Pointless Man

Yesterday, I was riding the bus with my son when an urban camper climbed aboard with what I assumed was the sum total of his worldly possessions. "Telling stories to teach lessons about Jedi powers. It's about goddamn time," he was saying as he strode past. After mumbling to himself for awhile, he began regaling various passengers with his dogma. I couldn't quite make out what he was saying until he took his gospel to someone in front of me. "What do you think about my flag?" he asked the cornered passenger, pulling at his hand drawn t-shirt. "What do you think about my cross? Seven stars for the seven continents." He sat down. "See, it's not just about Jesus. I'm the second coming, but I'm beyond Jesus. I'm the resurrection of Luke Skywalker. "I finally cracked the Bible!" he happily declared. "I'm not crazy anymore!"

The tiny text at the bottom is about Wang Yangming , a general, governor, and neoconfucianist scholar from the Ming dynasty. He earned the nickname 'Mad Ardour' after keeping his newlywed wife waiting all night long, while he spent his honeymoon in a marathon conversation with a Taoist monk.

My apartment needs new flooring.

West Seattle comprises many streets, most of them winding. Among these are 'Simon' and 'Belmont'. The Internet admits to no such intersection, but in my mind, the corner of Simon and Belmont is sandwiched between The Point and Yellow Submarine . Its people eat hearts and hunt monsters. Its houses constantly play chip-tunes, and will serve you roast ham if you whip them in the right spots. Even shiny vampires avoid that place.

Strolling through my lazy neighborhood, I came to a corner with a clearly marked crosswalk. I stopped, checked traffic, and proceeded over the boldly painted, white stripes. There was a single sedan quickly heading toward me, but there was also several blocks between us. Partway into the street, I could tell this oncoming car and I were going to have an unfriendly meeting if we kept our current rates. I have never been bulky enough to pose a serious threat to a mid-sized car travelling 50mph, but it has been twenty years since I might have been called 'small'. In the middle of a spring day, with a break in the clouds, it would've been hard to miss me crossing a nearly deserted street. "Still," I thought, "maybe he hasn't noticed me." I slowed, raised my hand, and attempted eye contact with the driver... eliciting nothing from the speeding bastard, who had certainly seen me by then. I lifted my hand further, turning it in a salute halfway betwe