10 April 2020. Near Miss.
I think I just did a passover drawing—but actually it’s a homeless guy on a bicycle who just about clipped me as I was making my way up Solano, walking in the street. I didn’t hear him coming, and when he passed—inside me, next to the curb, it was quite a surprise—just the whoosh of his bike, and a glimpse of his dark garments and worn knit cap. I took it all in in an instant, stepping farther out into the street, reflexively holding my breath. How strange, to live in a time of these micro-particles—where tiny invisible fragments of amazingly advanced genetic material can leap (aha, another failed metaphor) from one body to the next—in this case, from his to mine, with unanticipated consequences. I was on the right-hand side, so his approach was warranted, but still, I think in retrospect that he was playing with me—like the woman in the market who coughed intentionally over the meat bin and they had to throw away $35,000 worth of packaged beef. Never mind that such beef represents environmental folly of the first order—the fields and feed required for its production being the ruination of the atmosphere—
methane released, calories burned to add those marbled layers of fat…
And tonight is the seond night--we read from Exodus, Chapter Twelve, the story of the pesach lamb, that same word—pesach--and I shall pass over the houses of Israel...
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Indian photographer this morning--black and white pictures from Kashmir, "A land of permanent sorrow." I think of Kingfisher's Fire, the Rumer Godden novel that I read with B, towards the end. How much in it that was beautiful. We both found it so...
