Friday, December 31, 2021

14,040. ARRANGEMENTS

ARRANGEMENTS
Take my side for once, see it this
way : The sound you hear is just
another supposition, arranged in
latitudes of propositions as to be
agreeable to you. That's the 
dastardly battle of the lives
we all lead. Where to go, and
how best to get there?
-
Simian? Based on primitive
poses, cataloguing stolen places?
In the Springtime, when the old
wives first open up the back entries
to their ancient kitchens and larders,
the scent is of a musty freedom.
-
The fresh air rushes in and they start
thinking of their men again, hard at
work on the nearby fields. It's like a
dream to be memorized anew  -  never
forget it, for it will soon fade. Grab it
tight. Pull it back to Milkwood again.

14,039. SEEING THINGS OUT OF PLACE

SEEING THINGS OUT OF PLACE
Here at the very bottom of the year,
turning the rotation of yet another
cycle, the endless stream of damp,
grey days goes on. Moisture is yet
in the air; atmospherics everywhere.
-
One trait of changing guards is to see
everything as out of place, as if the
world were jilted overnight, or shocked
by an impact unknown. The next dawn  -
a different morning with a different
number  -  is suddenly realized as
altered, but the same.
-
We use the selfsame words  -  familiar
concepts by which to describe what is
seen; yet at the same time all is new
and unfamiliar. Out of place and moved.
We so quickly adjust. The newsmen and
the floozies still talk on, to stand in front
of blinking cameras now is no sin.
-
To talk of rank stupidity matters little.
Once good sense is gone, anything is
up for discussion  -  but they don't
even discuss. Just haranque.
-
I want this new-needle year to last a
really long time. I need another fix.


Thursday, December 30, 2021

14,038. VOLE

VOLE
It's an early riser to a rite of
Spring where the flowers send 
stalks through the ground. The
same crowd that was roiled by
Stravinsky gets roiled by me.
I sit near this roadside stream
and watch the water roll by.
A strange and indulgent form
of wildlife, indeed, is present.
I think I see a vole; and I don't
even know what a vole is.
Fast and little, is all I know;
and not often above ground
at all.

14,037. GROUPED HOUSING

GROUPED HOUSING 
The little kids come out as one,
all as if arranged for shooting.
School gets on my nerves  -  
all those 12th street bells and
jangles; screaming playground 
kids and doofus-looking city
teachers. Warts on the sides
of farmyard cows.
-
There used to be a library and
a community pool right next 
door. They tore all that down
years ago. The nearest like it
now is at St. Luke's Place, by
Varick.
-
No one talks about that because
now only wealthy people can
afford to live there...and they
like that things stay quiet.

14,036. YOU CAN

YOU CAN 
The miserable designation you
indicate as happiness is just
across the ridge. You can ride
the pack-horse to it, easily.
Take no thought of charming 
me  -  it's way past time for
any of that.
-
My house is a blue ocean on a
melon-colored field; I track the
bees and bushes until they're 
gone. Then I live alone for 
Winter and watch the passing
of the storms and snow.
-
Fairly simply life? I'd surmise
your discontent without you
even speaking, so there's no
need, really, for an answer.
-
Take your charmer's stick and
walk it to the horizon.

14,035. NO, I ALREADY BLED ON THE FIELD

NO, I ALREADY BLED 
ON THE FIELD 
I don't know why I ever joined this
Johnney Reb outfit. I could have
stayed in Carolina with Ella Jane 
and stayed happy plugging holes.
-
My spirit wreaks havoc with my
heart, and I think that's my lower
jaw on the ground. I'm hurting like
a sluice in a gully, but Death is
no stranger to me. 
-
No stranger 'than' me, either. My
history is very short: I was born
in a July I hardly remember, and
at 17 I took this shot to the face
on a field I don't know of.

Wednesday, December 29, 2021

14,034. MENDICANT

MENDICANT
Driftless, listless and without a
thought, the boughs drop snow.
Within this circle, not worth
watching anything, this world
has lost its content. It's simple
to exist, but it's hard to be. 
-
Hysteria is always compounded 
by angst, and the color of a car
is pure chance. 'Nothing in the
voice of the cicada intimates
how soon it will die.'
 

