dmseay

Running low on funds….end of the month….the eagle flies on the 1st…calls for funds depended on….first rule in America….Don’t depend on anyone….

Yes…This is Josephina thank you for calling PNC Bank you have come through as a verified customer how can I help you?

Yes Jsephina….I’m calling to ask why I have not been reinbursed for the one time use of a non PNC atm this month?

Yes you have been verified as a PNC customer I will be happy to assist you…

Yes…I just need the three bucks put back into my account please….

Yes since you have been verified as a PNC customer I will be happy to help you with that…..
(silence)
Yes I will need to put you on hold….
(and musak filled the air from Seneca to Cuyahoga Falls)
Yes thank you for being a verified customer and waiting you do not receive any paybacks for non PNC atms….

No…every month I get reimbursed for up to…

Not unless you have the student vertual wallet account you have the…

No that is not what has taken…..

Sir those atm fees apply to your type….you do not….

No one ever told me about a student….

Sir I’m telling you now. …

Do I sense an attitude….

Sir ….

No…I’m sensing. …

Sir these are the rules of the….

Get a manager please…..

(laughs) yes sir right away sir….
(Hey ho where’d you go Ohio)

This is Dave of PNC BANK of whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?….

Yes Dave….I’m David…first question…..Does PNC go down to the docks each day to pick up day laborers to man the phones?….

Sir…

Very unprofessional Dave….esculating the conversation  to an argument…..

Yes sir I’m sorry you have not had an enjoyable. …

Dave….Where’s my three bucks for the atm fees?

Sir we changed that and you are no longer to receive any payments back unless you have the student virtual wallet…..

Is PNC financially in trouble right now? Are ya about to go bankrupt?…..

Sir Let me see about helping you today…..we’re all about helping our customers achieve success….

My success?

Yes sir….

Not PNC’s?….

Sir….

Keep the tre…..keep it….In fact…next week if PNC gets inna little trouble call me….I’ll toss you a few….

Sir…

Have you read the op-ed’s? …..people are pissed at your industry Dave….Do you hear me? Pissed. …..And….you win….it doesn’t matter what bank is used…..You’re fucked…..

Sir I have to stop this conversation because of abusive and obscene language…..

People have lost homes because of you…..and I can’t use the word fuck?……Think about it Dave…..think….

Throughout the day….SEND gets clicked….tapped..touched …and teased… more than a whore’s thigh….

A constant contest in popularity….the class presidency never decided…..

It is not marketing for money…nor prizes…..it is craft… AND…the discipline of craft….art…..that now stands in parrel….

Are writers writing words…..works which convict….bring forth thought….question norms?….Or….are we….writers….artists….simply aiming for numbers…..deadlines….the organic process done away with; truth has left the building….

And so we write….we film….we paint…..for whom?….

Until we can answer this question without reservation…..all bets are off.

Now hit SEND…..

He thought he was in St. Louis…surprised to be told by the cops it was Kansas City…..After mom died things just got strange….no-one could make rhyme nor reason of any of the old man’s thoughts or actions….kids just went along with what he said…never thinking he’d act on any of it…

A missing persons report was made-out…left everything behind…kids….dogs….a mortgage ….a vase holding his wife’s remains…walked-out….locked the door behind him …. just left….It’s what he always wanted to do… a wanderer from the beginning…aren’t we all…..

The oldest boy….got word and took a bus from Eads to meet the old man…drive him to safety….keep him under some kind of control…..He was good at controlling things….He controlled this…and that…. controlled everything but his own life…..had nasty habits…..never broke ’em…..

That ride to Eads was silent…..the old man was mad as hell that his fun had come to an end…..the oldest son was mad that his torment was just beginning……

Did ya’ eat?, the old man was asked, You want some food?….McDonald’s…..maybe a Wendy’s, the old man shook his head; food was given-up the day after mom went into a coma…..At that point he knew she was gone……

Ya’ gotta eat dad…..ya’ gotta eat somethin’……Look….I’m tellin’ ya’….

Just drive,….. a simple request,…..  please….just… drive…..

The son turned on the radio…..Art Bell was talkin’ conspiracies and predictions of doom……no-one made a sound…..just Art Bell talkin’…….and talkin’…..

No stops were made…..the old man kept staring out at the starless night; the Western night is always haunting….always….And..there were words running through his head as the kid turned the dial to some station playing a Buck Owens song…..They were my words….

Listen dad, I said, You do what ever you want…..You wanna go for a ride?….then go….just leave…..you don’t owe anybody anything…..We have that in common…..

When they stopped for gas dad went into the station for a Pepsi……The kid waited…and waited…..he kept-on waiting ’til daybreak…..he knew the old man was gone….you sense these things…..

The radio was turned back-on…..a news report about bombings and bloodshed……

 

 

 

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 umbrellas and mile high buildings…bouncing here and landing on those in search of warmth while a meaner breeze blows through Manhattan….a nation…..than ever before…..the cliche “Greed is good,” has come back into vogue… maybe….just maybe….it never left….

