Foto by tgw, New York City, 2011
Too Real to Be Not
Everyone who knows me knows I don't take life seriously. Oh within myself yes but not in terms of dealing with the "outside" world, the public world, my on-stage life. My personal life is REAL. In my on-stage life I play a character. An exception to this is when I have a compatible woman in life's cahoots with me, then I can shine genuinely proud in public--the real side of me--as Jimmy Reed sang, "All the good in me...you know you bring it out"--though to be openly real with any woman is dangerous (I'm currently reading Balzac so you should expect adages and maxims galore).
Being openly real with anybody is dangerous. Therefore, most of the time we are all phonies--or, as Sociologists know, we project our own selves onto people we come in contact with. Pretenders is maybe a better word than phonies in this case, but whatever you call it, we call it privacy and outside that privacy we are pretenders...or phonies.
I was watching that little two-timing fart Anthony Weiner popping real finally after several days of trying to maintain his phoniness. Popping real to the point where he's headed to a therapist, sexual, we assume. What a fucking joke. And this clown has a beautiful wife who is now pregnant with this little prick's baby. And who do you think's going to pay for this weasel's therapy?--why, by the way, he isn't stepping down--I mean he wants us to pay for the baby and his therapy, don't you see?
New York City is a massing place for phonies. Phonies can make it faster here than realists. The surreal is OK, but the real is a no-no. No one ever really sees the true realities of New York City. Like you never see mentioned the high unemployment in this city; highest especially, and as usual, among minorities. New York City's minorities find they're still being positioned by White rulers as minorities insulting since to themselves they truly believe they are the majority. But then majority doesn't matter in this country. Look at Georgie Porgie "Puddin' Pie" Bush's first presidential victory. What did the majority have to do with it? The majority of the Supreme(ly dumb) Court APPOINTED G.W. our president whether we liked it or not. This was an unprecedented action, very unConstitutional; yet nobody complained; nobody stood up and said NO WAY! Nobody--especially the Dumbocrats--especially Dumbass Al Gore who gave up without a peep. Al Gore the bore...but then it turned out old Fat Al wasn't a bore in some places, like the bed of his young mistress, the one who got him to dump Tipper. Remember when Tipper was a big shot in the morality game?--going after rock lyrics with her famous Tipper Gore rating system--dumbass thinking, though what you'd expect from a Tennessee politician's wife.
Phonies. Washington, District of Corruption, characters are all phonies. President Obama is a phony. A big phony. Talking so beautifully out of both sides of his lying mouth. And, dammit, this guy's a liar. All of these birds are liars. Look at Hillary this week going all over the Middle East trying to butt her buttinsky way into "our allies's against terrorism" affairs--in Yemen where the Yemen people have driven their asshole dictator off to Saudi Arabia--Praise Jehovah he approves of the Saudi's way of envoking medieval Islamic law on its people in the name of Jehovah's Arab counterpart Allah--Saudi Arabia seems to be one place in the world where Jehovah and Allah agree with each other. And in Bahrain, Lady Hillary is explaining why in spite of the Bahrain billionaire sheik's iron rule and brutal assault upon his own people--commoners are all dogs to royalty no matter their religious affiliations--we need this jerk in our fight against terrorism. Again this fight against terrorism--the same old G.W. Bush bullshit--except Hillary and our President are spreading it deeper than Bush Baby and his charming Unka Dick, his puppetmeister controller.
All this jacking off. President Obama wants to be reelected. "Hey, Barack, old partner, you wanna win...it's easy: bring our troops back from Afghanistan and Iraq; quit funding NATO and see how long they're able to keep killing innocent civilians and babies and Quackdaffy's family--shelling the bejesus out of Tripoli with US "Tomahawk" missiles--again, White aggressors love naming their brutal weapons after American Indians--even our first Black president labeled Osama bin Laden a "Geronimo" trying to impress his military goons with his military-like vision of Osama and his assassination.
US presidents have consistently ignored the horrible situation we still impose on Native Americans--and this includes most of these illegal Mexican immigrants we hate so entirely who are truly Native Americans themselves--ancient Mongolians come to this country across the ice mass from the Steppes of Russia and the Gobi Desert over into Alaska and on down--on and on on down, down deep on down far down to the tip of South America--Pan American Native Americans--brownskins and redskins--those who as Latinos are now the largest growing segment of our US population. The largest growing segment of our New York City population are Mexicans, too--displacing Puerto Ricans on the upper East Side (Spanish Harlem)--displacing Colombians and Ecuadorans and Central Americans and Irish in parts of Queens. Every New York City restaurant kitchen, it seems, has a pack of Mexicans working in it as cooks, chefs, busboys, dishwashers, or waiters.
Real Estate prices are being propped up at unreasonable levels by a mayor and a city council (in his little man back pocket) who are rezoning the city to favor the building of hi-rise luxury apartment buildings and boutique hotels, the effect of which has destroyed all the old New York City communities.
No longer is there a viable fashion industry in New York City. Oh we have plenty of fashion industry left in this town but it's not the manufacturing and distribution end of the biz but rather the celebrity end of the biz.
The same is true with show biz in NYC now. Broadway is a big joke now. Broadway is now totally run by corporations. Most of the shows on Broadway are just that: shows. Circus acts made dramatic; rock and roll nostalgia stage shows; or Disney-invented cartoon dramas anthropomorphized.
