dmseay

So you have two ex-wives….right..?….

yes…..yes….two….both….yes two…..

Why?….why two…..why any….

I write….no money….nothin’…..well….

So….marriage has a financial…..

Yes…..yes…..no money…..no wife….comprende…..

Women are…..wives are money driven?….

(pause)……… (longer pause)…….(a Pinter pause)……

Well….

did I mention I have two ex-wives…..

I brought that-up….

Yes…..yes you did…..I’m a writer…..I don’t have any money…..

And that’s the failure of the marriages?

Did I tell ya I was an artist…..

Yes…

You figure it out….hey…..could you buy me a sandwich…..

In trying to go backwards…..nothing’s  accomplished…..

And what? is there a gain in reaching across enemies lines?….a negotiation on what basis? you get yours and mine is…..

Just sit there…..best bet….safest play….soon it’ll all be done…..nice and tidy like…..

You’ll see…..

Easter is done….back to hating one another…..judgements made….words said in anger….actions persist…..

Back to the bombings….war in Syria….Pakistani parks….women and children first….

And refuge is sought at borders now closed….doors shut to thousands…..walls…..walls….walls…mortered with tongues….bricks applied soon….

Comforts tossed aside…. luxuries…..nothing counted-on….only the keep-on keeping- on of the poor….the sick….the hungry….

May there be a peace…a peace…..to the moslem….the christian…..the jew….the blasphemous…..and the bombastic….

Gifts of peace….

Joni sang of Chelsea mornin’s….an easiness….a loveliness about a neighborhood….a feeling of freedom….. times change…

Ma and Pa diners few and far between Chipotle’s and McDonald’s….Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts….7-11’s selling a pizza that can only be described as …..economic…..

Gone is punk rock….individuality….taste…..
Chelsea is now homogenized….even the porn shops are clean….Suburbanites…..as in Chicago….Boston….D.C….
Philly…..they don’t ask…..they take

And this is done in the finest of American traditions…..
Just ask an Indian….

No calls coming-in….nothing going-out….communications were cut long ago…..no treaties signed….perhaps a stalemate….. The sun blings brightly….making way through …

Source: Greeley Square

There’s tension in this city…. this country…this world……Old hat? perhaps…it’s always been there….now it  feels uglier…..less palatable…..

A mistrust between races has reached the summit…an eruption coming…..Lava  spilled in Baltimore……Cleveland…..Florida….New York…..St. Louis….good luck putting the fire out…..this burn is not controlled…..

Political practices pitting whites against…..well….everybody whose not white…..blacks against……well….everybody whose not black…..Mexicans…..Hondurans..Dominicans…..Jews against Islam…..hell…..everybody against Islam….And the toxins are flowing in The Hudson….The Mississippi…..The Ohio…. not a breath is taken…. fear that it might be the last…..

The 21st Century feels like the previous…..Greed is good…..Crack is whack……The Cold War reignites…..Israeli and Palestinians have yet to agree on anything…..And…despite thousands dying on an early September morn…..America is still as arrogant as ever……Hey you….watch your step…….

It is Easter weekend in NYC…. on corners stand cops in numbers….Anti-terrorist officers…..National Guard personnel…..and an on-going reminder of HIGH ALERT…..Not again…..New York runs as smoothly as New York can…..Conservatives counting on a de Blasio fumble in the fourth……So-called Liberals hoping for an on-going momentum…..Just keep the ball moving…..

All are watching the clock….The scoreboard tells nothing…..a blank slate….There has to be a winner and a loser….it’s the American way…..a country looks-on….

And me?……….. I’m waitin’ for my man……..$26 in my hand…..

Thanks again to Lou Reed…RIP

The mag on the table was titled HEP: a hepatitis rag with hep c survivor Pamela Anderson adorning the cover…..blown-up boobs and a botox bill….God I’m in love….

Junkies in the corner dozed in and out of a methadone state of mind…not much there….gone….gone….gone…

I remember when she was CJ Goddamn it, Golden said, Yeah….she’s still fuckin’ hot… CJ survives hep c……Is there anything she can’t do?….

The addict in his forties….looking like eighties….verge of death….threw HEP down hard and marched outta the homeless shelter shouting…..

Fuck her, He screamed, Fuck that lousy CJ…..Some guys have all the luck…..She’ll get hers…..yeah….you’ll see….

Collapsing to the concrete….Golden looked-up at those peering down, Am I in Heaven?…..Well…..Am I?…..

Followers…..views… visitors….blogging….bloggers..long-gone are wordsmiths…poetics loom somewhere in the night….go out and find them….

Too many at home…..telling tales of branding and marketing and how to stay on top and get the most out of your website and….Oh fuck me…..

It is the craft at stake…..the art of language….. the discipline involved…To awaken and write….and keep writing….writing with purpose……purpose…..Get It?

Goodbye Western Canon…..hello best of Facebook…….

Goodnight nurse…..

An escalator doesn’t work….
Electrical outlets produce no power….nothing….nadda…..zip…
Bedbugs taking over a city that at one time was a mecca….now simply moronic….

The N train’s not running….
Number 7 is behind schedule….
A slasher (s) on the loose….
Once a fearless town…now always asking….when? which? Penn or Grand Central?…..Empire….or Trump?….

Police garding synagogues on Friday nights….
The Upper Westside wondering if another exodus is needed….
Where to go next on this 2000 year journey…..?

While beggers begging become beligirant to those without alms….
Miliniels oblivious as a world…a country….a city show signs of wear and tear……capitalism and commerce…..religious states vs. religious rights….

NYC’s toxicity is rising……And summer has yet to simmer…

Tommy had lost his marbles again….singing Cohen songs in Herald Square….top hat and dingy tails…..tap-dancing to his own bravado….

Give my regards to Broadway, singing at tourists with an ocassional nudge, I don’t work for free folks, the passing of the hat, Please…..no foreign currency…..

H-A-RR-I-G-A-N…spells Harrigan…..Come-on folks…..You know the words, no Tommy; those words were long forgotten; passed-away with Gershwin, Porter, Strayhorn only the queens at Sunday brunches in Chelsea remember the American song book….all pages have been ripped-out and burned…..

With a bill to his name, Tommy the Tapper strolls back to the shelter; still whistling away as passers go by……

Give my regards….