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Ginsberg’s words soothe…..outrage……condemn…..and celebrate…..then there is this, Yo, young black chick smakin’ on her cell at the Kip’s Bay Library, I done told that motherfucker who he be dealin’ with and I’m not playin’ with that bitch Jermaine in any way shape or form cause I knows what be the truth….

Shhhhh…..Please…..please….

And then I told Maurice that I wasn’t gonna play that type of shit no more while I sit at Mainchance every motherfuckin’ day waitin’ on some raggedy ass bitch to get me my motherfuckin housing and shit and whatnot…..

Ms…….please…..would you please……

Hold on, a turn of the head in my direction with dreadlocks throwing backwards and forwards as she addressed the audience, Bitch….who you be talkin’ to……aint nobody talkin’ to you bitch…..keep lookin’ at my black ass bitch and I’ll show you what I’m talkin’ ’bout motherfucker….Shhhh your damn self….Tell me what to do….

In search of solace……maybe chants from ancient pasts……find new ground…..

Why are you staring at me…..? the old queen demanded a reply as I tried to settle…..I thought you were staring at me….

No, a hand wave, a Joan Crawford glare, You caught my eye and continued staring at me, loudly proclaiming, proudly handing down a verdict, No more…..do not say another word, the queen applied Chapstick, lips were licked; Howl, Howl, Howl…..

January in NYC and there is no snow……Libraries are no longer quiet places……and gay men want marriage and kids instead of the lush life of jazz and cocktails…….Howl Allen……Howl…..

Unions are the worst thing that ever happened to America, said the Indian accountant inside the men’s locker room with a towel rapped around him and a hard-on to start some trouble….

Uh, looked at him, gave him a once over to size him up, Where you from? and what do you do? I mean….surely you have a good insight on this matter….or…you wouldn’t make such a statement… you know…..provocative……

I am from India where the workers are treated much worse than they are here… and they don’t complain….they are happy to make the wages they make….no arguments…nor strikes….they are hard workers too…..

Right, noticed his hard-on was getting stiffer; it was evident a climax would come soon, So….what is it you do? work with your hands…….Haul payloads…..What type of labor are you into…..?

I work with numbers……My job is to make sure waste is done away with….

Eliminated…..

Yes, opened his locker, looking at deodorants, colognes, books on Buddhism, all kinds of shit piled up in such a tiny space, If need be…..jobs must be eliminated for reasons of profit…..Must show profit…..

Well….let me ask you…..Since when did America ever live to the rest of the world’s standards? What are you advocating here?….that American workers should live in shit….the muck and mire as they do in dear old India…..Dear sir…..go fuck yourself….not another fucking word from you….And go take care of that hard-on…..

Then it happened, as if the leopard was behind the bush the whole time, I agree with him completely, this voice attached to a kid in a suit spoke, We would be far better off without unions……They just get in the way……They should just go away…….There’s just no longer a need for them….

Really……Really……..Well….I’m leaving……It’s over……Finished and done…..Goodnight ladies…..It was fun while it lasted…..

We made love in a dream; two crazies going at it in a high manic state…..turn-off the phones and lock the doors….the madness begins…..

Bottles of red wine were poured in bed…..a few laughs….some crying…..a good talk in between touches and strokes, grabs and pulls, caresses of gentleness…..then she broke my heart…… she told the truth…..

You’re good, Sylvia said, but….not as good as dear old Teddy, she let out a snicker, an ego deflated, I do miss him so, sobbing just a little before the heavy dew drops fell, If only he loved me….if only he loved me……

Sure……I get the picture….you wanna keep a broad….treat her like shit…..I was never good at that…..But, dear old Teddy was….uh?…..Tell me Sylvia…..do tell of how dear old Teddy made you take the bait……..every single time…..right?…….Right……

At two in the morning Sylvia was gone from my bed….done with me…..through…..the wine bottle was left half empty on the night stand…..a few condoms tossed in the trash……God knows who that filthy bastard plucked……no more Sylvia…..no more…..

The good one’s always leave way too soon…..

King’s Day at the drop-in center….hoops on t.v……all is not quiet on the Western Front, Yo man my niggas gots to be hittin’ that lane harder than a motherfucker….my nigga’s…my nigga’s, chimes the young black security guard with a swagger to his step, pacing the floor up and down, shooting invisible balls into air, hands left hanging…..

