I am walking on office errands somewhere between The Embarcadero and The Financial District just a few minutes before these words are typed. My head is full, mulling over that same troublesome poem while simultaneously pondering a blog update when, passing through the cool shade beneath the AC Transit Bay Bridge overpass, I see a figure curled up on the asphalt in a tattered and stained sleeping bag, presumably sleeping there amid the pigeon droppings and unidentifiable puddles.

This is not an unusual sight for anybody who spends much time in San Francisco. "The Homeless" are a presence here and are often first page news . As just two words on your compter screen, "The Homeless" are rather an anonymous population. As a person huddled at your feet on the cold ground the homeless become very individual. Suddenly the struggling poem in my head and the working out of a blog seemed somehow irrelevant and necessary.

Newspaper piled high
in Winter doorways, alleys -
nests of the homeless.

One of my haiku inspired forms from a few years back (is haiku actually haiku if it is written in English? Tune in later for my opinion!) and, perhaps, an appropriate end to this.

To: Louis Armstrong

You broke my heart

sad
sweet
song

West End Blues 1928

Your trumpet was made of gold
(while you played, at least)

I'll bet the shoes you wore
never touched the ground

while your lips
were on
the horn

1928 West End Blues

Louis, you broke my heart
40 years before I was born

From: Richard Cody , 2002

The following appeared in my in-box late last night and I was unsure what to make of it until I turned this up with a Google search . At first I had no idea if it was a genuine offer, a piece of mutant spam, a simple hoax or a cunning scam.

Turns out it is all of the above.

Being unemployed, I was tempted for a moment by the lure of easy money. Fortunately, reason and a moral sense which forbids me to profit from the spoils of tyranny made that moment of temptation a very brief one.

Now, without further ado, Barrister Soulman Hassan will perform for you the great Nigerian Hustle:


Dear sir,
I am Barrister Soulman Hassan ( SAN ), Lawyer to Mrs. Maryam Abacha ( the Wife of Late
Military Head of States
General Sani Abacha) who died 1998 where in service. However, it is particularly important
to mention here that
before the death of her husband he was able to accumulate enough money through oil
proceeds during his tenure in
the office, it was discover after his death that he worth over US$4.5Billion (Four Billion, Five
Hundren Milion United
States Dollars). And some of this money were retrieved after his death while some was
recovered from the officials
that served under him during his reign as the President of Nigeria. Having said all this, there
was a twist in his
Wealth, The Present Government of Chief Olusegun Obansajo probe his Wealth, most of
his account where
frozen both Local and International.

My client has been able to Move US$45,000,000.00 through diplomatic means to a
Security Company in
Canada , marked as personal effect. Morealso, Bank to Bank transfer of the Fund can be
traced, hence the Money
was stamped with a security code so as to beat the security at the Airport and we do not
want what happen to her
late Husband's billion's of dollars to repeat itself.
My client is under house arrest, the eldest son Mohammed Abacha is in Prison and the
second son Abba Abacha is
under my custody and she is soliciting for a honest Foreign partner who will clear the funds
from the security
Company and invest part of the fund on any profitable venture.
Proposed Sharing Partern (%):

1. 70% for my client

2. 25% for you as a partner/fronting for us.

3. 5% for expenses that may be incurred by both parties during the cause of this
transacton.

Due to the present condition of my client. I shall be very grateful if you keep it confidential
and response as soon as
possible via email.

Do send your private phone number and private fax number , also the name you wish to
use as the beneficiary .

I urgently await your response.

Yours Faithfully,

Soulman Hassan ( SAN )

It seems a trading card manufacturer in Florida is producing trading cards titled Heroes of the World Trade Center which will feature photos and biographical information about those who died in the tragedy of 9/11- or those whose families are willing to participate, at least.

According to the S. F. Chronicle article , "Some families believe the idea is tasteless and the commercial enterprise exploits a national tragedy".

