Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Thought on Noam Chomsky

I went to know Chomsky's  lecture last night,  and he was searching for the Galilei problem,  which   since I have been teaching a course at MIT,  I naturally wanted to hear his thoughts.  the basic problem is out of the, at least, three  species -   why does only one of them remain?

The dominant answer -  which I do not agree with,  but it could be correct -  is that it is a neutral allele result,  somebody had to win,  and we were the winner.  the problem with this is that there are a number of contradictions,  because as Kimura pointed out,  there would be no difference between the competing neutral allele solutions -  but there is at least two,  we have no either Neanderthal or otherwise who interbred on that side of the line,  while we do have modern sapiens who  breed  with us -  in other words,  modern humans interbred with extinct lines,  but no extinct lines went the other way.  This means that there was probably some advantage to our modern sapiens line.

Chomsky's answer is different,  in that there is an advantage to the modern sapient line.  he expresses it as the ability to conjoin tools to form a new multivariate tool and use that.  he points out that there is no evidence for   Neanderthal  gaining the ability to speak.  he also points out the pencil,  of the modern type,  as having both a  marker,  and an  eraser.  these he points out are not that much different than could be that communicates by the waggle dance,  while  a nearly related cousin does not use the dance at all.

There are many good points to his topic,  and I would suggest that people read  Barwick and Chomsky's latest work on the topic.  But there are a few points which could be better elucidated, though I am not sure that they have not been discussed.  the first is,  there is a large difference between having an ability,  and using that ability.  The two are not the same.  Having an ability,  like chimps learning how to use language,  but not inventing words themselves.  this means that the chimps have the ability,  but by themselves do not use the ability -  accept at the direction of human beings.  where this is important,  is that all human beings are  descended from about 100,000 years ago,  with a very small number of exceptions -  but so far as we know,  no more than 200,000 years ago.  but multivariate tool usage is only part of the lexicon from about 60,000 years ago -  though this is disputed.  this means,  even on its face,  that the use of the ability  was yet to be discovered for at least 40000  years.  now it may be that it was known about,  and that we simply have not found,  or at least recognized,  the signs of such tool usage.  but the other possibility is that having such an ability was dormant until a mutation made it not as possible,  but a natural part.  Remember,  that the mutation can exist,  while not being mandatory.

This would mean that after earlier human ancestors branched away,  far enough not to be consumed, a new ability  emerged -  Chomsky calling it "merge".  then modern sapiens spread out from Africa, taking with them the new gene as part of their inheritance.  this way,  only modern sapiens could pass on the  gene -  while other earlier humans did not have the ability to.

Their needs to be discussion of this,  and I thought I saw Christopher   in the mix...

北京麻雀 - New York - 9

16
A Chinese Storefront Restaurant
W115 St NYC
2012


If you do not know your way around Harlem, and Especially around West 115 St., it is a very different kind of New York than downtown or Midtown – even at 2 AM, which is the verge of the nighttime ending in this part of New York. There are no toll buildings, and most of the buildings are red or brown brick. And everything happens on the street, between modernist style apartment buildings, and the older style from the waning years of the 19th century and the dawning of the 20th century. 

Everything was casual, and the cars were lower-class American as opposed to upper class European. You might almost think you were in some different city, where the bricks were painted with decorations for products that did not exist. If you looked in to the whole in the wall Chinese place, you would see an array of Chinese workers fixing up dishes which were barely Chinese – in actuality the owners had been in the construction business – knowing very little about preparing food. But preparing food was the only business they could get into once upon a time.

