dmseay

Walls and floors filled with feces; colors of shit brown, greens, yellows, black; a Pollock portrait of excrement, an essence of abuse, neglect, hard-living from one generation to the next……..and the beat goes on…….

Kids marched into the street by Family Services; no-one took notice, absence unfelt; crack cures all aches and pains…..just ask the ten-spot whores…..the moms and pops gone for hours in search of cash money motherfucker……..waitin’ for the man…….

The model from ACTION NEWS was first on the scene, Sir……can you comment on your neighbors?……What do you know of them?……..

Mr. Brown scratched his gray whiskers on an old black face, Well…..day say dere weren’t no food in dat house, his Jamaican tongue paused, If dat be da case…….den I got one question…..Who cooked da neck bones……

Whose Knocking……nobody’s home….

Just pests having a field day….mice…..rats…..rodents of some kind……what’s the difference…..their taking over…..vote Trump…….

Whose knocking………go away…….

Tomato sauce stains on the stove….Voltaire’s Candide on the bookshelf……the ramblings of Pope Pius IX……a refrain from action…………..

Whose knocking……enough already…….

Schubert plays…..changing to Bach….changing to Herr Mozart………changing to……..you get the picture…..it smells like tuna fish………

Whose knocking…..I’m warning you…….

Lights on…….an album keeps skipping……and scratching……….snoring like a buzz saw……just leave me alone……Nobody’s home

I can make a $100 on a weekend selling this shit, said Shorty, leaning over a coffee mug, tapping a finger, counting cases of Nutty Buddies below his stool. He gave a glance at the redhead waitress with the prison tattoos and missing teeth. She poured another while he tore open cream containers; held his hand just above the rim,” Whoa, that’s good honey.” She smiled, looked at Shorty’s girl,”You want some too honey?” Kit nodded, thanked her with a broad grin revealing some missing chompers of her own.

You know what people say when they see us two……they be sayin’ what that nigger be doin’ with that pretty white girl, Kit stirred in some packets of sugar and stashed a few in her purse. They be sayin’…… how’d that shine pull that one off?……..You know that’s what they be sayin’, they laughed…….Ah…Kitty…..years ago I could have pulled it off……could have made you mine, Kit leaned over and kissed Shorty’s filth caked face, You still could, she looked at him, flirted some more….

Don’t you be teasin’ me now girl…..don’t you be doin that, Kit gazed at Shorty, a lick of the lips. Me….tease?…….Never…….never…….I loves you Shorty…..

I love you too baby girl….

There was no toilet paper to be found in the men’s room stalls at the shelter; just a foul smell. Knowledge checked both stalls; the one for handicapped, wider, better to stretch out…… take care of business…… smelled the worst; upon further inspection the evidence was clear: a brown mass floating upon murky water while barely clinging to the side of the bowl. This mass had no defined shape…. no length…. nor width; just a thick coating waiting to be flushed down the pipes.

The other stall…… less wide…… confining… had water rising to the top….. ready to spill out and flood with a stagnant golden liquid; traces… markings left behind on a cracked seat; dark black streaks lingering from the past; a choice had to be made…..a gamble….a roll of the dice.

Knowledge walked over to the sinks…. ran lukewarm water over his hands; no soap in the dispenser; ran the wetness through his greasy thick black hair and pulled five long paper towels with the magical wave of a hand.

“Eeenie meenie miney moe,” pointing at each stall to the syncopation of his voice, “catch a junkie by his toe,” eyes closed and continuing to point back and forth, “if he hollers let him go,” the pointer finger was beginning to slow-down, “eenie meenie miney moe,” eyes opened and the thick finger pointed at the handicapped stall: some guys have all the luck.

Knowledge pulled in his breath and quickly opened the stall’s heavy swinging door….. pushed the small steel bar into place for a secure lock and continued holding his breath. He stood as far away from the shit -filled toilet as possible….. turned his head to the other side with pinky extended, “Don’t overflow motherfucker…..do not overflow….,” whispered while pushing down ever so gingerly on the silver handle only to discover……nothing……..no resistance at all; the handle flapped up and down while a slight gurgling sound surged from the depths of the bowl.

He walked out of the stall holding all that was bound up inside of him……mumbling to himself, “Fucking bums.”

A babe in her arms, two clinging at the legs while the bus stopped, started, potholes, speed bumps, and homeboys staring at fresh new prospects: body bouncing under a tee-shirt stating, STOP THE MESSING…..GOD IS BLESSING……

And then I told him he better have my money’s on the first……..sit down Tyrell….you better sit your nappy ass down, a smack and a shove was committed, no-one blinked an eye, not a noise was made…….

I be tired of this shit month after motherfuckin’ month…..late…late…late……and most the times nothin’ at all…..I said sit your black ass down boy ‘fore I give you’s a whoopin’…..Hold-on, she bellowed on the phone, I said hold-on, a babe’s cries would soon be silenced, Don’t you be startin’ now too, switched to the left arm for striking purposes, I said stop all’s yalls shit now, suddenly a seat opened……

‘Bout motherfuckin’ time you give me somethin’ in this life…….Yea…..I’m still here……hold-on…..Jermaine you better sit down on that floor right now, a threat with a backhand, Next stop Grand……Grand Avenue will be the next stop, and the beats kept beating from headphones, the loud talking moved to a higher scale, and dashing looks at this guy, that girl, whose holdin’? whose packin’?, What the fuck you be lookin’ at?……

Move forward………just move forward…….and stop the messin’……..a god is blessin’……..a god is blessin’…….

Listening to Bill Evans play Gloria’s Step……..thinking of meals at Apostle’s Church on 9th…….hard crusty breads slathered in butter done up by seniors sitting and talking, sitting and talking while the mounds of margarine go down and down and down; save me a piece for the road…..

Men in dirty coats and fingerless gloves feast on glazed Thai chicken and a kale with lentils salad finished off with a nice balsamic blend, Hey….you gonna eat that? a pile of rolls is never high enough….

A piano plays Who Can I Turn To and Camelot while women from the neighborhood wait on the crazies, the addicts, the down on their luck’s, the cons, the former big shots, and the never had a chance; all of us got here some how…..don’t ask……

Apostle’s Church for lunch Monday through Friday………For there is simply not….a more congenial spot……

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……………