Wax on Deniroson

This peel and stick window art is from a karate studio that I pass everyday in my hood, it's on the corner of McGuiness and Meserole across from a bar for the dying, called Pit Stop. This is one of my favorite things. Check out the rust that looks like blood splatter all over Deniro's face. Also, check out the bear claw marks, it makes me pray that this karate studio includes Kruger hands for kids to train with and the scary coach from Karate kid dips your hands in crushed glass before he breaks a 2 by 4 over your 9 year old back.

Black Rabbit

I will miss you and your convenience to Vince's apartment. I will miss Vince using your toilet when his water is shut off. I will miss your hot totties and sliders with ruffles. I will miss bingo but I will not miss my frustration with never winning. I will miss pushing the button for your red and green service lights. I will miss your mexican waiters who ignore all the lude comments from my lustful, drunken friends. I will miss you on Sunday nights when Vince comes over from doing laundry down the stree, we grab a booth and begin to talk.

Full Moon in Greenpoint

This is what the last full moon looked like in Greenpoint. It's not actually the last full moon for Greenpoint, but the last one I'll see living here. Prices are still rising and the young, white and trendful are slouching their skinny shoulders on more corners than I care to acknowledge. There are still not many people with different color skin around here. That's boring. The Polish are aplenty but moving back to Polandia because of the economy. It's nice to live in NYC for a while. Maybe someday I'll live here again or maybe the one partially blackish guy who lives down the street and who it seems, is a full time Basquiat impersonator, from the hair, clothes, staggering walk to the distant distant starry eyed stare, maybe he will invite me over tonight to draw crowns and childlike faces on his fairly new, remodeled kitchen cabinets, rent some Godard films, eat some hash, shoot some smack in American Apparel tank tops with intentional armpit stains, collect the insects lying in his dirty windowsill and sprinkle them on eachother hair like fairy dust in an impromtu marriage ceremony. Maybe then I would stay, assuming of course, he was really loaded.

toodles greenpoint, it's been realz.

Forgotten Love

I forgot about Samuel Beckett, now I'm rediscovering my love for him. He makes me want to write or write less, I'm not sure.

Tough Love

A young woman I work with is an illegal immigrant. She came from Peru following a vision from her Godfather who lives in a mansion around Montu Pichu on the money he earns reading cards and telling the future. Within months of arriving in New York City she met a white man who earned a living as a Queens police officer. He frequented the Mexican restaurant where she worked. It was rocky after a camera caught her and an unrelenting, admiring co-worker getting it on in the storage room. The police officer acted devastated. She vowed to make it up to him. He pushed her away (while still allowing congegal visits). She fell in love. She stayed past her time. It turned out, he was unfaithful to her the whole time and moved in with an older, Columbian woman, in a nice house, somewhere in Long Island. During the end, she tried impregnate herself by collecting the white mans seed from her pants and well, you can imagine the rest. The godfather on the mountain foresaw this, well partially. He told her she would meet a white man in uniform within months of moving to a foreign land.
Months later, while still mourning the white man, (whom she said so closely resembled myself, it made it difficult for her to look at me) she met another. The new man was tall and rich. Although she was only attracted to white men, she hesitated to call him white because he was "Jewess". He had a house in the Dominican and did a lot of business with Spanish speaking countries. He had two yachts. He spoke spanish to her. She fell in love. The godfather foresaw this and said she would bare a child from either a white man in uniform or a rich man, the decision would be a struggle for her.
She tells me she is planning a trip to Miami, with her friends. They will fly down but she will take a 14 hour bus because she cannot board a plane without identification. She's sad I'm moving to Kansas- says I've taught her to speak English. Of course, I hardly taught her anything, only struggled to understand and incorporated hand gestures into my conversations. her back has been hurting her, she just wants to relax and sit in the sun. She says she is taking a break from men. She is healing her heart. She joined a church. The church does not believe in anything her godfather told her. They say it is all evil and now, well, she seems scared.

Me Want

It's holiday's like today that I like to talk about commercialism. I also like to receive cards and chocolates.
Someday, I look forward to receiving:
1. An anatomically correct chocolate model of myself, flattering of course
2. A collection of poems about me, by the adorer, tattooed on adorers face
3. A trained monkey
4. An "I owe You" for servitude for the rest of his life.

Anticipation

A plane crashed today in Buffalo, NY., everyone on the plane died. I watched coverage on the news as I curled my hair. I felt compelled to watch it and compelled to turn it off. I thought about how I have not yet suffered a tragedy and my anticipation of it as I try to sleep at night. I thought about how sick that is of me. I thought about the people who watched the fireball from their dining rooms windows, pulling their kids away from the couch, calling their husbands and their sisters, getting into their cars, driving closer to the site, standing outside wire fences, watching fire trucks blur into the smoke, listening to the news as they're watching it happen. I thought about getting my curls to turn outward, to represent the late seventies.