ADVENT 2002

12/01/2002: in the Number 4 bus, followed before Mass; and, later, in the four parishioners  who get up and move their seats across the isle at the moment when the lector reads: “We are like dry leaves, which the wind blows away”, from Isaiah;

12/02/2002: in the neon sign “Bridge” in the early morning on I95, the “e” unlit, together with the car in the rear with one front head light unlit; and, moments later, in another unlit front head light, passing a billboard with an advertising prominently displaying a “yes”;                                                                      

12/03/1002: in the “M&M” truck, before dawn, on I95, with two meanings: “Martha and Mary” and “M&M candy; and, later, in the “Simplify” in large letters on the left half of a billboard with a picture of a closet on the other side with many shelves, which takes up the entire space, loaded with articles, the upper and lower side, loose and gently flapping in the wind;

12/04/2002: in the 4 lights in a row, before dawn, flashing on and off in unison with another 3 at the right end as a triangular arrow head, flashing on and off alternately with the others, pointing to a flower shop;                                                                                                                                         
12/05/2002:  in the tiny orange triangle poking from a two inch cover of snow, the corner of the wrapper for today’s edition of a newspaper, the only touch of color outside;

12/06/2002: in the purple egg plant bruise on a right hip, the result of some unnoticed blow, as the bed covers which have fallen from the bed are the result of an unconscious, restless night;

12/07/2002: in the zero on the scale under the sink in the bathroom to which the arrow points, while thinking of the work of Marcel Duchamp; 

12/08/2002: in the brake light on the dashboard which automatically turns on with the car in motion, even with no breaks applied, while thinking about the word “released”;

12/09/2002: in the ladder on the back of an Mobil oil truck, one leg of which separates the  “M” and the “o”, framed by its rungs and the parallel pipe beside it, which obscures most of the letter “b”, as though the “M” were the world turned up side down against the circle of omnificence;

12/10/2002: in the chairs beside a table in the center of a conference room in the Stamford Hospital, those on the left are all in order while those on the right are scattered; and, in the evening, the small blue thread on the inside of the window in the form of a question mark backward, probably a figment of the plastic wrapper of the New York Times, which rests on the passenger seat;                                        

12/11/2002: in the 111 Christmas cards to be signed, which add to 3, on this day in the 12th month, the digits of which also add to 3;                            

12/12/2002: in the two different views of the same landscape through two adjacent windows  of the Waterbury Hospital, perfect peace through the one on the right with nothing moving, not even the overhanging clouds, contrasted with the constant flux through the other with the frenetic movement of smoke or steam from an unseen source with  nothing on the wall inside under the right window but, under the other, an electrical outlet with wires plugged into it; 

12/13/2002: in the burning bush on Route 34, lit up before dawn with Christmas lights, beside a mail box covered on one side by an American flag;

12/14/2002: in the pole of a sign, in the morning, indicating that there is no left turn and blocking out the letters of another sign in back of it, listing the names of the departments of the adjacent building complex, except for 3 “e”s; and, in the evening after sunset, in the triangle formed by a person crossing the street and the two lights on different houses, before the person suddenly returns to the other side and disappears behind a stop sign;                                                   

12/15/2002: in the sudden feeling of wonder, driving down Barnett Street at night, when on a porch, a blaze of light, by a lady decorating for the holidays;

12/16/2002: in the license plate, “AO 1086”, which adds to “AO 16” and then to “AO 7”, the Alpha and Omega and the 7 days of creation; and, later, in the perfect triangle, formed when one of the eight persons sitting in the front left section in St. Stanislaus Church moved from the rear to sit behind two others and another when the lector, one of the three persons sitting in the right section, returns after the readings to sit behind the other two;                                                       

12/17/2002: in the price of the 3 discs, $63.00 plus change, purchased at a record store, instead of the Bach Cantata 63, “Christen Atgent Diesen Tag”, which was not available, the 6 of the Devil against the 3 of the Trinity;

12/18/2002: in the triangle formed by the corner of a paper napkin tucked behind the edge of a magazine in the pocket of the airplane seat, with the “TWA” visible on its corner, “The Wonderful Almighty”; 

12/19/2002: in the circle made be the thumb and index finger of the right hand of a man on the boardwalk in Old Sacramento while extending his left hand to make an arch and saying something not audible except for the word “perfect”; and, later, in the parking space numbered 3074, where a rented car was parked at random, on the third level of a parking garage, the Trinity, the creation, and the world, which add to 14;  

12/20/2002: in the check for $2.16 which the waiter in an hotel in Sacramento brings together with the fried potatoes ordered but not yet served, which adds to 9, and in $2.50 left which includes the tip, which adds to 7, the tip at 15.741% of the price, which adds to eighteen and again to 9;   

12/21/2002: in the 8 lit letters, “rnishing”, of some word, the sum of whose alphabetic position is ninety eight, which adds to seventeen, and then to 8, the first panel on the left missing, exposing a white square with lights, maybe 3, of a sign on the right on Route 80:

      resplendent nuptials inspire such heightened intimations, naturally Godward

12/22/2002: in the 3 letters “Sac” and the last one “o”, the circle of perfection, of Sacramento which remain of the name on a vacant building of the former savings bank, the other 8 letters missing:

                                           Scripture activates conscientiousness

and, later, the price of gas at a station was $1.399 a gallon, which adds to twenty two and again to 4 and the cost of $8.67 for filling the tank, which add to twenty one and again to 3;                                                                                                               

12/23/2002: in the U turn a car makes from a line of cars waiting to exit from a shopping mall road and in the 4 other cars following each other making a 90 degree turn into the parking lot; and, later, in the mall, in the “…as a last resort” spoken by a woman to a man, who responds: “Oh, yes”;

12/24/2002: in the dump truck with six poles inserted in the rear to keep the load of wood in place, painted with devilish red and divine white stripes as a car with one headlight lit passes by; and, later, in the upper right corner of a white notice on a parking lot pole, unfastened and folded back into a right triangle,