14,033. PUNCH OUT THE CLEAVER

PUNCH OUT THE CLEAVER
I wasn't sure what the man said:
'Punch out the cleaver with the 
awl'  -  I think that's what I'd
heard. What it meant was another
story. I didn't want to do anything
wrong, so standing there I remained
in place. He looked at me and said,
again, 'Punch out the cleaver 
with the awl.'

14,032. ACE WAS THE GUY

ACE WAS THE GUY
Nice making sense of the abnormal;
Ace went to Vietnam twice. Signed
up again after he could have gone 
home. Sat with a smile, sometimes
seemed morose. He taught me how
to telegraph feelings, like he did
with the Montagnards. They'd
kept giving him jewels and trinkets,
amulets and stones as gifts for his
service  -  he was a Medic in the
highlands where they lived, and
when he arrived back he had lots
of those offerings with him.
-
I figured that for a nice thing. We
never talked about incidentals, but
what I surmised was that, in some
form of learning, he'd had himself
an eye-opening tour of duty, for
that second time around. Came
back a different man.

14,031. HAPPY PEOPLE EVERYWHERE

HAPPY PEOPLE EVERYWHERE
Though I've tried, I never made the grade -
retrogression, more my style. My friend
Bobby used to say I was born out of
time, and another friend said I was
'haunted.' Maybe they were right, for
I was sure something.
-
A renegade with a purple fever.
A climbing fool with no reason to
be. To me, going 84 mph down Avenel
Street, just to see what the underpass
looked like at speed, now THAT was
sport. Sport.
-
I look across the land this morning.
It is white and no one's around. That
suits me fine. Footprints and droppings
of deer abound; birds eating silent suet.
No one makes a sound. Where do
animals go in the dark?
-
Things rise, and things fall  -  tree limbs
have never hit me yet, though I suppose
it could happen, even now. As we cross
the edge of another year, what is it I
should be saying. I wish for happy
people everywhere?

Tuesday, December 28, 2021

14,030. DISENGAGE THE PRICE GUN FROM THE PRICE

DISENGAGE THE PRICE 
GUN FROM THE PRICE
Now people are leaning in; they all
want to see the future. I tell them, 'The
future is only tomorrow; nothing big
deal about that.' No one listens.
-
Predicated upon great expectations,
little stories and pale achievements
end up meaning nothing to these bums. 
Everything has to be jumbo-size now to 
get their damned attention. An asteroid 
headed  for Cleveland, or an earthquake 
just outside of San Jose. I can't possibly 
know of these things in advance. Can I?
-
Here's my hammer and claw.
There's my anvil and lever. Let's
disengage the price gun from the
price  -  for fun?  -  and see what
it is we are left with. I'd bet it's
cheaper to build a cabin in the
woods like Ted Kaczynski did
than it ever is to stand around
here just waiting. I've sent you a
postcard with secret directions,
and I'll be waiting for you there.


14,029. FROM THE PRICE HAMMER

FROM THE PRICE HAMMER 
In watching the auction guy go
about his work, I marvel at the
speed of his tongue. Those words
come roaring out, tumbling precise
nothings about tractors and wheels.
-
Farm auctions make me sad; things
being ripped from locations after
75 years and the passages of time.
And people. Old farmer Horace
Wenn, gone and buried now, who
worked this soil for 60 good years.
-
Everything changes; shading their
ways and altering balance. The world
never more tilts nor loses its wobble.
It's we who go down for the 
Auctioneer's gavel.

Monday, December 27, 2021

14,028. SAVAGERY

SAVAGERY
Not a word to entice
the ladies. Not in my
own volume of fear.
-
I tremble; something's 
afoot. My mind's out 
of control, and my 
dreams. As are my
nightmares too.
-
Cannot be written down,
these chimeras I chase.
Something has me badly.

