11.28.2012 - 11.28.2012
Sometimes I will be sitting somewhere, and I will see a large--but not exceptionally large--man walk by and my mind will stick on the idea that the body is a weapon. And the only thing that keeps the weapon (at times tender, at times cruel) in check is society, millennia in the making. But when society breaks down, as it sometimes does, or shows its fissures, which happens more often, the weapon is unleashed. And then another realization sets in: that the body is vulnerable, fragile. It is soft and wet and full of vague impulses. It has dreams and sorrows, complicated ties, the premonition of death. It wants and takes, but it also gives, however selfishly, and it seems a miracle or maybe a twisted joke that such abstraction, such visceral pain, such protective reasoning can also live side by side with the weapon.
By this time the man is long gone, and I am alone with my thoughts.