You could also see that two people at a small table were out of place – there close were to good by have for them, there accouterments to polished, her handbag was not for sale in America. It was laden with Chinese style designs, and was the absolute fashion in Beijing. Which, here in Harlem, meant nothing at all. They might have been seated at Amy Ruth's restaurant, or some other establishment catering to the whims of people searching for the down home southern cuisine – or if you prefer “soul food” - which some people had a hankering for. But it was obvious from a dozen details, that though she was tall, she was also not from around here. For one thing, her garb was white, which would not be in line for the season. Then if you listened very closely, you could hear what they were talking about, in this cheap Chinese restaurant stacked within five floors of ornate red brick floors, and white ornamental casement windows sealed with beveled putty. The building remember, was terribly old, though it had been prepared numerous times in the past.

“You have made me wait for such a long time, and it is time that you made a decision. I can go back to China, and forget you if I wanted.” Of course this was the woman voice talking.

“Until you could not, and you would be on my phone pleading with me for the next time I could be with you. But my life has changed, I am no longer a consultant for people wanting to put up buildings. That part of my life is gone now, and we have a different decision.”

“I do not want to lose you, is that so wrong? It is also time to decide whether we want to be married, I might still be able to have children. That is, if you want to be with me. I never have quite known if you do, though I will tell you from when you said that you would leave me – that you were the only one for me. It was like a tide rolling in, and it set a course. Please tell me that it had some of the same effect on you.” her eyes, in all the years that he had seen them, had a look of sadness. Never before had she ever exposed such a vulnerability, and indeed a tenderness. Her voice also was different than before, a trembling and it almost seemed as if she would break. At that point he stretched his hands across the table to comfort her.

At which point the dishes arrived on a plastic tray, who was inordinately not interested in what the two people were talking about. In fact, the No, 1 Chinese restaurant was a good place to end a relationship, or at least have one person admit they wanted to play the field, which of course is the same thing only with multiple steps involved for saying goodbye.
They were frozen in place, with their eyes locked on each other. If one was looking at them, one could not tell whether or not they would stay together, she who was almost crying, and he who was not sure whether he would leave her. Then she brushed her eyes with the wrist, and tried to draw her self up.

“Its true, every time I want to forget you, and turn the page – I cannot. But if you say goodbye now, I promise it will be over. It has been a very long – 11 years, if you count the conversations over the Internet. I never knew if it was going to work out, especially because you were so handsome, much more than I deserved. I knew that I had to sparkle in some way other than beauty to get you. I knew this from when you stepped out of the gate at London. That was a very long time ago, but you were the one I had to have, if I want anyone. It was you that I pinned my heart against. It was certainly foolish, I admit that.”

“You do not understand, beauty was not my first consideration. It was intelligence, and that you showed me back in London. If only I could go back to that time, I would propose to you, but there were other things in progress, which I could not share.”
“What were they?”

“My country was in trouble, because a group of people who should not, and probably were not, elected were going to take us to war. And my purpose in London was to find out how bad it was. I tried to communicate this, but it seems the powers that be were not interested. That, not marriage, was first and foremost in my mind. So I left working for the part of the government, and took a private physician instead. Though, there were complications, because I was hidden in industry to make my way in the world, such that other governments would not know.” He looked with a cold shiver, and was not in the Emotional world, but the Political and Intellectual world. The whole outside world stopped, and they looked at each other.

She wept, because all along she knew that she was not the priority in his mind. Just an afterthought, a way of disguising his true intentions . Then she said: “Was I just a ...” In truth are stumbling for the word was admirable, because most non-native speakers would never even know it existed. “A patina for your machinations.” She had heard the word machinations from him, in one of his grand eloquent moods – and was waiting for the chance to use it. Sinking down was her face, perhaps to use her bangs as a cover for her tears. There was no way for him to do anything but ease the pain, by lifting her chin up and stare into his eyes, open that his expression would do the majority of talking. But even after a view seconds, he realized that she wanted words – and preferably in her own language. So he started out, though his Chinese was not as good as her English was: “ even if it my intentions were base, there is no way for me to continue onwards if the feeling had not grown to love. Otherwise I would cast you aside after London.”

