Sunday, August 12, 2007
10. MY NEW LOOK AT THE NEW SIDE OF NEWARK:
There are no barristers in the promised land and no confessors in a foreign kingdom to hear you out so anyone you wind up speaking to is someone like yourself - and I get the very feeling every time I speak with someone whether it's on 34th Street or along some sylvan way at the old Doris Duke estate but no one seems to be reachable and as deeply as I look into eyes or as sincerely I try to listen and only then speak NOTHING ever happens to me except the simple transmission of messages but they say ('it is said') that the heart truly speaks when it listens so I listen as often as I can but the problem with that is NO ONE really is saying much of anything - the ribald the raw the stupid oh yeah that's very easy but issues of better import are put aside like the plague and if I don't share what they're trying to give then I don't understand a thing for we share no common ground but MOSTLY that's the way it is and I end up with wasted emotion and wasted caring and it's a pretty sad scene when all you can do is end up abusing people because all you see is their dumbness or a shortcoming or something like that when instead all I really want to do is share goodness and mercy and love and true caring but most of the time you can't even talk to a toll-taker they're either so stupid or dumb they don't acknowledge anything or they're on the phone or they've got some shit-fucking endless music they call it playing over the real world around them and if zombies had a better case to make for living I'd probably let them make it but these people are dead as all get-out to the world and to themselves so what the hell who cares screw 'em all and that's the saddest part - the giving up on everything around us for mankind no matter what it is seems only to want to progress so far before it better welcomes its decomposition and slow degradation - which is now happening - and they welcome that dimming of light as if it were a good death but people want comfort people want warmth people want a material security where they don't have to ask questions or make a move towards anything as it all happens to them instead and in spite of any of their actions and because of that we can walk down most any street and look at the rude decay of the common day East Orange Irvington Springfield Avenue Newark it's all gone all been destroyed by mockery and deceit and all left to rot and crumble while the just-arriving deliverers come in just now and tear it all down so as to put in its place whatever the national state decides will take its place and the people THE PEOPLE welcome that national state replacing their lives and they welcome it with hosannas and open arms and requests for more and it wasn't until the FBI built its very large east-coast metropolitan regional headquarters in Newark in some grand new estate of a skyscraper all glitzy and glass that the city itself took on all the new colorations of rebound and rebirth but only from that center-section out and the idea behind all that was to have the focus there while all out on the fringes the displacement could take place and the old physical plant of Newark itself could be taken down and rebuilt and recovered with a newer form of plantation or ghetto housing shoulder to shoulder tacky cheap duplexes into which to transplant yet again the thousands of suffering fool denizens of the wildly-plotted scheme to dis-empower the citizenry and slowly step-by-step take over the whole of society and every one of its degrading cultural and social mores and it's all accepted no one says a word and if they do they're eventually killed by some means whatever means is found to implement the tactic needed - drugs guns gangs violence and Cory Booker Ras Baraka Uncle Tom interloper false prophet be damned.
There are no barristers in the promised land and no confessors in a foreign kingdom to hear you out so anyone you wind up speaking to is someone like yourself - and I get the very feeling every time I speak with someone whether it's on 34th Street or along some sylvan way at the old Doris Duke estate but no one seems to be reachable and as deeply as I look into eyes or as sincerely I try to listen and only then speak NOTHING ever happens to me except the simple transmission of messages but they say ('it is said') that the heart truly speaks when it listens so I listen as often as I can but the problem with that is NO ONE really is saying much of anything - the ribald the raw the stupid oh yeah that's very easy but issues of better import are put aside like the plague and if I don't share what they're trying to give then I don't understand a thing for we share no common ground but MOSTLY that's the way it is and I end up with wasted emotion and wasted caring and it's a pretty sad scene when all you can do is end up abusing people because all you see is their dumbness or a shortcoming or something like that when instead all I really want to do is share goodness and mercy and love and true caring but most of the time you can't even talk to a toll-taker they're either so stupid or dumb they don't acknowledge anything or they're on the phone or they've got some shit-fucking endless music they call it playing over the real world around them and if zombies had a better case to make for living I'd probably let them make it but these people are dead as all get-out to the world and to themselves so what the hell who cares screw 'em all and that's the saddest part - the giving up on everything around us for mankind no matter what it is seems only to want to progress so far before it better welcomes its decomposition and slow degradation - which is now happening - and they welcome that dimming of light as if it were a good death but people want comfort people want warmth people want a material security where they don't have to ask questions or make a move towards anything as it all happens to them instead and in spite of any of their actions and because of that we can walk down most any street and look at