Away from this Mind Rape

As published at Dissident Voice, 12/6/13:





When a person says, “I know Knoxville,”
What does he mean by that? I mean,
How much of Knoxville has he measured
With his own body? Once, I heard
A novelist declare, “Read my book
And you will know what Brooklyn was like,”

And I could only think, Her private Brooklyn
Can’t be larger than her medium-sized head,
So even a thousand-page book can’t do justice
To an inch of Brooklyn, which must be measured,
Directly, with your own two feet, and hands, too,
As you crawl or slither, or as you sniff Brooklyn’s
Infinity of sweatily fragrant spots. Thanks

To Fisher-Price, a newborn can now be strapped
To a seat, and forced, his head tilted up, to stare
At a relentless screen, with its bright and anxiety-ridden,
Sped-up world, so that his eyes will cloud over and roll
Away from this mind rape. Drooling, he will utter a series
Of terrified near-words, which his iPad-hooked parents
Will interpret as pleasure. Raised in apptivity, kids
Will eschew walking, talking or eating while looking
At their food, or sex that isn’t on demand. Like now.
Hooked on porn and apps, we will not rebel.

Are you back yet? OK, then, walk with me.
Actually, don’t walk with me, for our paces
And pauses should not converge. Exiting
Girard Station, I notice a white-bearded man,
Leaning on a walker, saying, “Good afternoon,
Can you spare some money for lunch,” while you,
Already down the block, stop at a table,
Set up by an old lady. She’s selling old pots,
Five single rolls of toilet paper and an ashtray.
On a chainlink fence, she has hung up her dead
Husband’s polyester jackets. A portable heater,
Well-rusted, is also for sale. You engage her.
Examining closely the ashtray, you cannot help
But envy its coherent life, its focus, its dignity.





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["THE II NILES for men and women--Clothing, Body Oils, etc."]



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Building is a law office in a part of town known as Lawyers' Row.



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[St. Paul Union American Methodist Episcopal Church]



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[Out of business]



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Nowhere near downtown, this is a complex of suburban type townhouses in a primarily black neighborhood.



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Main space was a supermarket, then clothing store.



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[Father Divine. See also.]



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[Metropolitan Opera House]



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Four women together, with the lead one saying, "I hate to bother you guys, but do you have a moment? These three girls are stranded. They're from New York. They came down here to hang out and they got robbed of all their money, so now they can't get back, so if you guys can spare anything, it would really help. They don't speak that much English, so I'm just trying to help them out. I live here. I can give you my address and even my email if you want me too."

This is about as clumsy as it gets. First of, for all three to be robbed of all their money, it would have to be at gun point, which is highly improbable in any place an out-of-town daytripper is likely to go in Philly. Secondly, they were not dressed for the cold weather, especially if they were traveling. Approaching young men almost exclusively, they didn't want to be too wrapped up. Thirdly, the speaking "stranger" happened to dress like these foreigners she was trying to help, with the same jean skirt and leggings as one of her poor speakers of English. Amazingly, several dorks gave them money.



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[An itinerant seller of knit caps]



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It does work. Before I caught up with him, I saw James riding down the street, though he wasn't standing on the frame like this, but squatting on the skateboard part and pushing with one leg.



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Thanks for a $200 donation from Tasmania, Australia. All PDFs have been sent, plus a PDF of my poetry collection, Borderless Bodies!




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11/23/13 in a Frankford bar. I never found out the late artist's name, only that he used to run a taco truck.



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