What immediately happened was that the Chinese waitstaff looked up, they had not considered the possibility that he could speak Chinese. So they were interested, to say the least, and were then motivated to hear what they could. After all, it was late, and this was better than anything that they could capture on television, or any other form of entertainment.
Gradually she stopped fighting his hand, and her face grew calm as if she was a little Buddha, nestled in her strange vision that he had not seen since London. “I think that is why I wanted to hear you say the words, which you have not said very often.” She mouthed the words “wo ai ni.” which means “I love you” in Putong-hua. With that he stared at her, and realized that he had to make a decision now, did he, or did he not, actually love her after all this time. He knew that the time of deciding had come, because he saw it in her face.

“Wo ai ni.” finally the phrase was listened out of the air that he breathed in. And then again, with more force and fury: “Wo ai ni.” then he moved his chair beside her and for the first time he gave an embrace which had no equal in this world, or any other. The Chinese waitstaff was shocked at this pairing, and from there mouths came invective, because - to their minds – it was something that could not be, it was obscene. And then they realized that he could hear them quite well – and he stared back, looking away from her, and instead at them, with the same glance that he used quite frequently. That same frigidness which made everyone the side the counter close their mouths, and close as well, their faces.

However, his companion nuzzled her face in to is cheek, and whispered sweet nothings, again in Chinese, but the words did not mean anything. But they had a clarity of their own, which everyone understood, because the truth is that it was not so much as the language, but a deep whisper of the heart and soul.

Then he saw some like Ai Weiwei outside – but that was impossible, because he was in Beijing.

17
An Apartment on E 102 St, 10 Floor
New York City, 2012


It is high Above the street, looking down from a window which was from floor to ceiling – it was coated with a novel form of plastic so that from the outside they could not see anything that was going on on the inside. Thus, all one saw was a very high building, shethed with glass tinted blue, and one did not know what was occurring just a few short meters away. On the inside, their were wooden floors – each one bedecked with different rugs to the tenants like – and furniture that run the gamut from Georgian furniture, with its long legs with a single twist, to the most contemporary styles that did not as yet have a name. She was looking the high window, with nothing on but a crystal holding the most delicate of champagne, looking outwards so that he could admire the fact that she had lost a great deal of weight. When he was not around, she had very little to eat, and drank only tea with nothing in it. It was her resolve to lose weight, because she knew this was one of the hurdles to be crossed – and giving up to these hurdles was her benefaction and duty both. Thus while she wanted more food, it was like a tickling in the gut to want something else instead. That something else was to have him love her back. And was an obsession, as much as the curve of the bedroom chair was. It simply had to be as it was. But she did not just lounge there, but at certain intervals would move her body in the way that is Depicted in both Chinese and Japanese texts such as those written by Chao Yuanfang, And when translated in to Japanese was called Ishinpo written by Tamba Yasuyori. Of course, it had become her mission to learn all of the arts of coquettish joissance, in order to please him. She would never be thin, in that classic Chinese mold, but at least her body was Rubin-esque and attractive in that way – with hips leaning out from her side, and in the darkness were illuminated from below with an oranges color from the distant lamps.

In a cinematic view, as if by Hiroshi Teshigahara illuminating the subtle forms of the female figure in repose by night, there was a question whether she wanted the man or detested him for keeping her in a prison of their own design. Indeed, it was not known if she herself wanted to be captured or captive looking out over the bare city, which was once the capital of the world.

It still was – for the moment, though nipped at by the the cities of China.

