Suburbanization Sonnet

Suburbanization’s Corporate Welfare

Highways out of cities carry money

That America’s government once shared

Amongst all citizens much more fairly

Highways & subsidized “public” Parking

Stole money from people outside of cars

To benefit “modernity’s new thing:”

Automobiles (that drive us apart far)

Driving past humanity isolates

Man from man, woman from woman, people

See “others” as abstract, & as ingrates

That interfere with’th speed worship steeple

The car you love so intensely costs you

Ability with others to commune

Subsidizing Suburbia: A forgotten history of how the government created suburbia

Electric Door Sonnet

The perils of modernity are sloth

We have to walk from humanity’s troth

What is easiest is rarely the best

Honest work distinguishes from the rest

So skip the escalator take the steps

For this is how the worthy earn their reps

Every gadget that you are given

Will diminish your goals to be striven

The easier your bosses make your life

Will only cause someone or you more strife

So walk the road less traveled if you can

For this is how to be a better man

No one is ever selling better lives

Each bit of assistance cuts you like knives

Endless Sonnet

  

Each wave is identical

Also completely unique

Repetition: practical

Their differences oblique
Each person watching waves

Is completely different

But like banister staves

Cooperate in bent

I sit by the river

Of autos driving by

Observing, I wonder

If there’s a reason why

Why do I consider

The altar of nature?

The Show Me State

(Today’s Haiku Journal on Ferguson)

9. Do white people know/
The feelings Black people have/
When cops just kill us?/
#haiku

10. Don’t live in ghettos/
Suburban Strip-Mall no-wheres/
Imprisoned by cars/
#Haiku

11. Don’t live in projects/
Lego-stacked suspensions of/
Human civil rights/
#Haiku

12. In our middle class/
Pretentions of normalcy/
Black lives lack value/
#Haiku

13. Our white friends can’t know/
Insecurity we feel/
When Blacks are gunned down/
#Haiku

14. Projects or exurbs/
“They are poor in those ghettoes/
So diff’rent than ‘us'”/
#Haiku

15. But to the dull tool/
Of racist policing we’re/
Just some more niggers/
#haiku

16. Reduce privilege/
And pay the police much more/
We might get justice/
#Haiku

17. Uneducated/
Underpaid police receive/
Unjust Power’s Pay/
#Haiku

18. We need to attract/
Better people to police/
Not red-necked bullies/
#Haiku

19. The black cops we have/
Absorbed the racist power/
Of job they strap on/
#Haiku

20. But many Blacks fear/
Blacks men inordinately/
Just like the police/
#haiku

21. White supremacy/
Lies all over our culture:/
Suffocating snow/
#Haiku

22. We cannot see Blacks/
As just individuals/
In racist matrix/
#Haiku

23. “Devil’s food cake” is/
The national confection/
Of America/
#Haiku

24. It’s “our” racism/
Contrary statements of race/
Are simple “white lies”/
#Haiku

26. Race is a prison/
We reconstruct for ourselves/
We need more jailbreaks/
#haiku

27. Lamenting order/
Over human righteousness/
Suggests racism/
#haiku

28. Tranquility lacks/
The drama of infringement/
Victimization/
#haiku

25. “Faith has to [function]/
[For us] 24 hour [days],/
Or we [will] perish.”/
#Haiku 16

Subjectivity of Victims (or why we like the weak)

