Thursday, May 21, 2009
Forty nine is seven squared
My brother John would have turned 49 today. Now that's a number. Four. Tea. Nine. Fifty less one.
You've got your 4, which is 2 squared; and you've got your 9, which is 3 squared. Then you've got 4 + 9, which is 13, and you don't want to mess around with 13. You've got to be careful with 13, but it's right on the ass of 49, like I just showed you.
You're probably not thinking about 5, but it's here. 9 - 4. There's your five. Just glance over your shoulder. Five is quiet, but with the sort of power it's swinging, why should it draw attention to itself? Five knows everything about every other number. Just dig how it's wrapped itself around 49.
(shhh. here's a secret. numbers are really characters in your life. really. I know what I'm talking about. I've seen these guys. careful.)
The stunning thing about that photo is the uncanny resemblance John would have to Dad later in life.
(this post is teetering on the edge of a giant glass.)
When people see that picture, they often think it is Johnny holding a baby. Nope. That's Dad holding Johnny. Dad's about 21 or 22. John is 30 or 31 in the picture at the top of this post. Now say "ricochet." Say it out loud.
You never think you'll be dealing with a word like posthumous until you're dealing with a word like posthumous. When it arrives, you stare at it and blink a few times, then you just sort of swallow it whole because there is no other choice.
(confidential to all you writerly types out there: ain't second person grand?)
I apologize. I'm doing the best I can. But with the giant glass and the 49 and the squares and the second person; with everything ricocheting around, it's not easy. Sort of like being alone in a crowded room or a really bad song lyric that you can't stop singing.
John's last posthumous novel will be published later this year by Akashic Books. Here's a link.
There is more to be said about Better than I can fit into this post or, more accurately, into this day, the space around me or the space inside of me.
All the writing will eventually make it to the wall. But it will have to wait until the five stops shouting and the snapshots close back upon themselves.
To that end, I shall leave the conclusion of this post in more competent hands: