Brooklyn (Holdin it down in the Holdy Land prt 3)

Brooklyn is a head on collision of Interpol and D.H. Lawerence shaken up with a splash of neckface and served in white castle wrapper.

There's a subtle overwhelmingness in the humidity of the panic.

The village on the other hand is the little mother of pearl reflection of that same distorted image re-constituted and re-imagined across the sweaty shores of the island. It’s mini skirts and cowboy boots, standing in front of pizza parlor fantasies, epicenter of the new world.

I am anything but sure as we finally exit the doldrums of the path train. A Straight bead from Philly to NYC, puffing away like an asthmatic on a joint slack jawed through Elizabeth, a painful gallstone of broken memories and disjointed promises.

Elizabeth - the Sabbath of my youth, the dirty pretty thing haunting my past and shaping my future identities. Dark times and the rain are not unwelcome.

Elizabeth, a name cursed like an ex girlfriend who shaped my life. Stinking slum of personality. Epic pies in catholic school followed by canolli and sun drenched cicadas.

NYC is burning - bright beacon of insanity in an otherwise ocean of debauchery and wanton derelicts. Scanning for Kerouac and only reaching Brouse.

This was the summer of dreams and long off forgotten delights. The fog of regret replaced by the sunshine of tomorrow.
Strolling the old country, longing for fernet, sedated by silly waves across the Delaware. Eating better, sleeping well - tipping like it was going out of style, representing the 415 and loving every minute of it. Derelict Dirigible of delicious deviousness, deciding delightfully do dons deserve double ad doubt did do-dads.
Breaking into verse, working what’s left of my magic, like Rochester knowing you won't like me.

It’s checking in at the hotel then shower and a walk as we scurry down 51st names only familiar from songs.

There's sapphire moitos in the blender as Arlo's little brother Gabe - Jellies the front door.
My little brother Kevin has deja vu about the place. I'm living big as I step inside.
Crazy stairs and a Santa Fe voice, lead me up into a flat of roaring stares. Opening up to heaven in the form of green Chile.
Lighting fast twist of fate - meeting the brother of my first, unofficial...roommate.
Blown away by everything eager as a mentat, observing a possible lifetime of what if's and maybe so's.
It's everything I wished it would be. Crazy Kids wearing far out clothes. Smoking smiles and listening to fresh. Being there, living there - shaping there. A kaleidoscope of importance and now. Reality TV's wet dream, a group of kids that were that pretty, that complicated -that didn't give a fuck. An archipelago of awesome in a sea of Courtney Arquette loving troglodytes.
In short a love letter to Diesel Jeans, Mary Jane and Apple Computers - girls, slim wasted Kate Mosses all apathetic indictments of east coast ingenuity.
Gabe, decked out head to toe in white, oozing borrowed sophistication in size 10 aldo flip flops.
Dumbfounded dumpster of devious desire, disorganized and designed a marquee of madness exploding in a bench clearing brawl.
Sitting out on fire escape, desiring my arrival. Developing dizziness as David b was discussed. Returned to Normality after many mint maladies.
Staying awake for hours – riding the train warriors style from Brooklyn to the city. Escaping the madness and living for the for the last, hearts ever beating, heart every beating
Heart ever beating.
heart ever beating.
heart ever beating.