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2002-09-05
Twenty Six Bodies
D. 5.6.37 Lakehurst, New Jersey
Immolation / Plummeting
Are blimps a good omen?
I ask, because I saw one over New Jersey from my Amtrak window seat en route to Washington DC two Sundays ago. Sometimes I have seen two blimps in the sky together. Yesterday I saw one that must have been harbor cruising for U.S. Open TV filler shots, way down at the foot of Twelfth Street, Brooklyn, where I was looking for a new place to live.
(Didn’t find one.)
What is the good in a good omen? Don’t I just jump to conclusions? I’ll meet someone! I’ll love it! I’ll be immortal!—bratty by nurture, I want my Hollywood all—and don’t spare the signs heralds portents, either. Then what? Thanks for nothing you heavens—here I am right back where I started! Nor am I buying Fuji film!—the point so easily eludes me (I’m like Dokic in Round Two); the point at which good omens succeed, their form fitting future—that is, in the moment of safe homecoming.
Good omens, collected into lore during vigils at the mouths of caves—
the original confidence-builders.
And blimps?
Rocket fuel in the paint (one fatal one-time design flaw)and a passage into electrical storms over New Jersey combined in KABOOM!—a spectacular aerial silhouette turned synonym for catastrophe, instantly. Any caveman could tell you: if blimps are a good omen, then so are the Williams Sisters.
Consolation Site: The humanity