Dubious DuTramp & The Proverbial L.G.

Maybe, I would have been more receptive to him if my mega-walk from home to the jetty (round-trip ≈ 10 miles) wasn't without the ritual back-packed book & cigarets. Maybe if I had stopped at the gym for stretching purposes or Peets for coffee, I would have been less Zen and more amenable to the Resident Artist of the Long Beach Jetty.


"Marcel, this is a photograph of what, exactly?"
"Look a little closer."
"A blur is a blur is a blur."

"Do you not recognize what is being blurred?"
"Skyscrapers balancing on the top of someone's hair."
"The someone's hair is this rock formation and the skyscrapers are the shoreline. Need I say more?"
"When clouds disperse, clarity starts dancing."
"Are those your own words, Paul?"
"They're yours if you want them, Marcel."
"I'll take them. Thank you."

Marcel feigned a bow of gratitude, gesturing with his hand as if I had handed him a piece of paper. He mimicked stuffing it into a back pocket.

I went through the proverbial looking glass. I was giving him something to value, rather than vice versa. That made me feel good enough to ask a question.

"Are there any words that go along with this photograph?"
"Of course. The picture is the title card for a poem called Dubious Truth."
"I'm all ears, Marcel."
"And I will commit the rhyme."
"I'll be sure to blockquote it."

Fact and fiction
Go for a ride
On the slippery slope
Together they slide.

Without the Lie
Where does Truth hide?

There it does begin
And there it does end
The Lie is
The Truth's best friend.

Marcel DuTramp was wearing blue sweat pants and a matching sports jersey, bearing the number 41. On the backside of the jersey, above the number was the logo of the ACE hardware store chain.

From a seated position, I applauded the recitation of the Dubious Truth as if #41 had just scored a winning touchdown. We were at the approximate midpoint of the mile-long Jetty.
Marcel began the trek back to shore. I don't know how many cats crawled out of the rocks to follow him but if truth be blurred, I counted forty-one.
Fact was not jiving with fiction, obviously, but I needed the stretch.


The next Marcel DuTramp page is here.