poetry fistfights

Post 19 of 90.

Today, I found myself thinking about a fistfight I witnessed at a poetry reading at Cafe Angst in Indianapolis circa 1995, and for the first time I suddenly suspected it might have been a hoax perpetrated by the combatants. A fistfight at a poetry reading is absurd to begin with, but after all this time something about it didn't add up, some body language cue that was off. Maybe you had to be there to know what I mean. All the same, the aggrieved party was convincing at the time, but still I wonder, wonder, wonder...

At least it was memorable.

Today was a good day. I felt in some way like I was finally getting past some personal blocks, most likely due to getting a little more sleep last night than usual.

A thought came to me regarding my worry about sucking as a guitarist: "Assume the virtue."

At lunchtime, as I stepped out of Dewey's Pizza and paused to deploy my umbrella, I took a look to my right and found a guy about 35 yards away looking at me, possibly a street denizen (not totally sure).

As I turned away he called out, "Excuse me! Sir!"

Warning alarms went off, and I jogged away from him toward my car about a block away without responding or looking back.

There were several other persons on the sidewalk near him within closer range, but he didn't try to get their attention. For some reason, I looked like someone he needed to flag down over a fairly wide distance.

Sometimes I help people. Sometimes I refuse. Factors of time, place, and person apply.

Perhaps he was a person in need. Perhaps not. I don't know.

However, ever since an incident in Covington, which I can only describe as a "friendly mugging," I've given myself permission to exit a situation at top speed if I even remotely suspect something is amiss or I'm uncomfortable, right or wrong, no excuses or explanations necessary.

"Hey, my man!" "Hey, you look cool!" "Excuse me, sir!"

Phrases such as these make me want to run. When someone tells me I'm "cool," I know I'm being scammed for sure.

Any of these phrases in conjunction with several of the speaker's companions --one walking ahead on the sidewalk, two others moving up on my right--maneuvering in an what looks like an effort to envelop and block possible escape routes, after midnight, on a semi-darkened street (a "fringe zone") outside a club in downtown Cincinnati is also a situation to be avoided. (In this case, I ran at top speed before they could complete the envelopment.)

On one occasion I ran into a man (in a fringe area) outside Awakenings coffeeshop off Hyde Park Square who claimed to have trouble with the church van he'd been driving, and who said he needed a lift. So I gave him a ride several blocks and gave him a few bucks when he made the request (I forget what his rationale was, but it seemed realistic enough).

Then, two weeks later, about the same time of day, in the exact same area, I ran into the exact same guy with the exact same story, except this time he wanted me to buy new tires for him.

This time I refused.

All the same, I still feel a nagging sense of guilt when I feel it necessary to turn away and refuse someone, and I find I have to mull it over and justify it to myself every single time for a while afterward. Maybe because it violates my longstanding self-image as a "nice guy," and habits are powerful. And what if I was wrong? Maybe it's just a habit like any other.