A slight change of plans…Moondance I have decided will be the last part of the story. This is Sunlight - part II. Go to previous post to read Streetlight - Part 1. Candlelight is up next. Enjoy!
SUNLIGHT
1
It was almost high noon as I stepped outside the taxi cab to extinguish my cigarette. I walked through the stream of business folk to the trash bin in the corner as I inhaled from the moist tip soaked with humidity and warm saliva. The sun was hanging in the grey sky as clouds passed before it, its appearance a transient thing, as much as the content of consciousness was. One thought would flow to the next, would be dwelt upon before anxiety would take hold and either plunge thought into an abyss of worry, of which only temporality would cause it to eventually fish for calm stability and allow it to embrace dry land again, or it would shine and continue to radiate energy onto the world before something outside itself would block it. Its radiation on the city district would flow in and out, as clouds floated along to impede upon the reception of energy of each individuated entity, some at this particular time, some at another, from distinct physical perspectives. I thought of another existence on the opposite side of this cloud as the horizontal right ended tip slowly freed the sun and traversed the sky to someplace where nobody would notice it. The sunlight imposed upon the streetlight as I walked to the trash bin, traced its form and figure on the sidewalk, stretched it to the far end of the corner, where I walked alongside the shadow that slanted diagonally across towards the opposite end. I painted the cherry along the curb with ashes and threw it in the bin.
2
As I turned around, I spotted a homeless man walking towards me. It was too late. Eventually, he would have me cornered against the trash bin, begging me for every last penny I have, trying to weasel me in with a story that might lure me in by means of pity. He was dressed in a thin black jacket mottled with stains of all sorts, cigarette burns, that impinged upon the body just tightly enough, so as to allow the halting gait to protrude from the rest of the rather two dimensional vessel, which was mounted with a slightly smaller sized head in proportion to the rest of the body, and was encompassed by a thick grizzly beard and short, thin, brown hair that melded with the intrusion of grey that comes with either anxiety or age, or both.
I knew that if he were in his situation, the anxiety would either take a hold of me and ruin me for good, the anxiety of having to get by on a limb every single day by harassing the wealthy for money, or I would either be so used to the situation that I would be able to master consciousness of it, that is, subdue the consciousness of it, as I was with the taxi cab job. But that didn't mean I could enjoy it, as I certainly did not enjoy the taxi job, but repetition allowed me to subconsciously be skillful at it, so I could think whatever I willed consciousness to think while doing my job at the same time. It would become custom, so long as the suffering was stabilized, because the quantitative degree of suffering is unevenly distributed amongst the homeless to make the act of begging, in one sense, an absolute custom, so long as the degree of suffering was involved; because begging had to entail genuine pathos in extreme cases, and in others, it was just a matter of manipulation to get the drug money. You were never sure what to expect from a homeless man, but usually there was a story to make the act of begging more acceptable, more worthy of pity. They all had their own stories. But relatively, all the homeless shared their own stabilized degree of suffering on a day to day basis, but once it became stabilized and the poor economic situation was set, begging in general became an absolute custom. It was a way of life; the only way of life. The only difference was that their custom was a nuisance, while the others of whom they begged allowance from possessed unconscious customs that society had somehow created, that they would never consciously take notice of themselves. There were so many unnoticed customs that had been integrated into society of peoples from all walks of life, that habit either allowed them to deny its existence altogether, so that what would be considered even the most absurd and outlandish modes of behavior to the man of nature, became acceptable to this or that group of people; or habit would maintain consciousness of its establishment as an acceptable mode of behavior, with no sense of shame or awkwardness at the sight of it, simply because habit allowed it to become customary by means of repetition and familiarity.
I anxiously began to dig in my pockets as the homeless man approached me. I nervously searched for change amidst the receipts and junk in my right pocket - nothing. I knew time played a factor. I would have to reach out my hand with whatever change I had to avoid the lengthy discussion, the scheme to get me to hand over ten dollars to help this guy fill his supposed gas tank so he could take his pregnant wife to the hospital, but I had nothing. I reached beneath the cigarette pack in my left pocket for some change but came up empty handed. Nothing. I was cornered.
3
"'Scuse me young squire!" the homeless man shouted in a ridiculous medieval tone of voice. That was unexpected. This guy must be half deaf or something. "Allow me to introduce myself. They call me Mista Ugly!"
"I'm sorry sir, I don't have anything for you today. Maybe you could ask some of these wealthy businessmen for some money. I am no better off than you in comparison to these people. Sorry. I have to get back to work. Have a nice day and good luck," I said as I began to retreat in the direction of my taxi cab.