But those cities were diseased, and depressed by a central government whose only purpose was to enact power for its members – even if Accidents sometimes happened. Of course, the one in Beijing was the first of many, but other Accidents happened – For example at Three Gorges Dam. What this had to do with her posing is that the very criticisms of the central authority, were engaged, somewhat secretly in some cases, in the very fabric. It was not just a sexualized position, but an ornate pattern of criticism – the forms of the woman in the pictures echoed pictures of very different themes that the central party produced. Even as she lifted up her hand and blew a colorless rain of crystals – there was hidden meaning. Though most people would not recognize this – these sensors would, end it would drive them crazy until they banned whole books of what seemed like erotic poetry – but the sensors saw criticism of the regime. And they were right, which meant that people would procure illegal copies, and poured over them thus ingratiating a purer form then any which came before. Thus it was not just a nude woman, but a critique of the Three Gorges Dam – or some other object of the sarcasmer's directive which took his fancy. And what is more, it was intensely erotic as well. This was known to her as she whined her hips around in enormous desk, copied from an original in the Georgian style. Sweat from her arms and legs, hands and breasts exuded from each and every pour of her being. It was both sensual and political act the same time – because after all there had to be procreation – even if just once or twice in a lifetime – but the Central Government could not admit that it was happening. 

Think of it as the unspoken agreement that every society rests upon – it cannot say that sex is important, but it cannot live without it. Thus her face was both sublime and with that come hither to me at the same time. In the bed, the firm masculine eyes were drawn to this, and many things that were implied by that, it was more intense the .stare of Xu Zhimo. The male organ became erect, as it had never done before – in all the moments of earth, this one was the time he would remember. There was both union and disunion when they coupled after he could no longer stand lying in bed, and came over to her, and from behind took her with his arms lashing around her torso and feeling that which was not to be discussed in polite company.


18
The Next Day At the Museum of the city of New York

It was a five story building with columns of the ionic nature robed in white, set between layers of red brick. It was called the museum of the city of New York, but really it was what the elite wished there city to be like – both proud of its heritage, and ashamed of what they could not hide. There were only a few people who walked up to its white façade, and towering windows with cornices which of course had dentils in the way in which they were built. Both the man and the woman knew that they would procure images which elucidated their minds, but that was not the point at all. They would roam around the long halls and rooms, each with the lower half white, and the upper half a solid color. Each room was devoted to pictures which described some feature of the city, and what the elite thought of it in the present. Some were exalted, some were despised, each one was put in a context of more than 125,000 images that created a collage of what The City should be like – and some were in the deep distant horizon would be like if only there was the will. But of course what the city should be like changed dramatically, from Daniel Burnham through Robert Moses to Jane Jacobs and beyond. Each one of these personalities laid a stamp on what the City of Tomorrow would be like – and thus made the city of today a welter of different cities of tomorrow living side by side.

They looked at the exhibits, each one against the blue background which was the theme of the age. At different times different wall coverings were in vogue, in this age they like to think of them selves as grand and massive. Which was not really the case, but it had an aspect to it - because all most all of the poor people were out of lower Manhattan, and driven to upper Manhattan or Queens or Brooklyn, or perish the thought to New Jersey. Lower Manhattan was the preserve, almost exclusively of the well to do, the rich, or those who want to be thought of as such.
It was she who spoke: “Someday there will be a building like this in Shanghai or Beijing, telling the tale of how this city became the greatest city in the world.”

“Perhaps that is true, only it will be in Chinese. But first it needs to dominate the world, and there is no consensus that it will be so. There is too much pollution, and many people flee. And that is a problem, because the billion and more stupid people will not rule the world. I do not know when this era will fall, and I do not know who will take over.”
“If not China, then where?”

This began from him a long exegesis about how China was both the pinnacle of autocratic manufacturing, and the nadir of environmental destruction, every little detail was accounted for – from the great leap forward to the cultural Revolution, and beyond. He would have gone on longer, but the corner of his eye glanced across her face, and he knew that she was not interested in the whole country – but in a point about her relationship to him. It was obvious that she wanted to know not what China had in store for the world, but what she meant to him. And, truthfully, that was much the harder of the two questions – he could expound endlessly on China and the world, but ask him what she meant to him, was a struggling instance of silence. A pause loomed up in two his face, as if Faulkner held his ground and produced words which in the whole amounted to a void. With his real hand, he was searching on a virtual shelf for the exact book which would describe that sweet nothingness which he so firmly felt.