No man it aint like that my nigga, says Shorty, another young guard sporting a fro with a fist-pick on top; no additives nor preservatives, Them niggas be straight with that shit…..be talkin’ nigga….be talkin’ my nigga, the two slap hands with a snap of fingers to finish the deal, Yo that be some shit my nigga….

“When I think of Dr. King….I think of courage,” said a Knicks player……stating the importance of the day….words barely heard in a small room, shouting behind a door….

Yo nigga you better cut that shit out, says the guard while pushing a black female client stating her case, Get out here nigga, the guard pushes her again, causing the black girl to shout, throw punches at the air……

You be fuckin’ with the wrong ass nigga….nigga, the scuffle continues, I knows my rights nigga and you be violatin’ them mother fucker…. go-on nigga…..fuck some more with this here nigga….I knock your nigga ass through the wall nigga…..

Yo my niggas chill….said chill my niggas, Shorty raised the stakes, gonna be some shit niggas if you don’t mother fuckin’ chilll, a swing, a push, a pull, My niggas….my niggas….my mother fuckin’ niggas….knock this shit out….My niggas…..my niggas….my niggas, black and white images of Dr. King appear as shouts, screams, curses, and items thrown to the floor sound off like machine guns, Yo niggas chill… CHILL………………NIGGAS……………………NIGGAS…..CHILL……………

 

 

 

 

 

This is not fit for the son of God….nor Mohammed….or, Vishnu……it is unholy….too much of too much….in the words of Hyman Roth, “smaller piece…”

I bend….I cross myself in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost…..and begin to pray for peace within…peace within…..no more internal struggle… done with the fighting…..the mad yelling….the curses upon enemies…..exes…..pasts….and present troubles…..troubles….troubles……we’ve all been there…..

And cameras are pointed at a golden alter with a crucifix shining…..does pain or suffering shine?….. who knows…again with the selfies….the extended arms to record one whispering, “John John’s mass was celebrated here… So was his mother’s….,” as silent readings on humility….celebration….hurt….and forgiveness are lifted to the heavens…….a prayer for me….a prayer for all….

Across the street Atlas shrugs…..commerce commences…..and trash is rummaged through for a possible meal…..and I pray at St. Pat’s……I pray at St. Pat’s where it is warm inside…..walls are adorned with art…..fortunes are displayed…..

I shall not pray at St. Patrick’s again……

At 6:00 in the morning the yelling on the short bus started, Hey man…you better go by 88th Street and pick up those guys over there ’cause you forgot ’bout them the other day and man was they pissed at you, loudly the PR pointed out the bus driver’s mistake as whoops and hollers from America’s forgotten rang out over Salsa music….A.M. talk radio…..hip-hop rapping sagging might be haggling brothers arguing over what be dope and nope……you dig…….

Gotta get this schedule down man, He continued with an accent straight off of Hunts Point, The deal is you wait for us…..not the other way around man, and that’s right followed by damn straight and you better listen motherfucker by all on the bus as traffic tightened on Madison and greens turned to reds and ambulances went wrong ways down one ways and cops block off 6th, 7th, and 8th…..

I’ll get you get you there when I get you there, the Mick says under his breath…..I’m the driver…..let me do my job you bunch of…..

Oooooooooooo…..I know you didn’t just say that word, again, the PR antagonizes,….you better watch what you say or this whole bus will blow up I’m telling you pops, silence for a second or two…..

What did that motherfucker say, the black kid with the Knicks hat tilted to the right demanded, tell me what that mother fuckin’ old white man be sayin’, the kid persisted, I be breakin’ that motherfucker’s legs you watch…..

And the short bus comes to a stop. Right in the middle of 1st Avenue as the sun rises over the East River and the United Nations flags blew with a dramatic rippled effect, leaving all aboard to a dead silence…..

The door opened and the Mick with his plaid mac stood at the front with sturdy legs and a shaky voice, You’re on your own, he bowed and walked down the stairs to hit the street without a shout or a yell nor a word stated at all…..

And that was that……..

 

 

She sat naked behind plated glass….phone in hand….making forecasts and promises……she pretended…..I pretended….

