91. MOTHERS AND FATHERS ON THE MARGINS OF DREAD:
Sometimes I just said to myself 'what is it you are doing?' or I looked deep into some mirror somewhere just to see what I really looked like and if it was me but all that was long ago and now I'm old enough not to care and never look and even that old soft and smooth face itself has turned perhaps harsh and old and coarser and wrinkled but who knows -
I don't and I never try - as I co-exist now amidst everything else anywhere and there are myriads of faces and forms and types and qualities everywhere around me now from which I partake of them all -
not kindred but merely there :
bathing beauties and ribald queenies fat and robust brings with spirit and dark wiry doubters too girls with hair under their arms and smooth girls all perfect and shorn and made-up girls and plain girls and coiffed and dressed girls or the sluggos in khaki and camouflage - I've seen them all and everyday too - outside of the Strand looking like thugs or looking like dancers and it's never really mattered to me and it's the same with guys too -
disheveled or broken violent or coarse they all look like something else something other than what they are and without any lineage except the modern day and between them and all that I see there's nothing left to do or say and now they all hang around
Union Square without a care in the world and once right where there used to be ideology cause faction and venom now there's nothing but stylists and posers and people hawking vegetables and bread -
the usual allotment of idiotic causes and trends and it just all makes me sick to heart to see the play-gyms for kids armed to the teeth with mothers and fathers on the margins of dread and with a certain vague pulchritude of the moment which makes them alike to all the rest - it's a sad and sorry spectacle which is supposed to comfort and maybe to some it does but I see it really as the
END to meaning but life goes on and long-time-no-see it's all done without me.