On and on I could go revealing GONE NYC neighborhoods. Like the Flower District. Now you blink twice as you pass it you miss it. The Moravians used to raise tons of flowers all around the NYC area. Now flowers are flown in several times daily from flower fields in South America--roses flown in daily from Ecuador or Chile or Peru. Flowers surely sprayed with some kind of waxy substance in order to keep them fresh during their flights up here.
I know, I complain constantly about what the White Power Elite are doing to New York City--especially what they are doing to Manhattan Island--trying to whitewash it--Harlem now turning White by the thousands on a daily basis. I can remember times of being in Harlem where I was like the proverbial snowflake in a coal mine--the only White person within my sight and their sight too. Now, that's changing. Why White stores are coming back to dominate 125th Street. Luxury hi-rises are going up that only White people and Black dope dealers and hip-hop phonies like Puff Diddly-Dee can afford. But still, OK, I admit it, I can't quit New York City. I've grown into it. I consider it mine but I'm paranoid about that when I walk out on the street and see the flocks of trash-spreading tourists bumbling along down my streets with their backpacks and their pulling those suitcases along behind them--or blocking corners having stopped and pulled maps out of their backpacks so they can see where they are and where they are going.
In front of the Empire State Building now are gobs of gawking tourists lined up waiting their turn to scale the 88 floors up to the Observation Deck, their tour buses raggedy aligned along the curbs along 34th Street up to the corner where they then having turned right are stacked along the curb going down Fifth Avenue in the true front of this old building. I walk by the Empire State Building probably 20 times a day. I seldom look up at it--though when I do, I do find it a beautiful building--and it looms up majestically over my neighborhood. But, you know, sadly there are hedge funder billionaires who hate the Empire State Building and can't wait to implode it so they can construct a monument to themselves on that site. In fact, Mayor Billionaire Bloomberg has already approved one of his buddy's building a building taller than the Empire State Building almost directly across the street from it. There is much protest about it, but that won't stop the Power Elite from approving it and one day the Empire State Building will be a legend, like the great old marble-palace Pennsylvania Railroad Station is today.
But there still are some very real people here in New York City. I was out Friday night with a passel of them, most of whom are my friends. The realness is evident when I scan my friends--there was the museum director who is in a mortal combat with neck cancer right now--very real--just overcoming a bout with pneumonia. I'm looking at this great man and then watching the total phoniness of this weasel bastard Anthony Weiner getting to live the perfect fucking life on the dole from We the People. Deny, deny, deny, and Ant'ony denied, denied, denied, but then reality hit his ass and he's now shuffled off on a leave of absence to go into SEX THERAPY, or just therapy as Ant'ony likes to call it.
What the fuck does going into therapy do? We're animals dammit. We're extensions of the chimpanzee. Chimpanzees aren't monogamous and neither are we human monkeys. Most men are ruled by their penises. It's something men have to deal with. I mean a man's penis can just suddenly get hard in the damnedest places for the damndest reasons. Once a penis gets hard, a man has to deal with it. A hard penis means that a man's reality has switched from his mind being in control to that of his penis. A man's penis when it's hard is suddenly a joy stick.
The Internet today is a masturbationist's dream range. It's also a great place to get into sexual conversation (the 2nd definition of "conversation") with sex-discovering teeny virgins or exhibitionists or just stupid girls looking for excitement. Women learn very early that sex is one of the only reasons we get to live. I mean life is so uncomplicated. We make it complicated to give ourselves divinity. Philip Wylie said in his great little book An Essay on Morals we gave up eternal life in order to have sex. That's how he says he through Jung interprets the Garden of Eden fable: Sex wins over knowledge every time when we think we have discovered a paradise.
Has my penis given me trouble? You bet it has. It's hard to ignore a penis when it's hard, or haven't I said that? It's also, ironically, hard to ignore when it's soft and won't get hard. The penis is a two-way street.
I think I can risk saying most marital problems are due to sexual problems. The man is horny but the woman isn't. The woman's horny but the man isn't. The woman's horny but the man can't get it up. There's nothing more cowing of a man than a woman being itchily ready but he's unable to even get the damn thing half hard--I mean you want to slink off into a corner somewhere when you have a hot woman ready to go and all you can come up with is a limp dick.
Look at the Viagra ads all over the media. Viagra is a billion-dollar industry. Or look at the penis extension commercials running 24/7 on commercial teevee, with the porn-queen-looking babes with their tits hanging out of their low-cut tops and showing their shapely legs with upped skirts as they come long and sexy off a jutted out fine hip that gives hint of maybe a fine ass. And these lusty babes are talking about how size DOES matter--the bigger the better, these girls assure men--and believe it or not, here's a snot-nose teenage wanker with a 4-inch pecker who becomes a true believer and orders the $29.95 special on a bottle of SuperSize Extendo-Magic capsules--WATCH OUT! That 4-inch pecker's gonna swell up to gigantic proportions...what do you mean it hurts and your cock is turning dark blue.
Or there are the sleazy cathouse girls laying around on those love couches tempting men to call 'em up and talk coochie-coo with them and let that talk build up sexier and sexier--and your bill's going up at the same time--"How big are your tits, momma?" "Oooh, they're big, round, why I'm taking them out of my bra now--oooh, they're so big--you want to feel them?...go ahead, big boy...ahhhh." "You gettin' hot, momma?" "Oh, boy, am I. God, I'm hot. Is your rock-hard tool ready to do some serious drillin'." "Oooohhh, awwwwww, owwwww, Jesus, I just blew my load on my best pair of slacks."
Well, there ya go, folks, my message for this sacred Sunday in the city where the phonies rule the roost...or the henhouse.
for The Sunday Edition of The Daily Growler