Tour

My first Dostoevsky was Crime and Punishment; I read, concentrating here; have no idea; sometime pre-'70 - read-where? It was about a pawn-shop lady, so I took particular interest in the movie, "The Pawn Broker" - Rod Steiger. It's the grand-inquisition. The police inspector. If I were he? But of not, the real substance of the Brothers, yes the-names; how do you remember and figure the names in a Russian novel; nada, until I discovered they are all the-same, one character with different names. They just do different things, in the where of different customs and time-travels. Then I could settle down and watch the-show. The richest guy in Russia, "War and Peace"; I know him; but without the money. I met him in the army. I met them all in the army. So why stay here in the desert? I know you so-well, except love; you are a stranger to me; and in search of me I am. It was a fiction not a material mechanism. I was a tourist.

I liked the army system. Taught me organization. The masses, all here in an envelope of names, but these foreign letters were getting; much too foreign for my-studies. I need a map. How to read the Map? That was the Jesus-walk. Map reading. I studied the trail; and how it wore and changed over the short-years, as compared to, "hundreds, but they ride like thousands"; a mass of dark-spot; on glaring-white hilly sand; a cloud of dust and high/low strangers; in the bright wide valley-distance, men on horse back; "The Wild Bunch", sons of summon-riches - on horses a gallop; and the trail did wear considerably, in a decade; and change somewhat. The exactness of the trail. I walked the trail every day for ten years or near-enough. Invisible before the masses. But no-Christ was I, or I had a different where.

But again I digress. I spent the rest of my time in Israel, shore-side in Tel Aviv. Probably most of January, just into February. Across the street from my hostile was the nice-sight Mediterranean, and the shore down an embankment was a restaurant with square rooftop, a patio veranda with outdoor umbrellas, sticking crookedly from holes in the centers of round deck tables, and deck chairs all folded now for the winter. And looking across the opposite way, the two lane street was my hostile, a painted brown muted on stucco, of great light absorption and coolness. It was two story, with very large theater-like, arched doorway, with a large square gaping, black broken out window above; and below going into vestibulian stairways, immediately both right and left was wide five steps up to the wall and left or right fourteen climbing steps, to the railed-landing.

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