Established Marvel : a Monk by Abbreviation

The old guys are sitting back and enjoying the game : 'I've got all of what I ever wanted and I don't need no more of anything' and before them the young girls the 'amazing' ones the college kids who hang out here on Sunday mornings go by - as the flat-bellied thighed-tight blue-jean swagger-hipped stare right up at the TV screen somewhere to another land and the ice-skaters swirl by them : Olympiad skaters glissending on hyptronic hillbilly pirouettes while every drunk in fourteen counties applauds and that's the world today but the one guy he picks up the Post and reads 'mad bikers revenge - crazy wipeout one dead eleven injured in gun melee' and he looks around smiling to the tall one the nearly naked one and says 'who said bikers weren't violent who said kid?' and she looks down with a smile and says 'Oh my God I heard that on the radio oh my God let me see...'

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'Man will never be set free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest' - Edward Abbey said that and I've always liked keeping that in mind for it's kind of just as important as that old Whitman adage about 'resist much obey little' and I always find myself enjoying these little tiny maxims that seem to sum it up and get it right in so few words all the while everyone else is writing wordy tomes about condescending alternating currents of serious opinion and all the while too the world around us rots and falls apart and it seems we all singly fling our own spittle and money into the pot without knowing much and saying less and to me it's always a good thing to just throw back a bunch of crap wherever I or you can and these pithy little two-liners really help (OK so why I'll never know) but on the other hand you've got to remember my plight for I was the one guy on hands and knees usually picking up found pennies elated at nickels and divine with dimes the one who slept on the gratings along the street for the warmth they afforded or like any of the two guys today sprawled out in the half-cold on the sidewalk retaining wall at NYU Film where they could bask in the sun and the blown-over heat from the powerplant steamer for the nearby LaGuardia Houses and these guys were quite balmy and not crazy at all - balmy like the meaning of being warm not crazy - comfortable right there and they reclined on their blankets and paper boxes as if the rulers of the world were 'they them very selves' as I bet they'd put it and anyway it's like I always opposed authority in whatever guise or at least questioned it enough in a theatrical way so as to confuse it for authority gets very confused very easily and it's quite simple to just talk back and fast right into its face to win any argument with it unless of course as usually happens authority has the gun and you don't (part of Authority's prerogative right about now - go figure that one) 'we have reached the point that the idea of Liberty an idea relatively recent and new is already in the process of fading from our consciousness and our standards of quality to the extent that neoliberal globalization is in the process of assuming its opposite - that of a global police state of a terror a security a deregulation of means whereby the oppressors have the sole use of the means of oppression and the people have nothing left but resistance - a new maximum with a lever of restriction and constrain equivalent to that found in any fundamentalist society' : now I'm not sure that would exactly mean or if it's even something you would follow but it's considered serious and profound enough around here that people have massed against it - Alice's Polish Restaurant on any Sunday morning at Avenue A and 3rd Street is filled with them - all those new and young scientific and artsy minds trodding through the streets in communication with each other and others in a new and crazily-viral network of hubris pride strength and trouble all together - on hot lines talking back and forth to each other instantly through the air new air modern air young air and free air - as if it mattered but it doesn't (all you've got to do is find yourself like me at the one remove the iconic distance to see any of it for what it is - an iconic posturing really worth nothing at all and a peer-pressure conformity of piss-poor performance all movies and jugs and booze and sex and spiels) - and the only answer is to go back and laugh at it all in some Tristram Shandy Lawrence Sterne kind of way because there is nothing else but raw funny power attached to over-learned fat scholars bamboozling their own spittle as it rolls down cheek and collar into believing it is truly ponderous stuff in a Duns Scotus of the Scrotum kind of way - and then in any other language manage to say (I've heard them) 'excuse me I'm gonn'a be late for my flight if I don't get early to the airport taxi' YEAH IT REALLY MAKES ME LAUGH and the gay diarist sitting at the counter the brown one with the green eyes he's sitting I'm noticing in Alice's Polish Restaurant just like I said and all by himself too he's reading interminable newspapers and Sunday smut and adding to his notebook scribble while he awaits his coffee and food - huge slabs of Challah French Toast as the menu says and I mean huge slabs for $2.99 a slab - a real steal a deal at Alice's Sunday Special proving he's smart as a whiz and sharp as a tack and round as a peg and dumb as a hack - and the guy and girl behind the counter are talking their waiter talk and chummy enough as if they're sleeping together to boot and in a hearty Polish accent I hear them going back and forth and I'm watching and deciding about her story and then they break into pure Polish and back again to English and I'm thinking like what brain could accompany that body and wondering if she'd be possibly interested if I told her I was a descendant of Count Vistula the Warrior Prince from 17th-century Poland's eerie woods or what now had become that anyway and I figured hearing that she'd be sure to want to run away with me and talk that slutty Polish tongue into my ears while we fled through the Dneiper Woods or whatever on my steed and I'd be hanging on to her every word while she hung on to every I mean every inch of me while we raced through the woods fleeing from the intrepid Vlad Pastieckski and all his troops coming to get us and kill me and ravage her for all she was worth but here instead she's her and I'm me and she's tending to huge toast piles and pouring coffee and me I'm sitting here wondering about paying and the guy next to me with the eastern eyes is reading and writing all about the terror state we are in but over there above our heads the TV light is pushing some lame winter sport in this time's grim adventure of living and outside the windows the five guys on motor scooters are starting their little engines and strapping on their silly helmets and I hear them revving the tiny tinny engines to howling high-revs certainly lessening their engines' lives all together - beat that silly powerplant men! - and I wrap my heart again around Little Eva here the Polish powerplant watching over me and bringing me coffee and she's watching me watching her fetching that stupid wall-eyed guy more toast oh boy my God this is for sure what a life and if what he had said before was true I'M SO GLAD I'M NOT FREE I COULD PUKE!!