# journal scribbles from prague #2



## motcon (Jun 26, 2007)

'oh' 
'my' 
'gawd' 

'ohmygawd-ohmygawd-ohmygawd-ohmygawd-ohmygawd...ohmygawd' 

that burns! 

in front of me the waiter put a glass of what appeared to be ginger ale syrup. it  
was in an after dinner glass, but i had just warmed my chair. i looked at it and,  
being somewhat conditioned to do so, grabbed the stem of the glass and  immediately 
tried to determine the nose. wasn't all that difficult; cloves. i looked  up at the 
waiter. he stood there proudly, put his hand on his stomach, made two  clockwise 
circles and said, 'czech medicine.' i was quite convinced that he  wasn't insinuating 
that i was going to be sick from the food that i was to eat.  being free from fear and 
shame, i arbitrarily decided that a quarter of the glass  would be a sufficient 'taste' 
while not breaching any underwear-bunching  etiquette. so a quarter of a glass i did. 
my tongue was nowhere to be found.  with lips sealed,  i opened and closed my jaws in 
hopes that i would be able to  catch my tongue to at least be able to verify it's continued 
existence. no dice.  

*foooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo* (a deep, prolonged exhale through  pursed lips) 

medicine. ok.  

after dinner i wandered through old town. not an 'old town', but what was the  hub of prague 
before the bridge was built (actually, rebuilt many times). the  street that crossed the bridge 
was quite busy on either side of the bridge in  both new and old town. as i crossed the bridge 
i looked up to gather in the  peaks and intricacy that marked the architecture of the time and 
thought i heard  Michael Jackson. loud Michael Jackson. the typical fleeting moment of  deduction: 

- becherovka. that damned drink has me thinking i hear MJ. 
- i have way too much cursed american in me. i hate that. 
- my hat is muffling something that isn't MJ. 

wasn't the drink. matter of fact, the waiter was correct; it is medicine. i felt no  pain and i was 
waaaaarrrm. hat? i was wearing a beret. the american  thing....yah, well, as true as that may be, 
it WAS MJ. this section, one of only  two sections in prague that has a legitimate stretch of businesses, 
was bright  and busy. and MJ was being played from a storefront. i looked down the street  at the 
buildings and the people that have experienced more freedom and more  oppression in a lifetime than 
any person could ever learn and fathom. i stood  very still and i did have goosebumps, despite the 
becherovka. the many people  milling about were nothing but ghostly blurs as i imagined the stories 
these  streets could tell. i swallowed hard. a tear left my right eye in descent to its  frozen end 
on my chin. i blinked hard and fast. i felt laughter and pain. i felt  dancing and crying. i experienced 
existence. 

"Billie Jean is not my lover" 

OK OK! i'll shop. ok. i wandered down the street of merchants. it felt like a  blend of new york and india; 
many shops, many people, much yelling and  laughing. it felt quite good.  

'oh' 
'my' 
'gawd' 

'ohmygawd-ohmygawd-ohmygawd-ohmygawd-ohmygawd...ohmygawd' 

music! how could i have even planned a visit to prague, let alone been there for  weeks, without thinking 
of the music i could take home? sometimes the obvious  escapes me. in my bag i had many cds that i had 
wanted; Gorecki, Part,  Chopin, Suk. i also took a gamble on some obscure composers that later  proved 
me to be a poor betting man. at least i have some nice coasters now. 

i found myself immersed in the culture of prague. it felt as if the velvet  revolution, the non-violent 
revolt that secured freedom for the czech republic,  lived on in an escalated joyous fashion. the czechs 
were finally able to enjoy  this city in the true spirit of, not freedom, but a freedom that comes from 
relief.  even if they do it with MJ. 

so i found myself at the end of the night being physically, mentally, and  emotionally exhausted. i know 
i've had a good day when i can't walk or think  and meet most things with a gleeful indifference. on the 
walk back over the  bridge, i stopped in a shop. behind the person at the counter was a sea of  green glass; 
becherovka.  

'vat siheze you vant?' 
	'huh?' 
he pointed to the sea of green. 
'vat siheze?' 
'pawket siheze?' 
	'yeah, and you better make it two; i plan to stay immersed.'


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