I read this article last night, and it moved me. At many points I had to fight tears away from my eyes while on the job.


By ALEX KOTLOWITZ
How did a political refugee who became a popular cafe owner in a small Michigan town suddenly become a terrorist in the eyes of the government? A post-9/11 story.

This article was the frosting on the amazing cake that was my weekend.
Friday night dynamite resumed with it's third sessions still great and strong. My black chips beat Rachel's white chips on the Othello table, and it was my very first time.
I lost my money playing poker again, but the dynamics of this game were worked out differently and with the no buy in pot, it was a bit more tammed. For me at least with my usual 3 buy ins. I am glad to report that even though I didn't win, Mathew didn't win either!
Not that I am against him but at that point he was starting to be a NY Yankee and I was becoming a yankee hater. The ones that just hate on the Yankees because they win a lot. I teased him about his NCAA team losing, but I really don't care about that sport either way. I'm sorry for teasing you Mathew.

Saturday afternoon I woke with power, jumped in the shower and closed my mind off of all problems hovering over my head like a moroon cloud of brimstone. Or maybe a soft hue of crimson. I thought of the greatest place to hang that cloud. I dressed and jumped on the 2, with one destination in mind. I was strapped with music, empty paper, pen, and books, so I was ready for any war. It becomes difficult for me to leave my house to do something for and by myself, but on Saturday I pushed, and forced myself to do what would bring me a smile. I don't just mean streaching my mouth in polar directions.
I walked into the park with a chicken salad sandwich, and a bottle of water. I ate by the lake while doing a highwire act on a horizontal tree bark, and jolted my body into movement. I started climbing rocks and hills as if I were Indiana Juan. The Ramble is a wonderful place for an adventure. With your eyes closed and the child side of the mind open, you can be in any jungle, or in any wooded fairy tale. I was just in my music, became the drums and the beats and the electronic pulses that pushed from one headphone through my head and pushed onto the other as they played power tennis back and forth through my head. I think people were looking as I walked and danced and jumped as if I were a kid with no way to every feel shame, or embarrassment. I finally decided to climb one hill that was split in half by a stream that led directly into "The Lake". It was like a niche in the middle of a mountain that could give you enough space to hide from the entire world. while still admiring all of it's many mysterious beauty. Somewhere in the middle of this virtual canyon, there was a huge rock that which lay one side on ground and one side hovering a few feet over the stream. I decided that I should discover that rock and called it plymoth part duex. I layed down on the rock and as soon as I was comfortable the sun came through beaming like Madonna's ray of light and gave me the energy of Seven Nation Army.
I held DJ Diesel Boy in my head, with the fastest, dardest, extreme Drum and Bass ever created.
That Rock was so theraputic for me, at such a low low price. At one point I took a short nap on the rock, then I chatted on the rock with my sidekick (sounds crazy or nasty depends how you read it), created or began to create a kick ass poem. At one point, against my better judgement, I got up and began to dance on the rock. At first I danced slowly and in one spot because of the fear of falling. After a while, the music took over and I started jumping and weaving, and doing steps larger than the rock. I must have looked like a lunatic, I really got into the steps and music, and I even did it with my eyes closed for about 3.2657 minutes. Give or take a decimal. I knew then that I was alive. Knew that every suicide poem ends with a day like this. A day that reminds me of why I still put up with this life and all of it's atrocities. Every breath I took filled me with joy, and an energy that I could never aquire with any type of upper narcotic (stimulants). I later walked more of the park and saw the Roller-skate/blade-ers at the skate dance circle right behind sheeps meadow. It brought back such fond memories that I am sure two tears were born from the memory. Happy tears, and happy thoughts and dancing and more dancing while some smiled, some laughed but none resented. I was born again. My park is my lazarus pit. Ponce De'Leon was looking for the fountain at the wrong place and wrong time. Even now with a day that is less than desireable than rose thorns accross my face, I find a weird joy at recounting my euphoric experience. It erases ever stupid remark, comment, or atitude that I recieved today. I don't know how long it will last but goddamn, as soon as the bad mood arrives, I'll drag it with me back to neverland, lazarus pit. I love that place, I love the sun, I love nature that is easy to escape. The other day I veiwed my first real racoon in that park. How cool is that? I didn't have to run or anything. If I would have been in west carajo land with no city near me I would freak out.
When I'm in the park and not familiar with a ceritain direction all I have to do is look up and around, and everything falls back into place, just like a jigsaw puzzel. What a splendid escape. Who wants to take a tour of my Park? I wont even charge.

The reader doesn't need to know anything else about this weekend, because those few hours can out shine any day or week for that matter.

Life is dope when it's dope. Blah Blah Blah... Blah!