FlavoursOLove (Green Energy Re-Bridge)

FlavoursOLove

c a m e r a
word -- art
flash; crave;
brilliance--;
electric DerS
piegel canvas.

Electric dimo
rphous giant;
clock ditto ho
meless man-of
-war causless
bromicide alert;
tastelesswidows
& elacstatic ra
inlikeblatterbla
cameracoldflashha
rdcoldlikeplastic

illuminedsuddenlyby
F i L a M e N t
O u s algal oil ablaze
in_the_new_age_
l-a-n-tern.

Faces etc

why are faces always beautiful? they can be
tanned creased dark graced bulbous Sino
Indoeuropean Asian greasy flanked by brown language
arranged like strange lids or Chinese
vegetables the Orient sinking in sinking
in sometimes a sink like a stink
under my skin sometimes through my nose like ahhh
choooo says the train says the whistle
says the bundle
says the white Chinatown noise the hunger
the thirst of danger this thirst for power
this hunger gradient this grand switch
these bald Lebanese women grabbing for things
(Is this something you've seen? Perhaps.)
Complete honesty. Gets inbetween the layers
of sediment in the memories of the clam bake
or the minutes spent waiting in line for fresh
vegetables on Eldridge Street, when there are other
in-every-visible-way identical vegetable stands
ones seemingly exactly the same, same
cucumbers, same mashed / un-mashed melons, same
brown skin fanning flies off the plums, same muted
rebellion or pride or something like being haunted
something like just living selling the ordinary
selling the handbag, or the curtain, the
hidden-behind-glass items for retail
in the nearby shops ... shops like people
offering
slim silver cropped doorhandles, for example.

Thoughts walking around (30 Aug 2010)

Walking through Chinatown today I had some thoughts. First of all I am a minority here. It's good to feel this way. (Of course... the goddam ubiquitous qualifier) You can take everything I say with a pinch of salt but Westerners (and those Easterners who duly dwell here (there, yonder, south, fuck these labels)) get too much sodium to begin with. The point: I'm a minority at least in Chinatown, Manhattan. Since I'm a white American of European heritage I'm usually the majority. It's good to have a break from that... identity. I really don't want to be linked to what so many people like myself have done. What do I have in common with those Europeans-of-old? Does the connection mean anything at all? Walking around here it usually doesn't feel like it. More generally in NYC people don't stare at you longer than an instant (unless they have one of the usual reasons for looking longer, like you might remind them of somebody they know, they like your looks, etc... wrestling with the unknown here). So I'm basically anonymous. And I have to be honest: I can't get enough of it, at least for now. I don't really want to be known most of the time, now. Obviously I aspire to do great things and forge great relationships with amazing people, which will make me not always anonymous. But by and large there are so many people here from such different backgrounds, they have seen a lot. And one of the only "rules" that seems to be a rule here, really just a convention is what I mean, is that it is not chill to stare or single people out. The mass is just the mass, like a river, not pointing to itself, just flowing.

One exception: at least two of the cashiers at the convenience/deli/ballsack across the street call me "Boss." I don't like it. They are of some Mid East heritage (what do I know?) and it feels like they are singling me out for being "those boss," "the man," whatever. Both times so far I have been wearing my (new) glasses, so maybe that makes me look more "professional." So really I don't think it's very much racial, but is maybe economic. Whatever. More observation is obviously needed. 

During my walk I made it halfway across the Manhattan bridge. The very cement and filaments of the living bridge shudder every time the train goes by. I believe it was built in 1901 but I could be wrong. It's old. Could not help but think what would happen if the bridge broke and fell. If I was over the water, would I be okay? Assuming nothing landed on top of me, of course. My guess is that I'd be pretty hurt, almost certainly broken bones and absurd bruising, etc... but if I landed on my feet, I'd live... once again assuming I'd be intact enough to float... or swim... to shore. Chill. 