A firey ball blisters above Greeley Square….take it in…. take it in…

Let the worker bees work….let the nay sayers nay….let the liars lie…let the drunks drink…..I pass no judgment…..

Merely taking a seat in the commercial goo that surrounds us all…..

And….I think I’m stuck…..that is all..

And Mass was peaceful…with words condemning violence….offerings of salvation….some bread….a sip of wine….

Talk of the insanity on this planet…….non-stop rockets ricocheted into crowds….gun-shots  in school halls….bombs in Brussels…Lord forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those.. 

A cleansing is felt as the symbol of the cross is made….inside a sanctuary….only to go back out to the world’s offerings….

Fuck me…..No….fuck you…..Nigga I put a cap in yo ass….motherfuckin this and motherfuckin that….

Salesmen….bankers….traders wheeling and dealing to no-one’s benefit but their own….

The philosophy that religion and business should be separate….leave your prayers at home….

Well…….What’s the point?

The homeless only know one volume….LOUD…..LOUD…..LOUD…

In the streets….the shelters….the drop-in centers…the soup lines….the church basements….McDonald’s….subway stations…public restrooms….a loudness prevails in every action….on every block….

And now I…once meek…I scream….yell….talk in decibels and octaves never thought possible to achieve…

Manhattan has become a giant baby’s playpen with all of us screaming for a parent’s hand…to be fed….changed…..cleansed….

Come-on de Blasio….we’re counting on you….Lift the needy….the sick….the cons….the criminals…the junkies….the K2 casualties…..the drunks….the financially devestated…..Pick us up…. teach us to walk….

But….do not….do not place a passifier in the mouths of babes….

That’s been tried before….

Loose balls drop-in bowls of piss left from the night before by men who howl at full moons in Manhattan’s midnights…..cursed….cursed….cursed…..

Nurses and psych-techs keep order in disorder….criminally crazy…or….just plain nuts…..patients play-out pasts….no life in the present…

Some silent…..not willing to show or tell a soul ’bout the brother’s act of rape…..a constant loudness in houses of addiction….abuse.. …no understanding…..No wonder he ran away…..

It is morning on 12 West…..Buenos dias….yes….Buenos dias indeed….Breakfast trays passed out….coffee dispersed…..and food rejected, I said I want a fried-egg sandwich….can’t you people get anything right?…..Fuck this….I’m going home, but, there is no home….

And this is what I do…..observe and report….just sit quietly and observe and report….

A meeting was held….limited invites….we few…..we lucky few….

Shariff held court in the back of the homeless shelter….to be young, black, angry, and uneducated…..lethal….

See my brothers, the self professed militant began, This is not no blessing….poverty is no blessing…..

The brothers nodded; shook heads under hoods in agreement, We’s got to be organizin’ up and down the lines my brothers…. let the word be heard….shout it out loud and proud…..Black is back….

An every once in a while glance came from white boys within ear distance, We Niggas now be stronger than ever….We be ownin’ this motherfucker lock stock and motherfuckin’ barrel, motions and shouts of, That’s Right brother,…..mixed with, Preach on now….keepin’ it real….keepin’ it real…

Ain’t no white boy in a business suit got your best interests at stake…..Ain’t none o’ them….Not a one… Bankers…lawyers…. record execs…motherfuckin teachers in schools nationwide…..Teachin’ da’ white man’s history, turns of heads and dragon’s breaths in disbelief….

Shariff paused and pulled his Castro cap down tighter… What you be lookin’ at? Now….what you be lookin’ at?

A white man with idealism waning, just sat still…not a thing to say…no past resume of liberal causes to present….just silence….

I said….What you be lookin’ at?….

A weathered hand ran through matted hair, I don’t know…..I don’t know….

There’s a way things are done in prison…..homeless shelters as well…..filled with a criminal element….seniority rules….the pecking order applies…..

Do not take the last donut….wait for the last cot left… chairs are in invisibly marked…business dealings never discussed….it’s a given….

Places are broken in-line….throw out what was learned in grade school….I’ll take mine motherfucker and nothing better be said….And that Is that….

Last man standing…..seeking-out the soft; do not show your hand….do not reveal any intelligence….

After all….they’re smarter than all of us….

That’s why they served time….

Morning brings the scent of bud in front of churches….in sandwich lines….down on 14th in front of P.A……all over this Manhatta…..the blunt is bold….

Young bloods….OG’s…..fairies dancing on rooftops….wannabe artists whose disciplines ran away…left in the night…gone…gone….gone….

And music blares from a blinking light lit speaker; dancing to beats in the streets as attorneys and acountants and accessors wake to a morning of French Toast and maple syrup….with wives that act in caring manners….

A quick buck is made on 16th…. dime bags sold to school kids….Can you change a Franklin?

Meanwhile the Kiteman floats over the city…..leaving love on every corner….an ease to the day’s events……Hit me up again ’round noon….

Take it all in….a deep breath….just one good deep breath….ahhhhhh…..

The day begins….