1. Adorable pets/

Are cute because don’t have/

Subjectivity/

#haiku

2. Modern subjects will/

Protect the most powerless/

To feel meaningful/

#haiku

3. Faraway poor folks/

Tibetans and Fetuses/

Assuage our egos/

#haiku

4. Protect those beings/

Who can’t cut our privilege/

Has to be easy/

#haiku

5. The unborn are not/

Demanding of anyone/

Except the mothers/

#haiku

6. Protecting beings/

Who are not yet born is easy/

‘Cause they cost others/

#haiku

7. Tibetans are real/

In China, Nepal & Queens/

Taking no suburbs/

#haiku

8. Tibetan rights are/

Costs for our rival Chinese/
Not OUR wealth & ease/

#haiku

9. 3rd world Christians are/

Particularly saintly/

(They agree with us)/

#haiku

10. Don’t improve the rights/

Of local people who need/

Because we might LOSE/

#haiku

11. The rights of the poor/

Are reduced to benefit/

The lives of wealthy/

#haiku

12. In China or here/

Giving the poor more freedom/

Costs powerful more/

#haiku

13. Give up your own rights/

limit your own privilege/

To improve the world/

#haiku

14. “Ask not what [the world]/

Can do for you— ask what you/

can do for your [world]/

#haiku

End of the Line

22. Just saw a woman/
Who’d been hit by an Auto/
Shit her pants and died/
#haiku
(RIP pedestrian at Grand & Bushwick)

23. Feel all the feelings/
Relish all the discomfort/
Enjoy the pleasure/
#haiku

24. Crossing on Grand Ave/
As fate waited to turn left/
Too impatiently/
#haiku

25. The left on Bushwick/
Oncoming traffic speeding/
Hard to make safely/
#haiku

26. The driver, weeping,/
Comprehended totally:/
Death under her car/
#haiku

27. Cops do paperwork/
Bus driver offers solace/
Body under fender/
#haiku

28. Soiled sweatpants stick up/
Displaying body’s last act/
Face buried in shame/
#haiku

29. An instant before/
Two Women with normal cares/
Now one has them all/
#haiku

30. Beyond or Beneath/
Mere mortal concerns, she lies/
Face down on pavement/
#haiku

31. Her placidity/
In marked contrast to the sobs/
Behind steering wheel/
#haiku

32. The cleavage between/
Placidity and weeping/
Like human fission/
#haiku

33. Total anguish is/
Survivor’s sad luxury:/
She will never know/
#haiku

34. So pray for killers/
As well as those sent away/
Nothing brings us back/
#haiku

DMV

DMV

1. Hell’s Special labyrinth/
Has hundreds of willing souls/
Waiting to drive cars/
#haiku

2. Waiting for my turn/
In alpha-numeric line/
Of limited hope/
#haiku #obedience

3. Priv’leges granted/
Are opportunities lost/
And rights conceded/
#haiku

4. Philosophically/
Power conceded to state/
Is diminished right/
#haiku

5. Practically, powers/
Shared with others benefit/
All humanity/
#haiku

6. It’s reluctant faith/
That makes us share through the state/
(It’s all we can do)/
#haiku

7. Bureaucracy sucks/
But it is how we manage/
To intermingle/
#haiku

(I went to the DMV and while I was in the preliminary line I saw a tattoo with a swastika [REALLY, it was on the tricep of the lumberjack of the tattoo in this blurry photo])

The Reaper Wore a Hoodie

The reaper wore a hoodie/
Sitting on the corner bench/

He offered me a dap/
And loudly asked how I was/

I expected a long robe/
and a long old-time sickle/

He took his white headphones out/
I heard noise as he swiped it off/

I asked him where his scythe was/
And he smiled and chewed his gum/

“People think that we gods don’t change/
that eternal means stuck in time/

“In the style that they think matters:/
Their favorite time in history/

He looked off at the six lane highway/
And seemed to collect his thoughts/

“People think humans evolve/
But their gods remain antiques/

“They trap us in a history/
Where the harshest demands are made/

“Like we can’t learn anything/
From our eternities of life/

“I’m the ‘reaper’ because you/
used to have to farm constantly/

“Now I should be ‘collections’/
or the ‘syndicate’s muscle‘/

“But the love of books trap me/
In a medieval metaphor/

“Some love chivalry, kings, knights/
And old-fashioned peonage/

“To show their faithful love of God/
(That plantation has gone global)/

But we gods are much kinder now/
Same rules though, no-one stays alive/

But fealty and obeisance/
Like animal sacrifices/

“No longer pleases us that much/
You do those for human leaders/

“Who want the power of their fathers/
To bully and command the people/

“WE don’t give a rat’s gray ass/
What you eat, where you pray, or/

“Who-the-fuck you think God is/
Because you will all come back home/

“And there’s no place for the wicked;/
The good and bad lodge together/

“In eternity you get to see/
Things more clearly. and good and evil/

“Only make sense to those with flesh/
‘Bad‘ is like mold, or rain, or pain/

“Something absolutely needed/
-But the fleshed cannot know why”/

He watched the traffic speed along/
And frowned a bit as it slowed/

He raised his stubbled chin and the cars/
Sped back up like an unclogged drain/

“Why can’t we understand?” I asked/
and he sadly smiled, weighing the bat/

“Rules and consequences matter/
To you children of the flesh/

“Your finite bodies and minds/
With their wants, loves, needs and greed/

“Need the charnel race track” he said/
Glancing at the speeding cars/

“Because eternity lacks/
A speed limit or any rules/

“But those little rules of the flesh/
Also enable desire/

“All that you crave, all that ‘matters’/
In eternity is a plague/

“The things you fight for will soon be/
Like mosquitoes: trivial”/

He heard the siren and looked up/
Back to where the traffic came from/

Cast a glance at me like a ball[1]/
Lifted his bat to his shoulder/

Adjusted his grip, twirled it upward/
And watched the spot where the chase/

Would round the highway’s slow curve/
He let life come to him fast/ V

And swung after the chase had passed/
And the police car swerved, flipped/

And slid along the highway/
Wheels in the air like a turtle/

He smiled and walked away as/
I heard screaming and saw fire/

The reaper wore a hoodie/

Sitting on the corner bench/

 

