75. 'CAT MOTHER'
I had known lots of little things,
before landing in New York City.
I had the bits of mythology, the
readings in the Gods and Divines,
histories of wars and prophecies.
All the sorts of crazy stuff which
I'd put everywhere in my head.
But nothing yet of the 'Big' ideas.
As a computer 'defragments' itself
pulling all the bits and pieces of
far-flung information together so
there's not so much the need for
scanning all over the place to get
the info's - which only slows things
down - so too was I. My exposure
time in NYC was of 'Unified Field
Theory, as it were - using a current
physics term. It helped with the
referential-efficiency needed for a
smoother working of 'me'. To Hell
with college and school, where the
nitwits go so as to have all of that
process 'Stopped!' so as not to any
longer interfere with career and
fortune. Too bad; a total dead-man's
waste of time, and rah-rah for the
football home team too. I'd see them,
my 'peers' - shuffling along in their
new experiences of city living with
textbook and umbrella, not knowing
a second of the real source of the
'Time' they were living in, a time
not even made up of seconds,
more like nano's. No one ever tells
you that so much of what flows
through you is subjective. They
instead try to school you in the
fixed and supposedly perfect
precepts of 'objectivity' - so that
things stop for you instead of
continuing their expansion; for
unless they 'stop', you can't take
advantage of them to lie, cheat,
steal and amass dead things from.
-
I kind of got to New York in
a silence. I kept it that way
and just let the place talk to
me, or talk back to my spirit
anyway. Can you have any
inkling of what it was like,
1967 version, for a dumb,
rube, skinny, outlander with
maybe only balls and ignorance
on his side, to just show up like
that unannounced and proclaim
to the largest city in the world
that he was there to stay and
ready for taking over? Based
on media info and endless
readings of the Village Voice,
I knew enough to head for
St. Marks Place to begin my
trek. At the very end of St.
Marks is Tompkins Square, at
which - as I've explained - I
ended up, first night and many
more. All those Spanish dudes
playing their wild, bandshell
music. Long, white-bright
hot afternoons. Observing
and just trying to make sense.
I slept in the park, with
various others who came
and went (Summer '67 was
a sort of hippie/runaway
high-tide). I used their
facilities, and managed to
eke out some subsistence.
The Peace Eye Bookstore
was right nearby. Ed Sanders
and Allen Ginsberg. Yes,
those guys. Gregory Corso.
Peter Orlovsky. An entire
raft of deep, intellectual
crazies who just happened
to be making history too.
It was all fun, and good.
-
The big thing that Summer,
I guess, was peasant tops on
girls with no bras. It was a
hippie thing, and it was OK
with me. For guys, it was an
option - like maybe jeans
that had been worn for 90 days
straight, or peasant tops and beads,
not so different from the girls.
It was pretty weird. There was
always something very androgynous
anyway about boy hippies. I think,
that now, much later, today these
types just come out as gay guys
and no one really cares anymore.
Back then, I guess the crossover
was different, and any factors
of gayness had to be hid or
subsumed into other things :
fine tastes, music or art.
Like Donovan Leitch or like
Bob Dylan. Even funnier was
the current of homo-eroticism I
could detect in the hard-ass
Biker crowd. Leathers, chains,
camaraderie, closeness, hugs
and brotherhood stuff. It was
but a few years later, as it turned
out, that Robert Mapplethorpe
started coming out with all his
photo stuff, nearly instantly
proving my case. Look at
any Danny Lyons photos
of the era, 'Bikers'.
-
At the corner of Avenue A and
10th, in the 1980's, there was a
guy who ran a bicycle-repair
thing, right out there on the
curb across from the park. I
was long gone by then but
whenever I passed I was
intrigued. There was a period
of time through the 1980's,
after all the dismal dereliction
and death of the 1970's was
over and gone, when art
galleries and a certain louche
class of hipness moved in to
the area. It was a brief, three-year
or so mini-renaissance, and
then it too was over, Anyway,
this guy held business-court
outside, without any overhead
at all. People would bring him
their bicycles - and he usually
had probably five or six to
work on - for various repairs,
bearing changes, chains,
lubrications, new pedals,
any and all of that stuff,
and come whenever later
or a day or two, pay and
pick up. The guy worked
up on milk-crates, as seats
and as bicycle stands - he
had his entire array of tools
and pumps and things and
it was all kept right there,
outside. Radio blaring. 90
degree heat, or not. I never
knew how he did his 'cash'
business - for tax purposes
or even to cover costs. No
idea. I guess he'd buy
whatever he needed, parts
and all, for one price, and
mark it up a bit, and charge
the 'customer' that price,
plus labor. Just like a
businessman. He must have
paid someone something to
keep the spot; no one ever
bothered him. I'd love to find
and meet that guy today -
not knowing whatever
happened to him. In my
time there, '67 era, he was
probably a baby. That spot
then was the spot of that
Polish guy's strange little
diner I've written of, and the
offices and 'distribution' center
for the East Village Other (EVO)
which came to be and was given
out as a sort of 'hippie' alternative
newspaper all over the area. It
was meant as a challenge back to
the 'Village Voice', which by
then had become a bit staid and
stodgy. By comparison, EVO
was a fiery comic strip. Incendiary
information, reviews, photos and
opinions. Guys in a band called
'Cat Mother and the All Night
Newsboys' had a nice, white van,
for their gigs, equipment and all,
and I'd ride with them, through
the night, on distribution nights
sometimes, a few bucks here and
there, flinging string-bundles of
the new issue out the door, to
newsstands and delis and
all-night places all over the
city. It was fun and, by-Jesus,
the things I'd see.
No comments:
Post a Comment