if there is one anniversary i try to forget it is today. so much bitterness and triumphant selfishness has infested our society since that day. i was not going to say anything about it, but i’ll say this here since i don’t think anyone reads this shit. on a subway a few hours ago i found a sheet of paper on the floor. i’m not going to quote even one word of it, in the remotely impossibile chance that the creator(s) hear of my discovery and glean some satisfaction from my revulsion. it was hand-written, one of a kind, not photocopied and thus, i assume, not widely distributed. it reaked of righteous ignorance and selective tunnel vision.  it was so vulgar it made me cry. it was anti-Muslim. i felt dirty holding it in my hand. i looked around the subway car to see if anyone had noticed me picking it up. no one seemed to have noticed the piece of paper at all, or that i had picked it up. i looked around the car for other copies, noticing at that moment that this was not a photocopy. i thought of reporting it to a hate crimes department or something but what difference would it make? none. police will investigate anti-NYPD graffiti but i wouldn’t expect them to take on something like this. i put it in my bag, thinking that if i could do anything constructive about my find it would be to prevent anyone else from seeing it.  I briefly felt vulnerable for having it in my possession. what if someone somehow discovered it on my person and thought i was its creator? just as i had put the sheet of paper in my bag i exited the train station and found myself face to face with a Muslim woman, her teal colored Shayla matching her long dress. for some reason she smiled at me. there was, really, no reason for that. how would she react to this shit-filled scrap of paper i had in my bag? what would it turn her smile into? it reminded me of many things, many encounters and ruminations about paranoia, culture, and the power of race. i’ve written about them elsewhere, and don’t have time or tear ducts to write of them again. the woman and i went our separate ways with nothing more than her soft, beautiful smile between us. when i got home i put the sheet of paper in a plastic and washed my hands with soap and water — something i almost never do. if i am to report this to nypd it would be anonymously, through postal mail.