Couldn’t resist…… a vagabond…..where was Mecca….?……..  not in Chicago…..nor Cleveland….. D.C…… St. Louis….. never found until the red screen rose at 42nd and 8th….revealing what……revealing her…..just like a hundred other times….

Feeling like Harry Dean Stanton in Paris, Texas, “I knew these people…..these two people….” she did all the talking……  wanted to….but couldn’t…..gun shy? I suppose…..just listening…. listening…… didn’t want to see…..

“Everything became an adventure,” that was the line from the movie, “an adventure…..” maybe it had become an adventure…..the on-going search for a redhead with blue eyes….with innocence….with faith….these are dreams……

It was not her body of loose flesh…nor the Southern drawl of a sweet bourbon voice…..wasn’t the breathless pauses between words….suggestions…. solicitations….can’t say……just magic…..maybe mystic….who knows…..

No….all it was… for a brief moment… was just the comfort of not being alone….

I’m half Native American, said the blonde…..blue eyed…..mutton chop wearing youngster, and….I am also half Irish, he continued…..which is really strange if you think about it due to the fables….misnomers…..stereotypes….. about the two races, he pulled out a bag of organic carrots…….and….he pulled off his sweater…..

On one half alcohol is terrible for me…it ruined the whole Native race….it’s culture….it’s toxic to us, he munched loudly, bit off another bite, and the Irish are no friends to the devil juice either, louder he got, talking more and more at a rapid rate of speed while taking off his woolen pants…….

But…what’s my point……I deal with high percentages in my mathematical estimates…..always on point with predictions…..prognosis…..it’s not my fault if no-one cares to listen to my advice on astrophysics…..metaphysics…. the spiritual wholeness of the individual and how that can turn into a healing process for an entire nation, paused, adjusted his pork-pie hat, and again munched on more hairy orange organic carrots; shivering in socks and underwear……

No one in my family will talk to me…they think I’m crazy, a chuckle, if I were crazy….truly crazy…..would I be as smart as I am? I think not…..but….. then again…..maybe….Throughout history smart and crazy have coincide……together…..as one….so….I was wrong….I’m both crazy and smart….however…..I’m due for a change….perhaps it is time to just be…….

I now stand before you naked, he grinned as if all pain was taken away, I am at ease with myself….my naked…..smart…..crazy……self……of course I am…..of course I am….

 

 

 

Outside the deli in Brooklyn the line stretched for blocks…. maybe a mile….. . Jews….. Puerto Ricans….. Mexicans….. Dominicans….. Dagos…..blacks…..white suburban house wives texting and taking selfies to mark the auspicious event….. Micks….. Greek diner owners….. and Indian cabbies talking over all of ’em as if they were at a stand on Shouting Street selling samosas and dates……. Middle Easterners looking to strike it rich with the purchase of ten…. twenty…. thirty tickets at a time; all chatting it up for the cameras…. all wanting a piece of the action….all wanting the American dream……. to be rich with as little effort as possible; hang in there…..dreams do come true……

I want a big ninety inch motherfucker, the black youth with headphones lowered around his neck said to the Eyewitness News Team, and some speakers and shit, he continued, a bleep here and a bleep there, cause you knows….this is my one shot at making it in this place… it be tough out here for the brothers…..

I just want to take some vacations and give my kids some money, said the nice Jewish grandmother from across the bay, of course I want to save some of it too….. you never know when times are going to get hard…….

Just wanna buy drinks for all my friends….every single night of the week, the greaseball spewed…and here’s a shout out to Mikey D in The Bronx…..Petey Boy…..Tony….Tony…and Tony….you know who you are….woo woo wooooooo

Did you buy your ticket sir? I told the reporter/model that no…. I had not…..nor did I intend to….

You know you  can’t win if you don’t play, the leggy blonde quipped…..

Right…..If I won that thing……I’d be dead within a week….Let’s just say I’m alright with what I have……

 

 

Hip-hop beats….black youth rapping about some cellphone romance…egg foo young with a sauce; where’s the gravy? it’s egg foo fucking young ;don’t make it something it’s not….

All this Chinese yelling over god knows, god doesn’t care; a tribesman can’t decide between lo chow mein, or Singapore Sling……more yelling from the kitchen….

You get no pot o tea….you get cup, number one son says, you want or no….

Just the check……. the fortune cookie read, “some pursue happiness; you create it.”

Oh fuck me….

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