"'Scuse me young squire!" Mister Ugly shouted in my ear drums, as if I had offended him for trying to escape, "but Mista Ugly dos' not wanta begga you like you think he dos'. I only wanta tella you the story of Mista Ugly. Mista Ugly has travelled all about the city, young squire!" I could tell this man was idiosyncratic in comparison to other homeless people who have approached me. The businessmen on their lunch breaks began to stare at us, with almost a sense of ridicule in their gazes. "Do you know 'bout Kingston?" he asked me inquisitively with his eyebrows raised as if he had something to offer me.
"Kingston?" I hesitated......... "Oh yeah, I know where Kingston is," I said. I never had a taxi assignment to go to Kingston, although I certainly knew where it was. Kingston was the ghetto of the city, probably the worst area of the whole town, both in terms of crime and poverty. There was hardly anything in Kingston. It was so deserted, so economically impoverished, that you would see homeless people scattered all over the street and in the alleys. The police force, nor the government, had anything to do with Kingston, so you would think it almost an island with regard to the city as a whole. It was literally exempt from all social rules and law enforcement. You would never see the police force in Kingston. You would hardly ever see a white man in Kingston. The mob ran Kingston.
"Well, young squire, let me ask you this: do you have any those children?" Mister Ugly asked as he tilted his head forwards towards my face. His breath smelt terribly of gin and as he opened his mouth to speak. The rotting gums from cigarette smoke and drinking, plus the brown stained teeth, which were apparently beyond all dental help, made themselves frighteningly transparent as he smacked his lips one against the other.
"Yes, I have a son. Two years old."
"Well, young squire, maybe you can relate to the story of Mista Ugly then. But you will have to imagine that you have more than one of em kids. Can you imagine for me young squire? Mista Ugly don't have to imagine. This is the true story of Mista Ugly. Mista Ugly has four children livin' in Kingston and they are getting bigga and bigga, young squire, uglia and uglia by the day, but they won't ever grow to be any uglia than Mista Ugly, young squire. Mista Ugly is the uglies' man in town. Not only does Mista Ugly have four children but he has a woman, young squire, and she is gonna haf one more baby, can you imagine that young squire!? One more baby young squire! Her belly became so big that I was jus' knowin' the little thin' was gonna come outta there soon, and Misses Ugly was panick'd and yelled at Mista Ugly to get one of those jobs and some money and food and clothes for Misses Ugly and the little things. Well, Mista Ugly has been trying to find a job for much time young squire, but no body wantsa hire Mista Ugly for some reason, I don't know why. Mista Ugly is cheerful and is a good worker, but nobody wants to hire Mista Ugly, I don't know why, young squire."
"So you've come here to find a business job? To climb your way to the top of the corporate ladder?" I said jokingly, but immediately became nervous in fear of having mocked Mister Ugly.
"Aaah haaa, young squire, yes, yes, yes, I am lookin' for a job, but noesbody wants to hire Mista Ugly, so I'ma try to go back to Misses Ugly and work in Kingston, because nobody will hire Mista Ugly here. They think that Mista Ugly is too ugly to work here, young squire. Can you believe that?! Mista Ugly is the bes' lookin' man here. Mista Ugly is real, young squire! Look at these folk, young squire! Noesbody can see how real Mista Ugly is, can you believe that? Noesbody."
"You are a good looking fellow Mister Ugly, but I must ask you, why do you call yourself Mister Ugly if you think you are so good looking?" I asked out of curiosity.
"Well, young squire, in Kingston Mista Ugly was the best lookin' guy 'bout the town, but whens I came ova to the city here, the people look and look away as if Mista Ugly is uglia than the devil himself, so I began callin' myself Mista Ugly cause I knew they thoughts I was ugly. We don't have these billaboards over in Kingston, and these magazines, no, no. Mista Ugly won't ever have known he was ugly til he see the billaboards and the magazines and the business folk."
"Aha," I said, while plotting my escape plan. "Well, Mister Ugly, just because these people don't think you are so good looking doesn't mean that you're not. You're wife wouldn't have had four children with you if she thought you were the ugliest man in town, would she? If you have one person who loves you, who cares for your children, who is your wife, then there must be another person out there who will like you too. If you really are a good worker, someone is bound to pick you up sooner or later. You just have to keep going at it," I said consolingly with a nod of the head as I began to walk towards my taxi cab.
