Sometimes, in the early morning, I walk through the grubby backstreets around Central Square, observing the human debris sprawled across long-suffering benches and huddled in urine-dampened concrete alcoves: the indifferent rubble that remains after social conventions are abandoned; apathetic refugees living in the ruins of themselves, once more preparing to sacrifice their day to some sort of grimy Chthonic sewer deity. But I don't observe for very long. These demolished lives are a too visceral reminder of how fragile and precarious standards of living can be. And besides, the smell is appalling. This must be how fresh air feels when brushing against a sweating, fetid armpit: "Get me me out of here!" It's all rather depressing, to be honest. So quickening my pace, past the empty banks and crowded Starbucks, I walk onwards in the direction of leafy Cambridgeport.
Suddenly, a fellow pedestrian and myself are knocked sideways by a wild-eyed jogger wearing Vibram foot gloves and a CoolMax bodysuit. He leaps out from between two parked cars like Spiderman, slams into us, vaults a trashcan and sprints up the street without apologizing, propelled by the obliviously unstoppable force of his own insatiable arrogance. I silently hope that he might trip over the slumbering vagrants and break his neck when he reaches them, but he is unfortunately far too agile to be toppled by such insignificant obstructions. In fact, I suppose he will merely employ their prostate torsos as a series of springboards for extra velocity when running through the thick wall of atmospheric stink.
Now I'm passing the neo-Byzantine stronghold that is the Church of Constantine and Helena, named after the Roman Emperor who relocated the center of civilisation from West to East - always a bad move - and his sainted mother. There is much inconvenient rubble here, too, mostly around the foundations and spilling out onto the sidewalk, although comprised of cascading masonry rather than flesh and blood, and contained by orange colored plastic netting. "Please pardon our appearance during renovations" an adjacent placard pleads. At least there are some indications of polite society this morning.
As you can see, I am making vain attempts to add illustrations to my blog. I would have taken pictures of the vagrants and the jogger, also, but I was afraid of the vagrants and the jogger was too fast. Consequently there is only this rather innocuous photograph of the Greek church. I'm not really sure what purpose it serves, but at least it's something.
Well frankly I blame Emma Lazarus and her winning poem for the Statue of Liberty contest. What did you expect with such a entry?! I quote it in part..."Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..." which is all well and good if it had ended right there, but no it wasn't enough for her, she continued, "The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me"... Well now that we have them who is going to pay for all of their upkeep?! I want to know why she didn't ask for them to send a few more problem solvers and civic minded, to help out with the, "wretched refuse"?!
As to joggers, a study found that you will add exactly five years to your life if you jog, but if you add up your time spent, you will have jogged exactly five years. So ask yourself, do you want to spend five years jogging?! Personally I think of them as, "moving violations".
As to the towering man made edifice, while interesting to look at, could hardly be the dwelling place of an entity that engulfs the universe. Besides He clearly said himself he prefers to walk in gardens in the cool of an evening...
...nor does he dwell in temples made with hands... Not sure when man decided on God containment buildings?! They should have worked more on the, "huddled masses". Just saying...
Posted by: Giric | August 19, 2012 at 13:43
More pictures of orange netting, please.
Posted by: C. Van Carter | August 22, 2012 at 16:07
I was attempting - and obviously failing - to reproduce a Lloyd Mintern style photograph
Posted by: american fez | August 23, 2012 at 14:54
I suppose the jogger was venting some kind of generalized hostility. Once many years ago I was walking on the sidewalk in a black section of Atlanta. As I was passed by a group of strolling black men I suddenly found myself, wind almost knocked out, on the ground. The body block was so swift and astonishing that when I picked myself up and looked back I couldn't tell who had hit me.
Posted by: Anne | August 24, 2012 at 11:37
That's a terrible experience. This guy was just ignorant rather than vicious.
Posted by: american fez | August 29, 2012 at 10:08
we went Division I and stayed at that level a few seasons - stay where you belong." "At Division I," he recalled, "it got to the point where we were meeting St. Joseph and Jason Kidd every year. I decided, well, we'll
Posted by: ran ban wayfarer | November 17, 2012 at 03:29