14,027. RUDIMENTS 1,241

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,241
(building fires in the snow)
I always had my epiphanies,
when younger, as certain things
occurred. There were happenings
and observations that would set 
me rolling. I never was able to
understand what was happening,
and it was often weird. As a for 
instance, or two, the paintings of
Albert Pinkham Ryder and the
paintings of Caspar David
Friedrich were always enough
to send me away  -  into a sort
of psychic swoon about reality
and the life I wished to lead :
Intolerable without definition,
I'd go anywhere I could to find
a painting or gallery/museum
show that included or featured
anything by them. The same
went for works by Joseph
Cornell  - there was a place
on the corner of 57th street
and Madison Ave. (still there,
now a landmarked building)
called The Fuller Building. It
had been built and dedicated,
for the 1920's when much of
57th street was dedicated to
the arts, style and fashion [some
blocks west, along 57th, to the
Art Students League building
still proudly stands, along with
an apartment house or two, of
great luxury and panache, which
were built to house artists, the
art crowd, and their studios].
Within The Fuller Building
right through the 1980's and
probably still today, though
maybe diminished, were some
15 or 20 art galleries, exclusive
and for the wealthy too, that
displayed art and artists of
name and reputation  -  so that
at any time within these changing
exhibits it could be possible to
stumble upon something by any
one of the artists I mentioned;
just randomly displayed  -  an
entire serving, often, of pure
luck. Things could range from
Andre Derain to Toulouse
Lautrec. It was that random.
-
In any case, I'd scout the building
and visit the changing exhibits as
often as I could. Going 'uptown'
like that was a big deal to me, on a
sort of 'Studio School' art-student
trek. I'd study all sorts of art, in
the Fuller Building as well as the
other galleries and places liberally
sprinkled around that area. It could,
and most often was, an entire day
out by subway and foot, or just
walking. Everything was wide
open, and  -  as I said  -  the
odd and recurring moments of 
clarity were always treasured by
the young me. Banked, in fact,
to be held for future use.
-
It's a pinnacle of achievement, in
its way. Achieving those moments
felt heroic and brave  -  like going
outside a building a fire in the snow,
as if I was at Washington's Crossing
or someplace  -   cold, desolate, but
in place and able to be withstood
because of strength and forbearance.
A 'right' vibration that rang on all
the bells and frequencies. I compare
all that now to the means and manner
of 'America' today, and I realize that
that sort of energy and emotion is
all gone. This nation is now, by
contrast, flaccid, beat, wasted, and
gone  -  no aspirational moments
left. Nothing that rings any bells.
-
We are adrift now in a country where
the only growth industries are the 
medical professions and Big Pharma. 
We make nothing of value; all that 
the daily energies of endeavor and
work go towards are for convincing 
people they are ill or sick, with 
something duly advertised with the 
usual media overkill, pandering, and
over-reach. Any entertainments that
are made shoot for the most-common
variety of foul-grossness, portraying
disasters, gross people, faulty values
and designations. All other values have
been turned inside out, and no one 
cares or even notices. If I had had
to live in those days (my) at the 
Fuller Building and the Studio School
within an atmosphere and environment
of the sort that is prevalent today, I
don't think I could have. I'd have
rather jumped from a building. The
world I saw there  -  from the lowliest
coal-fired horse-stable guys with whom
I also spent time, to the fire-barrel
cast-off guys, with their broken and
sorrowful lives of loss and regret  -  
was a curious late 1960's / 1970's
world of such - by comparison -
still quickly diminishing, standards 
of older values and meaning. There
was still some solidity around.
People knew how to be quiet. The
funny thing was how, at that time,
my inclinations were to fight 
against them too. It was a strange
time, and it's been said that all
youth soon enough changes into
the elders it once despised. Maybe
all that's true after all.
-
I had little strength, and no money.
Those two things, combined, can
either make one very angry and
destitute, or it can act as a check.
I guess for me it all acted as a
check, in a negative way, since -
over a short amount of time, all
of my remaining ideas of worth
and value were also gone. Though
I was living freely, and unfettered,
I was scarred, and a wreck. Dropping
an 'r,' I may also have been scared.
I realized I was becoming passive;
observing things, but not doing things.
Everything I lifted my hand to was
an opposition  -  to something: the
freaky anti-warriors around me, 
screaming foul on Vietnam, or
their antagonists, the gung-ho
fight and kill bunch intent on,
apparently, destroying another
country while at the same time
'preserving' their own by decimating
and completely rattling their own.
Fair is fair and foul has always
been foul, but I did see a lot of
real bastards go down in my way.
By the time of that 11th street
bomb-making brownstone
explosion  -  the dead and the
missing, and those who fled  -  
I was neck-deep into troubles
I never wanted.
-
So, I mentioned the idea of building
fires in the snow. That's good, yes,
as long as you can stay with 5 or 6
feet of the fire. Once you step away,
it's all as cold as ever and as cold as
it was before that 'fire' arrived.