True enough, perhaps, but I wonder if this particular enterprise is any more exploitive than the commodification of the American flag that occurred immediately after the twin towers tumbled, or the opportunistic zeal with which George W. latched on to the attack as a means to increase his popularity with a dubious public and to push his own political agenda forward.

Yes, indeed, I wonder. . .

Trembling beneath the gaze of saints, Emily strained her pale blue eyes in an effort to reciprocate that Holy vision, that sacred sight. She had traveled long and far to arrive at this moment and now that it was upon her she found herself lacking, unable to meet the eyes of those who stood before her, haloed and emanating sheer white light. Squinting, she realized suddenly that her failure was not one of chastity - as she had feared it might be ever since that distant, torrid night in Sao Paulo - but one of endorsement. Her sanctity had not been validated by anybody but herself and Marco. He was dead now, swallowed by the insurrection which had indirectly liberated her from the thrall of the Texas papists, and she alone was not consensus enough to breech the much loved and hallowed ranks she had strived so diligently to join. Or was she? Did she really require anyone else to believe in her? As she had learned through one hard lesson after another, everything is relative. The faith she had in herself might be bright enough to outshine this saintly crowd and more if she could only find it.

Marco had been the one to find that spark in the middle of her darkness, the one to protect it and feed it with bits of his own tattered soul, to fan it until it was a righteous blaze simultaneously consuming and regenerating her heart. She felt that heat even now, rising from the center of herself, illumining her eyes, sending sparks from the tips of her fingers and the ends of her blonde hair. . .

- excerpt from the unwritten novel, The Transfiguration of Emily Clean, not written by Richard Cody in the year of someone's lord 2002 -

So we get back to California with a sense of joy and relief, unload, unpack and set up house only to have one of us head right back to Orlando. Yes, it's true, our second week home has actually been just my second week home as Sarah was required to return to Orlando for business meetings. She tells me she feels like someone trapped in a dream, thinking she is clear and free of danger only to find herself back in the black room with the shadowy man creeping closer and closer, only the dull white of file like teeth visible in the gloom. Actually, Orlando isn't that bad - more like a shadowy puppy, perhaps.

I have been working the last couple of days - temp work for my former employer in San Francisco (hereafter referred to as The City). I won't bore you or myself with the details. It is good, though, to have some income to keep up with the outgo.

With Sarah away I have amused myself the last two nights with videos rented from one of the many places we missed in Orlando - Reel, the real world incarnation of the on-line movie site.

The videos in question were Guy Maddin's, Careful







and Roman Polanski's, The Tenant


.


I am not going to offer up any movie reviews or opinions here save to say that both of these are movies worth a look if you like your cinema challenging, strange and/or surreal.

The reason I bring these videos to your attention is not to discourse upon their cinematic qualities but to muse a moment on the coincidence in which they participated. Actually the latest in a series of coincidences involving video rentals. A coincidence flap , if you will.

We usually leave the video shop with two or three videos minimum, typically selected at random. Recently it seems we are exhibiting a tendency to "randomly" select videos that upon viewing reveal a demonstrable connection in regards to plot, subject matter, cast or crew, as many as three videos sharing the same thread on one occasion. This has happened a number of times of late, five or six including this latest example.

I picked each of these videos from the cult shelf (organized alphabetically by title) and that was the only connection I could make between them prior to viewing. Now that I have seen them I can tell you that they share a plot element.

Careful takes place in the alpine village of Tolzbad, where towering mountains, dreamy white snow and the constant threat of avalanche have shaped a cautious way of life and made a dark virtue of silence.

The Tenant sees Roman Polanski as the timorous Trelkovsky inhabiting an apartment in Paris whose last tenant broke the window if not her lease when she threw herself through the glass to the concrete three floors below. As soon as he moves in circumstances and neighbors force him to adopt a hushed mode of life.

See the connection?

It may or may not seem like much depending on your views regarding coincidence and statistics.

Galaxies in Collision



Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it?

Seize it

This moment
could be the axis
around which the whole of your life is turning.

The beat of a heart, the blink of an eye,
the time it takes to complete a breath.

