Two Alternatives for Ground Zero

Since the wanker who owns the building site and the sleazeballs in the Port Authority and the government of the State of New York just aren't getting the job done, I feel obliged to present two alternative visions for the space that is now a gaping hole in the ground:

1) The World Trick Center

Taking a cue from how the descendants of the Dutch settlers of New Amsterdam have organized commerce in their capital city, the new towers will become the center of the sex trade in Manhattan. Historically, this is appropriate, given that in the 18th century the prostitution trade in the city was centered in a park known as "Holy Ground", which was several blocks north of the WTC site. The name "Holy Ground" is a satirical reference to the fact that the park land was owned by the parish of St. Paul's Chapel.

The centerpiece of The World Trick Center will be Spitzer Plaza, a site for alfresco orgies, presided over by a statue in the style of Augustus St. Gaudens, in which the ex-governor is presented with a leering sneer on his face, left arm upraised holding a subpoena, trousers dropped to his ankles, one knee length sock raised to its full length, the other sock drooping down just above the ankle, penis hard and straight at a perpendicular to his torso, and a discarded unopened condom on the ground at his feet.

2) The World Trump Center

While it's true the buildings will be cheap, shoddy, glitzy, and as ugly as sin, at least they will be tall and they'll go up virtually overnight. Just don't walk anywhere near the cranes at the construction site...

Who is in Control?

This piece of graffiti was on the side of a building on the north side of East Fifth Street just east of Avenue A for a brief period of time in the mid-90s.

Barack W. Bush and Gatherer S. Thompson

Here is another small excerpt from "Barack W. Bush: The Prisoner of Kennebunkport":

This morning’s mail brought a new batch of waq from Gatherer. Waq is an (as yet) entirely legal hallucinogen with a pronounced comedic edge. Gatherer is Gatherer S. Thompson, one of the most brilliant biochemists on the planet, and the twin sister of Hunter S. Thompson, one of my all-time favorite writers. Gatherer and I met during the period of time in which I was trading light sweet crude oil futures on the New York Mercantile Exchange and living in Battery Park City (from where I was kidnapped by Secret Service agents acting on orders from Dick Cheney, and brought back to Kennebunkport where I remain in comfortable yet irksome confinement).

Another Recorded Song: "Villanelle for a Cocksucker"

Unlike the other two songs John Stanford and I have recorded over the past month, this one was written fairly recently (2005). It appeared in the short story "Nowhere to Hide: A Comedy of Manners or Lack Thereof", which was in The Velveeta Underground, my collection of short stories and one act plays published in 2006 as part of the EAA Signature Series, and now, alas, out of print. This was originally only envisioned as a poem to be read. The fictional "author" was Angie Wu, who scribbled it at the last minute, right before she was going to have to read a poem in Kenneth Koch's poetry class. The time is October, 1968. The place is The Lions Den, a somewhat seedy on-campus cafeteria that served as a hangout for the culturally radical fringe at Columbia. What follows is the lead-in to the poem and the poem (now song) itself:

After agreeing to take photographs of Will’s provocation, George headed to a table at the far back corner of the room where he saw Angie Wu leaning delicately over a notebook, writing rapidly. Angie was the most collegiate looking heroin abuser on the Columbia campus. George surmised that her genetic inheritance included dozens of generations of opium smokers. Angie's parents owned House of Wu, a restaurant in Silver Spring, Maryland, but there was a strong military tradition in the family. Her father had been a general who backed Chiang Kai-Shek in the civil war against Mao and the Communists, and later emigrated to the U.S. from Taiwan after a falling out with Chiang. Angie was cute as a button, with a stratospheric IQ and the constitution of Keith Richards. She had two sets of friends. One was a circle of very prim and conservative Chinese-American girls. The other, of which she was the queen bee, was a group of rock and roller heroin boys. You didn't get into Angie's bed unless you shared a needle with her. At exam time there would always be one person designated to refrain from getting high. His job was to get Angie up at 6am, throw her into a cold shower and make sure she was out the door in time to get to her exams, which she always aced, seemingly without doing any studying. George had never gotten into Angie's bed. His fear of needles had won out over his desire for Angie. But he had, on more than one occasion, been the person who woke her up and threw her in the shower. Just as he reached the table, Angie stopped writing, looked up, smiled with the corners of her broad mouth turned up slightly, and remarked cheerfully:

"Georgie Kazoo. What synchronicity! I was just thinking about you. Or more precisely, I was thinking about how I'd love to hear you read out loud the poem I just finished writing for Kenneth Koch's class. Will you do me the honor?"

