in depression. Sometimes, I say hello if his eyes gain access

to mine. If he is face down and forlorn and doesn’t see me, I pass withoutacknowledging him. Across the street from where he usually sits was thelibrary – which had become a haven for Chinese patrons who sat all dayreading Chinese newspapers – which is now being rebuilt.

The neighborhood, named Elmhurst, although it has no elm trees, isremarkable in this: that George - or the man from the adult home I thinkis named George – is the only person sitting. There are no benches in theentire neighborhood. Everyone and everything is in constant motion.The streets are jammed with cars, there are stores upon stores,restaurants after restaurants, supermarkets and small markets, andpeople in motion, constant motion, without stop from morning throughthe night. The neighborhood has no attractions to speak of; thearchitecture is functional and lacking in any recognizable style, exceptperhaps that it was all built about 1940. New stores and condominiumsare constantly being built to house and supply the new immigrants whoarrive mostly from China and settle here.

There are no movie theaters. There are no bookstores. There are no artsupply stores. There are a few churches and Buddhist temples. Everythingis devoted to survival and there are no signs of a life beyond survival,whether in this life or in an afterlife of some kind – you can take your pickhere. There is a municipal hospital and a park where the young play

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basketball and old men play Chinese chess and woman sometimes do thefan dance.

There really is no need for what is ordinarily called culture, since peopleare too busy to be entertained or are entertained by merely being in thethrong, close and safely together, like the hundreds of pigeons that havesettled in one tree near the park and swoop down together wheneversomeone scatters crumbs from a sack. Though the old brick buildings arein decay, there are satellite dishes hanging from all the roofs, in order forthe inhabitants to receive reception for television programs from aroundthe world.

Because of the constant juggling of human beings here, stopping only to

eat in a fast food restaurant or the newest Chinese restaurant, sometimesI feel as lonely as George, or is George the name he refers to me by, Iforget, and is there a reason to draw a difference.

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a change of season

he had only recently returned to New York City after completing his

doctoral degree in Buffalo. There were few jobs in his field at the timeand in the interim he returned to live with his parents. He laid around thehouse, unprepared to accept any employment other than in the upperechelons. That was the reason he had sought a higher degree. Jobs werescarce and he soon found out that no one was willing to train him ortransfer his skills to a related field.

His mother kept after him to the point where he had to take action- eitherobtain some sort of work or eliminate her. He chose to take a battery of

civil service tests, as these were the only type of jobs wherediscrimination would not play a part in hiring. He soon found himselfworking for Medicaid at their main offices at 34 th Street and 8 th Ave.

Every day, he dreaded going to work. It was a low job and his co-employees, though amiable enough, were all African-American or Latino,and no one wanted to know him, a displaced white man. And every day,one Jamaican worker would walk past his battered metal desk and sayhow the mighty had fallen.

He soon felt the need to share something in common with some of his co-workers and he chose to fall back on an old habit. Through an old friend,he hooked up with a man who had also once been a heroin addict andsoon they found a connection. First it was once or at most twice a weekthat they used- only on weekends. Then, after some months, they boughton one or two days during the week, as well. After half a year, he had ahabit and began to feel sick and show signs of withdrawal if he didn’t gethis dose of dope.

He would buy enough for the week and now in the mornings he wouldcook up the heroin in the bathroom stall and shoot up before starting thework day. He met a number of other addicts at work, and he soon wasintroduced to people on the Methadone Maintenance Program, who soldtheir daily doses to buyers on the street. He found the methadone

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completely overcame his withdrawal and it also got him high. Soon, hewas addicted to the street methadone. He spent every dollar he earnedworking and went through his entire savings buying heroin or methadone.It reached a point where he went up to the offices of the methadone

program to decide whether to sign up.

He looked around him and he thought “I can’ t do it. I mean I can’t denythat I’m an addict like them, but God, they’re all so dysfunctional, souneducated, such social outcasts. ” He knew his thinking would beconsidered typically snobbish, but he maintained it. He had to seek helpthrough another means.

He finally confessed to the psychotherapist he had been seeing what he

had been doing and she and the staff psychiatrist made arrangements forhim to enter a hospital to detox. Once in the hospital, deprived of eventhe valium prescribed to him by the psychiatrist, he walked the hallwaysfor months as fast as he could, as if he could get away from himself or elsecalm himself through fatigue. Nothing worked. When he was releasedhis mother wouldn’t talk to him. When he asked to do his own laundry,as a first step towards maturation, she said he wasn’t able to do it. He hadto get out of that house.

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What do you remember

Vaguely people. Can’t make them out distinctly. I’m important in some

way; have a part to play, though I can’t say now what it is. I have anovercoat, I think, that must be sold or given away. There are levels, like ina parking garage, and the ground is concrete. There’s perspective and awoman I once was involved with, lived with, though she is now married tosomeone else. I think the people were known to me in childhood, thoughI can’t be sure. I’ve told the woman where to go, but I don’t think shefollowed my directions. It widens to include a world, living things, trees,vistas or at the least roads from which dust rises. Hospital grounds? Who

knows. Looking through a kaleidoscope. Maybe. But rather than colorsshifting patt erns, people and places shifting patterns. It’s like that. Youunderstand. It’s like that.

