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often to be tiny town is wearing a hat that is continually shrinking.
the accompanying effects on the flow of blood to the brain makes integration easy. inside outside it's all the same.
i keep having curious conversations with people.
late saturday night, late here referring to an entirely relative idea, 11 pm on a saturday night can be late in tinytowntime, i found myself talking to a bald man outside a local pub. i think he said to me: "i often find myself above people. once in oregon i started a men's group. do you ever feel that way?"
i did not know how to respond to him as i did not know what once having started a men's group in oregon felt like, though i have read "iron john" and afterward remember feeling "what a fucking stupid book" so i could empathize maybe.
perhaps this exchange is an indication of the degree to which i feel integrated in tiny town. perhaps it just happened. perhaps the entire memory is made up and speaks more to the effects of the continually shrinking hat than to anything else.
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a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle
spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear
it make you sick.
-kamau brathwaite
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