I got a filling

tonight's not gonna be good
searching for cavities
in my cavities, my skivvies
starboard skiff
spaceman spliff

"Pliff" said the onomotapoeia
"pliff, ploff"
feeble sheep, sheepish people
keebler elves ship steeples
subtly sipping beetles

Juice of the sun
ruby red greatfruit
tropical americana

Elegant as Chinatown Garbage, maybe

1.
I have already discovered
the meltwater at edge of cave

already entered
the cave I am to call home
like lost money ringing her bank
to say, "Coming home soon!"

or a man named Nickel phoning to
get his liquor license renewed
at half past midnight
in the East teens.

2.
A.
The chaos ferry
churns on empty
she has already stuggled enough
she has already
done what matters.

B.
Welcome, they say,
to the place that matters.
You have found the spoon
inside of the baby.
Found the runt
in halls of prized gerbils.
You have already... have already...
done so many things. Have concocted
potions to tantalize the masses.

Has discovered circular pathways
in abundance
that wind downward with elegant
and symbiotic ease.
What I mean is: you've arrived.

2nd Blog In The City (Crumb)

Preamble

I have already discovered
the meltwater at edge of cave
(. . .)

1st Constitution Ave.

I have already entered
the cave I am to call home
like lost money ringing her bank
saying: Herro, I emm home! Beijing
means Northern Capitol. Jing.
Not Zhing.

& Deer ([Ampersand, misunderstood])

-- it seems overwhelming to me,
MY HAVING NO
conceptualization of schema

 -- Ultimately we need to gather
our friends and settle in a glen
near our families
a shady grove
not sketchy but well-wooded
or were it sketched, well-wrought

well-wooded, populated by extremophiles who
hide, who inhabit inscrutable depths
of wood, stone and earth;

 -- with woodpeckers friendly a-thump, snakes not vicious
but yes, dangerous (we are men, after all);
wild, out-there, your kids need to know;
& deer, the great misunderstood deer, Kissinger's
useless eaters, but not useless, even if animals
could be. (Set aside
humanity, for now). Right here in the U.S.A,
God's own city,
these deer are our own natives,
Polacks of the Great American Ruminants,
drinking firewater of polluted landscapes,
but still alive. Eating tree & bush
& grass beneath the frost. [Bison with huge necks
massively heave snow aside. Who said snow
was just white and pretty; We reside.]

(Nothing more natural than electricity,
fatigue, the quest
to not be extinguished. In some ways,
we are that fragile.)

 -- The
snakes not man, you know, men unserpentine:
surreptitious but uncoiled. blasphemy without heat.
salamanders and saddled feet.
our children must know,
forest.

 -- &
tribesmen stone creeks in the evening, gathering
piles along the banks, relieving. reliving ghost
fires, the weird swift waters. something like time
gathering, fathering. uncomfortableness sure as
mother's milk, even now developing. our greatest
mistake: not knowing how this debacle nourishes
us, forces necessity upon us like a dagger and
a dangerous but absolute mission. Failure never
was an option. That's not just an idiom, but a 
truth. It's just something that happens.
We do not try
not to love, nor
would we claim to

(intentionally)

adorn hearths with rubbish or something
unwholesome   after all   love
 is more the trumpets
than the harp; more than trumpets
and less than harp-song. Lesser and more ordinary,
simpler, but less crafty. It is here &
there; it is right here. 

 -- (intentionally)

Right beneath your wings. Call it poetic
but true-- ... ... and now, becomes 
(is) the truth redacted. Nothing less perfect,
I say, then pigeons taking wing
and defecating without awareness.
These kind of accidents
are not accidents. Ashberry was right:
these accents seem their own defense.

Aboriginal Sin

This is the first original thought I've had in years
A wholly National House of Pancakes
no syrupy foreigners allowed

I'm as French as french toast
but I know my people
and come Bastille Day,
they'll huff and they'll puff
and they'll blow NHOP down.

Pancakes are flimsy
much like my business plan
potentially a chocolate chippy enterprise
but ultimately, a big mess.

Enterprisin' ain't easy.
Mo' butter mo' problems.

If this doesn't work, I'll donate my brain to charity