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RIP
Corey's wake is happening out in the street of Dumaine, 2600 block right now this afternoon, and his closest pals will be sipping and burning well into the evening I'm sure. I missed the funeral because there was no one to ask about it this week but the occasionally passing "brother," Cadillac Shelton, and he hates me, or I him, I forget which one of us is the chicken and which the egg. Though Ima go out and pay my respects now, drink the offerings.
Big C
Lately when I have been leaving out of Rocheblave there is to the right, on the pavement of the weed and tree choked vacant lot next door, a black cat, adolescent, and pregnant. It is sitting, sphinx-like, staring at, waiting for, imploring, me. "Yeah, yeah, I see you," I have taken to saying all grumpy-like, which causes the cat to run off and hide in the weeds. "I didn't cause you, leave me alone, I see you, how can I not see you, I can't save you."
And then there are wild dogs that roam the streets of New Orleans, trotting with purpose and a wary eye out for humans, they are of all makes and models, and for the most part appear healthy. They are easy to scare which is a trick they play to make you feel adequate, but at night when you are not paying attention they will come back and quietly forage through your garbage, and for sport or just by adopted nature kill all weaker animals caught unaware.
Friday, I happened to look out the semi-circular glass in my front door and saw Mandy approaching what at that time was a stairless porch. We are polite and cordial towards each other but social visits are not part of the norm so I intuited bad news and went out and greeted her warily, me up on the tongue and groove of my new front porch, and her down below, amidst my debris, wearing tie dye. She was going out of town and wanted me to feed the cat. I said sure and asked where she was going and she said to meet her friend, Virginia, at the Portland airport and then they were driving off together into eastern Washington to find an underground whorehouse. I said that sounded like fun and hoped it would be because she deserves some fun after weathering the disappointment that was me and the daily grind and noise that is her open door open house policy over here on Dumaine.
I just went looking for the Sunday paper but it is a no-show. I did however get to see a chicken dart out from between two trash cans, wait for a passing car, and then cross the street to join it's two companions on the other side. The three of them then headed off, pecking morsels from the sidewalk in front of Phillis's (Mama D's) before disappearing on the path towards Dorgenois.
There used to be a guy a few years back dealing weed from that house across the street. He was a ladies man, dripped charisma, and drove a bitchin' automobile. His mother would show up from time to time and he would tolerate her presence even while it cramped his style, but eventually would throw her out. The woman possessed a mental orientation perhaps a little different from the norm. Or so he said. He got kicked out for non-payment of rent after a year. The house sits empty now, the people who owned it, and lived on the other side (a shotgun double), couldn't keep up payments. The thing is, the drug dealer's mother is back. She sits on the stoop all day long, sometimes moving across the street to sit in front of Esnard Villa for the shade. She was over there just now watching me watch the chickens.
Last night I was over here feeding the cat, drinking beer, and responding to a response concerning my feelings about this New American Crusade. I guess my bottom line is I think it proper to kill enemies that go out of their way to declare to you that they are your enemy. My comrade had written to encourage a higher evolution of thinking, i.e., a peaceful response, but I just can't get there from here.
I took a break at some point and went out to the porch to harass the children. Glynn McCormick, and Bryan Henry were there. I greeted them cordially and then threatened to take Bryan's last piece of chicken (because I was very hungry). He said the piece in his mouth was the last piece and I said what made him think I wouldn't grab it from his mouth and he just laughed, sort of, and I reached down and grabbed the little cup of rice and beans, challenging Bryan with eyebrows raised. He garbled something like, "hey man," and I said, "oh, who's the crybaby now?" (Bryan belittles me when I lament the slivers of wood in my fingers and calls me "splinter-in-his-finger-crybaby.") But I cannot act childishly indefinitely and soon tired of the game, giving him back those most delicious red beans and rice from Popeyes.
Phillis came across and said, "did you hear about Corey," and I pretended like I was ignoring her but I couldn't and even already knowing the punch line to "did you hear abouts..?" I asked her to tell me and she told me he died of a heart attack that morning. He was 35(?). Back when, in the early Dumaine days of 95 and the young gangsters hung in packs on the sidewalks, talking bravely, loudly, and disrepectfully, there would be Corey (Big C) always quietly, and largely (350 pounds) on the scene. He scared the shit out of me, and sometimes while inside looking out the windows at what was then but is not so much now, a very lively street scene, I would pretend to put Corey in his place. "You fat fck gangster btch, get offa this street before I make you get offa it." I was all comedy, up on my toes poking the air in front of me like it was Corey's chest, and Mandy would be at another window, looking out, and saying, "you tell 'em, honey," or, "I think he heard you," at which point my heart would sink and I would take it all back, even to the imaginary Corey.
But he wasn't all that. He was not a big quiet guy harboring evil, he was a gentle giant, a puppy dog, a nice guy with normal interests, and pretty good judgement. He made earnest attempts at bettering his position. He was on one level a man to be judged harshly but I came to like him a lot and he was on the short list of people I had recently been thinking about, and missing. I couldn't sleep this morning so I got up about five, and then all of a sudden started crying, audibly. I hope I can get all that out before the funeral; there are those who may not care for me showing too much emotion.
