Tuesday, November 15, 2016


I immediately went to 
my very number one 
mode of thinking:
how stupid those 
Muslims were, missing, 
as they did, the entire 
point of Life and Reality. 
Like any of those
Iron-Age, rigidly 
biblical religions 
with their tit-for-tat
format of a God as 
the great clipboard 
holder in the sky,
taking accounts and 
harboring offenses 
and insults, dabbing
out rewards and 
restitutions, they'd 
only been able to find
sense, within their
own thought-morass, 
by going after the 
'physical.' How idiotic. 
'Crash a few planes, 
kill some people, 
knock down some 
representations of 
things, and we'll 
teach them!' 
Meanwhile, their 
sluggo religion 
pressed on with 
Heavenly rewards, 
anxious virgins 
awaiting the 
deed-doers with 
open, Heavenly, 
unveiled (I guessed), 
legs and heads. Boy 
man, gotta' figure 
that shit out someday 
soon. At the same 
time, missing the 
entire point of Life 
and Being, they 
gave no clue to 
the factor of their
not being able to 
hit or harm that real, 
the invisible, the 
paramount presence 
of a place like NYC, 
the line of Western 
legacy  -  whatever 
its value  -  in its 
layers of words 
and acts over years. 
Like a prayer always 
being mumbled, the 
spiritual soul and 
value of Manhattan  
-  like the wastrel 
wind of Hart Crane 
or Thom Paine, 
could never be 
They were just 
too stupid to know 
that. Personally, I 
thanked my God, 
for their sake, that, 
really, nothing more 
than this had occurred. 
This was horrid, but it 
was at least localized. 
The rest of the city 
was able to forge on 
 -  writers wrote and 
songsters sang, work 
got done. The paradigm 
was advanced.
I walked the streets
punning. What goes
up must come down.
You can't avoid the Fall.
It was in some respects
the only thing doable.
There was a little piece
of my own feeling I
returned to  - at Trinity
Church, to the rear,
there's a place called
'Cherub Gate' with a
sculpted cherub in
its overhang. The
information with it
goes: "The cherub
above is a gift to
Trinity Church from
the Church of St.
Mary-Le-Bow in
London which was
designed by Sir
Christopher Wren
in 1680 and was
destroyed in an air
raid on May 10, 1941.
The cherub survived
the bombing and was
presented  to Trinity
Church on June 11,
1964." And boy, if
that wasn't ever right.
The church itself, and
its yard and graveyard
too (Alexander Hamilton,
Robert Fulton, and a
hundred others at least)
was coated white  - the
same nasty white ash that
was on everything. The
white ash had damaged
the pipe organ, clogging
its vents or whatever.
Inside the church, a
relief station had been
set up, and stayed there
for a few months  -  soups,
food, bedding, coffee, etc.
Emergency lodging for
whomever, firemen on
their sleep-breaks, iron 
and steelworkers, the 
same. George and Martha
Washington still had their
pew there, marked and
maintained. They once 
lived, before there was 
a White House, etc., 
nearby at Cherry Street, 
by the East River. Cherry
Street there is long gone.
(There is a difficult- 
to-see plaque for 
that too, in the 
pediment of one 
of the NY side 
Brooklyn Bridge 
supports. No one
cares.)  -  George and
Martha, it's recollected,
would slowly make 
their way, on Sundays,
on George's huge, white
horse, to the church.
Now, all those graves,
in that churchyard, sat
as if in a silent, gray 
snow. I would often, 
during these months, 
 just go to the Cherub, 
above the stairway
and gate, and just
gaze at it. Past it 
flew Time.
The church, as it 
has always been, 
(3rd church structure
at the location, however. 
400 years, fire, and the
deterioration of age too
the other two), is at 
75 Broadway, at Wall
Street. It remained 
timeless, and at least
gave some semblance
of sense to the idiocy 
I witnessed. The funny
thing is, too, that, over
the years, I've taken 2 
or 3 other people there, 
to see this cherub. No 
one cared a whit for 
what I was showing. 
Friends, wife, just 
shrugged. The only
person who ever really
got a rise out of it
was some crazy 
California girl, deep
into New Age and
Actualization stuff,
whom I'd taken on a
walk-tour through the
area. This little remnant
of time brought her
totally to life.
The weird thing about 
all this was  -  if you believe 
in religion, and are striking 
out so strongly for a real
spiritual sense of mission 
and action  -  the only thing
you can do best is 'destroy'
the physical world? A
place where nothing 
truly dwells anyway? Their 
frenzied fantasy was, I was 
certain, both faulty
and incomplete.
I had more faith in George
and Martha Washington's 
asses on their horse to
and from Cherry Street than 
I did in any of this other stuff
anyway. You have to enter the
world differently, or you're just 
going to waste away and begin 
doing really stupid things, like
those  A-rabs and their mighty
queer announcements of belief.
The more I started thinking about 
it anyway, the more I realized
about this Islam stuff : it's a
queer religion  - I mean 'queer'
queer, like men-on-men stuff.
Only they could even think
about doing stuff like this so as
to attain an 'erotic' end.
Who else mixes eroticism
with religion. I ask you?
Leave out the Catholic
weirdos like St. Theresa 
of Avila and all that, 
swooning around under
the fantasy that she was
obligated to having 'sex'
with her Jesus. 

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