dmseay

He sat sleeping in a hard wooden chair across the table….warned of falling into dreams….a library is no place for slumber…

A large window on the second floor showed a good portion of the Schwratzman Library across 5th Avenue….old ghosts had dwelled within it’s aisles for years… new spirits need not apply….

Now….here in this moment….souls go unnoticed….the wanderers of  dear old Gotham…..haunted by literary pasts….an illiterate present….and this young kid sleeps…..cellphone charging…..arms folded within……he is the new American ghost……

Seen sleeping away Indian Summer’s season in Madison Square Park, or sometimes Bryant……. lying horizontally on the six or seven trains in dark hours as cops walk by, pedestrians hold noses, and white guilt kids look for other options…..surely he had no home…no family…..

Are we reaching the end yet? I sure hope so…..

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It is not being afraid to cry out in a library, a park bench, a church pew…..
With songs playing, notes hit, chords struck….setting off feelings from long ago….. ten years ago…..ten days ago…. the last few seconds…..allowing all that is human to be seen…..

In being alone there is solace, a tranquility never experienced by the king….the queen….nor their court….to one’s self be true whatever the cost….it is bound to be beautiful….rich…..plentiful….Take it all in…..these streets where lost souls pray upon those considered weak….these homes where brothers are not protectors….. churches, churches, churches……wanting money well spent, a down payment for a soul if you will…..

I see the thousand dollar suits, the coiffed hairdos, the smartphone manifestos spewed out on dating websites for those seeking connections without costs, without suffering; all gratis…..it’s the here and now….batteries not included….

And so I sit in a library listening to Central Park West played by Coltrane….and I am crying……this is what it means to have joy……

Let the tears roll….let the crying commence….let peace reign for a thousand years….what is the cost….

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We sat next to one another at the shrink’s office; the old codger was sneezing his grey head off; a bless you was granted each and every time…..

At home, the prune said, I sneeze once and my wife says bless you, a smile exposing a blank mouth….

That a fact, I said, what’d you know? I smiled too; a few more years and my chompers will be gone as well…..

But….she says….to never bless more than once, again with the grin, it’s all how’s you’s was brought up, a wink, a pat on the knee; my knee.

You know, he pointed up at a light, instead of saying bless you…..the Japanese bow….they bow…..uh….right….

They also lost the war, I reminded him. They lost the war…..that’s what bowing’ll getcha….

We both nodded and went back to talking to ourselves out loud……no one said a word.

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He stood over me, looking at bottles of pills; Seroquel, Trazodone, Depakote, lined up on the Mickey D’s table next to the dollar joe  with Taylor Dayne belting out I just want to be your lover girl over the speakers; loud, loud, loud; the volume is never high enough amongst the poor…..

Man, one grey eye wandered, where you get all dem pills? Uninvited, drunk as a WASP on St. Patrick’s Day, he sat down…..sang along with Ms. Dayne….

Whatcha got man? Let me see dem bottles Hoss, Taylor Dayne turns into Barry White…..Playin’ a game girl….playin’ a game…..

The bottle of Trazodone was snatched by the black beggar, Man…..whatcha got?

Bipolar 1 with PTSD….

Damn….dats some shit….you get paid for dat shit?

Answered yes….

Man I gotta get me some ah dat Bipolar shit…..you hook me up man? dats gots to be da shit…..how much you bein’ paid?

Not much….

It be better dan nuthin nigga….shit….who you foolin’……Bipolar…dat be da shit….how can I get dat? Whats I gots ta do…..

I think you’re doing it….

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Man….what’s showin my pipi to dat kid back ’98 got ta do with anything?….it’s not like I put it in da motherfucker’s mouth now is it? he paused, cellphone clutched to his ear,

Right, the crinkled wrinkled black man stammered inbetween sips from a clear pint, naw man….it’s some racist bullshit…..I’m sayin dat da motherfucker got it in for me ’cause I’m black, pulled the cell away, lit up a loosie stashed behind his ear….

See….I told my cousin….dat boy’s mother when she filed charges dat I was gonna git her black ass….now she be playin dis shit…..aint dat some fucked up shit…. uh…..right….right…..I’m gonna call Bender and Bender…..sue dat whole goddamn family, ran a shaky hand under his nose….

Dem lawyers be Jews dont they…..right….get dem Jews on they ass they gonna wish dat boy never said a motherfuckin word ’bout my dick…..five damn years and I’m still payin for nothin…..damn….I shoulda just stayed in my room and jacked myself off dat day…..motherfucker….

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(Based on Lenny from Harold Pinter’s, The Homecoming)

Through the steam….I see ya….bunch of Nancys eyeing me…..givin me the look of a fat man at a Christmas goose…

Stop with the lookin…..ya wanna show ya old puffter?…..aye……a show…..a real show ya can tell all the mates back at the pub bout….

No difference to me…..I like a yank on the old cock and bits as much as the next fella….

It gets down to being inconspicuous…..yes….inconspicuous…ya old fairies can’t say that now can ya… .can ya?

For God’s sake cover yourselves…..I for one don’t want any part of it…..no thanks…..not obliged in the least bit…..

I’m done here…..go bout your business ladies…I’ll give ya a reason ta smile…

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Money comes after long stretches of time…..days….weeks…months….you get the picture…..
Then…. in one twist of the knob…..a touch upon a dial pad…..a debit card swiped…  it’s gone…… as if it never was…and no…..you cannot have seconds…

And people walk by signs held by squatting hawkers whose last dimes were spent in bathroom stalls at The Port Authority Building behind closed doors…..moans……screams…..muffled by hand drying units blowing out at full speed.. 

Junkies looking…drunks too……lonely men seeking out company….all suspect….. savings wasted…. panhandled pennies promised to debtors now washed away; good intentions are all we were ever had….

The pushers…. the bartenders…the whores……pimps….parolees…attorneys…. all buying…..all selling…. praying upon the sick….the afflicted…the addicted….and the morally bankrupt…..

Get in line……the soup is getting cold…..

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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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