Manifesting

The HuffPost article says all you have to do
is manifest your desires to the universe, in order
for it to grant them. If you asked me what my greatest
wish would be right at this moment, it would be hard
to put my finger on one specific thing. For instance
I might say Why couldn’t I be like the Vietnamese
or Chinese uncles who I know work as cooks in two
side-by-side Asian restaurants in our old neighborhood?
They can make even mid-grade tuna look awesome
and they have great knife skills— I’ve seen them
at work behind the sushi bar and the barbecue grill—
and when they come out to smoke in the back parking lot
they still know how to do the Asian squat but they each
drive away in almost identical new Mercedes Benz models.
As my late father used to say, not only must you be
the picture of industry; you’ve also got to have
something to show for your pains. Even the girl
who cuts my hair has a kidney-shaped swimming pool
in her yard, and plans at least two vacations a year
someplace warm where she and her amigas drink
cocktails dressed with paper umbrellas. All
the bright young things are doing that moue
or lip pucker, tucking just a little bit of shirt
into the tops of their waistbands, with Coron
or the Eiffel Tower or a castle in Prague visible
in the background. The message seems to be:
I’ve got to make my intentions clearer, in order
not to run out of time. Instead of windfall, ask
for funds to plug the gaping holes in these bank
accounts. Instead of utility, ask for visas
and plane tickets for family. Instead of some fame
and fortune, ask for manuscripts to get picked up,
for an NEA grant, for a phone call from the MacArthur
Foundation. Instead of good health and long life,
ask for clear results in next Friday’s biopsy exam.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Jailer.

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