An alien evening air curiously slides along some Rhododendron Campanulatum.
Vegan leather boots scrunch as I kneel : thatʼs all.
Oh : and the bullhorns blare and echo this one question Iʼve been tormented by –
WHY (on earth, I mean) CAN NEW YORKERS MEDITATE BUT BUDDHIST MONKS
CANʼT WEAR A KNICKS SHIRT ?
without the snickering, I mean.
I sense the Rhod; it senses back.
Fast forward :
THE OTHER IS AN INTERCHANGEABLE QUALITY: YOUʼRE BIZARRE TO SOMEBODY,
DREAMLIKE TO SOMEBODY,
YOU DONʼT MAKE IMMEDIATE SENSE TO SOMEBODY:
isnʼt that the most beautiful thing ?
or, to put it the Other way :
why wait for made-up homogeneity to save you ?
the Other is multifaceted, sliced; the Other contradicts: just like you do.
the Other is an island, it sure is.
THE SOLE ATOLL TO ACCEPT ALL TRAVEL.
So this is that: as I find rest in you, you may find rest in me;
we both find resting restful, finally. And flower names will be forgotten but the flowers bloom.
There will be no Knicks shirt in the following series, and really :
the Knicks shirt has never been the point:
We are all (aficionados of each / a pretty wild bouquet for each)
Text by Manuel Iljitsch