Watch This Video of a Stray Dog Fed by a Subway Sandwich Employee and Tell Me How It Makes You Feel

Cute Feel-Good-About-Humans-Doing-Good Videos  
I like cute videos. Like this one. I’m happy. When I watch it. I think it’s the expectant face of the dog. They looks so forlorn yet satisfied. A Homo sapiens will feed it. They are sure. And as a watcher on the scene, my tummy is filled by witnessing the showcase of sliced deli meat and tidbits - I’m reminded of a parable. Even the dogs feed from the scraps of the master’s table. And then I’m reminded of a Rembrandt painting hanging in the Hermitage inspired by that same parable - a father’s hand on his beloved son once prodigal.
Maybe it’s because I’ve come to peace with my own need for a father. It’s primal. To want the love of a parent. And at the same time, it’s powerful to exert oneself in the world as a child without the need of one. Father. Mother. Caregiver. Licking one’s wounds grows wearisome. Feeling sorry for oneself is a bit pathetic. That’s why I like the canine in this scene. Not pathetic or stupid. Just expectant. For a bit of meat. Chosen from the master’s table.

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Why I Write Better When I am Homeless

Writing is probably good for you.
Even with a due date.

When homeless I am uprooted. But I have money in my pocket.
Why do I write better? Because it is something to do to fill in the emptiness. When Maslow's needs are met I think we are less prone to be creative. It is the pang of hunger and thirst that spurs us on to aesthetic heights.

The hungry artist is the short-lived artist but his art is intense. I think Arthur Rimbaud was such an artist. He wrote until he exhausted himself. He wrote first then ate later. Even then it was not so much as a need but visceral. A part of creativity. His eating became his aesthetic.

I cannot be an Arthur Rimbaud. I enjoy creature comforts. Take-out. Lunch on a subway bench. A gin and tonic after work.
They do not make me more creative. I could say something pretentious like the life of the middle class intellectual deadens my creative sense. But that sounds wrong. I am a creator because I am a middle class intellectual. And I am not even sure if that label fits me. A lost boy is perhaps a better descriptor. A stranger in a strange land. A man who happens to have a degree who happens to teach Plato, Aristotle, Virginia Woolf and Camus to community college students in Brooklyn, New York.

I am a man who loves the color of apples. But I like stiletto heels as well. I like the religious ritual of going to the movie theater on a Thursday evening after work. I eat lightly buttered popcorn with the same laconic motivation of receiving the holy eucharist on my tongue. The darkened theater and the womb-like cavity of stadium seating — where there is always less people and more space feels like an experience of daily Mass.

Journey to Montauk: Feeling Strangely Homeless on the Long Island Railroad

If you live in New York City and happen to be bereft of living quarters for a night, try this relatively cheap alternative.

RIDE the LIRR!

On My Way to Montauk!

Get Your Ticket at Penn Station
Yes, get your ass over to Penn Station. Take a Montauk bound train. You'll have to transfer at Jamaica, though. The seats are not terribly comfortable. So, try to find one of those facing seats so you can prop your legs up for the ride. If you take the midnight train the initial thirty-five minutes will not afford you much sleep time because you will be sharing the train with night-time revelers. Mostly Long Island kids with a penchant for partying in Manhattan. They're mostly white kids who may or may not stumble into your car seat half-drunk. Mostly harmless.

Since you are bereft of a home for the night, make sure your backpack has a toothbrush, toothpaste, extra pair of socks and some reading material. Also some snacks. the Long Island Railroad does not have a snack bar on board. You can load up on stuff at Penn Station but the prices are steep. I suggest buying your food somewhere else before you head to the train station.

A one-way train ticket to Montauk will cost you about 18 dollars one-way. That's off-peak prices. The return ticket will cost the same unless you return to New York City during peak hours (any time from like 8 until 10:30 in the morning and rush hour in the evening (4-8). It's not a free night on the LIRR but it is a helluva lot cheaper than a hotel room.