“I do not think you want to hear me talk about China. There is something more personal that you have in mind, and I would wish you to say more than have – because while I can talk about things in the distance, things closer up I need more guidance from what you want.” at that moment the corner of his jaw slackened, and he went from talking to listening to what she had to say. There was, in fact, a complete relaxation of his body – though it was hesitation, because he did not know if what was about to come out of her mouth would be a retort with brutal askance, or a subtle reminder of what she wanted which would only be obvious to him in retrospect.

Thus, she began hesitantly, because to her was obvious what she was going to be talking about, as a hand would be hanging in place to drop a cube of sugar in too a cup of tea – but she realized that for all of his erudition, simple things seemed to slip out of his grasp. In Shanghai, she thought it was a faint in his conversation language, in Beijing she gradually realized it was not intentional, but actually the way his mind worked. There was something odd about his speech which she was addicted to. He was not an ordinary man, fumbling his way across the fields of conversation – endlessly reciting vague happenstance which amounted to nothing. Nor was he like her brother, with a subtle interchange, which when she understood it, was not to hard to explain. It was as if it came from some paperback psychology book, which assembled details, to explain the authors point of view – and then fell apart in the half an hour since she read it, with 1000 holes in its argument. There was something both luring and disruptive about him. But still she would not come out and say what she really meant, it just was not done in Chinese or English conversation. Even though he wanted her to, even though she had wished – there was something deeper that stole her tongue and would not let her say in plain words what she actually felt.

“Do not you know?” This was almost the exact opposite of what she had intended, she almost spat the words out, almost as if they came from another person's lips. She had not intended the guttural reverberations that came out, and she was immediately sorry. But regaining the poise which her mouth always had, and which her body had just begun to acquire: “ I am sorry I did not mean that to come out the way it did, please forgive me. What I meant was that I want you to tell me what you intend for our relationship.” This was a good deal more forward then she had intended, the exact opposite of her first proposition, and inwards she winced at what he was going to say, as if she had told it to her father.

But it was not her father which replied, and it certainly was not her brother – her much older brother who was closer to an aunt-uncle, then a brother – instead very slowly and almost affectionately he began to explain that he did not know what he wanted, and in back draft, he wished for more time to reflect on what he wanted. This, to her, was unacceptable – and a shock ran down from her neck to her spine, leaving behind it a mask of terror on her cheeks and lips and eyes.

“I have been waiting for more than 11 years, and I cannot wait any longer.” than the terror subsided and she was completely helpless in her despair. On his part, though a little bit too late, he realized that the number of “I” crossing her lips was a clue to how deep she wanted an answer, any answer, but most particularly the right one. He did not know if there was time to salvage this, but he would have to try. He tried to come around and draw her chin towards her, and begin again.

“Let me try again, because it is clear to me now that this must be the conversation which we must have an answer. The answer. The final answer.”

She nodded, it should have happened back in Shanghai, according to her. And he should have offered an answer at least in Beijing. But it was not London, or Shanghai, or Beijing – it was a dimly lit day in New York, with the sun not shining, but no trace of precipitation. But then as if some clock unseeing chimed, they went back to looking at the photographs, with her leaning in to him, and their hands locked around each other. It was, it seemed, the final answer, approved by TS Eliot, as it were.

