Okay, Brilliant

The Follies Student Comedy Revue at the Columbia Business School performs Every Breath You Take. But who are they watching? Ben Bernanke, Fed chairman.

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Chew On This

Fiddy Sen reappears. Somewhat differently handled from the last time he was around though. But read slowly, maybe in the key of Shankar Mahadevan's Breathless, and Penny will drop again.

Tears for the Passing of Family

In the fading few pages of the book of his travels, hours before the tap of the gavel would take him away, I read of how Fiddy Sen found himself hitched to a camel at the edge of town on a hot June afternoon, with the sun ablaze at 98 degrees, and it reminded me of an earlier date, when Fiddy recounted how as a child he was confronted by a threat that he blunted with a monk and his son in a duel that he won by the skin of his gun and his fledgling imagination, except that this time it was his Penny who stood and stared with auburn hair and a glint in her eye while he responded with a nod and a wink, or that’s what he wrote, and I when reading didn’t think any less of a man whose career was what he held dear, not given to love and lacking regret, but who saw his soul in her at an early age; even that once with the kiss and the flames, when he could have stopped her with a locket and a hand in her pocket but didn’t for reasons that only he could tell as he tied her and left her to burn in hell, when all he could hear were wedding bells and cries of a child misbegotten, but I could see this was long forgotten; now was about them and their guns and their shots standing under a sun as sharp as a dot and that brightly shone on the exact spot of the grave of the Holy Barber and the forty thieves whose ghosts hung from posts as warnings to those who sought to enter, and I wondered why Fiddy and not Penny was relieved of riding on horses and unjust causes where so many grieved, and how it was so full of malice even after years in Paris and Dallas; and the family feud that had later ensued led Fiddy to think of their son as being the one who would be only three when he pruned the family tree, and the thoughts of the fate of their progeny allowed an inflection of sober reflection to mar his complexion momentarily, while Penny observed that he was no stranger when for her he reserved his six-CD changer that he carried with him when he went uninvited, and in whose possession he was always delighted, for with it was no wrong he couldn’t have righted, and love and hope were born again in tender refrain; but at that moment I was distracted by a beam of light that was refracted by a capricious cadaver who thoughtlessly acted by burning the pages I held, erasing the ages and doing it in stages, leaving me wondering who’d live and who’d die, for when present and future turn to dust and to ashes, and illusions succumb to thundering crashes, it is for the past that we usually cry.

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