I came of age in the ’70s and, through that initial stretch of mid-to-late puberty and into early adulthood, I dressed like the classic hippie; I had long dark red hair, a full dark red mustache and beard, and – I’m told – “lovely” green eyes. While it might have been clear that I would…
It may not seem like it but maintaining one’s Urban Hermit status requires a great deal of effort and commitment. To be good at it… hell,to even qualify for Hermit Club membership consideration, one must hold the bulk of humanity in a general state of great disdain. It has been my experience that the easiest…
I was on a bus not too long ago that was being driven by a fat City Bus driver during which there was a hostile confrontation between him and one of the passengers that got pretty ugly and quite personal. It made me think about the national conversation regarding political correctness and the ways people…
[Authors note:Before you decide that I am utterly daft for such an oxymoronic title as “Kindred Strangers”… although I have been rightly called daft many times… bear with me – you just might be using this expression yourself by the time we are done here.] I needed to pick up a few supplies the other…
It’s not the”stuff” we gain or lose, nor the people that come and go throughout our lives, that define who we are as human beings. It is the person we allow ourselves to become, as the chapters open and close, that says everything about who we really are and what we are really made of.
It’s hard to say for sure what goes on in other people’s quiet minds.
It took every fiber of my being to keep a straight face and nod sympathetically in the hope that – now that she was on a roll – she might elaborate, from a woman’s perspective, on an opinion I happened to quite strongly share.
The waiting area at the bus stop was empty when I got there, and I had about 15 minutes to wait before the number 10 outbound would arrive. Like always, I tucked my cane and backpack under the shelter and settled in to watch the shitshow that was taking place about 30 ft straight in front of me.
I had a flashback to my childhood and all of those Sunday nights that I spent watching “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.” I laughed out loud a little at how much this feeding frenzy reminded me of all those images I saw of buzzards fighting for a spot on a carcass. Watching those seagulls made me feel bad, all over again, for that poor water buffalo that had had the great misfortune of being at the back of the line when the stampede of fear kicked off.
I remember thinking that maybe that’s how the real hell works – an unbearable stretch of torment and misery which is really nothing more then a Purgatory of sorts, intended only to lull you into thinking that it’s not so bad after all and that you might actually be able to survive it… before satan opens the door and you get kicked in the face with the REAL hell.