19
Paper Source, A small shop on Columbus Ave – and beyond to the Museum of Natural History

Over many Little racks she stared, each one of them brimmed full of expensive examples of extraordinarily refined paper, which offer a different way of inviting guests to a wedding. This was not a chain, but it had a view stores – and she had been told by the friend of hers that this paper source was the best in the world. She had not found so, however, and was looking left and right for her companion. It had such promise, and she expected to find the right wedding invitation that would consume all of the good things that American wedding invitations should have – but she was sadly disappointed. It is not that the wedding invitations were not finally made, as one would say, to the contrary they were beautifully stamped or engraved, on renewable paper in some cases, the problem was that there style was not particularly interesting. Thinking about it now, she wondered whether her friend was on good terms with the owner, which would be de rigueur. Most recommendations from a Chinese persuasion were not really the best, only the most connected to the person making the recommendation. It is not something that she did not know, but the place was neither the best – though it was very fine – nor was it the least expensive – in fact quite the opposite. There did not seem to be a reason to shop here in particular, as opposed to any other place. Only she did not see her companion is here, so she stood just that little way up by using her toes to get a better response, but still she did not see him. This was all annoying and distressing all at once. But behind her she felt a presence, as if he was moving behind her – so all at once she turned around gracefully, and their he was with a smile across his face, indicating that he had planned it all a long.

“That was not particularly funny, at least to me.” - with a stern look on her face.

“I am sorry then, it was meant to amuse you – after you finished being annoyed that is.”

After this interjection, she was, in fact, amused – and so chuckled in that Chinese way. “Perhaps it is amusing now, but please do not do that again.” on her face was a mixture of a smile and a grimace, the way Peanuts characters could do, but practically no one could in the real world. It was rather amusing to look at from his point of view, and his hard melted over this.

“I thought I would find what I was looking for, which is to say she was hoping that I would find. But there was nothing that drew my eye, nothing that, as you would say, caught my fancy.”

It is a nice store.” By which, he was saying, that there was nothing extraordinary here that he could see. Which is to say, he agreed with her that it was an expensive, but worth it store, which was not the usual habit of either people like himself, or people like herself, to shop in. at this point both of them walked out in to the street And caught the bus to the museum of Natural History, all the while talking about the things that they had seen walking down, first Fifth Avenue then across Central Park, along Terrace Drive.

When the bus came, he allowed her to board first. They spoke of different kinds of birds, and different kinds of things in the shop windows, all mixed together. There was a kind of union in the way that they talked of things, but no one else could understand how they would merge from Mallard ducks to expensive china in the space of a single sentence. Often one which was begun by one person and ended by the second. It was that kind of language which to people in love might share, and even to people pretending to be in love, feigning as it were. On the right side of the bus, there was central Park, on the left side of the bus was the last side of New York City. It was more compact, because the east side had more avenues, and more people, then the last side. Of course there were enough buildings that one could not see the Henry Hudson Parkway from here, though one could see the Hudson River.

In a few minutes on the left side they came to the museum, and got off, there were banners announcing the star attractions, which all of them knew would be to crowded for words. Instead they ventured in too the lesser known permanent exhibitions. Of course it was of the age when key buildings were in a Roman imitative style, the way things were at the time. 

They climbed up the stairs, with the Horsemen on their left and in through the wide doors that greeted them. It seemed to her as if it was a welcoming kind of opening which she did not know if it was friendly or not. She had of course seen pictures of the museum, but had never gone in to it – on the other hand, he strode up the steps with purpose, and it seemed as if he were going someplace. At that point on the inside, he whisked out of the windows for paying people, and up to the members window – it was at this point that she kicked herself, of course he was a member of the museum. Of course. Which meant that his hand was tightly grasped by her, then she realized she was pumping the blood out of him. This would not do. But still in all, their was a kind of excitement, as if she was a little girl being taken by her parents. But in America museums were different from China, in China they are, more or less, showpieces for wares that were on sale. American museums had shops, but they also had galleries which one could look at. They went around the various places where spectators would be lining up to see whatever exhibit was in fashion and dived deeply in too the deeply hidden permanent exhibitions – past the dinosaurs, and all the other well known shots that people are lured to subscribe. After looking the this, the wander the front steps, where it had gotten cloudy. While casting a look out over over Central Park West – which either one remembered any detail, because each one was trying to formulate what they were going to say – but she got the first, even the she had to translate the language.

“It may seem rude, but it has to be asked.”

“Go on...”

