Tuesday, July 05, 2011

Living in New York City: Kicking Against the Pricks

Foto by tgw, New York City, 2009
The State of Being Coldly Stern in Appearance
It is a finally sunny and bright in New York City. Over the holy-day weekend it was overcast, humid, and muggy. Now, at high noon, a mosquito is harassing me, though so far he's only managed to get a skin-pop hit on the underside of my right arm. He's boldly going where no mosquito dares to go, right at my face, buzzing up close to me to get me to whack at him/her with my hand--missing, of course. Waiting for the little bastard to flit across my computer screen to let me know he's still abuzz with a thirst for my blood.

I must stop this "typing" and go up and douse myself with peppermint oil, which not only seems to repel mosquitoes, but also is supposedly good for my skin...AND, it makes me smell good. People say, "Damn, you smell like I want to take a big lick on your lollipop-smelling forehead"--like frog licking, I assume--'cept I'm only vitriolic through my lost-on-the-outskirts-of-the-pond croakings.

Fuck This Austerity Bull Shit
Ezra Pound's Old Pal Wyndham Lewis Said:
So-called 'austerity,' the stoic injunction, is the path towards universal destruction. It is the old, the fatal, competitive path. 'Pull in your belt' is a slogan closely related to 'gird up your loins,' or the guns-butter metaphor.”

You notice it's always the weak and the poor who are told they should suffer this austerity.

It is obvious to me, the armchair Sociologist, that our ostentatious rich don't know the meaning of austerity. All over Manhattan, these spoil-brat children of history are living as though they have infinite monies in possibly their own off-shore bank accounts or for sure those of their parents. You see these children packing these new trendy restaurants and Euro-trash-mimicking clubs (especially these new rooftop clubs, remembering as we watch the glitter-dumb flock to these pilfer joints how the rich think they own all upper floors and the sky above those upper floors). A mingling of spoiled-brats showing off as they pomp and pry and giggle and twinkle and brag and seduce at various "in" spots around Manhattan, these velvet-roped-off-entranced dance clubs, for instance, in which the music is droll and droning and the dancers nearly all White, all humping in their up-and-down pogo-stick motions all jammed up to sweaty closeness--perfumed and cologned to the max so the funk doesn't leak through, on wood floors in dimly-lit rooms in which under the cover of darkness crawl the tons of cockroaches, bedbugs, rats, mice, lice, cooties, and the many diseases (bacteria) that settle down to breed among the seldom cleaned stools and chairs, the seldom wiped down tabletops, the seldom cleaned draperies or wall hangings, or the seldom cleaned lighting fixtures, the bar's top cleaned with a filthy bar rag, those stored in the filthy back bar full of bottles some of which are dust and grime covered, and then there are the cockroach-clogged draft beer lines, plus, you don't want to see these joints's hidden-away multi-health-code-violating kitchens. These places's patrons are today's spoiled-brat children. These highway-robbery businesses are supported and owned by these "children" so they can continue to amuse themselves and ego-trip the nights away as they avoid their otherwise egomaniacal but boring lives. Someone is always willing to pay their bills for them or keep their allowances rolling in or keep their hedge-fund-driven family fortunes accumulating excess profits on their mostly tax-free investment scam-projects--like the many new hi-rise luxury buildings going up like wild mushrooms all over my hometown, Manhattan.

We the weak, the poor, the unwanted, the untouchables, must cater to the whims of these worthless spoiled-brat heirs, these who have never had to earn a living--oh, some of them can become good poets; some have teenage money enough to form "garage" bands in their own hundred-thousand-dollar basement studios--"Daddy got me Pro-Tools for my birthday!"--or those who work for daddy in maybe one of his hedge-fund holding companies or work for an uncle's brokerage house as a floor broker where it's possible to take their first half-a-million-dollar bonus and get together with a buddy and open a Euro-trash-trendy bistro or another god-damn nouveau-cuisine restaurant boasting a superEnglish chef--OH GOD...these places ain't the Buffalo Roadhouse! And I'm off on an old New York City nostalgia trip. Anybody remember the Buffalo Roadhouse? The Riviera? The Corner Bistro? The Village Corner? The Mudd Club? The many jazz clubs and blues clubs? The WPA on Spring Street? The Spring Street Natural Restaurant? The Greek coffee shops with the beautiful but bad-awful pastries? Who can remember Little Italy when it was still a Mafia hangout? Who doesn't miss the hippies and yippies and the Yippy Pig and Dial-a-Joint and when we used to wear "I Ate Etan Patz" teeshirts--I mean we all knew that poor little kidnapped SOHO-nouveau-riche hippy-parents spoiled-brat child innocently on his way to school was dead and buried--chopped up, probably, buried out in the Meadowlands maybe. Poor little dude. But it was a blossoming city back in the late 60s and throughout the 70s into the early 80s when something called AIDS came along and that ended free love, and hipsters, and free-form jazz, and bar-hopping with hopes of scoring a night of passionate but wild sex with a new partner, and discos and Al Green and Bobby Womack...petering on down to when beginning in 1982 we were all buying condoms by the crates and having to go take an AIDS test to prove we were clean so we could at least still maybe get lucky and get some sex--I mean sex is an addiction that comes to us down through our genetic ages. We can't stop fucking. We didn't stop fucking when the Black Plague was rampant. We don't stop fucking during wars--women still get knocked up right in the middle of battlefields. We don't stop fucking during famines. There were babies being born in Darfur. There are babies being born every minute of every day in Afghanistan, in Iraq, in Tripoli. There were babies being born during the devastating Haitian earthquake (of which the normal American never hears about any more). Men when totally ruled by their penises will risk defamation, divorce, total ruin, even death for a piece of ass--as the old bawdy song sang forth, "Seduction is for sissies, a He-man has his rape!" This IMF next-president-of-France scumbag, Strauss-Kahn, for instance. This guy thinks he's a he-man, 'cause he damn sure ain't no sissy.

