I HAVE A DREAM

I began by putting T-shirts out in front of the spirit of Coffe's College in Harvard square. Does a house get to have a spirit when it is torn down? I would like to think so. I made some new friends: a magician, a hustler, two scholarly women, and five peripatetic Christians. For the magician I rolled the dice and asked it how many people were standing here. It rolled two. He showed me how to turn a penny into two quarters (a good trick if you want to do laundry) but this was a slight of hand trick. The real magic was when he told me about using the plasma state of hydrogen atoms to bond metal to a rod. This I could not do but I am more interested in the science than the sleight of hand. "How did you do that" he asked about the die. I told him the die was magic. He said I was magic and I agreed that we were magic. "by perceiving the die we are changing it, we are participating in the toss, the toss is random, if we know this and know enough about theoretical physics and we use our subconscious we can affect the randomness in the system of 'die toss.'" He gave me a card and told me I was a magician. I liked this. The card reads: "Magician's Laws"
1. Practice all tricks and routines before presenting to the public, then practice again.
2. Never repeat a trick or illusion
3. Never reveal magic secrets (except to other magicians)
I will now go to magicians hell for sharing this but I told him I am a scientist, and scientists share their knowledge. (I will never tell anyone how to turn a penny into two quarters).

The Hustler was not as much a hustler as an entrepreneur named Carlos. I recently learned that a Hustler is someone who makes an honest living using whatever he/she can. This is opposed to a "business man," who makes a living using whatever he can (notice I left out the word "honest" and "she"). He wanted a T-shirt but I did not have 5XL (yet).

Both women were very beautiful and scholarly looking (which made them much more beautiful) they arrived at different points in my "hustle." They both enjoyed seeing my work around town which I denied having done at first. For one I made a "Not Art" piece. She was very happy and she gave me $2 which was great because I was very hungry. The other wanted a T-shirt with TON TRA stenciled on it. I can do mirror images well so I will get her a purple one (purple is the Zeitgeist color).
I admired the staff with crucified Jesus which a girl was holding with her friends. They were WALKING from Maine to New York spreading the word about bringing Christianity back to goodness. They were great people and were the most open minded and amazing Christians I had ever met. They gave me a rosary and we attracted many other people who wanted to talk and learn about Jesus. It was very cool. They were not at all judgemental about my differing views. They were filled with compassion and this is all Jesus ever wanted. One young man who spoke with them told me about a place to get dinner at the church that night. It was what some might call a soup kitchen. I was hesitant but I went. It was a very humbling experience.
Mixed emotions circled through my glucose starved brain. "do I deserve to eat there?" "What if they think I'm not poor enough?" "I'm going to a soup kitchen" I had to override the stigma attached to that expression. I arrived at the church behind the graveyard. A man told me to go in through the door and up the stairs. The empty church smelled of old books and the silence held an echo too large to but into words. The lights were low and one man sat reading amongst the other empty pews. I removed my hat. Then searched for the stairs. The doors in the vestibule were all latched and locked. I trusted the man outside but I could not find any way to get upstairs so I walked outside again. On the right hand side of the church there was another door, open and bursting with life. It was a hall where Martin Luther King had spoke. He was depicted byzantine style, gold haloed, and holding a number as if for a mug shot, behind him there were bars. If this sounds ironic I can assure you it was not. This was a beautiful work of art which taught me that King was persecuted many times for resisting unjust laws, before he was killed in 1968. He is a hero of mine and his dream is my dream. I wished to see all those men and women in that hall emancipated from a society which oppresses them. All these beautiful people who peacefully gather to eat, I wish to see them with homes and the compassion they deserve from all the rest of society. At least we can take care of each other. The man who told me about the soup kitchen invited me to sit with him because I was frightened. He had decided to live on the streets for the summer before his last semester at Harvard. He had an incredibly soothing presence and strength. When I spoke of my discovery that a mirror neuron disorder (the biological basis of empathy) was the cause of many mental illnesses and the implications this had for society, he either thought I was crazy, or more likely did not want to talk about this at dinner. I wonder if maybe he thought this kind of talk was inappropriate with our company. I think it's a good idea to talk about these things in all environments. So much of the problem of oppression has to do with information not getting to the right sources. If we could help to empower those around us maybe we could empower the world. Oh well, I have a dream and he has his, and it is the same. I ate a lot of bread.
After dinner I went to an "Artists Way" meeting. It was inspiring although they were reading a book which encouraged creativity. If I were any more creative I would end up in a mental hospital again. I have to read a book about magically turning art into food when no one will even feed you for your art... yet. I know my art is good enough but people seem to just not see anything around them. It's like trying to teach a horse with blinders on to see a carrot next to it's head. Oh, and the horse has cotton stuck up it's nostrils too.
I left right on time. I knew I was on time because the traffic lights were all changing green when I approached them. When I arrived at Redline for a Weekly Dig party the soft beat of live jazz wafted up while I smoked a cigarette. It got me right into character although I was hungry again. I ordered a water and focused on the music. The drummer was sick, his thoughts danced like fireflies as he composed, somehow managing to drum out a concerto in a solo. When they started to pack up, I sat down. I waited, listened to the DJ and zoned out trying to ignore my hunger. Thirty minutes later I knew what to do. I gave my card with a NOT ARTed Dig cover to Daniel Day and we connected on the 2012 metaphysical ball drop. It's good to find a friend.
I couldn't get anything to eat. I went to three places at closing and nothing. When I went to Bukowski's Tavern I gave the door guy my ID and he told me to sit anywhere. "I'm sorry but I'm reeeeealy hungry but I have no money, could I maybe trade a T-shirt for something to eat?" The waitress looked at me like I was crazy. "We don't give food away for free." she said. "okay thank you." But I wasn't asking for food for free you stupid fucking bitch. You know I'm sick of living in a society where people have no difficulty treating others with disrespect. She didn't even have a hint of interest in what I was doing. I'm feeling a little pissed about it right now so I'm going to go take a piss and get it out of my system.
I was very angry when I left because I was hungry and when I'm hungry I sometimes spell hungry- a.n.g.r.y. The wind and rain completed the picture. Instead of being against me the weather is usually a reflection of how I'm feeling. This wind was pissed. I got home ready to reel against my roomate for stealing that T-shirt I was supposed to sell, but fortunately Carol cooked some pizza. I relished it, she is a great cook. Then I started this blog and when I looked up Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. I decided to watch his speech. It is the most passionate work of art I have ever heard, his voice, like Stravinsky.
"We have come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of NOW. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. NOW is the time to make real the promises of Democracy... It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment... [it] will have a rude awakening if [it] returns to business as usual."
Hunger will have to wait because for the first time I understand what these words mean. They mean exactly what they say. And NOW is the same NOW as it was then. If anyone has trouble deciphering what is happening NOW and what one should do. Feel free to call me at 508.280.8012 I will gladly explain how I see it, but be prepared to have me ask you "we'll sit and talk over a sandwich, which you can pay for."
"please."