Thursday, October 29, 2009

Bus from Baltimore to NYC

Bus ride from Baltimore to NYC—with load of passengers boarding at Wilmington, Delaware, 2 girls hop on—both tall, thin, attractive, both dressed same—tight black pants and gray hooded sweatshirts. After sitting and texting and adjusting her bag and standing to take off her sweatshirt, the brunette sits back down next to me and she smells nice. She pulls out a book of theology and highlights some phrases as she reads. College? Must be. But I get a kick outta how she enjoys being seen. She catches my glance while she leans forward to text. She smells good. Like soft clean clothing. Light fragrance. Nothing special or particularly alluring—just nice to smell something other than bus funk and old lady hair and Chick-fil-a and even my own musty smoke laden clothes. Small legs, thin—funny. I find her attractive but no thought of sex, just thoughts of college years and energy and youth and different priorities—that attractive life. Keys, phone, iPod btwn her legs on seat—she juggles them—changing tunes or txting friend who sits in front of her—texts of me or reading or nonsense or whatever? As I sit up to write this, she settles for the first time ‘cause I’m hunched over journal and she has no chance of side eye glance. Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit. But she smells nice. A small comfort on a long trip. She stands and startles friend with tap on shoulder before walking to restroom in back. Her bag has Andy Warhol’s face and banana on it. I’m incredibly curious about her school but don’t have courage to ask. But mystery and thought stimulus are better than movie. Thinking now that she’s probably a moron slut—why not? She only peaked my interest with her reading theology. And I’m the chubby hairy guy sitting next to her that smells of stale smoke. How many times have I looked out the window since starting to write this, to think and not look at her tiny funny legs pants boots? She's back.  Yeah, she’s definitely texting her friend in seat ahead. “Anne, Fordham University” reads her badge attached to keys as she stands to leave parking bus.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Walking Stiff Blues #28-#30 (B-sides)

(criteria of WSB)

I've failed, as my faithful readers have already recognized, in my goal for WSB -- one a day for 30 days.  So, I decided to wrap the last three up in one fell swoop by posting B-sides of WSB.  These weren't written today, but were rejected journal entries of past days.

#28
round tables, wood chairs on St. Marks...
douch bag's voice
ruins turkish coffee buzz

#29
breasts in lace and lights
pass windows of Q train.
bosoms of another era 

#30
scratch balls
bobble in pants
baby maker

And some bonus tracks...

flat chested asian woman
with white toe nails
sings and sways in the subway car

survival of fittest is E 42nd sidewalk --
walking canes, purses, cigs --
you'll poke you're eye out!

Rachmoninov piano concerto no. 2
through the birth canal, loss of
innocence, grave, and sky

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Monday, October 12, 2009

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Grandma Miss Ella Martin

This morning, Black guy on Saturday Q was having living-room reminiscence with Miss Ella Martin in his head, out loud, real loud -- he spoke 4 or 5 character dialogue. He gasped between characters and spoke as fast as possible.

"Miss Ella Martin, what color did the number 7 train used to be?
Sky blue on October 7, 1983.
Miss Ella Martin, what color was the number 7 train in 1977?
Sky blue, sky blue, sky blue, sky blue, sky blue.
Sky blue?
Yes, sky blue.
Miss Ella Martin, in 1983 what color was the number 7 train on Friday, October 17?
White.
White?
White.
Coleen, do you remember what the doors of the number 7, what color they were?"

The man pauses, looks around when the train stops, rocks from side to side. The white noise of train movement begins and he begins again.  His head's on a swivel, attempting eye contact with all on train.

"Holly, do you remember what color the doors on the double R train, in 1877?
Orange, they were orange, Miss Ella Martin.
That's right, Holly, I was there when your great grandma died, I was there."

He covers his right ear as if he's talking on the phone and picks up his bag and sits directly next to a redhead.  He leans toward her and continues his dialog as loud as before.

"Miss Ella Martin, where did you used to live?
Queens Burrough Bridge, Coleen, that's where I used to live.  Do you remember what color the Queens Burrough Bridge used to be?
Grey, Grandma Miss Ella Martin.
That's right, grey, in October of 1973 it used to be grey. And do you remember the double R train crossed the 59th bridge into Queens Burrough, and what color doors it had?
Sky blue with an orange pinstripe, Grandma Miss Ella Martin."

Friday, October 9, 2009

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Walking Stiff Blues #23

(criteria of WSB)

On 42nd, walk past man laughing
at blackberry, woman crying
in cell phone, circus music from delivery truck

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Pajama Jazz

Mrs. Okie and I were listening to Mozart piano concertos and drinking coffee in our apartment on a lazy Sunday when I went to turn the album over and heard some nice jazz coming through our open window.  I said "Is that coming from the street?"  Our neighbors tend to play rap, Micheal Jackson, and crummy elevator jazz.  Sure enough, I looked out the window and saw a keyboardist and bassist playing on the subway overpass, and a gathering of locals on the other side of the street.  We shed our pajamas, slung on some jeans and t-shirts, and grabbed the camera.

The murals are painted on a particle board barrier that surrounds a vacant lot next to the subway station.

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IMG_2272


A Brooklynite in front of a mural of Brooklyn in Brooklyn.

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Sylvia's condiment portraits were my favorite.

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And here are the culprits of swinging street jazz.

IMG_2277

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These were all locals affiliated with plgarts. Days like this make me glad we can no longer afford to live in Manhatan.

He looks like rain

I'm going to say nothing but that I recorded this song with my beloved brother 6 years ago.  He plays the guitar while I sing. This song is for him and about him.  I love you, Nic.



Saturday, October 3, 2009

Friday, October 2, 2009

Walking Stiff Blues #20

(criteria of WSB)

midnight coffee mug and candy
wrapper table, lamp light shadows
and Rachmaninov fill room

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Walking Stiff Blues #19

(criteria of WSB)

uniformed man sitting high in
delivery truck morning traffic plays
charismatic drums on steering wheel