Taking the notebook from Angie, George read:

Villanelle For A Cocksucker

When I look at you down there on your knees
And see your mouth all filled up with my cock
I hear the jangling of a set of keys.

Should service rendered perchance fail to please
One can stand up and rapidly take stock
Of what is real and what is just a tease.

This bed of yours is all filled up with fleas
They've made a new home inside of my jock
And robbed me of my mirth and of my ease.

I'm leaving you and heading for the trees
Where I can watch the fattened seagulls flock
Like Nazis whom the Frogs and Brits appease.

My new home is a skyscraper by Mies
With penthouse door on which you shall not knock
And kitchen where you shall not eat my cheese.

I plan to spend the winters in Belize
Where I shall never glance up at a clock
Or fill my engine up with anti-freeze
Or once again look at you on your knees.

"Wow, that was great Georgie. You should be doing voiceovers. After
listening to you I think I'll have the confidence to read it in class.
Will you walk me over to Hamilton Hall?"

A Short Query (and Response)

"Sixteen sigma, what do you find?"

"Another day, deeper and lighter, in mind...."

The Latest Excerpt from "Barack W. Bush: The Prisoner of Kennebunkport"

"It's soooo quiet in K-port during the winter. Most of the time it's just me and the Secret Service detail, so I have plenty of time to write songs, not that anyone else is likely to hear them anytime soon, least of all darling Condi. Appointing her as Secretary of State was my half-bro's one smart move as President. And don't you believe that Sweet Jesus demeanor of his. He's been pronging Condi all but senseless for years. Am I jealous? Does the Pope smoke dope? Not this one, he's a Nazi, but maybe the last one? Or perhaps the one before that, you know, the one who had a boyfriend in the Milan Opera? But I digress. As you can see, Condi has the last word in the song I wrote this morning, while I was way under the influence of the favorite herb of one or another Pope:

Al Qaeda says
Al Qaeda says
Al Qaeda says
More hummos for Hamas
More hummos for Hamas
More hummos for Hamas
More hummos for Hamas

Israeli army says
Israeli army says
Israeli army says
No hummos for Hamas
No hummos for Hamas
No hummos for Hamas
No hummos for Hamas

Jimmy Carter says
Jimmy Carter says
Jimmy Carter says
More hummos for Hamas
More hummos for Hamas
More hummos for Hamas
More hummos for Hamas

Condi Rice says
Condi Rice says
Condi Rice says
No hummos for Hamas
No hummos for Hamas
No hummos for Hamas
No hummos for Hamas"

Song: "Love's Deep Mineshaft"

Over the past several weeks John Stanford and I have recorded two songs. The first recording is a garage rock arrangement of "Let's Eat Some Time, Baby" (see the April 1st posting for lyrics). The second recording is a country arrangement of "Love's Deep Mineshift" (which I wrote in 1977). On both songs John created the drum and bass tracks in Cubase. "Let's Eat Some Time, Baby" also has a Farfisa organ track created in Cubase. On top of this we overdubbed John's guitar and tambourine tracks and my vocal and (on "Love's Deep Mineshaft") harmonica tracks.

Love’s Deep Mineshaft

When I grow up I’m gonna be a conjure man
And I’m gonna roam around with a big old rattlesnake in my hand
When I was a boy I used to sing this flippant tune
Now my dream has come true and I can work that hoodoo
And honey I’m coming after you

All the world’s a stage you’ve been through too many times before
Look up at the sky and it will soon be time to open the floor
Open the floor

And when you fall down love’s deep mineshaft
You will sit and watch the orb explode
Yes when you fall down love’s deep mineshaft
You just might find yourself a heart of gold
A heart of gold

When I grow up I’m gonna be a conjure man
And I’m gonna roam around with a big old rattlesnake in my hand