“In person, you only inspire love sparingly, but when you write, you are almost a different person. And that is the person that I love, truly, desperately, deeply.”

The was a long minute before he answered, the way a young child would answer a older adult – but one that was less intelligent. It was clear that he wanted to be clear.

“Inside my head, I am always the person that you read, it is only in real time that I get confused. If you love the man on paper, then that is the real me.” But is real thoughts were completely different, and also completely trivial – he wondered what the last episode of mad men would be like, because he had not had a television. He liked the way the television show had made a crack about Don Passos - in a greasy spoon.

“Are you sure? It seems you think thoughts about history and science and economics which seem beyond what you talk to me about. Do you talk with anyone else?”

“Some of the time, yes, but that is a lecture, or a seminar. Do you want for me to do that with you?”

“Some of the time, yes, but I would rather you would discuss love and poetry in these fashions. Could you do that?”

“I write poetry and romantic prose even more slowly than about the Assyrian wars, or the 19th century. Love requires much more effort from my brain. I have to hammer things out, and rewrite continually. The brain touches such thoughts only very rarely, with a few exceptions – Goethe, Keats and so on.”

“I wish I could be the one who you share them with, and nobody else but I.”

“I write the world, even though it does not wish to share it. I might as well be writing for only you, because almost the entire rest of the world disdains even glancing at a single poem.”

“Their foolish, as is often the case. We have many poets in 100 different languages which no one knows about, and only one person will listen to.”

“It seeking out the differential word, the turn of phrase, that compiles each fragment. In a film about Byron and Shelley, Byron's character once asked 'Are we poets.' even for the genius it is a mode which one has to be attuned to for true genius to come spilling out. And most of the time, only if you hundred lines are all we have, such as Sappho, where almost all of the lines that she wrote are gone, and we can only imagine what is left in the spaces in between the lines we have.”

“But we have lines and lines of poorer quality from some master of the New York times best seller list.”

“That is about commerce, rather than literature. And in a you short moments, most of the time, people will not care. And even when a great novelist or poet dies, we still read his or her greatest works, and do not remember all the others who made their living from slinging around words which were originally thought of by someone else.”

“You really believe that? Is the better to make your living on words?”

“It is better, but one does not have control over it, that, truly, comes to one as a gift, and largely no one knows the name in about half the cases. Keats dies young, and numerous others of both poetry and prose, and for that matter music, are in the same class. Bach for example, at the time it was his son, CPE Bach who was crowned with laurel leaves.”
“Do not you worry about being famous?”

“I did when there was time to be famous in my lifetime. But that is over, and now I just write for the few people who will listen. And the most important is you, I hope you know that.”

She nestled up to kiss him on the lips, as so many characters in a work on fiction do. But in the real world, it does not happen that much – which is why when it comes to that, it is often something special, and something we will remember for our lives. The way the person tilted their head, the way they looked, and the close they wore. Everything is etched upon our memory, because we know that this time may be our last. And eventually that will be true. And then we will be dead and are remains disposed of by whatever means is the custom in our native lands. Be it buried or cremated, or something else instead. We go back to the soil, in the end. Very dust from very dust, in Chinese love poetry style, with a seal of Beijing over Basho and the Dao - by Peipei Qiu.

And so they kissed, for the last time, as if there would be no other. They cast on central Park West, and they wondered on to Columbus Avenue – where they protect of Shake Shack - and then on to Amsterdam, where they kissed again by yoga place, which they wandered along Amsterdam street until they hit the 79th St. where they looked at going in to Blondie's for a drink, though they decided not to do so. So they came up to Broadway- where the 79th St. subway stop was, and a first Baptist church stood Then on to West End Ave. and Riverside Drive, and under the Henry Hudson Parkway and to the 79 Street boat basin along the Hudson River, where they stood and watched the inlet, because it was not really a river at that point, and dreamed such dreams as only the older versions of ourselves know.