Sunday, August 24, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Script for Video
This man is a gypsy.
He conned the system for over forty years.
He lives on the fringes, underground.
He survives through loopholes.
Using scholarships, dumpsters, government assistance, health clinics, press privileges, lottery and discount access, libraries and online downloads, he found ways to do everything for free, to go everywhere for free, to fly from Greece to Ecuador, and most points in between, to get everything for free, or almost free, for free, free.
Most people try to make money, to buy the things they don't have time to create, because they are busy making money.
He prefers his system.
He posed as a film critic, an author, a university instructor, a newspaper editor, an artist, a missionary, a husband and a father.
He even posed as a gypsy, a do-nothing bohemian.
He is none of these things.
He has no future.
He's a field lily, a purple surprise lily.
New York is dead, a ghost world.
The corner grocery store on Bank Street is gone.
The sex-drenched piers have been paved over for baby strollers.
St. Marks Place is buried in tourist t-shirt stores.
CBGB has been replaced by designer jeans.
Kiev is a Korean restaurant now.
The pool table at The Bar on 2nd Avenue has disappeared.
The Bar itself has disappeared.
He has no place left to hide.
He conned the system for over forty years.
He lives on the fringes, underground.
He survives through loopholes.
Using scholarships, dumpsters, government assistance, health clinics, press privileges, lottery and discount access, libraries and online downloads, he found ways to do everything for free, to go everywhere for free, to fly from Greece to Ecuador, and most points in between, to get everything for free, or almost free, for free, free.
Most people try to make money, to buy the things they don't have time to create, because they are busy making money.
He prefers his system.
He posed as a film critic, an author, a university instructor, a newspaper editor, an artist, a missionary, a husband and a father.
He even posed as a gypsy, a do-nothing bohemian.
He is none of these things.
He has no future.
He's a field lily, a purple surprise lily.
New York is dead, a ghost world.
The corner grocery store on Bank Street is gone.
The sex-drenched piers have been paved over for baby strollers.
St. Marks Place is buried in tourist t-shirt stores.
CBGB has been replaced by designer jeans.
Kiev is a Korean restaurant now.
The pool table at The Bar on 2nd Avenue has disappeared.
The Bar itself has disappeared.
He has no place left to hide.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Bill muses on New York, 12 August 2008
"Love is dead when you have too much memory.""Go on."
"That's it."
He laughs.
He snorts.
"I did not snort."
He drinks.
"Budweiser. The best Belgian beer in town."
"How do you spell Belgian?"
"B-E-L-G-I-A-N?"
Silence.
"Talk about Hair."
"I think you should go see Boing-Boing. I think you'd really like it."
"Well, maybe if I don't get into Hair."
"You know how fifty is the new forty. Boing-Boing is the new Hair."
He snorts.
He drinks.
He proceeds in a series of unpronounceable syllables that end in "Chinese junk."
"This is a bad blog entry."
"Erase it. That's the joy of technology. You can erase your entire mistake."
"That's it."
He laughs.
He snorts.
"I did not snort."
He drinks.
"Budweiser. The best Belgian beer in town."
"How do you spell Belgian?"
"B-E-L-G-I-A-N?"
Silence.
"Talk about Hair."
"I think you should go see Boing-Boing. I think you'd really like it."
"Well, maybe if I don't get into Hair."
"You know how fifty is the new forty. Boing-Boing is the new Hair."
He snorts.
He drinks.
He proceeds in a series of unpronounceable syllables that end in "Chinese junk."
"This is a bad blog entry."
"Erase it. That's the joy of technology. You can erase your entire mistake."
12 agosto 2008: notas del viaje
washington heights smells
like san juan
pizza carnes bad spanish home
three people ask me for directions
my marker
proof of home
my pink floyd t-shirt
starts conversations
guys in park, admirable
construction worker
no idea what to write
re: sixties
and hair in the park
"too much memory"
another antigone
in fringe festival
fringe all week
might not see broadway
tonight: necrophiliac musical
forget the lion king
no need to do anything
but mortality reminders
and how fast it all goes
reading david carr
night of the gun
addictions
the subway ride
seems like a hundred
latino day campers
like being in the middle
of a popcorn popper
the whole town strikes me again
safer than a padded playpen
Sunday, August 10, 2008
10 agosto 2008: and so it begins
the jaw dropping by the church lady
when in passing
i mention le cirque
shocking the bourgeoisie
as a child
leading to boasts
to inspire a jealousy
i never recognized
finally, the middle age
a lack of anything respectable
a showy depredation
my final weapon
to elicit that look
that expression
that seems
like a climax
real
and unrehearsed
that has been the satisfaction
of a life
but, this is different
this time
i leave for new york again
this morning
frivolously
to revisit nostalgia
and see the musical hair
in central park
and walk the ramble
not in anticipation
of the slightest shock
or anything resembling
getting lucky
at this point
it's my work
i mention le cirque
shocking the bourgeoisie
as a child
leading to boasts
to inspire a jealousy
i never recognized
finally, the middle age
a lack of anything respectable
a showy depredation
my final weapon
to elicit that look
that expression
that seems
like a climax
real
and unrehearsed
that has been the satisfaction
of a life
but, this is different
this time
i leave for new york again
this morning
frivolously
to revisit nostalgia
and see the musical hair
in central park
and walk the ramble
not in anticipation
of the slightest shock
or anything resembling
getting lucky
at this point
it's my work
Friday, August 08, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
The Content and the Character
The nature and purpose of this blog continues to change, to mutate, to surprise me. It has veered from the political to the nostalgic, from the egocentric to the abstract.
It is like a scrapbook or a thrift shop. Sometimes it reminds me of performance art. Or a chronicle of a rich and anonymous life.
Apropos of nothing, this came to me while walking in the postdawn drizzle this morning:
If there is an entity known as the Antichrist, it would not be a horned, fire-breathing devil. It would be of a pleasing countenance, clean and lovely, beloved, convincing in and convinced of its righteousness, proclaiming to support and represent the banner of Christ. At the same time, while appearing to be about goodness and light, that same entity in reality, as observable by its actions, would carry out works of corruption and power, of divisiveness and hate, of torture and violence, and of bottomless greed. In other words, if in history there is an entity known as the Antichrist, it would most resemble the Conservative Christian Fundamentalist Republican movement.
Or, might John McCain be the Antichrist? They think so here.
It is like a scrapbook or a thrift shop. Sometimes it reminds me of performance art. Or a chronicle of a rich and anonymous life.
Apropos of nothing, this came to me while walking in the postdawn drizzle this morning:
If there is an entity known as the Antichrist, it would not be a horned, fire-breathing devil. It would be of a pleasing countenance, clean and lovely, beloved, convincing in and convinced of its righteousness, proclaiming to support and represent the banner of Christ. At the same time, while appearing to be about goodness and light, that same entity in reality, as observable by its actions, would carry out works of corruption and power, of divisiveness and hate, of torture and violence, and of bottomless greed. In other words, if in history there is an entity known as the Antichrist, it would most resemble the Conservative Christian Fundamentalist Republican movement.
Or, might John McCain be the Antichrist? They think so here.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Friday, August 01, 2008
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