"Yes, young squire. Thatsa what Mista Ugly thoughta too, but its been two months and noesbody will hire Mista Ugly, so that Mista Ugly has to go back to Kingsland because the little baby's gonsta come outta the woman soon. Her belly musta be real big now, imagine that! Imagine how big Misses Ugly's belly musta be now!
A young girl about two years younger than me walked along the sidewalk
intersecting the shadow of the streetlight on the pavement. A cloud slowly passed over the sun, so as to block the light that traced the shadow, so the whole sidewalk gradually became darkened from the far end to the curb, and would envelop me and Mister Ugly sooner or later.
"Well, young squire," Mister Ugly went on. "You see, Mista Ugly wantsta go back to Kingston but he don't have any money cause he don't ever get a job, so he needs some money for gas to go back to Kingston, and noesbody ever give Mista Ugly any money and it's becomin' urgent business cause the woman's gonna have the baby, imagine that!
The girl on the corner raised her hand to hail a cab. I reached into my wallet and gave Mister Ugly three dollars and whistled to the girl, "Over here. I've got a cab. Come on."
" It was nice talking to you Mister Ugly. Good luck with everything and I hope that is enough money for gas. That's all I can do for now. Take care."
"Yours a gennelman, young squire. A true gennelman."
4
The shadow from the eclipsed sun began to creep its way over into my territory as I signaled to the girl. "Over here" I am parked right over here." Mister Ugly began to approach the girl as she was following me to the taxi cab parked on the side street. The shadow had already consumed the upper half of the streetlight on the sidewalk. Soon it would reach the curb. I knew I had to make it out of there before the shadow climbed its way to shade me entirely from the sunlight. My neurosis was beginning to develop into obsessive compulsive disorder.
"'Scuse me young lady, allow me to introduce meself. They calls me Mista Ugly," Mister Ugly shouted as he approached the girl.
"Get away from me you creep," the girl exclaimed shyly with soft reproach in her voice, putting one hand over her backpack so as to protect it from theft. I continued to the taxi cab as the shadow was sneaking up to the curb. The girl moved quickly to the cab as I unlocked the doors. She climbed in the back seat simultaneous with my rush into the driver's seat. While she was nervous from fear of being harassed by Mister Ugly, I was anxious from the approaching cloud that would soon wrap itself around the sun and envelop the sidewalk I was standing on. Mister Ugly tried one more time as I started the engine. ""Scuse me young lady" he shouted from outside the window, as if he was offended by her attempt at escape.
I remained parked for awhile to allow the car to heat up. Mister Ugly retreated to the alley. I began to drive.
"You know, it's never safe to be anywhere in this city. I have to constantly be on the lookout wherever I go for potential stalkers and criminals. I have two restraining orders filed against some real jerkbags; but you can never be sure, you never know if they're around or if somebody's watching you," the girl dramatically exaggerated with a deep sigh as I pulled around the corner. "Can you take me to the suburbs by the way? I live in Greenwood." I nodded in the affirmative.
Against the wall in the alley I could see Mister Ugly bent over dry heaving onto the pavement. Soon he would pass out. I reflected upon the whole occurrence as I drove past him. I thought about his name, Mister Ugly. It seemed so fitting that Mister Ugly should present himself in such a manner, that he was actually conscious despite all drunkenness, of the social constructions that dominated city life and robbed the soul of personal identity. Even Mister Ugly understood the relativity of beauty, but was obviously too weak to live up to it. He had no chance in this world to be a relatively handsome man. No one could really live up to it without another to confirm. In contemporary society, to be ugly as Mister Ugly was not only a refutation - it was an offense. In the city, you are either one of the ugly or you are one of the beautiful. It didn't matter in whose eyes ugliness revolted or beauty ultimately appealed. To make it is the world, you had to carry some sense of attractiveness that was compatible with the world in general. Although many people were able to make it easier than others in this life simply because their presentation was more compatible with the world as such, there would always be an uglier side which remained lurking in the shadows. No civilization could compliment the self in its totality. There would always be another side, a shadow self, that would remain suffocated, would always be denied, rejected, so that the individual alone would have to confront it, accept it as a part of the self, either in the expression of art or other means, or face the horrifying confrontation with existence in its totality head on, in all its joy and all its suffering, its beauty as well as its ugliness. The ugliness of the shadow is never ugly in the real sense of the word, but the fact that it was in most cases incompatible with the real world, with social life and conventional morality in some cases, made it ugly relative to social mores and acceptable customary behavior..............to be continued