...the petty, passionate pedigree, it being had and hence forth admitted into hearing and of since inevitable sight and service to, all whence found, therein.
He is the American, branded in his own image, starved and sickened, panting for more, a soldier of his own means, stranded in a land distant, that belongs to the distant to the decadent to the depraved, he being native, he being naive, he being born in his disadvantage, born for the dollar, born for the soul, born again, and above all born for the acquisition of the world and all that rests therein, a stranger to himself, the people's son, the prodigal.
He is the American, left gazing at distant horizons, left leering on empty docks in wakes of sailing ships, left trembling wrapped in his stars and in his stripes, left weighted with thoughts, dumb-bell-heavy, and memories, oh memories distant, like fleeting horizon bound ships fleeting to god knows what, left embracing a memory that never was and a dream that never will be and a hope that goes skin deep, left as a refugee in a life-long boot camp boat race trudging circular and endless.
He is the American, never confusing the path for the way, always feeding upon himself, never seeing blindly without seeing blindly, always dancing two hands not one footstep back beat rhythms upon rhythms, always working harder but never enough, filling empty ditches with the ashes of home, shouting loudly at strangers in bars, challenging strong men with hands crossed boldly behind back, gazing perilously into a future too strange and unknown to be his own.
He is the American, who huddles his tears in dark so dark his hiding places, who collects his close ones his friends too close his enemies closer still, who wields his body and chisels his soul to heroics his body politic his body seductive his body enraged his body transcendent his body destroyed, whose father's lost and ancient gods transparent he imitates, whose mannerisms imitate the gods he's never known the gods he'll never know, whose iron skin so pervious as to suffer through and through.
He is the American unending He is the American despised He is the American bought He is the American wise He is the American lie He is the American naught.Nighttime in Union Square park. The cool cement walkways are awash in the movement of commuters, busy bodies, and the occasional drunkard. The mysterious honking and outburst of not only the passing cabs, but also a contingent of souls in the southwest corner tuning up and preparing their all brass New Orleans style jazz instruments for the playing. As with the crack of a whip, or the firing of a gun, they begin.
DUB-A-WEEEE-BWABWAHHH, CHEKA CHEKA CHEKA, SISSSSSS BWAAAAH, DUB WEEEEEEE YAAAAAAH
The sound sliding about, wet and impossible to pin down. The trombones, at least six of them, the tuba, and an enigmatic woman who handles a tambourine with a rhythm and movement so distant as if from the deepest jungles of the human libido. Shakes moves and sways, all of them. So frantic and natural. A religious uproar lacking a deity, lacking a structure. An uprising of the soul, this the sound blasting unapologetically into the otherwise benign New York night.
CHEKA-SKWEEEEEBEEE-DIP DIP DIP, BWAwaWAwaWA, YEEEEEOWWWWHOOPPPP
People begin to gather. Some start tapping their feet, dancing ensues. Light swaying at first, with a polite gentrified tapping of the foot, a thoughtless sway, a clap of the hands, more hips, more movement increasing, lustfully. A drug-like anesthesia consuming the airwaves focusing in and destroying the panic, the vacuum, the sense of self. The people become one, everyone dancing. Compelled by charity and gratitude a few move rhythmically to the band and religiously give dollars of appreciation, rigorous in their honesty, dollars of love, dollars of hope, being as dollars never were. A trickle at first, increasing and suddenly rivers of cash flow to the performers. Excitement makes itself present in the perspiration of all gathered within this new organic temple of sound. The deepest of pockets prove insufficient. People, mad and hysterical, run to bank machines to gather more cash, it being thrown at the performers, offered as to gods. Business men calling their bankers, demanding investments sold, "we must go liquid!" they yell shedding ties and blazers and button-ups. Briefcases left like crying children on sidewalks abandoned. The passion the gratitude the madness. Everyone caught, a constant motion blur, to and from money machines and lost in Zen dance state, wild flailing motions.
BAH BAH BAH, WEEEE WEEEE, BAH BAH BAH BAH WEEEEEOOOPPP, DIP DIP BA DOOPAP BA DIP
The pile of money, estimated in millions and growing at the pace of fear dissipating, a tower before the performers. The gratitude implacable, the people thirsty and drunk with the desire to repay and take part in this orgiastic moment of sound, this musical baptism. The money is worthless next to such beauty, life distilled to sound. A member of the crowd, brilliant and armed with matches sets the money to a bright, hot blaze. Finally proper recognition! The body of people, their bodies, beautiful and willing slaves to the sound, a new and invisible dimension.
BA DEE DEEP, BA DEE DEEP, BA DEEEEEE BAHWAHHWAAAHP
The flames are not enough, "more more more!" ,one shouts. Their gratitude still not fully expressed; the people rip down the neon corporate signs of business franchises surrounding the park, first goes HSBC, then the Skechers, Best Buy and Au Bon Pain are soon to follow. In minutes, all of the former signs of corporate strength, effigies to material lust, are heaved onto the fire. Ashes on mammalian hands, a few naked wild participants gesticulate wild and abstract images on barren spaces above so many glass sliding doors and entrances to newly christened nowheres. The garments and coverings that stifle and conceal, emblems to their former selves, are thrown piously to growing flames, flames that dance human-like, and humans that dance like ghosts. The trees, the leaves of the park are aglow, the branches shaking, the people dancing, the band playing.
A supernova in the endless night.
