XXVII. ...what "in Exile"?

To explain the origin of the "Gotham in Exile" title, I will first mention that it is not something I just extracted from my rear end.

Gotham is, of course, New York City--the city of my birth and where I grew up (and probably won't return anytime soon due to cost of living).

Exile refers to my state of living outside of the city. I still think of myself as a New Yorker, but am currently located in Western New York. Life is cheaper here, but much less convenient for a non-driver.

Hence, "Gotham in Exile" is a good, brief summary of my outlook, and a good indicator of the tone of the material in this journal.

XXVI. Six! Six! Six!

Well, I've finally done it--my sixth post this month! At last, out of the five-post rut.

On an up note, my slide into perdition has temporarily ended--I now have a job. Washing dishes at a local restaurant. This is definitely not my calling, as I have come to learn with each successive shift.I don't know how much longer I can do this one before I break down physically or mentally. I am currently in the market for different employment--I'd like to have another job lined up before this one blows up.

My current project is getting myself an apartment or room to stay. I have already made a couple of contacts in that regard. Things will definitely get interesting over the next couple of weeks.

XXV. What's a Good Person to Do?

Now, I generally believe cultures should be left to their own devices--to develop as they will, and individual people should be free to move about to cultures that suit them. I'm certainly no-one who favors barging into other countries and telling the people there how they must live. Hell, the events of the past five years in the Middle East illustrate vividly the folly and futility of attempting to force a distant culture to live by one's own norms.

However, there are those occasional events that take aback even the most ardent defender of cultural relativism.

Living in fear: Tanzania's albinos

In Tanzania, 25 albinos have been killed in the past year.

The latest victim was a seven-month-old baby. He was mutilated on the orders of a witchdoctor pedalling the belief that potions made from an albino's legs, hair, hands, and blood can make a person rich.

Sorcery and the occult maintain a strong foothold in this part of the world, especially in the remote rural areas around the fishing and mining regions of Mwanza, on the shores of Lake Victoria.

Learning of such horrendous episodes gives even me the fleeting urge to storm Tanzania and engage in a massive re-education campaign.

Not even taking into account the massive discrimination albinos face in Tanzanian society--the thought of people being maimed to death because of superstitious beliefs--of people needing to bury their murdered relatives in concrete coffins to keep raiders away from what remains of the corpses--triggers an affective response of outright revulsion.
In this context, cultural relativism seems to fall away.

Much harder to argue with the right-wingers about intervention, when not
intervening leads to people being hacked to death for ridiculous reasons.

(Man, did I hate typing that.)

XXIV. Round Two...

Yesterday I inaugurated a little writing exercise to help the creative juices flow. It looks like another round of this drill is in order.

Tonight's words: 'grape', 'paper', and 'chain'.

'Grape' brings me back to the fourth and fifth grades. There was this one kid, Christopher S., who would bring grapes for lunch every single day. He also seemed to be snacking on them every other chance he got.

'Paper' is what I often find myself buried under. One of my unfortunate habits involves grabbing every newspaper, magazine, flyer, newsletter, or other printed item, bringing it home, and then putting it down and forgetting about it entirely. I need to stop being such a pack rat, lest one day someone need excavate my living quarters to exhume my festering carcass.

'Chain' reminds me of both the the eagle medallion given to me by my grandfather so many years ago (and which I still have), and the loss of my bicycle several years ago, to theft at the central library in Jamaica, Queens. I had locked it to a traffic signpost right outside the main entrance, and gone inside to do some research. I emerged about two hours later to find it missing. That incident puts me in the ignominious group of folks who have had more than one bike stolen.

XXIII. "These words remind me of..."

The following is a quick exercise, intended to spur on my creative impulses and to get me to write more.

In it, I quickly pick the first three words that come to mind, and just as quickly writing down what these words make me think of.
So, this time the words are 'spell', 'heat', and 'wrinkle'.
---
Ok, so 'spell' bears a noted significance for me...I participated in many spelling bees in my school years, winning my first at age eight. I actually represented my middle school in the annual city-wide tournament for all three years, but was never able to win the whole thing.
The word also invokes a slight ironic twinge within me at the moment, since just mere moments ago while typing this entry I misspelled the word 'exercise' at least three times. My, how things change...

As for 'heat'...1999 in New York City. The hottest goddamn summer I can remember. I don't have any charts or anything of the like, but I wouldn't be surprised if the temperature reached at least 90F each day that summer, and the humidity exceeded 95 percent.

Finally, 'wrinkle'...I hardly (if ever) iron my clothes before leaving the house. However, It is a rare occasion that I find an pernicious crease in my outfit while I am out. Perhaps they are wrinkled when I put them on, but ease out by the time I examine my clothes outside.
Or, maybe it's just that my eyes simply can't pick up wrinkles, and the people I pass in public are secretly having a laugh at my expense.

XXII. Down

Lately I'm finding my motivation low, and my anxiety and depression high. Often the know-it-alls say that you just have to get out there and make do, but sometimes it sounds like "start climbing out of that five-mile trench."

XXI. And Now, in Commemoration of...

AMERICA

1776 - ?