the rude decay of the common day East Orange Irvington Springfield Avenue Newark it's all gone all been destroyed by mockery and deceit and all left to rot and crumble while the just-arriving deliverers come in just now and tear it all down so as to put in its place whatever the national state decides will take its place and the people THE PEOPLE welcome that national state replacing their lives and they welcome it with hosannas and open arms and requests for more and it wasn't until the FBI built its very large east-coast metropolitan regional headquarters in Newark in some grand new estate of a skyscraper all glitzy and glass that the city itself took on all the new colorations of rebound and rebirth but only from that center-section out and the idea behind all that was to have the focus there while all out on the fringes the displacement could take place and the old physical plant of Newark itself could be taken down and rebuilt and recovered with a newer form of plantation or ghetto housing shoulder to shoulder tacky cheap duplexes into which to transplant yet again the thousands of suffering fool denizens of the wildly-plotted scheme to dis-empower the citizenry and slowly step-by-step take over the whole of society and every one of its degrading cultural and social mores and it's all accepted no one says a word and if they do they're eventually killed by some means whatever means is found to implement the tactic needed - drugs guns gangs violence and Cory Booker Ras Baraka Uncle Tom interloper false prophet be damned.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
I JUST SAW KAREN WALKED BY:
It’s just like lights out in a coal mine or something of that nature wherein you can’t understand the ‘why’ of why something was done but it’s all history and they say history’s behind us so I keep packing up and looking back but the past isn’t half as much fun the second time around OR IS IT ? and in a way it is ! no snap-happy fact-checkers or buff-haired proofreaders telling you what is or what wasn’t and to Hell with all that so I keep my head down and notice the sidewalk or I lift my head up and notice the sky or stare straight ahead and observe well the whole world around me for EVERY PIECE OF IT is a piece of something else and the narrower the narrow-vision the farther afield it all seems anyway - so I walk like a spirit walks and I press my heart against the clouds as everything Humnan passes and I know better my other home - so I walk unencumbered and unrecognized by all but little do THEY know I am their brother and their God their Savior and their pupil and the only glimmer of recognition occasonally comes forth from some bent working-man in his khali's or some young-girl's eye or taxi-driver's face and some older woman's gaze - like they KNOW something’s up but they won’t let on and in fact the feeling I get is that THEY ALL KNOW who I am but the joke is that I’m unaware and they’re just watching me do what I do all the while in full knowledge themselves of what it’s all about and about my ignorance of it - like playing dominoes with selfhood or solitaire with the present or some Russian Roulette with the man who makes the bullets : and life is life and the moment just is.
-
‘We are most certainly something weird and the place where I last put down the hammer (and the chisel) is the same place from which the new boat of the new China has now decided to disembark - and they are unfurling the sails in the sunset but there is no wind and they are fueling up the diesel power but there is to be no power generated and everything (I am sure) will grow deadened and listless and the four great photos of one ‘Chairman Mao’ have no longer any meaning as the little cars whiz past but they keep them posted high – nonetheless – in Tienamen Sqaure so the ages can be witness to SOMETHING!
It’s just like lights out in a coal mine or something of that nature wherein you can’t understand the ‘why’ of why something was done but it’s all history and they say history’s behind us so I keep packing up and looking back but the past isn’t half as much fun the second time around OR IS IT ? and in a way it is ! no snap-happy fact-checkers or buff-haired proofreaders telling you what is or what wasn’t and to Hell with all that so I keep my head down and notice the sidewalk or I lift my head up and notice the sky or stare straight ahead and observe well the whole world around me for EVERY PIECE OF IT is a piece of something else and the narrower the narrow-vision the farther afield it all seems anyway - so I walk like a spirit walks and I press my heart against the clouds as everything Humnan passes and I know better my other home - so I walk unencumbered and unrecognized by all but little do THEY know I am their brother and their God their Savior and their pupil and the only glimmer of recognition occasonally comes forth from some bent working-man in his khali's or some young-girl's eye or taxi-driver's face and some older woman's gaze - like they KNOW something’s up but they won’t let on and in fact the feeling I get is that THEY ALL KNOW who I am but the joke is that I’m unaware and they’re just watching me do what I do all the while in full knowledge themselves of what it’s all about and about my ignorance of it - like playing dominoes with selfhood or solitaire with the present or some Russian Roulette with the man who makes the bullets : and life is life and the moment just is.
-
‘We are most certainly something weird and the place where I last put down the hammer (and the chisel) is the same place from which the new boat of the new China has now decided to disembark - and they are unfurling the sails in the sunset but there is no wind and they are fueling up the diesel power but there is to be no power generated and everything (I am sure) will grow deadened and listless and the four great photos of one ‘Chairman Mao’ have no longer any meaning as the little cars whiz past but they keep them posted high – nonetheless – in Tienamen Sqaure so the ages can be witness to SOMETHING!
