Are we too close to
wonder about the width of the
stain on the mohair carpet
or the bubbles foaming in the
bottles of sarsaparilla still
uncorked
from celebrating darryl's
first sentence

Friday, March 10, 2006. The beginning of a poem which I actually began yesterday. And I'm not sure why I feel like writing poetry. I haven't for a long time. But last week I went to a poetry site and signed up to be sent a poem a day. But I don't think they sent me anything. Sometimes I read the New Yorker and part of reading the New Yorker, for me, is imagining that one day I might find a story of mine in there, or a poem, or a drawing. Cartoons no. I don't do cartoons, nor do I have any desire to do them. They now have a cartoon competition at the end of each issue, along with the results and winners of prior cartoons. They put a cartoon there - a funny image - and you're supposed to make up a clever saying that fits with the funny image. I also like looking at the covers of the New Yorker. It's not that I don't like funny. Actually, most of the covers are funny and so are the cartoons.

Which brings me to laughter. I guess laughter deserves a poem. Or I could go watch the new film "Madea" which is supposed to be very funny. Two friends of mine told me about this film. The first friend also told me about the author, who used to be this homeless guy. Sleeping on streets or out of his car and everything. So now he's had many of his plays done and had branched out into films. Apparently he's got this wonderful "pad" or mansion even and is looking to marry and have a family. Now that he's got his stuff together.

Some months ago I was into writing essays. I started one entitled "Lil Kim Goes To Jail". And I wanted to write one about snow. SInce then I've printed out many wonderful photos of snow to inspire me. But I think maybe it might be a poem first. Maybe that's what it should really be.

Getting back to laughter. A funny thing happened in the elevator bank last night with one of the attorneys on 28. His name might even evoke laughter if you stretched the definition some. He's a partner, been here for a long time, so I've seen him but never worked for him and even if I had it wouldn't necessarily mean that if we ended up in an elevator bank together he'd say hello. Well the 2 of us were in the elvator area and I had already pressed a button. I was going up. So this attorney pressed a button. He was going down. I think I said hello to him and he did respond. But barely. Finally an elevator came and I went towards it and into it because the globe on the outside was white, indicating up. But then when I was inside I had this weird moment that I was on the wrong elevator. I posed the question and ultimately I got out of the elevator and the attorney got in. So there I am alone and I look at the buttons near the elevators. Only one is lit now and it's the down one. I calculate quickly that the elevator to come is going down, which means the elevator thatg just left was going up and I originally was in the right elevator. And what's amusing is that the attorney is in the wrong elevator. So the elevator arrives, I get in, I wait a minute before pressing the "up" floor and finally the elevator moves and goes up. I was only going up one floor and when I get there and go to get out, who should be just getting out of the other elevator but the attorney who wanted to go down.

It probably doesn't sound very funny - or maybe it does. But it was hysterical. Mainly because it was a partner and he's so serious.

There's another thing I was laughing at last night with another co-worker. Another partner and this one is really quite a sourpuss, is selling girl scout cookies. Seems his daughter's a scout. He emailed the whole firm. Juxtaposing this attorney with girl scout cookies is a riot.

Anyway, The title of this blog is actually, for the moment, the title of my poem.

I hope I finish it. Gordon Parks died this Tuesday. He was 93. A photographer, poet, filmmaker, musician, composer. He did it all. He wrote SHAFT. That's his baby. I want to be inspired by his efforts. I have to be more vigilant and more something else. I can't think of the word. Curious is not really it. I don't want to be at arm's length with myself and my creativity. Maybe that's why I started the poem. It also has to do with being at a distance with other people.