The Multitudinous
The Muslim trim carpenter from Iran asked me in his child-like Engish what the other trim carpenters thought of his work and I could not resist telling him, "they think you suck," and when he said "what?" as if he did not understand, I repeated it slowly for him, "they-think-you-suck." I was smiling when I said it and so he was able to guess I making joke. He is in truth an excellent trim carpenter and I told him everyone that matters thinks the same.
Last Saturday a diagonal city block from here a man in a black Taurus was found dead, shot several times in his chest, and this in the middle of the day, but you wouldn't know it if you didn't know it, unless you were very much in tune with the spirit world, or, maybe that feeling you get at certain times is actually your ownself being in tune with it, the death. I mean deaths, multitudinous, on the these city streets of New Orleans. We carrying on though, better at least than the dead dude.
The mayor in New Orleans is worried about having to get a real job now that his eight years are up, but the Democrats who promised him work in Washington did not win the right to do the hiring so the mayor, Mark Morial, is trying to change the rule which allows a mayor only two terms. He's doing a lot of last minute promising, he'll make the schools, the roads, and the crime rate better, and his biggest boast, the hiring of Richard Pennington as police chief is really a bunch of hot air because even though Pennington promised and delivered on his pledge to cut the murder rate in half, nobody seems to understand that the murder rate in half is still way too many. It is easier and more productive to forget the dead and carry on. So that's what we're all agreeing to do, I guess.
And the local school superintendent, Al Davis, who made the mistake of urging kids back to non airconditioned schools because the "slaves had it rougher" than that is clearly not making enough difference. The schools aren't getting more better. And if Davis weren't himself black he would have undoubtedly been fired. But he's still here, and I honestly believe he means well but but I'm not sure he is up to the task. It is a huge task though--the restructering of a school system-- so his failure is not really a fair reflection of the man's abilities.
The other day I saw two kids standing in the neutral ground at Canal and Broad blowing their horns for the passing traffic.
Terrell just came in and is playing rap music while racing muscle cars on one of the computers.
I started building my front porch this weekend. It rained most of the weekend but I was able to get much of the more difficult aspects of the job out of the way despite the rain.
Some other stuff happened this week but I'll be damned if I can remember what they are, although one of the things had to do with remembering.
Training Wheels
Joe told me I could get back on now, "on" being the internet, he just had to make a call, out of deep sleep, sleeping between my old bed and the desk which I have yet to capitulate. I stepped not that easily over Joe to get here. Joe explained he had to call his mother to find out if the dream was true--that she died a horrible death--but I guess it wasn't because when I said "but she's all right?" he nodded and free fell to his pallet on the floor and began snoring almost immediately.
I awoke from a dream this morning assaulted by the glare of a fullish moon situated in the window pane to my left. Its brightness was like a nagging reminder, a post-it that won't come unglued and get lost, or maybe it was just a shiny orb hanging where it had no business hanging, or, its me that has no business.
It very well may have been Crawford, Tx. where I stood alone marveling at nothing and then saw the van rise up into the air floating like (but not) Dorothy and Toto, and I could see their faces, youngsters, too young to drive, and most certainly too young to be floating around unlicensed. For a moment it appeared I would be the Wicked Witch, squashed beneath, but I willed otherwise and when they landed it was actually Elvis who left the van.
Pretty soon I'll have to trick myself back to work on the house, it's not that hard to do, I/he's really gullible, infect him/me with a sense of urgency and we will smoke the antidote until our lungs hurt, convincing ourselves we are in charge of our leisurely ways until the leisure becomes work and we have to work to regain a sense of leisure. I can resist this trick but eventually will forget why I want to.
Yesterday I read some really strong pulp by Jerry Ahern, The Defender, #1, It's like politcal science fiction: Terrorists in America battling outlaw Patriots for the American flag. They killed his whole family, man. And the Invisible Man (Ralph Ellison) is serious business. I'm just reading it bit by bit concurrently with Russel Baker essays and Why We Can't Wait by MLK. And I have this horror novel by someone named Ramsey Black (not Campbell) who the Village Voice purports to be, on the cover, better than King, or Straub, which is the stupidest thing I ever heard. I keep it by my pallet-side just to have something to keep my ire at a steady level. I'll read it eventually I guess, unless the first ten page just suck so bad that I can't convince myself there is any reason to. With 12 or 13 more editions of The Defender series out there waiting a book is going to have to be pretty special to get my read.
Today is Labor Day. I think its against the law to work on Labor Day. I have this Philip Jose Farmer I could read. Another Heinlein would be nice, read Citizen of The Galaxy the other day. I haven't been back to the movies since I panicked over at the Palace Clearview parking lot and couldn't leave the car. That's not true. Shortly after that I attempted an early evening at Canal Place to see Ghost World but I got there thirty minutes too soon and could not safely occupy myself that long so I bought a ticket for The Deep End which began almost immediately. It was good.
It's times like these I wonder if maybe I took off my training wheels to soon, or late?