Hip music played while pretty boys in black brought water and pushed the naan…..white table cloths and a fully stocked bar of bitters and Bombay gin in misty glass….this is civilized……

American couples of different colors texted during dinner while Purusha voiced what needed to be said: this is not Korma…..

There is no flavor…..no spice, the uninvited guest proclaimed, this is like a Pennsylvania Dutch buffet….where is the salt……where is the underlying hint of heat under the sweet, God smiled down upon him….

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where the good stuff is on Lexington Avenue…..look for yellow cabs lined-up at noon and one can figure out whose curry counts and whose has succumbed to the homogenization of America…..

The nice polite diners turned briefly to watch the needed lecture….then returned scrolling with pointer finger tapping away at absolutely nothing….

And this is what we’ve become…..a diverse country where everyone…..everything is the same, the madman proclaimed, God help us…..God help us, he shook his head, long black locks shifted….

No salt….no heat…….no garlic……no flatulence…..we are doomed….

Amen brother….Amen…..

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Too much…too….too…much….
There is no escape…..a forced noise in coffee shops, bars, grocery stores, diners, churches, hideaways, homeless shelters, Pilates classes, libraries…..Stop…please….stop…

No peace….no stillness…..just loudness twenty-four hours a day……everywhere…..New York…Chicago…..St. Louis…..Wichita…Patterson……Akron…..Harmony Grove….will it ever stop……

The celebration of nothing…. simply alone….. yourself and silence……uninterrupted silence….here’s to zero….

No speeches…..no off kilter notes….no unwanted occurrences…nothing brash ….nor boastful…….an easy whistle in tune…

Gathered souls rejoice…..we have lift-off.

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CNN showed the riches, the madness, the spectacular……Hotel burning while celebratory fireworks lit up the sky….

It was so perfect…….so American….. it could only happen in Dubai…..

Then a commercial for a feminine hygiene product came on…..why not…..

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The blurred black n white showed the results of a doctor’s knife and an industry’s requirements…duck bill lips….drawn–in face….a Brazilian Blow Out…..but….. those eyes…..still the same….blue….very blue…..or…were they green….

Words were used….”craft beers”……..”branding”…….”bringing music to the masses”……”look for me at the end of the bar”….467 followers……she would be made soon….

Il Duce had become what she once laughed at……thin as a rail….botox induced…..an American dream….a woman walking the streets talking to the air…..cancel that appointment…..call the caterers….what do you mean Billy’s not available ’til Tuesday….all day…..every day….

Then the call came…..at a payphone on the northwest corner of Lexington and 28th……the payoff for all dues tended…..

She’s gone….
What’d you mean she’s gone….
She’s gone…….we did all we could do….
There must be some mistake….
Sorry Jimmy…..

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The big man stood outside the joint waiting to serve the public, Loosies… loosies…..loosies, he barked at vagabonds with bags over shoulders, bills in hand…..

Today’s special, he bellowed like a barker, two loosies for a buck….two for a buck….niggas you can’t beat that…..

Slaves to menthols paid at the alter, greeted the merchant at Mainchance, and lit-up to start the day….

Loosies….loosies…loosies, he raised a wrinkled black finger to the breaking blue sky….

Now tomorrow loosies go up two for a buck fitty and one for seventy-five cents niggas…..cost of livin’ adjustments…..

No hems, no haws, there are those that are used to getting screwed……

Loosies….loosies …loosies…..get over here and get your loosies….

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Jimmy the Spic was dealing pills at a rented table in Mickey D’s; a small coffee buys you thirty minutes…..

The wiry Puerto Rican with the drawn inverted pyramid face slurped sugar from packets hid under his hood; always ask for extra…

You wanna sleep, he rattled off in a quick harsh tongue, I got something just for you amigo….

No…I’m fine Jimmy….just fine…

I got this Trazodone at Bellevue….bottles and bottles of the shit….I been storing up…..

Volume, volume, volume, Jimmy…passing the savings on…

To you man…I look out for all my customers….rich, poor, white, black….