14,026. IT TAKES GUTS

IT TAKES GUTS
To live like a leader, one must
forge onward : wear funny hats
and overlook the rest; cancel the
world; think for yourself. There's
little else to say  -  but I'll probably
say it regardless of cost.
-
The candy shop is selling out.
Another victim of a crummy
season, another casualty of the
bust. Paucity of incidentals. 
Candy for the National Trust.
-
'No one comes around here anymore,'
the proprietor says; I guess it's been
hers, here, for a long time. The guy
with her too? Whatever they do now,
they ought to just take it easy : enough
with the candy stuff. Go home and
snooze. No one wants candy these 
days. This world's a different place.

Sunday, December 26, 2021

14,025. PARAMILITARY RULES

PARAMILITARY RULES
Getting to me, these things are.
Loud voices, noise. People with
lights. Why can't anyone now
just leave this world alone? As
I skitter like a skate  -  one of 
those bugs that can float upon 
the water without breaking the
tension  -  I try to think about
myself as vulnerable.
-
What would I be like, and how
would I handle disaster? Fear
keeps me from thinking too
far. Paramilitary hoopsters are
ruling over me. I can't really
avoid the shame they cause.


14,024. GRID

GRID
More disinformation; scattered
remain of falsely held propositions :
The driveway that is no more; the
place where now weeds grow; 
ghosts shadows on adjoining walls
of houses that once were there.
Building everywhere.
-
Too many weird things abound.
In 1657, it was thought that  -  tea
having first become available in
London's coffeehouses, (to the early
seventeen-hundreds, when women
were first let in)  - 'recreational tea
drinking was the preserve of
'rumbustious' gentleman.
-
The drink's 'power' to 'maketh
the body active and lusty' was
celebrated. Wish I'd had a taste
of that then. Now...the shadows
that adjoin these walls are filled
with rotating glimmers; waitresses
pushing their crumpets, and men
so down at the heels that even
their laptops won't work.

Saturday, December 25, 2021

14,023. INVISIBLE ALIGNMENT

INVISIBLE ALIGNMENT
It may be overdone, or it may
be just that I overlooked an
ending. Talking to walls,
doesn't seem like much of
a life, yet, I separate my
time into varied bunches.
One day it seems I'm talking
to Jesus, or another day to
God. How am I to sort this
out, and who's who now?
-
My friend has a collection of
rifles. They stand in his cabinet,
and some on a wall. He feels
confident that they'll not be
needed, yet he reserves for
himself that decision. 'A good 
haul of birdshot will solve
many problems.' 
-
In the next breath he'll say
'Don't get one down if you're
not going to use it. That's the
surest way to die.' I think that
means that once you grab for
the gun, you'd better use it.
-
I never know how criminals feel,
nor how the slinking break-in guy
figures there will be no challenge.
Some things are far beyond me.

