Brief Encounter

I met a woman today in the local grocery store. I knew her from somewhere, and we liked seeing each other after so many years. Then she told me I look different. She asked me if I quit drinking. I told her that I don't drink as much. She smiled. I took her number with a promise to meet and discuss the arts (we're both artists, whatever that means…) I suppose to call her and invite her to coffee, to catch up, you know… but what made me different in her eyes? Was it me getting old? (Common side affects of sad eyes, backing hair, and general indifference) Was it my physical appearance after rehab? (Common side effects of feeling fresh, optimistic and inviting towards life) Was it the time we didn’t see each other that kept her drawing a simpler image of me, and then, when reality hits, it doesn’t feel the same? (Common side effects of disappointment) Well, I will call her just to pry more in this issue of being different - We'll discuss the arts, the weather, recent popular news, and the rest of the usual boredom – I will do anything to prove I am boring, no different than anybody else.

The Virtual Paranoid

The constant need of the virtual paranoid is to be seen and disappear, to be available and to shut down, to be everywhere and nowhere – simplifying the essence of existence to online and offline – pile of 0's and 1's - that are being supplied by our local electric company. The fear of being watched has been well practiced by the virtual paranoid. The Internet is after him – Google, ad makers, the government, hackers, Microsoft, and terrorists – all chase after the virtual paranoid, and they all want to bring him and his virtual space down.
But the virtual paranoid is meaningless. He will neither act nor cooperate. He is a prisoner of actual solitude within the virtual space he created. His real life logic can be summarized in online and offline too, he tends to demand his needs in a click. Can his parts be replaced?

The American Theatre of Mr. Madoff

Tragic heroes have always captivated the mind of the play writer. From Shakespeare to Kushner, the principal and definition of a tragic hero have remained intact. A tragic hero is doomed to fail. The play’s situations and circumstances close on him like a trap, not allowing him to escape his fate. His flaws are human – it can be pride, stubbornness, ignorance or “emotional blindness” to name a few. These tragic flaws lead him to misfortune and inevitable disaster. Every tragic hero has a moment of recognition in which he becomes aware of his flaw, but it’s too late to change anything - he is walking with open eyes towards his doom.
Bernard Madoff is a tragic hero. As a former ruler of his ever expanding financial kingdom, Mr. Madoff allowed himself to take some risks on the expense of his subjects. The people shall prevail as long as their king is protected by cushions of money. Mr. Madoff and his two sons are part of the current original tragedy of Wall Street – A rich, smart, Jewish family gone bad on ponzy scheme in the midst of the financial crisis. Mr. Madoff, the father, try to hide his sons deceptive deeds by taking all the blame on himself.
The moment of recognition had not yet come to Mr. Madoff. The tragedy had not concluded. Only when he will realize his crimes he will understand his flaw – the one great flaw of the true American theatre on Wall Street – Greed.

On The Island

On the underground train just can’t stop it not even on Sundays when everything seems to be relaxed fourteen street union square the announcer of the plan making you think there is a structure to everything all I can think of is the great poets and novelists with their Daedalus and Bloom and Tzesar and Madeleine cookies and how I wish to have one percent of their talent but I guess my fellow riders on this train wish it too for themselves and how much talent can you fit in one car not much I guess last night I also took the train but it was different different people the night people and the day people in their never ending chase sometimes they mix and the day people becomes the night people and you can never really tell which is which but for me it’s all the same because they’re all in the business of making it struggling to survive in a cold hearted city which is like the internet which is great if you have a computer but useless if you don’t and in this city everyone wants that computer or something else they can own twenty third street this enigmatic voice announces just to draw the attention of specialist riders those who don’t need his services they can smell the odor of each street and decide for themselves if they will stay or leave the car some get out of the car just to get into a different one and the cycle continues all like ants in Ayn Rand’s megabook trying to achieve something they don’t really know about and they are all sure they’re going to find it here on the island because here all the currencies are flying and the successful people and the glamour and the movies and Tiffany’s and Broadway and here he wrote and here they shot this scene and here is the runway of the ritzy world looks like rats the dirtiest kind twenty eight street going up my head aches it’s hard to think in broken English and I wonder how many are there like me who struggle with a foreign tongue just to impress the money men and their lovely wives and it’s like a prison in this island trying to please them the masses the subway riders to succeed to succeed means that you have to sell you have to be more clear you have to stupidify your work just that you’ll get more points just that you’ll market the reflection of yourself it’s not about you anyways it’s just about the things you can sell for them thirty third street and my mind is boiling I want to go to a different island where you can live proudly above the ground an island that is mine and I can stand still without the fear of missing a train to do my own thing without the recognition everyone is striving to build something unique and original of my own to start a family to have conversations that are not about money or the rent or the weather always the fucking weather and people are dying even on this island and being tortured on a neighboring island and the constant drill is the weather that what will help us keep our sanity Grand Central I’m getting off I don’t know where I’m going but I can’t stay on this train it’s making me sick and the pain is crawling all over my body I’ll just wait for the next train maybe some new thoughts but then there’s a girl on the platform singing along with her ipod it’s your birthday we’re gonna party like it’s your birthday and I feel happy for her because she doesn’t know about my half baked thoughts and I don’t know about hers and I can only guess that she’s happy so maybe she thinks the same way about me and we both stand still next to each other on the island waiting for something to happen