quote from the director of Revanche

"Loneliness is probably an inextricable part of our modern lives, and yet I consider it an illusion. We always think of ourselves as being separate from the world, and in this way we deceive ourselves. This separation is just an invention of our imagination; in many ways we are constantly and directly interwoven in a larger whole. Loneliness is an attribute of our limited awareness, not of life itself. From the outside, the old man appears to be the loneliest character, but I think he is the least lonely of all. He has a clear identity, even if outwardly this makes his life difficult. It is an identity nevertheless. And he has his faith. And he isn't afraid of death. He may be alone, yes. But he isn't lonely."

-Götz Spielmann, Director

telling bear

telling a coworker at the cash 
register today about the college 
student who was attacked 
by a black bear in new jersey  
and died while shooting it 
with his phone (alas, 
phones are amazing, but they 
don't stop bears!). 

i look after the bear 
books at the store and last 
night i found 
a memoir written 
by a woman who barely 
survived an attack 
by a grizzly, albeit at 
the expense of her 
face, which was 
horribly disfigured. 

as i was telling this, 
a customer approached and asked 
if we could put something on 
hold for him and i said sure, 
what's your name? and he replied, 

KODIAK.

photograph by S. Taheri

captive audience

i left i left he says, i found the escape! as if the tape recorder he held in his hand was hard of hearing, which makes me think of how soft & fuzzy everything can sound when hearing is hard. it's about respect he says, RESPECT he bites, loud enough for us all to ignore. i had just walked in and ordered a tea from the mousy barista who had pulled the overcast over her head, CAT FLAG it said, with a band of black cats staring solemnly overhead. the petulant manager steeples his chin as his feet glug the stairs down, his indifference memorized by the bottom. how can you wean yourself from the habit of believing that what is obviously not yours is yours as my sweat does not purchase any equity here, and what is left when you be leaving, foraging for a new set of eyes whose vision is clear & correct, swimming in juices both lighter & brighter than my dear dark willamette. let us pause to absorb the dreadlocked man's rant, RACISM, SLAVERY, I AM BLACK he says, I AM BLACK! his voice is raised to meet the side that burns, his righteous fury reflected back as every gun is pointed at what the shooter lacks - a deeper connection. you can die free here or survive on tomorrow's rock, the top of it fenced off to prevent you from falling into the sea below. i look up from where i sit, in front of my own window, where i attempt to receive my own reflection, my open notebook recording my own rant. the dreadlocked man has gone silent, retreating into his darkest shape, or perhaps his fury burns in some other state, where hands held high plead to the fluorescent moons amid the stinging haze. all our hands are pale when they are raised. all our windows clean.