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Tuesday, September 18, 2001
By Paul Ford
There's still you.
I'm just about to go out and have a few drinks and say goodbye to my friends in Israel; I'll miss them very much, because they are warm, kind, clever people. Oh, you know, words don't work. They are people who mean a great deal to me, and it stings to leave. It's a sad way to go out, all of us laid off, New York in smoke, Israel even more tense than before. Our shared story ended too suddenly, swish, no smooth conclusion.
Still, most things are the same. Dinner is still being held all around the world, for those who have food. Sheep still give wool. There are still puppies with soft paws, still shirts that are just the right color to bring out your eyes, shirts that look better on you than on anyone else. There is still you.
I still need to clean my apartment and still must eat more fruit. I still need to finish those short stories. I still want to go over to Leslie's and poke Marco's fat belly with my index finger while saying "boop boop boop!"
Leslie Harpold says the Buddhists say “participate joyously in the suffering of the world.” Her cat Marco says, “poke my belly! Poke it! Do your worst!” When things were down, my grandfather used to say, “ah, fuck it, buddy.” After much consideration, and grieving, and many talks with friends who have suffered and will suffer from these recent events, I say, “Fuck it, buddy! Participate joyously in poking Marco's belly!”
That is all. Ftrain will return Monday, when I'm back in NYC.