What is a moment?

Merriam-Webster states, among other things, that a moment is:

1 a : a minute portion or point of time : INSTANT b : a comparatively brief period of time

2 a : present time b : a time of excellence or conspicuousness

Accurate but lacking.

This moment is NOW .

A place outside of time, neither ticked nor tocked.

Present and accountable as HERE and NOW but lost even as it is realized.

This moment is momentous, perhaps.

More so than your first, or last, kiss?
Or the instant you knew, as a child,
that Death was in the world?

Maybe.

Possibly not.

There are occurrences of obvious consequence
which we pin to the maps of our lives (here
I learned the truth about Santa, here I learned to drive)
and there are moments like this,

passing unobserved (mainly) into a life in progress.

As the first week in our new home passes into personal history I find myself with an idle moment for reflection and musing in general.

This is the first real idle moment I have had for some time. Most of my moments from the entry below until now have been filled with the details of settling in to our new place. These details include the usual activities of any move - unpacking and setting up house (a small challenge as we have moved into a smaller space which requires careful planning and placement of furniture and objects for a harmonious home - fortunately, Sarah is a natural born Feng Shui master who has found just the right place for all our stuff, including our small library) and, most importantly at this point, looking for work.

Being unemployed is a condition that, while worrisome the longer it endures, has allowed me to absorb the atmosphere of our new home. The days spent inside seeking employment via the internet ( J. Boragine & Associates , BayAreaHelpWanted.com and Craigslist.org ) have given me the opportunity to soak the place up much quicker and sooner than would have been possible had I been rushing out to the old 9 to 5 from the moment we arrived.

Aside from establishing myself in a job it has not been a difficult transition from Orlando to Oakland. In fact, it hasn't been a transition at all, really. Even while we were in Orlando our hearts were here in California (as those of you who have been reading for a while know).

We rented the apartment I am typing these words from sight unseen (save a few digital photos), performing the necessary transactions via e-mail, fax and USPS. This entailed certain risks, of course, but we are pure of heart and have not been disappointed. In fact, just a day or so back it occurred to Sarah and myself more or less simultaneoulsy that this simple one bedroom space, in this 8 unit 1930's era apartment building near Lake Merrit and downtown Oakland feels comfortable and strangely familiar. It's almost as if we have walked between these walls, become acquainted with the creaky spots in the hardwood floors, turned the rumbling dyspeptic hot water tap in the bathroom and gazed at the buildings and greenery beyond our windows before. It feels like home.

The neighborhood around us is also quickly assimilating into the mythology of our lives:

The hum and buzz of traffic along Park Boulevard.

The faceless man across the street who is known to us only by the loud and painful coughing which punctuates the day. Already and, perhaps predictably, he has assumed the moniker of "The Coughing Man".

The grand old buildings from the 20's and 30's which loom above the busy thoroughfare of Park Blvd., many accessible only via steep and winding stairs which creep up from the cracked and uneven sidewalks.

The rainbow of black, white and Asian humanity which occupies those buildings and the small shops which litter the neighborhood.

The debris which lingers in the gutters between weekly street cleanings, consisting usually of empty Home Run Pie wrappers and scattered shreds of newspaper .

The Parkway Theater , bringing food, drink and first run, foreign and cult movies to hungry film goers.

All of these things and more are like scenes and players in a tale that has always been, a portion of our story that was put on hold while we dallied inexplicably in the margins of Orlando. Well, we have turned the page now and the narrative of our lives is resuming.

Read on. . .

The journey is done. We have found our way back home.

Thanks to those of you who wished us well and extra special sugary sweet thanks to friends and family who assisted in various ways with the move.

A few boxes remain to be unpacked and an entertainment center from IKEA will be joining our household before we are completely settled into our new space.

Having safely navigated the country, my primary concern now is to find employment. I am hopeful that I might yet return to my former employer in San Francisco but, until I hear from them one way or the other, hope is all there is.

Blogging may take a back seat for a bit while I restart my life in the Bay Area.