Near a park dedicated to Käthe Kollwitz there’s a corner from which these two towers appear both near to one another and nearly equal in height. Near to this corner is St. George’s bookshop, in front of which I stood this morning at 8am, having forgotten that it won’t open until 11am. There was a girl with white/gold hair standing in front of the unopen book shop, shielding her eyes as she looked East, an unusually large crucifix, on a chain around her neck, reflecting the young sun. Aging symbols are always at risk: from hinting at the depths of an anti-imperial mystery religion… to embodying ignorance, superstition and sexual desperation… in less than the time it takes to carve a valley through living rock with a river! Shudder to think what a “peace sign” or a flipped bird will mean one thousand years hence. Perhaps she was waiting for St. George’s to open, too (I had ordered an old book published by the Evergreen Review) but the symbol on her chest kept me from striking up a conversation with her (perhaps that’s the crucifix’ true purpose) so I started the long, long journey home…
THE IMPERIALIST 