Why Everything Takes Too Long and No One Can Actually Know History, or Anything Else, Probably

I left Cafe Evolution
to get back on my bike
and head home,
but I noticed
that my bag of groceries
was missing,
so I looked around,
asked if anyone had seen it,
nope, oh well,
and I was in
a bad mood already,

so I ride home thinking,

"What kind of asshole
steals a loaf of bread
and a bottle of vitamins
out of a crappy looking bike?"

and trying to be reasonable:

"I guess they probably
needed it badly,"

but veering away from that
to thinking about how
I would have caused
them harm if I
caught them in the act,
then veering away
from THAT
to thinking
that maybe somehow
I deserved to have
it stolen from me
because my white people
took land from the Indians,
and then fantasizing about
posting about the theft on FB
to get some sympathy
but thinking
that's probably
too self indulgent and lame
and then fantasizing
about what I will say
to the host of the party
I was going to bring
the bread to,
like,

"Somebody stole it
from my bike!
I was too discouraged
and sad and broke
to go buy another one,
so I didn't bring anything.
I hope that's ok,"

but thinking that's
probably lame too,
but maybe not,
if said relaxedly.

Alright, well,
I get home
and check FB
and they had found the bag
under a car at the cafe!

So I biked back
to get it
and I'm thinking again
the whole way,
like,

"How did it get under there?
Maybe some asshole
was hiding it to get later."

or maybe someone
was being "kind"
by taking my bread
out of the sun,
which sounds
absurd now,
but was convincing then,
who knows why.

Then it clicked in my brain...

the bike basket had been
tilted oddly to one side...

the bike must have fallen over,
the bag fell out,
rolled under the car,
and someone
righted the bike after...

but of course
I started imagining
that maybe they
were pissed off
about not having
enough room
on the bike rack,
so they probably
roughly shoved my bike
around on purpose.

"What kind of
fucking asshole
does that???"

Then I guess I calmed down,
because I got my stuff back,
and I decided
to try and record
all the details

(and of course
I left out tons,
forgot so much, etc)

of this one incident,
one afternoon,
one man
and his thoughts,
his misinterpretations
and imaginings
about something so trivial,
in order to show
why everything takes too long
and no one can actually
know history,
or anything else,
probably.


-Jim DuBois
September 4, 2015

I Remember Richard

He used to say,
"I'm the only
Jewish Indian!"

Born in Brooklyn,
he'd gone and lived
at Pine Ridge reservation
back in the '60s or '70s
and gotten to be
one of the tribe
somehow.

I met him at
Fire & Water,
and we would talk
about things I mostly
don't remember now,
except that he had
spiritual things to say
about ordering pie,
like,

"We pay not for goods
and services,
but out of kindness towards
the people who worked
at making it,"

and,

"Since we are only
here for a short time,
it's important
to enjoy things like pie."

He was also the one
who told me to read
Lame Deer, seeker of visions,
because I think he knew
Lame Deer personally,
and that book's the reason
I say hello to squirrels
out loud now.

Richard was one of those friends
you'd see randomly
at the cafe,
so its hard to say
when the last time
I saw him was,
but its been a while now
since Fire & Water
even existed
and he was old back then,
so who knows
where he's gone to now,
and I'm not sure why
he came to mind
all these years later,
but here is
my message for him
wherever he is:

"Shalom aleichem,
Toksa ake waunkte."


-Jim DuBois
Aug 30, 2015

words on a page

This Sad/Beautiful World

This
      sad/beautiful
                  world

where
      everything/nothing
                  matters

and we live forever
      and only a day.


-Jim DuBois
July 30, 2015

Giving Up the Search

If we could give up
our search for perfection,
"the one",
that perfect place,
that perfect time,
that perfect person,
and accept the good
in what comes our way
or create good
in the here and now
when we need to,

we could embrace
more fully
these wonderful days and lives
we've been given,

but to accept now,
to accept that
there are no perfect people,
not even any perfect lives
or perfect moments,
is to lift up
your broken heart,
your old wounds,
those ancient fears and frustrations,
those delusions you labor under,
and say,
"This happened.
I can't fix it.
I can't change the past.
I didn't like it.
The world is not perfect.
Bad things happen in it.
There is suffering,
and pain,"

and that's harder than it seems,
but you can pause a moment,
and add,

"but there is goodness.
I have seen it.
I have done it.
I have been it."


-Jim DuBois
July 28, 2015

Writing by Hand

Writing by hand
at The Roost,
I counted twelve laptops,
and noted it down
with this everyday pen
and cheap notebook.

Writing by hand
is fun.
I enjoy it more than
typing on a computer.
I like sometimes
misspelling a word
and not having
an instant correction.
It takes some of
the professionalism
out of art
and life.

I'm not against technology either.
I will probably type this up
for publication on my blog.

I like using computers,
and tablets,
and the internet.
I've made some things
I couldn't have made
any other way.

Actually,
pens and writing
are also technologies,
just much older.

Mostly what I am saying
is that different tools
can do different things,
that there is a use and a feeling
you might get out of
whatever you have at hand to
make stuff with.

But it is funny,
something about all the
expensive laptops,
vs my cheap pen and paper.

Probably pens
were an amazing
cutting edge thing
at one point,
but now you can get a dozen
for a dollar
at a surplus store.

I don't think their creative
usefulness has diminished though.
We've just become used to them.


-Jim DuBois
Feb 18, 2012

Now when it rains

Now when it rains,
you can't drive me home


-Jim DuBois
April 3, 2012