I have to stop here by saying that one could probably find a cheaper room to stay in New York City. The LIRR to Montauk suggestion is only for those lazy sons-of-bitches who just so happen don't have room accommodations -- or did not take the time to scour the city for a room, or just shit out of luck and rather not ride the L train all night (did that, not going to repeat it: Canarsie is scary).

There Are Toilets in Almost Every Car!
The good thing about LIRR trains is that they have toilets in every other car. Don't lose your ticket though. It's gold. The conductors are vigilant about checking. So keep it handy.

From Penn Station to Montauk is about four hours. If you position yourself right you can get about two and a half hours of sleep. The lighting is harsh on the train (a double-decker!). So put a towel over your head. At one point I had my shoes off and I had occupied four seats all around me with my backpack and other such stuff. The key is to make yourself unapproachable. If you are traveling the LIRR for living space you don't want neighbors. All you want is a place to sleep.

I didn't calculate this SNAFU but once I got to Montauk (I had left NYC at like midnight) it was like four in the morning and the next train to NYC wasn't scheduled to leave for another hour and a half.

Photo by Bridget Shevlin on Unsplash

Montauk is Really Beautiful at Four in the Morning!
That really sucked. BUT. Montauk is beautiful at four in the morning.

1. There were no people
2. I am not used to this reality
3. I saw three deer on the road
4. The air is crisp and clean
5. Birds singing!
6. No people
7. I was dancing and singing!
8. The pretty manor in Montauk is awesome.
9. Too bad I am broke and can't stay there

Take the Return Trip and Feel New York City Again (Blechhhhh!)
The return trip was quiet until the train reached the New York City area and the car filled up with early morning commuters. Some kids who live in the Hamptons got on board and did their homework. A perky businesswoman sat next to me and filled out boring reports. I had to pay an extra six dollars because I returned to NYC during peak hours.

Here Are Some Practical Tips
The trip is about 45 dollars. The benefits are:

1. Toilets!
2. More comfortable than the subway
3. No one bothers you
4. Fewer stops

The negatives:

1. No vending machines
2. Long layovers
3. I could probably find a cheaper hostel
4. The seats do not recline

On My Trip to Montauk, Though:
Next time I go to Montauk, however, I think I am going to check out the lighthouse.

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The pig people: urban legend or fact?

They live under interstate highways. In New Orleans, they call them the "pig people." The locals say they're cannibals and their noses are upturned, like a pig. At least that's what was told to me on Carrollton and Tulane the other night. At about two in the morning. I just had coffee with Danita and I took the streetcar back to school. But I had to transfer to a bus. The bus wasn't coming anytime soon, so I figured I might as well walk.

The pig people purportedly live under the interstate in New Orleans 

Home was only five blocks away. But I was afraid of walking underneath the overpass at night. The interstate loomed before me like a badly placed skateboard park. From my room at Notre Dame, the blinking lights of vehicles communicate to me during REM sleep, the balustrades to commerce, concrete effigies that simultaneously (concurrently) hold up the little modules of despair, racing through our fair country, while harboring pig people down below in her concrete bosom.

So I decided not to risk an encounter so I waited for the last bus.

At the bus stop, I asked about the pig people to some wearied travelers.

Here is what they sang:
In her concrete bosom, the pig people sleep.
the pig people live and eat.
the pig people, the loup garoux, the boogey man,
the monster in the closet, the fear out to get ya, man.

boom, hear that, y’all?

yeah, bitch, she's keen on your hide,
her nose upturned like a pig snake, like a pig,
like a celluloid freak from the comic pages of your friendly horror page;

an immaculate mother, slouching to Bethlehem --

Urban legend?

Maybe. But no. It's not a legend. I have never seen a pig person, but I am sure they exist because I have seen their shadows lurking behind the balustrades of the interstate and I can give you a considerable amount of witnesses who can attest to their existence.

Next time you are around the interstate at night (or even by day) please let me know if you encounter the pig people.

Update: I heard a rumor that Master P is doing a horror flick based on the pig people legend in New Orleans.

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