heartcartwheels land heavily, with a thump, in the snow.

Jumeux

These are photos of my brother.

You thought it would be simple; it is extraordinarily complicated.

Thanks, goodnight.

Fuck it’s cold.

Okay… which way?
Which one is it?
Shit.
Okay, ok… okay there is the florist, turn down there. It’s on the same side as the florist.
Not here, it’s past the Italian restaurant.
What’s the number?
Not here… the keypad has a grey sensor on it.
Not this one.
That one!
Excellent!! Great!!
Shit.
Whats the code..?
It starts from the bottom of the keypad.
7 or 8 or 9….
8 sounds right. Yeah, 8.
8, something, something, something ,1.
Fuck.
Is it on my phone….maybe. I messaged it to someone.

Menu
Up, up, left, Messages.
Down, down, down, down, Sent Messages.
(empty)

SHIT. Why didn’t I change the settings when I got this thing. I’ll do that when I remember.
Phone back in bag.
Bag….WALLET!
Its in my wallet! They wrote it down for me!

Receipt, receipt, money, receipt with code on back

Okay: 85a1

8click 5click aclick 1click.
Big click.
Push.

thank god

warm.

Finally Inside.

Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to begin.

the old man and the key

I was walking to the train yesterday. There was an old man walking too, along in my direction. He was hunched and I couldn’t see his face.
On the platform I saw he had his house key on a chain around his neck. Someone had thought of that, maybe him, maybe someone who loved him. If it was him then he knows that he’s getting old - if it was someone who loves him then they know too, and probably are worried. With his key around his neck they know that he might get lost but that he’ll never lose his key.
On the train when I sat down in the seat, I found that I was directly opposite the old man. When he sat I could see his face.
He wasn’t nearly as lost and dazed as I thought he would be.
His face was red from the cold, and wrinkled and creased like a cartoon.
He was alert, even if his eyelids did seem too bulky, opening and closing slowly and heavily.

He knows where he is. He is aware. He’s independent.

He was dressed like he was homeless, big old boots, big old coat.

Clothes to fight off the cold

- but I could tell by his face, by his hair that he wasn't not.
Then I saw his hands.
After he awkwardly pulled off his gloves, I saw swollen knuckles, red, purple and strained. Arthritis. Joints that look like searing, nagging, shaking pain.
But he’s aware. He’s alert. He’s watching each stop. Big, slow eyes scanning the map. Calculating his departure.
I watched him till he saw me watching.
When he was gone and I was still on the train I remembered the key around his neck.
I don’t think he wore it because he was too old and dim to keep track of it. I think was so that he could get to it easily - without having to fold and bend his arthritic joints. He wasn’t worried about losing the key. He wanted to avoid the painful, awkward dance of trying to fish his house key out of deep coat pockets, alone in the street, when he gets home.

Le jour n'est pas plus pur que le fond de mon coeur.

By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only

There is a lot to be learned from this.

For a second, the sky was mine.

Credit where credit is due

crane by Odette.