Going Uptown
by Jason Nelson
There are five of us. Well, maybe there is only me sitting by myself.
Or quite possibly there are twelve asking for more chili and more
plates, more conversations about others who haven’t arrived. Aside from
the numbers, aside from who is, or isn’t here, are the chairs. The need
to sit is what makes all of us much, so much more compatible. And
watching those who have to stand is the only act left making me happy.
Concussion:One
I like to watch it snow. Air forms water forms ice forms geometry. But
it doesn’t snow here anymore. Not because it’s too warm or too dry. Not
because someone built a towering pup tent ten-thousand miles wide. Not
because just because. Instead, this place, alone among all places, has
banned geometric shapes. It wasn’t the people who lived in this place,
or the super-smart chimps at the university lab, who banned geometry.
But rather it was the place itself who was angry with angled corners and
diameters. Oh yes, using the word “who” is appropriate for this bitter
landscape. When the soil and buildings and weather patterns, all the
interlocking entities that create a geographic parcel, decide to banish
squares, circles, triangles and straight lines, that place becomes
human. Sure, this new human will weigh millions of tons, and die of
thirst before enjoying any of our animalistic fleshy pleasures. But
being briefly human is something even the snow wishes as it swirls down
to taste our tongues.