He offered me a dap/

And loudly asked how I was/

 

I expected a long robe/

and a long old-time sickle/

 

He took his white headphones out/

I heard noise as he swiped it off/

 

I asked him where his scythe was/

And he smiled and chewed his gum/

 

“People think that we gods don’t change/

that eternal means stuck in time/

 

“In the style that they think matters:/

Their favorite time in history/

 

He looked off at the six lane highway/

And seemed to collect his thoughts/

 

“People think humans evolve/

But their gods remain antiques/

 

“They trap us in a history/

Where the harshest demands are made/

 

“Like we can’t learn anything/

From our eternities of life/

 

“I’m the ‘reaper’ because you/

used to have to farm constantly/

 

“Now I should be ‘collections’/

or the ‘syndicate’s muscle‘/

 

 “But the love of books trap me/

In a medieval metaphor/

 

“Some love chivalry, kings, knights/

 And old-fashioned peonage/

 

“To show their faithful love of God/

(That plantation has gone global)/

 

But we gods are much kinder now/

Same rules though, no-one stays alive/

 

But fealty and obeisance/

Like animal sacrifices/

 

“No longer pleases us that much/

You do those for human leaders/

 

“Who want the power of their fathers/

 To bully and command the people/

 

“WE don’t give a rat’s gray ass/

What you eat, where you pray, or/

 

“Who-the-fuck you think God is/

Because you will all come back home/

 

“And there’s no place for the wicked;/

The good and bad lodge together/

 

“In eternity you get to see/

Things more clearly. and good and evil/

 

“Only make sense to those with flesh/

‘Bad‘ is like mold, or rain, or pain/

 

“Something absolutely needed/

-But the fleshed cannot know why”/

 

He watched the traffic speed along/

And frowned a bit as it slowed/

 

He raised his stubbled chin and the cars/

Sped back up like an unclogged drain/

 

“Why can’t we understand?” I asked/

and he sadly smiled, weighing the bat/

 

“Rules and consequences matter/

To you children of the flesh/

 

“Your finite bodies and minds/

With their wants, loves, needs and greed/

 

“Need the charnel race track” he said/

Glancing at the speeding cars/

 

“Because eternity lacks/

A speed limit or any rules/

 

“But those little rules of the flesh/

Also enable desire/

 

“All that you crave, all that ‘matters’/

In eternity is a plague/

 

“The things you fight for will soon be/

Like mosquitoes: trivial”/

 

He heard the siren and looked up/

Back to where the traffic came from/

 

Cast a glance at me like a ball[1]/

Lifted his bat to his shoulder/

 

Adjusted his grip, twirled it upward/

And watched the spot where the chase/

 

Would round the highway’s slow curve/

He let life come to him fast/

 

And swung after the chase had passed/

And the police car swerved, flipped/

 

And slid along the highway/

Wheels in the air like a turtle/

 

He smiled and walked away as/

I heard screaming and saw fire/

Great Adventure (Passover Edition)

4/24/2008 7:04 AM

We went to great adventure yesterday and had a great time, sort of. The drive through zoo (aka safari) was kinda neat, I especially liked the baboons and the ostriches picking at us and fighting across the yard.

I have to say the experience of going to a zoo in our car was weird, there was something quintessentially American about it, not in the good way. Each pod of people has an experience that is a) isolated and b) tainted by driving (dipped in traffic). The isolation is probably why this is such a popular experience, so you can see the unwashed animals without having to stand next to the unwashed masses. Driving slowly around the track jockeying for position with other (suburban) drivers reminds me too much of rush hour. I know that there were at least two times when people (men) zipped in front of us and kept us stuck where we were or took the spot in front of the (non-human) fauna that we had been waiting for. And don’t even get me started about those people who did open their windows to get better pictures (having reviewed ours I see why now).

I noticed in the various queues for the park (all automotive) that there were a lot of orthodox Jews. I have the middle-class liberal affinity for Hasidim, so I was kind of excited. I didn’t say anything to the kids when I saw a floatilla of four late-model minivans and a couple of nice Acura and Infiniti sedans off to the side of one of the roads with bearded men in white shirts and black hats kibitzing. I thought, “how cool, Hasids, must be because of Passover” (which B&H photo, where I’m buying a new camera soon, has been announcing that they are closed until next Monday for the holiday).

