I return to the scene of crime, a hound dog nose fixed to the contours of half-awake thought for something did happen in those years, a decade ago, even if there is no knife on the cobble stones, and no huge shadows on the walls painted by dawn-blush, to solve the puzzle of waking sweats, which unlocks as soon as the eye opens but taints the days with the dread of failure: there I am forgetting all the answers to tests I am supposed to take; there I am clothed in the cloak of shame; there I am as this swollen monster with a whale-tongue; there I am in a room smelling of sperm blurring the lines between pleasure and pain; there I am, the aspiring nice person turning pathological, a butcher dealing exclusively in pounds of heart-flesh; there I am under a red sheet of fire but as cold as Lenin mummified in his Red Square glass-box; there I am in a landscape - a suspension bridge in fog, to be precise - where I don't really know who I am or who he is, he who dreams those spectral dreams for me.

I came to know about you only in the passing, a stray, days-old newspaper picked up on the F train. It simply said you jumped, you suicided. No picture or a life story (other than your last job: security guard) to go with description of the jump (a leap of eight floors, three or four seconds of air)

What this city grants us is anonymity and loneliness, even in dying, as it does in these subway window-reflected lives: a woman reading stories to her daughter, another woman reading a pocket bible, a busker with his guitar sleeping off his wailing through the rush hour press of swamp heat, a young couple, obviously in that green flush of love, whispering, unaware how soon there might be nothing left to say to each other.

So I bless you brother, and give you these words, these drowsy bodies in motion, this hour of quite Brooklyn summer you will not be able to feel under your consumed skin, with the hope someone else will be here, to say a kaddish for me when I jump.

This post at Within-Without made me return to this cover medley of BoneYUM songs fronted by Lola Kutty:

How many desi children have been brain damaged as a result to dancing to BoneYUM would be a interesting thing to figure out. Meanwhile enjaay!