What austerity? How much more austere must I get before I'll have to commit suicide? I mean, you can become austere to the point of begging for your life.

Ah, our lucky privileged. Next time you see Paris Hilton being glamorized on some teevee talk show, ask yourself what this spoiled-brat rich girl has done to deserve getting to break laws at will in Hollywood, getting to be a movie star if she so desires even though she has zero acting talent--her whole life so phony there's nothing real about her except her pussy (vagina), which has to be pampered and prodded and pounded and soothed more frequently that the average stressed out working-class chick's does, those vaginas of women who ain't free, White, and 21 enough to get fucked good anytime they are in heat for love. Paris proved with her best movie performance yet, her bestselling homemade porn movie, her vagina is a better actor than she is.

Over the White Man's Independence Day weekend, I watched an expose of the Kennedy clan on the sleaze-bag Fox (Australian Television in America) channel and oh my God, what a carefree, do-as-they-fucking-pleased worthless family that bunch were. With Bootlegger Joe as their old Pappy. He, too, like Prescott Bush, a lover of the "genius" Hitler, a love that got old Bootlegger Joe in political hot water enough he had to trim down the wick on his shining light as a possible president of the good ole USA. What a sorry bunch. I mean, this asshole, Bootlegger Joe, in order to protect his family's virility lobotomized his daughter, Rosemary, who was a normal girl, had done well in school, was a normal woman, started dating, and, of course, because of old Bootlegger Joe's vim and vigor when it came to sexuality in her bones, she started fucking around. Joe couldn't risk her getting knocked up by God knows what low-class sorry bastard, so Joe lobotomized her! What a father! And the lobotomy failed. The lobotomy left poor Rosemary a sexless zombie who old Joe sent off to a convent in the Midwest and told all his political cronies and movers and shakers she'd gotten religion and wanted to be a nun. In the meantime Joe, Jr., and the Good Jack, were fucking like maddogs any woman who moved around them; Jack when he was 22 years old getting sloppy seconds behind Bootlegger Joe on Marlene Dietrich. With Marlene under his young belt, Jack went to Hollywood and lived with Robert Stack and the two of them fucked starlets two at a time, switching off to come again and again, more second comings than Jesus can ever hope to even miraculously manage! What a fucking life! And these fools are forgiven of their sins because we so glorify these worthless spoiled-brat dumbasses! Like Jack wrote a bestselling book out of his Harvard thesis--why was it a bestseller? The book didn't sell in the bookstores. So, how did it get to be a bestseller? Old Bootlegger Joe bought EVERY copy that was printed.

Sorry, I get to going off on these privileged assholes who right now could give one fucking shit for those of us sinking on this Titanic-like Ship of Fools that is sinking faster than predicted. Remember, the rich ride above the water line on ocean-going vessels. And on land they live above flood levels wherever they live, be it on the highest hill in Podunk, Iowa, or atop the tallest hi-rise luxury condo tower in Manhattan. Though, hey, a bunch of Astors died on the Titanic...and Jack Johnson missed the boat.