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They were

at Jones Beach. It was getting late and most of the people who hadcovered the sand and colored it in their suits had left for the day. All thebeach umbrellas were returned and stacked in the store-room up by theparking lot. A group of friends had met there accidentally and were stillhanging around.

He was in blue racing trunks tight on his buttocks and groin. She wore abikini. He knew her from the neighborhood. She was an artist and hadrecently ended a long relationship with a man he knew by sight but didn’tknow to speak of.

She told him to lie still. He obeyed. She said put this towel over you andlie back. Her hand softly slid down the tight suit and held him sideways.She began slowly and then changed speeds, as if she were driving a stickshift car. She then brought him almost to completion and stoppedcompletely, until he was as flaccid as a worm that had been used as baitfor too long.

Then she slipped her hand down in again and upside down, pushing thenylon of his trunks to their extreme, slowly building a momentum, as ifscoring an etude. All he could hear was the waves, though she wasblowing air into his ear. She had him in her wrapped hand and rolled himlike dough then flattened him and rolled again. She felt the tip and pulledout the white stringy prefiguration. She tasted it. It was salty likeseawater. The she went under the towel, pulled down the trunks aroundhis ankles, placed her mouth around him, and sucked hard while she

tickled his scrotum. In no short time, he spurted into her waiting mouthand he could not see, but he could hear her swallowing. When she wasthrough, she emerged from under the towel and stuck her tongue in hismouth to share with him.

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Meetings

A Pennsylvania couple, the Schaibles, who believed in faith-healing were

sentenced Wednesday to 3½ to seven years in prison in the death of asecond child who was sick but didn't see a doctor.

The Lord said through Moses to the Israelites, "If his offering is a burntoffering from the herd, he shall offer a male without blemish; he shalloffer it at the door of the tent of meeting, that he may be accepted beforethe Lord.” "You've killed two of your children ... not God, not your church,not religious devotion — you," Philadelphia Common Pleas JudgeBenjamin Lerner said.

And the Lord said further regarding offerings, "If his offering to the LORDis a burnt offering of birds, then he shall bring his offering of turtledovesor of young pigeons.”

They have seven surviving children.

Last year, Herbert Schaible told police that medicine "is against ourreligious beliefs." He said, "We believe in divine healing, that Jesus shedblood for our healing and that he died on the cross to break the devil's

power."

The Lord said, "And these you shall have in abomination among the birds,they shall not be eaten, they are an abomination: the eagle, the vulture,the osprey.”

A jury had convicted both parents of involuntary manslaughter in the2009 death of son Kent. They were put on 10 years of probation thatincluded orders to seek medical care if any other child got sick.

The Lord declared: You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is anabomination.”

On the subject of abomination the Lord said, “And you shall not lie withany beast and defile yourself with it, neither shall any woman give herselfto a beast to lie with it: it is perversion.”

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Their pastor, Nelson Clark, has said the Schaibles lost their sons becauseof a "spiritual lack" in their lives and insisted they would not seek medicalcare even if another child appeared near death.

The Lord said, “ And you shall not swear by my name falsely, and soprofane the name of your God: I am the LORD.”

And the Lord said many things were abominations. Many things.

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beginnings

Earth was empty, dark. In the morning it was light and things could beseen. The land with water produced seed-bearing vegetation, trees. Fishand birds and animals abounded, as did men and women, and they all hadreproductive organs to continue onward. Words were chosen by the manfor everything that existed in its own right and by naming them he causedeach thing to appear as he imagined them in his language.

Mutual sexual attraction spread humans and animals throughout theearth. They were neither moral nor immoral, but nevertheless causedpain and suffering.

The great master and lord of life, Kaang, originally lived with men andwomen and all living things under the earth. All was harmonious. No onewanted for anything. And it was light even though there was no sun.When Kaang built a tree that stretched throughout the universe, hebrought up out of the ground all living things. The only warning he gavewas to be peaceful and not build a fire. When the sun went down, the

people grew frightened and lit fires to see and to keep warm. From thattime the animals and humans separated, as the animals were afraid of thefire. The forms of all things are only their outward appearance. Eachthing has a spirit within it. And spirits can enter different forms. Awoman may enter a leopard; a man a lion. Disobedience to Kaang createdhavoc in the world.

Unkulunkulu was the Primal Man. From the reeds he came and from thereeds he produced everything that is. He taught the Zulus to hunt, to

make fire, and to grow food. He was the Great Benefactor.The universe expanded from an intensely dense and hot state andcontinues to expand. Space as it expands is carrying galaxies with it. Theuniverse might continue to expand until it bursts with everything in it.

So, keep your nose clean.

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Documents

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