14,022. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,240

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,240
(think like a rodent)
Apparently there's some major
difference between palmetto
bugs (Florida) and cockroaches.
In New York City, the cockroach
was a big item, prevalent most
everywhere, and most especially 
in marginal places and apartments.
Of the sort I got used to. There
were usually one or two exposed
brick walls, red brick, from
probably 1888 or 1904. I never
knew if they'd been built that
way or if the original surface
of the wall had peeled away 
and a subsequent owner or tenant
thought that cleaning the brick
and exposing it all was a tasteful
thing to do. I kind of liked it, as
far as 'looks' went. It's kind of
funny how  -  architecturally  -  
what's hip in Georgetown is just
done by necessity in NYC. Why
explain away poverty if you can
somehow conceal it by claiming
a 'style' for it?
-
The poverty at 509 e11th street
was pretty evident  -  in fact, for
the entire block  -  but no one
paid it any mind. The street was
Hispanic, meaning 1960's Puerto
Rican. This was before the new
and more major influx of 'other'
Hispanics  -   such as Hondurans
or Peruvians or the Central
American influx which changed
the designation, over time, of
what 'Hispanic' meant for NYC.
Look at 'West Side Story,' if
you need to 'see' what I mean.
That movie wasn't filmed in the
lower east side, but it captures
the idea. Oddly enough, the
streets and scenes of West Side 
Story were filmed among the
wreckage and debris of what
was called 'San Juan Hill' - an
area that was very Spanish and
which was torn down and had its
people displaced, for the elite
erection of 'Lincoln Center'  -  
so that after driving away the
locals and relocating them into
pathetic projects and places
like Starret City, a 'neighborhood'
could be saved by rebuilding it
for the rich and the elite and their
opera and their ballet. ['Starrett City 
(informally and colloquially known 
as the Spring Creek Towers) is a 
housing development in the Spring 
Creek section of East New York, in 
Brooklyn, New York City. It is located 
on a peninsula on the north shore of 
Jamaica Bay, bounded by Fresh Creek 
to the west and Hendrix Creek to the 
east. Starrett City contains both 
residential and commercial buildings. 
The residential portion of the property 
contains eight "sections" in a 'towers 
in the park' layout. The complex also 
contains a community and recreation 
center, as well as two schools. Plans 
for developing the site of Starrett City 
date to 1962, when an investment 
group bought the property with the 
intention of developing a residential 
complex called Park Shore Village. 
The group ultimately withdrew from 
the project, and another cooperative 
housing project named Twin Pines 
Village was proposed by the United 
Housing Foundation in 1967. Control 
of the complex was handed to Starrett 
City Associates in 1971, and Starrett 
City opened in 1974. The complex 
assumed the name of Spring Creek 
Towers in 2002, though it is still 
popularly known as Starrett City.
Starrett City is part of Brooklyn 
primary ZIP Code is 11239. It is 
patrolled  by the 75th Precinct
Department. Politically it is
represented by the New York 
City Council's 42nd District.']
-
The point was, in each of these cases
(the World Trade Center site included -
which had been a Mideast/Lebanese
'electronics' store-section of lower
Manhattan), how the prevailing
powers of city government could
rationalize away, in the name of
profit, development, and growth,
entire, vibrant, section of the city's
people, destroy, and transplant, in
a cavalier fashion and without due
regard, simply be declaiming need,
'urban renewal' as it was called, for
motives of their own profit and greed.
Business interests taking first place.
People  -  even when engaging or
annoying or plentiful or part of that
whole, crappy, 'American Dream'
melting pot BS  -  became immediately
expendable (of course, in an urban
planner's book they always are).
Schemes for apartment complexes, 
such as the one mentioned, became
nothing more than dumping grounds
and new ghettos for the displaced,
while those same schemers and
business-crats made secondary
profits by developing and building
the many paper-corporation levels
needed to draw further profit from
the new dump-ground for people
which they'd build. Truly, a closed
society of Greed...It was also odd to
me how, in most every case, and
with NYC's prevalent attention to
crime and crime statistics, all they
were doing, each time, was unsettling
a complacent and oddly serene local
neighborhood of like-minded people,
with crime-prone, barren and open
plaza'd and distant, wastelands of
high-rises, with all their hallways,
'garden' plazas, parking lots, 
elevators and laundry rooms rife 
with crime, drugs, assault and 
rape opportunities. They they'd 
go on, aloud, and banter on about
the low-lives and degenerates
who 'preyed' on such places. It's
no wonder it all went under.
-
My later study of urban development
taught me this: Developers - (from
even the days of George Washington,
who left the military after the
Revolution, trying NOT to secure
any further positions, so that he
could go back to Virginia and, as a
'businessman' and developer, where
he knew that a prime way of increasing