As we jockeyed for position in the next parking and purchasing lines in our car I felt like the park had been reserved for orthodox Jews. There was our car, a mid-90s Continental with Anti-UN bumperstickers and a sea of shiny family cars full of eastern-European Jews in their starched white shirts and modest skirts. Inside the park it seemed like about ¼ – 1/3 of the guests were there for Passover.

Not all of them had the old-world mien of the Hasids. There were more suburban looking men and women with Rangers gear and a couple of hippy families with colorful hand-embroidered yarmulkes that looked more functional and perhaps north-african. There were a few groups of young men who were hip-slick-and-cool, tricked out in the latest oversized warm-up-suites with three day growths and (in one case) black-leather yarmulkes.

The Country Kitchen, off by the waterfront and away from the main-(streetUSA)-drag, had an adhesive sign, not hand lettered, but also not part of the regular signage, that announced that this restaurant was Kosher, and the lines there were long and white-and-black. I wonder if the food there was any less greasy or less expensive. My stomach still aches from the food I ate yesterday.

It was right by there that I saw a young Hasid, say early 20s, who was obviously downsey (had downs syndrome). Ever since I saw the two downs-syndrome kids making out in Madison Square Park in 1984 I’ve had an affinity for this particular sort of “special person.” He was dressed like everyone else but more excited then most of the other orthodox adults there. He was holding his mother or grandmother’s hand and lobbying for some great-adventure-delight or another.

There were folks who looked like they were less into the starched formality of some of the families. While they technically had the same outfits, white shirts, black pants and shoes, fringe dangling off the belts as the others I noticed that they were wearing Marshall’s-type no-iron shirts and black chinos. These families were in marked contrast to the ultra-starched white shirts of the men who had custom slacks (suite-pants) and hand-made shoes. The variations go on and on, and since I am not an anthropologist I’ll leave these distinctions for better suited chroniclers to catalogue.

I will add, however, that two or three times I saw groups of men and boys off to the side, not totally public, but also not quite private, praying in small groups of about 10. The last time I saw them pray, off to the side by the exit, there seemed to be a rave-like quality to the unsynchronized quality of the floating and rocking back and forth that they did. There were a couple of pre-adolescent boys who seemed to have a rhythm of their own that was, well, rebellious, shocking and rocking.

I will spare you my usual anti-amusement-park diatribe, maybe I’ll look for an old one and post it up later.

Kiko Rides Again

Here’s the latest installment of Kiko’s Tale, because I haven’t posted anything in a while. He’s back, our delivery guy, (if only your intrepid scribe was as dedicated and regular as Kiko). Here Kiko meets another aspect of the City Cycling world, a character named Croak. There’s more the pipeline, though if I don’t start getting some feedback… (It’s hard to keep going without hits and feedback, of course it is possible that it sucks.)

And of course, if you want to start from the beginning, go here.  IF this link doesn’t work you can search “Kiko” on this blog and feel your way back to the beginning by hitting “previous entries” two or three times.

Once The Blue and Gold Line had caught them Mike taught Kiko about riding in a pack, swapping places at the end of the line, and talking about how to figure out where the wind was coming from and how to fid the best place to draft off of people in the pack. By explaining, without actually executing, mike told Kiko the basics of working your way to the front, climbing the grapevine, and, again, holding your line in a pack, which took equal parts nerve and skill.

As they were breaking up for the day Mike, impressed as much by Kiko’s teachability as his natural skill and stamina, went to the van he had brought the bikes in and got Kiko a set of cycling togs, a pair of shoes (with pedals) and a helmet. He explained a bit of the rational for wearing tight colorful clothes, using the Blue and Gold Line as an example. He pointed out how the Jeans and T-Shirt made him look less able, and how “the kit” (the cycling term for uniform) would cut down on some of the resistance (social and physical), and asked him to come meet him the next week at the same place. 

When they met the next week Mike had a new guy with him. His name was Croak and he looked vaguely familiar to Kiko. He was thin and mean looking in spite of the affable smile that rode beneath the pencil thin mustache on his beige skin. Croak was obviously a black man, though his skin was the color of a paper bag and he had no hair to speak of. Kiko could just make out the outline of a receding hairline in the microscopically barbered hair that was left on his skull. He wore a faded Campagnolo hat that had odd creases ironed into it on the back of his head that reminded him of the soldier’s hats back home. His gaudy “kit” advertised an Italian banking concern in florescent colors from his shoes to his hat and gloves everything matched; the bike and handlebar tape even sang the praises of Tuscan-low-rate-mortagages.