“You have to make the good out of the bad

because that is all you have got to make it out of.”

                                                                                             Robert Penn Warren

holding up a slice of an orange crescent moon which burned in his fingertips like a

black-arts candle

                             he wondered if Warren had seen the lean Hermits lantern shining

through the dagger trees that ran atop the ridge  

                                                                               that jumped   and fell to the valley floor

an imaginary dotted line  - - -  where it may have existed had the ancient sea not eroded it 

or the planets tectonic plates had not turned ninety degrees on end and sank slowly  

expectantly   into the soft forgiving seabed  - - -  the imaginary dotted line ran to the

horizon   to the distant western ridge that clipped and etched the deep-blue nights sky

                                                                                               the Hermit gazed

back from their long fearsome wanderings with the things they had sought

those desperate things they carried

to share and impart to their querents who would not shy from their filth and neglect

                                                                                                  those things

                                                                                                not easily won

either taken by force in battles gambling they could win  or stolen like a rat at grain

when numbers they faced were too overwhelming  or the emergent skills were wiser

not to stand against   

                                                                                                   now theirs   

their back bent their head misshapen 

they knew what they could not have possibly known 

that they would be approached   and engaged

  

                          as if noses were turned to their breath  a fragrant absinthe   

or their footsteps were heard sounding softly on long-ago mountain fresh snow or

newlyfallen coloured leaves astir by their breath at the forests feet as they slept  or the

devoted whispers of their sandals as they shuffled on lightning-white ribbons and

curled reams of blue sea

                                        simmering on amber sand

Warren 

had he seen the Hermit

was the Hermit his reflection

or was he watching me

                                      watching him                 

                                                                         growing the good from the bad

1509,  Twosday,  1  7. 14

itd been awhile since he sported a shiner

What   did you do get in a fight

Yah

suddenly theres this vague unease 

a skittishness

and after very little time it becomes a blatant discomfort

he wasnt going to say anything more the ensuing silence the discomfort didnt belong to him 

it wasnt his question he simply answered it

                                                                                   they excused themselves and left

and that was alright with him  

hed be damned if he was going anywhere 

as if he should be ashamed or apologize for having gotten into a fight  nary askd the reason

for the fight

violence has a remarkable way of making other people uncomfortable

coloring the one bearing the bruises as either stubborn  or irrational

Really  what rational person gets into a fistfight

You dont think theres a rationale that precedes a fight  And whoever said it was a fistfight

Theres no need for violence               

he could smell the condescension

None huh  Youve lead a sheltered life  Always at the front of the line to shake hands after a team competition  huh

Theres nothing untoward about that  Its a healthy display of sportsmanship

Excuse me my mistake first in line to shake hands  Youve never been in a fight

I have not

You know I would have preferred you had simply said no then I could have held out that you had though such an admission now wouldnt truss your point

No  I have not

I believe you  You make me worry for young men growing up  You promote passivity  a lack of passion

I think youre wrong to associate violence with passion

I do  Ive had sex that was damn near violent  I think the vernacular is  rough  You havent have you

I dont talk about my sex life

Im not talking about my sex life Im talking about violence and passion  Put simply is there anything you feel passionately about that you would fight for

Id have to think about it

Dont bother  Passion isnt about thinking  Its reaction lust emotion and sometimes if youre lucky you get away with only black eye for your trouble

So you find violence worthwhile  Your violence doesnt impress me

Youre ignorant  My black eye isnt to impress a fuckin soul  I fought to offset odds 

four on two improves on four on one  I take it youd call someone in authority on your cellphone to manage the four on one  And I dare say youd be the first to call it in too

We choose our fights

Please stop youve never chosen   Ever

maybe a conversation would have gone that way

but they excused themselves and left

                                                                                            he wasnt going anywhere

between 1430 and 1500,  Twosday,  27  11. 12