the value of property was to open the
states to easier access by building
roads and canals that linked them
with population centers and supply
sources. He had patiently accumulated
for himself thirty-thousand acres of
western lands over the years and felt
that, as a private citizen, he held
the right to 'invest and deal') - never
care. In the present day, projects
of this nature are handed over to
stockholders and those who guy 
in. Initially, the corporation behind
the deal sets itself up with investors
who then erect the first subsidiary
corporation, into which the public
and others are invited to invest. In
this immediate first step, the initial
investors (who dreamed up the
project in the first place) are paid 
back and reap their profit, in a 
sort of Ponzi scheme effrontery, 
and then, for each further step  
-  concrete, construction, workers, 
etc., etc.) further paper-corporations 
are set up, (with weird names like 
1120 Park Ave LLC, or whatever)
by which each further step is
carried. By the final point, and
with all their profits and paybacks
of initial investments well-covered,
the initial investors little care the
quality of the finished product, nor
whether it evet gets fully rented
or is a success. They're already gone
and accountants and lawyers (all
on retainers) can clean up all the 
rest and make sure costs and taxes
are taken care of, from the money
of all those others investors who've
jumped in along the line. So it
goes in America.
-
Back in the very early days of the
American Republic (a 'republic' 
denotes a system where the 
'people'  delegate power to elected 
representatives...who then proceed
to fleece them, pass laws ensuring
that the same charade will go,
and hopefully undetected, and
at the same time relegate to
themselves all the rights and
privileges of Monarchy itself,
engaging, in this endeavor, all
the business and corporate interests
they can in this fraudulent scam
across the face of the dolts who
somehow continue to elect them.
The sacrificial nincompoop of a
President gets set in place to play
the National Dummy, and that
job, too, is always willingly done),
Daniel Shays, in Massachusetts,
has always represented the best of
the American breakout spirit. 
(One cannot do that anymore, 
because it all gets filtered through
the puke-mouths of the National
Media tribalists and cantankerously
destroyed as issue and subject).
-
It's always amazed me how the 
American people have never arisen
to break out of their straitjackets.
Instead they have allowed, and
continue to allow, others to make,
and saddle them with, laws made
to control the human mind. (I
guess that's why they no longer 
have one). Here's a little bit on
Shay's Rebellion, which was a 
result of'one of the very first,
post-Revolution, engineered
slumps of the American economy:
"A former officer of the Revolutionary
War, Daniel Shays organized a group
of neighboring Massachusetts farmers
who, like him, were in danger of
losing their farms and even going
to prison because of the combined
with bad harvests and heavy state
taxes to make it impossible for
them to pay their bank debts.
Massachusetts was slow to respond
to their demands for debt relief,
as some of the other states had
already undertaken, and its delay
invited dangerous passions. When
a previous insurgent leader named
Job Shattuck was captured by the
state and treated as a criminal, it
only enflamed the rebellious farmers.
Shay's followers grew to some
1200, and he decided to dramatize
the farmers' plight by arming his
comrades  -  with pitchforks for those
who had no shotguns. For two months
he gave them military drills while
threatening to attack the courthouses
that conducted bankruptcy auctions.
-
The justices dodged trouble by keeping
the courts closed, but the state's Governor
Bowdoin wanted action. He raised an
army of 4400 men  -  paid for mainly
by wealthy Bostonians because the 
Massachusetts treasury was without 
funds. This larger force stamped out
the insurgent movement in two
pitched battles. There were a few
fatalities and the rebels were jailed.
Some were given the death penalty,
but all were pardoned after a dramatic
delay. Shay's rebellion was magnified
by the fact that similar disturbances
had recently occurred in Vermont and
New Hampshire, so the likelihood of 
spreading disorder could not be ignored.
In newspapers and on street corners,
it was as hotly discussed as a major
war, which was justified by the pivotal
role it played in American history. The
rebellious farmers had many sympathizers
and the rightness of their cause came to
be confirmed by changed in the treatment 
of debtors, even if the threat of violence
was condemned. Shays died in poverty
some years later, but had had unwittingly
made an important contribution to the
future of the United States. It was this
rebellion that caused Thomas Jefferson's
later famous quote: 'I hold it that a little
rebellion now and then is a good thing
and as necessary in the political world
as storms in the physical.' "
-
So, cockroach or palmetto bug, we must
see, within the similarities, the many
differences as well : between the 'New'
man of America, perhaps, and the laggard
from the past, over whom we imply keep
tripping. Just over yet another slob-season
of soon-to-end Christmas jabber, it's
really time for something other.