Sunday, March 14, 2010
24. BILLY GROSBARD, PART 2 (nyc, 1967):
When you die - inestimably and without a doubt - you die period deadly end of story and the rest : Life you left is an illusion a movement a relative mist you were amidst and now it's dissolved - so kindly and without hesitation get over that and let go of all that religio-satisfaction stuff by which the entrails and very teeth of your life have been hanging : words like that were what I thought should be tattooed on all those Euro-leftovers I'd see each day in the park sitting around just waiting to die - as morose as beans still sifting their experiences in Europe and the War and all that hostility buried in that holocaust stuff and their crypto-Pagan biblical bullshit stories Jew Catholic Protestant and all the crappy rest of them all together not worth spit - dream-woven social imagists living in festering filth but still trying liberally to color their world with fake goodness and the swamp-lazy following of rules and orders whether from their 'God' or from their own - what to eat and how where to eat it and when how to bow and pray how to supplicate remember obviate respect bend to and revere and celebrate - all that crap that endless ever-loving go-on forever crap that rules this world - but I never said a word I just went on instead watching and wearing my own frown of materialistic mystery and slow seething hatred as I walked perfectly still as a unit of one through the streets and narrow lanes of the darkest forgotten corners of the city I lived in - all day through the night at dawn and after dawn up for days drinking coffee on the skids looking for anything for what could be taken watching the fat '52 Chevy pickups drive by along the docks with the squat old men inside them looking to scavenge wood and tires anything for a buck and cargo holds with double-locks still being pried open and contents taken pawnshops fences stolen goods junkyards boats trucks wagons cars all at once the crazed sound and movement of a city on the make on the take on the move while - somewhere deep from nowhere - in Tompkins Square Park sat these nettlesome nitwits these do-nothing idiots of indigestion stewing on their benches still yet mourning their days still yet yapping and crying still over all those dark things of the oh-too-recent past though twenty-five years back and I ask I'd ask 'can I help you NOW ? what can I do for you NOW ? the moment is NOW ! get over it all and the rest it's done it's over and like life it's kaput you Yiddisher stupid bastard.
When you die - inestimably and without a doubt - you die period deadly end of story and the rest : Life you left is an illusion a movement a relative mist you were amidst and now it's dissolved - so kindly and without hesitation get over that and let go of all that religio-satisfaction stuff by which the entrails and very teeth of your life have been hanging : words like that were what I thought should be tattooed on all those Euro-leftovers I'd see each day in the park sitting around just waiting to die - as morose as beans still sifting their experiences in Europe and the War and all that hostility buried in that holocaust stuff and their crypto-Pagan biblical bullshit stories Jew Catholic Protestant and all the crappy rest of them all together not worth spit - dream-woven social imagists living in festering filth but still trying liberally to color their world with fake goodness and the swamp-lazy following of rules and orders whether from their 'God' or from their own - what to eat and how where to eat it and when how to bow and pray how to supplicate remember obviate respect bend to and revere and celebrate - all that crap that endless ever-loving go-on forever crap that rules this world - but I never said a word I just went on instead watching and wearing my own frown of materialistic mystery and slow seething hatred as I walked perfectly still as a unit of one through the streets and narrow lanes of the darkest forgotten corners of the city I lived in - all day through the night at dawn and after dawn up for days drinking coffee on the skids looking for anything for what could be taken watching the fat '52 Chevy pickups drive by along the docks with the squat old men inside them looking to scavenge wood and tires anything for a buck and cargo holds with double-locks still being pried open and contents taken pawnshops fences stolen goods junkyards boats trucks wagons cars all at once the crazed sound and movement of a city on the make on the take on the move while - somewhere deep from nowhere - in Tompkins Square Park sat these nettlesome nitwits these do-nothing idiots of indigestion stewing on their benches still yet mourning their days still yet yapping and crying still over all those dark things of the oh-too-recent past though twenty-five years back and I ask I'd ask 'can I help you NOW ? what can I do for you NOW ? the moment is NOW ! get over it all and the rest it's done it's over and like life it's kaput you Yiddisher stupid bastard.
