and celebrate and celebrate Passover properly.
THEN A SMALL MAN LOOKED SQUARE AT ME, shouting: “if you do not behave I will never take you to see a resurrection ever again! As it is I feel reallyvery terrible about the way I forced you to pitch camp and fix all the dressings and it’s all I can do to not gather twelve men and women and travel out into the wilderness and use your guts as a tightrope to cross the canyon and lasso many wild horses which we will ride right into a mighty snowbank. In this sort-of new world economy that will form out of the snowbank, we will both form and join a Yiddish army, living out the rest of our lives in bunny sleepers of sorts. But ones that button up not zip. And they have little beads stitched into them. And they are made out of such nice fabric all anyone would want to do is touch them.
BUT THEY CAN’T!”
THIS IS THE BASIC PRINCIPAL: from the very center point of all ideological projections there exists a village in which all talk, especially very large talk of very large things, is utterly worthless. When I looked at this small man looking at me I said: what are you looking at? And he said “when I was twelve my mother gave birth to a glass box and in that glass box was my father, a very extremely holy man with long hair and a longlong beard baring the color of bronze. And for years we clipped his hair and made baskets and fabric for clothing. But one day our father decided his days as a father and husband had come to an end, and he took off with a tribe of Buddhists into the Peruvian forest never to come out again. Supposedly they were meditating and dissolving into emptiness, but one night he came to me in a dream and told me what had really happened: they had gone to a local DSW shoe warehouse, bought some real-nice-expensive-looking-leather-boots, and moved to the largest city on earth where they walked up and down the sidewalks and onto and off of trains either a.) for the rest of eternity or b.) until they finally come to Jerusalem Street