What fucking rich people do you sell to…

Wall Street wives….marketing people…

They got insurance Jimmy…they don’t need you….I’m crazier than ten whores on crack….but, I’m not stupid…

I see….

Yeah….you see….time’s up Jimmy….

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It is winter in New York City…. the temperature has finally hit freezing; this is normal….

People trample upon each other through DO NOT WALK signs…..looking down at colored mini screens….accents of Russian, French, Middle Eastern, The Bronx, and the almost gone, but not forgotten Brooklyneese, bounce off tongues as cop whistles are blown, and horns are honked; this is normal…..

Guys with cut-off legs begging from a concrete floor, homeless vets asking for help, a sideshow here, a three ring circus of loud mouthy Puerto Rican girls struttin’ their stuff for young bloods; always on the hunt for cunt; this is normal….

Knicks hats tilted, gay boys at Parsons sporting Nets, Yankees, Rangers gear……walkin’ with an affected priss…. heads bopping……bodies weaving….. and Chinese break dancers collecting bills; this is normal…

New York in December and a chilly wind blows off the pond…people are miserable….trash smells up side streets…and white smoke blows from an orange ConEd street tube; a new pope will be announced at noon……..this is normal.

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a love supreme….a love supreme….a love supreme, Coltrane and his crew prayed into the night while Jesus, Judas, and Mary drank from the cup…

dancing, hands interlocked, hips gyrating, and kisses given freely at St. Pete’s Place… no cover required… all were invited….

we sure did stir up some shit, Jesus drank… toasted to all in the crowd….Vishnu, Buddha, Mohammed, Confucius, Whitman, Theresa… the usual suspects raised a glass…..

while the boys drank and mended wounds, Mary went into a wild trance…..a love supreme….a love supreme…a love supreme…arms flailing, head bobbing to beats… mouthing words, I love you, to Jesus……he winked… nodded yes to this woman who gave her all….

she wants you, Judas laughed, slapping soul brother number one on his back…..

she always did…..

a love supreme….a love supreme…a love supreme….a love supreme….a love supreme…..

> A Love Supreme was recorded by Coltrane in Dec. ,1964 and released in February of 1965.

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Fat Azi stood at the register; protected from the thugs, the gangbangers, the stickup men, those that pack, and those without a cent in a holey pocket.

Fried chicken, fried fish, French fries, fried okra, fried pies, fried, fried, fried….welcome to Kennedy’s Chicken in The Bronx on Hunts Point….nothing special ’bout the specials…

Gimme three pieces ah chicken and a red drink motherfucker…..the blurry eyed black man stated as fives, singles, and quarters slipped through greasy hands and hit the tile floor…bing…bing…bing…

You get three piece special….a foreign tongue replied through the filtered hole…

No goddamnt..that aint what I said bitch….gimme three piece ah fried fuckin chicken and a red drink…..bitch

I call you bitch…I call you mother fucker….three piece deal is less money….I save you…

You save me motherfucker….I was saved by Jesus along time ago you Mohammed fuckin bitch….now make my chicken you Arab motherfucker…

Fuck you….I say fuck you…

Dats big talk behind dat glass….

Get out….get out….of my…

You get out motherfucker…I was here first….aint dat a bitch…..all I want is some morherfuckin fried chicken….and this Pakistani mother…..

You get out now….I said…

I’ll see ya nigga ass out in the street bitch…

(And then the next customer stepped up)

I want three pieces….

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Coltrane blew Naima on a Parisian jazz station while a homeless Jew ate a sausage biscuit from Mickey D’s in Herald Square.

Its 63 degrees in December, NYPD TERRORIST TASK FORCE cops on corners, an immigrant seeks out comfort in hiding, and the mayor’s a Red Sox fan; strange times.

And here I sit….drinking rented coffee and completely at peace with all that is America.

The Christmas commerce, the coiffed fundamentalist telling his flock that Jehovah on high wants you to be rich, successful, and completely comfortable; no suffering required.

All just fits….every intricate part…the rich…the poor…the dreamers… the “losers,” the promises, the miscues…and jazz from a Paris station….who knew….go figure….

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