Homeless in Paris Homeless in Paris | Page 53

B"H World Stage I was wandering like a lost child, looking at every passer -by as a source for security, continuity with humankind. I did not hang around in my living quarters during daylight hours, but took to riding "writing busses" and walking around from morn ing until nightfall, going into coffee shops and engaging anybod y everywhere to communicate any thought I wished to express. I actually aroused a stir since life in the digital age is programme d into co mputer software, which thereafter takes on a significa nt imagery for a pixel journey into the investigatory peepers of urba n authority. I caused a sensation on so many monitors i n such a variety of poses and scenarios that I could have just as well played on the stage in Vegas and replayed in Hollywood movie theaters. We shall, and at least are warned to approach emotiona l sensations with the proper respect - at the risk they'd otherwise become bereft of any value they could have. A person in the modern society can lose connectivity with his kindred, be forgotten, discombobulated into time past, and of purposefulness nevermore; to any extent whatsoever, our significance as huma n beings reduced to electronic transfers on a monthly basis , or digital social network. People believing that personal identit y depends on being reme mbered after death should recall the fact that this desired reme mbrance is played out only in his absence; posthumously. It's being what we were doing when we are alive in the sense of To Be : in name, function, and characteristics. I AM has neither form nor shape relative to the present, life but a fleeting essence of the recall regarding the deceased amongst whom I am destined to be. Of the me morable search and import episodes begins with my streamlined train ride beyond the Bay, and into th e bus station nea r East Bay where I had arranged a meeting. The deal was I am to be picked up at the end of the workday, so I could spend the night with family. I prefer ignorance ; to acting as if I know something , when I really don't, so I set out early e nough not to be late for the appointed time. I am very picayune about always being punctual; I arrived with two hours to amuse myself until gathered from that island bus station smack dab in the middle of the road . Didn't catc h unto vibes that drew me to s troll about, only possible e scape into the journal of mental palpitations . That's exactly what I intended when I whip out my notebook, and started writing . I mean some 53