Streetcar @ MindSay 
meaning: cross the cultures cross the city --> bathed in radiant lights of day and street light nights
1. don real fur. skate down to the bros and the girls drinking James Ready in the hot hot hot afternoon light... some were down with the veggie burgers --> this is sorta East Village North in a way so it's all good (understood?)
2. when Nixon and I finally made it up north there to the midtown Italian - Portuguese festival, the burning ball in the sky had shifted to a sentimental circle that was bent on adding colour to the evening of Brazilian dancers, uniformed stage bands and the six blocks jammed with immigrant families, young couples and blue collar workers. the empty streetcar tracks disappeared with the curve of the hillside into the distant haze of the midtown landscape -- it was a light but thick green.
3. saw an old roommate i hadn`t talked to in years. that went pretty well. looked pretty bulky. i thought he would be a bitch to me. but he was pretty cool. but he did talk a bit in riddles, if you know what i mean. like, the way people talk to you when they have some negative opinion about you (i.e. their ego is telling them they`re better than you) but they don`t really want to tell you.
4. heard a new version of this laid back band`s wikkidist song. we had to pass through one dark bar, and head through a curtain to the back room to take in the set. the guitar screams california. the lyrics inspired. apparently the drummer holds shit together. they could be for hippies or hipsters -- and yet they wouldn`t belong to either category. somehow the tunes are crisp and marketable. you just know they don`t think they`re better than anyone -- ya know... apparently they`ve just started recording my favourite track -- and, this stoked me out, the drumbeat they just laid down is pretty damn intense, the lead singer says...
5. gathered gossip on the inner-workings of the jungle crews of the city. one of the star players in the scene is looking for a new home. *but i may have already witnessed the next step --- I talked to a powerful party promoter that`s trying to bring FG on board... that was random but nice to hear
6. met up with my womens studies girl and just chilled on her porch at like 3 a.m. or whatever. i guess she likes dubstep now. and MIA. obviously. I guess the new vid with Rye Rye is just SMOKING HOT. (i.e. the girls are smoking hot -- chillin on a couch or something). this coming from a women`s studies major.
7. made some beats. yeah.
8. and etc.
Bourbon Street? Lame. Streetcars that run in the grass? Haven't had the Desire. Cafe au lait and beignets? Don't be (stretch for it.........) du-monde-ing.
Okay, I'm lying. Don't care much for Bourbon Street, but I certainly intend to get to streetcars tomorrow and perhaps Preservation Hall later in the week. My students will be glad to know I graded their papers at Cafe du Monde, and the grades turned out better than usual.
I'm actually here for the American Physical Society March Meeting. The idea is to absorb (broadband, with a peak in the spectrum around the organic superconductors) as much physics as possible.
I overheard a discussion on quantum dots on Canal street during lunchtime today.
jiving to electro
it's good for jokes if nothing else
then old house, sounds like pre-hardcore
it's true tho -- that's where we are
that's where we're partying
dancing
come home to chill
a cokehead car
not our car
carried us back
understood the neighbourhood
money troubles
nothing new
forge on
fuck it all --
we've got a party to throw
and i just found the contact info for that DJ
sweet
yesterday as i was passed out pretty much on the streetcar i was approached verbally by a comical man with a scruffy beard and a wikkid Jamaican accent. very street. i'm not quite sure why, but he had a tennis raquet case slung over his back. i thought it might be perfect for holding rugged beers. cool against the starving throat.
and his teeth weren't exactly in a perfect curve, but instead splayed themselves out in all directions, like some malignant weed in an ancient garden -- the ones left anyways.
he lunged for the scratch ticket by my feet. from a distance he thought it was a winner.
"wouldn't that be nice," he said. "get two thousad dollars every week. and for the rest of your life."
"oh ya. would be real nice."
he examined every square on that golden rectangle, disregarding the fact the very same card had been pre-scratched and discarded, and then trampled upon multiple times. no. you don't mess with luck. you have to know.
"this one is very close," he said. "this is the closest. you know? you see, this is the one which is the closest to winning, without actually being a winner. so close, and so far. well...that's how it is. you know? see. every square, two 'lifes'. each one. here, here, here and here too. almost a winner in each one. and yet, not a winner. you see?"
he was getting more and more spastic with each stop. but i liked it. i totally dug every inch of his animated face, the lovely chocolate colour melting and solidifying again every time he raised is eyebrows or smiled with a glow of acceptance.
"for the lottery. it's different...you know. but once i was close. sooo close. i had 4 numbers in a row. 4 numbers. imagine if i won. that would be nice. boy. very nice. it's true what they say though. don't you know. about it coming back to get people. money is dangerous. and it's true too."
he told me a story he'd read in the tabloid pages about a man who won the lottery and then went on one helluva party sesh, 4 days straight. he got in a limo and didn't come out for the whole time.
4 days later they found coke and pot and hooker panties and food and blood all over. and he'd collapsed -- died of a heart attack from too much toxins and vice and reckless abandon and money. but, mostly the money.
you can never say you'd do differently either, not until you're actually handed a sack full of cash.
nope. everyone thinks they'll be different. but you'll never know for sure. not until.
"but that's the ways it is. when i work for what i have...it just tastes better. yes it does. yeh. that's the way it is."
his eyes receded into the back of his skull as he contemplated the finer points of a lifestyle charted below the poverty line, as we chugged on stop after stop after stop.
then. he got up. and headed for the air compressor operated doors to head into his homeland...the asphalt city streets. but then. turned.
"pray for me, ehh," he said with conviction in his eyes, "so i win the lottery."
a big grin.
and now for some reason i'm listening to some house-electro shit again. web of deception and sean merrell. weird.
But yo -- I was so stoked when I realized it was some hyper Jungle tunes filling the air, coming from this girl's earbuds. It was one of those moments when I could have had like the shittiest ride ever cuz the streetcar was pretty packed, but it turned out stellar. You know how it is. So I sat there and vibed to DJ Rap -- a killer selecta wit mad cred and sick tracks.
As we rode along, I thought up some MC-style lines to toss overtop like a pumped rude boy. Here's what came:
Tripity skip. Hippity flip. Trippin to the hip sound blastin.
Bend at the hip n' give it a dip. Knee down -- jerk up -- kick that jammed-out crashin.
Slip n' slide. Side to side.
Swank - swere - check. Give it a head nod laughin.
Dip n' dive. Five Alive.
Lipidy lipidy lipidy lip. Grap that flipity flipity flipity flip.
Stretchin out. Lickity split. Bust down to the cue of the bobbing masses.
Pick up the trax. Pick up the pace.
Searching for rhythm. Sifting through bass.
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