It was more than a story about injustice. It was about the hero in an ordinary man. This was depicted with realistic and inspiring truth. It admitted the mystery, ambiguity, and fear among the human race but it brought us closer. A journey into our people, our land, our soul. There are few of us. People on earth. With visible souls. Everyday we are caught up with our problems and panics, our failures and foresights. These are the what make the ordinary life valuable. We know this, and we must be apart of it. Happiness is carrying the bag of oranges up the hill for the Chinese hag, giving out that sac of leftovers to dirty Henry who lives beneath the lamppost, listening to the trials of the bulging bus driver, praising the lipstick of the high class prostitute, emailing a bar in Harlem thanking them for the sexy lighting and local band, leaving a smile on the receipt, a CD on the tram, a 5 on the dashboard, a Merlot on the doorstep, a buck in the hat, a kiss on the bitch, a read on the coaster, a smoke on the bench. Those who simply need people. To pursue this beautiful life that some of us are so graced with, so fortunate to have, we often don’t know why and reluctantly wonder what to do with it, never wanting to throw it away.
Tonight Milton watched a film that defined his inner anguish. His uneasiness and social snafus. He mentioned a bit ago about wanting to invest himself in a cause. To a movement, a people, a person, a place. wanting to be the people that people need. He’s going to journey it. Day one started on a rooftop with Nel from the next door garden. A sour box of wine, dominos and Nel’s dog Sitting Bull or Dancing Moon or Morning Wood. Milton beat it after an hour and a dry box, and though he fell off the stairwell coming down, he hit the ground running.
Look for Milton’s story continued in the excerpt “porcelain arrow” next month.