#dewey square

7:37 a.m. time to kill death gripping axe handle pen jotting filth in the center of train station south station dewey square, choking but mocking purposefully entertaining weary brain—another flood vermin seep through glass doors scattering like skunks bearing stench, the walls and hallways stink of urine, they reek rushing to nothing. by the looks of this flock of suits and leggings—business junkies. but what of it? proud of what: nothingness. “their money bought them golden cufflinks. but still their brains full of boring.” no one heard that no one said that. mocking purposefully entertaining weary brain—another flood of vermin in dewey square and there is some lonely stranger sitting, jotting in the center south station, watching: they are all in a rush for nothing— “you are all running nowhere.” i said.

“most of you have closed ears, heads down, unaware of the motions nothing matters so much as to what is in your hands.”

click.

7:51 a.m. … i hardly killed death. 3&1/2 hours to go … out of hundreds of thousands of busy feet only one man stopped to question the lady: she worked in dewey square as a “customer assistant” wait …wait a minute, commuters considered customers? then again, it makes sense after considering— how hollow.

empty headed wandering fat pigeons pale faces in yellow palms, personal, self-centered, tiny worlds: click that click this click it press down, swipe—a child kicks and cries and begs: “mommy. please i want this. please ugh mommy but please.” picture this, Raskolnikov and Camus’ Stranger emerging from the beaten trampled worn tiled floor … imagine, what would they do with this mess?

something peculiar in these uncertain sounds mingling arguments.

i sat there aware that no one noticed—not even the thirty yard tall purple Monster alone on the wall.

a conversation: “he looks like he is going to give 
us a few lessons,” he said, “and they are going to be life lessons.”

“this egg sandwich is good.”

“why wouldn’t they? i mean i would really live but it is too terrible, teddy.”

“chicken shit, better things are here in front of this.” a sudden shutter:

“money has made you a monster.”

passers-by quickly vanish like phantoms, leaping from one place to another hardly aware of the world they live on trees rotating around the sun is a star they stop to rarely wonder at the midnight they are sleeping the moon too the stars stand still they are pulsing unnoticed, dead and forgotten, folklore.

their faces lost in delirium, muttering nonsense trembling

“look at them shake.”

subconscious terror

the world around them is simplicity so then they neglected love.

5,000 feet hurried forward, a single torn paper stirred amongst the rush …

it’s clicking.

sudden negative energy overwhelms like an illness, sick of my stomach … i start breathing with difficulty, another terrible minute passes. i’m trying to speak but breathing through blood bubbling quiver “this is not the way, this is not at all the way.” i am sick of my stomach.

9:22 a.m. ghost zoo … “it’s all about money.” two old men gently converse. one softly speaks as the other inches closer. “i still remember,” he said. “o i still remember that dreary day— friday morning, Kennedy’s head blown off.”

the old man bowed his head in sorrow.

“and now, it’s all about money … it has always been about money.”

still we passed each other unnoticed perhaps the pain of our past still it lingers in our present, perhaps the pain is harder still it presses on our weary brains—ideas they never come during working hours, the pain of our day is pressing still our past is in our present, forgotten future dreams

we are all momentarily passing unremembered;

but this is not the way by all means press on, forgotten past, and stand still

for a minute there i thought i saw something move.

Dewey Square and John Velazquez at Aqueduct, early April 2014.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFzSu7J7YA0&w=420&h=315]

A bebop classic! Charlie Parker’s Dewey Square 1946. The song go it’s name Dewey Square which was named for Harlem’s Dewey Square Hotel in Harlem where “negro folks” could stay back in the…