Am I sounding revolutionary? I don't really believe in revolution. Like so many of my friends, I do believe in anarchy. Fuck governments. But, I am a realist (the Sociologist in me), so I know things aren't going to change. Yes, history will be recycled. And, yes, as soon as our current war involvements end, others will begin. Will there be another Great Depression? Yes, of course there will be. These are periods of readjustment. EXCEPT, the only readjustment We the People of the USA know, because that's what we're taught from Day 1, is to get involved in an invasion and attempted occupation somewhere, anywhere, but especially in nations that have energy sources. We still can't believe Obama is still in a drill-drill-drill mode--even as an Exxon-Mobil oil spill in the Missouri River is flowing down the Yellowstone River soon to reach Yellowstone National Park. President Obama continuing the George W. "My Daddy's an OIL Pirate" Bush policies of opening up national park lands and US wilderness lands to drilling and fracting and gold mining--things that will contaminate our fresh water supplies, but, hey, they'll keep us being able to fill up our gas-guzzling SUVs and tacky-tiny-ugly little Fords and big tacky Hondas with $3.86-a-gallon gasoline. Fuck the Yellowstone River--probably like BP miraculously evaporated the largest oil spill in US history, Exxon-Mobil, as they did in Prudhomme Bay, Alaska, will also miraculously blow away that oil spill on the Yellowstone. Fuck all ye who warn us of conspiracies. You see, there are no conspiracies anywhere in this world, especially not in our U.S. Government. Especially not among our Power Elite.

To show you how shifty these Power Elite billionaires are in terms of conspiracy, our crafty little-man asshole billionaire mayor, Mikey Boy Bloomberg (the poor little Jewish boy from Back Bay Boston), is playing politics with the New York City budget (of 65 billion dollars). He announces that the City is broke. (I've lived in New York City for 33 years now and I can't remember one mayor who didn't at some point in his administration say the City was going broke--from Lindsay on down through Abe Beame, "How'em I Doin'" Ed Koch (Crotch), David "Sweatin'" Dinkins, Rudi "Mussolini" Giuliani, up to Billionaire Mikey Bloomberg's corporate-regime-reign). The City is broke, Mikey tells us in his little man near-woman voice, because of Albany or because of Federal funds being denied NYC--everything is somebody else's fault with New York City mayors. We lost government funds because our students tested dumber than the spoiled-brat rich kids in private schools (now why would a private school that depends of donations from its privileged students's rich parents fail any of its students?). So this asshole, here's what he does, he says he's gonna have to fire a gaggle of public school teachers--thousands; plus, he's got to close firehouses and fire firemen. These issues spark protests in communities all over New York City. What the story is, the mayor never intended to fire teachers and close firehouses. Those were smokescreen tactics to take the public awareness off his truly draconian cutting measures, like cutting city vouchers for Day Care, those that help working mothers pay for child care--our generous billionaire mayor and his creative accountants are knocking these vouchers down from $4,000-a-year to $2000-a-year, meaning a mother working two or three jobs is now going to have to come up with an extra $2,000-a-year to cover her Day Care expenses. This mayor is also cutting completely a series of Youth Centers that were scheduled to be built in the underprivileged areas of the City like East New York and Bed-Stuy, while at the same time cutting back drastically 20,000 jobs from the City's summer youth work program--from 54,000 jobs last year to 34,000 jobs this summer. However, at the same time the poor of the City are told to tighten their belts, this little prick mayor is going ahead with constructing a theater in White Brooklyn for the putting on of the plays of Shakespeare!

New York City is not broke--New York City has a 65-billion-dollar budget--and currently it has a reserve surplus put away--instead, this little prick mayor is telling "We New Yorkers" we have to sacrifice. Both the state and the city being broke are putting into action austerity plans all over the place--the exceptions being their salaries and their privilege of having helicopters and fleets of SUVs with armies of security people to keep them out of harm's way from the low-life underprivileged workingclass who of course are jealous of the Power Elite and how easy it is for them to with impunity outsource local jobs, confiscate and foreclose on their homes, their apartments, their land, steal their savings, steal their pension funds, their 401Ks, their tax monies, their freedoms, their privacy.

Mayor Little Man Billionaire Mikey Bloomberg recently stated so boldly and businessman-like that he wanted to make it easier for foreign female models to come to live in New York City! This is the nonsense and arrogance We the Citizens of New York City have to face every day of our underprivileged austere lives. G.W. Bush is the dumbass spoiled-brat who started this "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps" bullshit, that little jiveass Yale Business School graduate (with a C/D average) faux-president who stole 2 elections: the first from wimpy Al Gore, spoiled-brat son of a Tennessee family of privileged politicians (Gore Vidal, Al's cousin, said Al was the most boring man he'd ever been around), and the second-term election from double-wimpy John Kerry (a wacko ex-Vietnam vet). And John Kerry is still in Congress, recently teaming up with John "Failed Mission-Spoiled-Brat Navy Brat" McCain to justify President Obama going to war in Libya without Congressional approval. What a bunch of hooey.

And bye the way, it's Congressional redistricting time. There'll be a whole lot of Gerrymandering going on. The Repugnicans will be doing there best to break up strong Dumbocrat districts--cutting them in thirds to gain a Repug majority by 33% in each of the formerly 100% Dumbocrat district.

slinging the platters of word-hash for The Daily Growler

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