the kiss off - from one beast to another

39 WARRIORS! this text was tagged on the cement outside the fence of a fiercely protective dog (a she) who was in turn protected by two slightly large possibly samoan dudes on a stoop wearing bandanas maybe one was brown or yellow so i wasn't worried...across the street is the elevated F train that runs to and from coney island...on my way to coney i stopped at a bakery (for Orangina soda), outside of a yellow house with a yellow camero parked in front (picture horrible), at a closed-on-sunday gellato shack called "Mamma's," and at this fence. I find myself pretty indifferent when it comes to dogs. Even the teeniest or cutest. As of late, I've enjoyed the ugliest. Tater calls them The Rascal Types. Slightly disheveled, snaggle toothed maybe, brillo pads instead of fur, etc. We like those. As far as dog metaphors go, I get confused because aren't they mans' best friend? Cute? Dumb? Loyal? But then we are also supposed to let the ones that are sleeping continue to lie there and sleep, and then, of course, females who act 'out of line' with 'traditional' 'female behavior' are bitches, and then also, men who show no love, act thoughtlessly, harmfully or dirty are also dogs...so I'm confused. Dog-like behavior is often associated with situations of betrayal, but then, what dog you know ever moved out the house because the grass was greener somewhere else?...When I was in Colombia, and was taking a lot of buses around town just to do something, to be mobile, I started to write something about how in the middle divider of the bus routes and large avenues, I would always see men and dogs pissing on the same trees...in the same spots...covering up each others' scents out of instinct, pride/fear, or laziness...ahem, actually, that was as far as the short story went...perhaps the moral is: somos bestias...y punto.

When I look at this here bitch behind the fence, I also see myself. Only in that one would only be so aggressive if one were fiercely protecting something else. To keep a job you have to fight for it. To keep friends you have to defend and love them. To keep your wallet you have to tuck that shit deep in your bag. To keep it mysterious, you have to downplay your emotions. To keep strangers out of your territory you have to bark. To keep it honest, you have to let people in the front door. And to keep it real, as it were, you can't keep shit.

On my ride home from Coney, I rode under the elevated tracks of the F-train, along Stillwell Avenue. Shafts of light on the ground made it difficult to concentrate on the road or see the potholes in the street...I was veering a little bit, like how you lose track of how you've drifted when the ocean pulls you in, wave by wave, inch by inch...Suddenly I got the feeling that I was very very free, very much an animal, sweating and slapping taxis' asses and such, and I knew that I would very much regret not yelling at the top of my lungs right then and there if I did not seize the moment...And so, while the train screeched and lurched above me, I paid tribute to one of the greatest opening scenes of any movie ever made; that of Bertolucci's 'Last Tango in Paris,' starring a middle-aged Marlon Brando, that incredible beast, with grey hair and a paunch, that stick of butter, those raking-light-lighted afternoon jaunts with a 20 something year-old...ahhhh Marlon...so I looked around. I kept riding. Then I tilted my head up and aimed my voice and my self towards the belly of the train and instead of plugging my ears I opened my lungs very wide and wailed into the open air fully, with spirit, humility, fear, happiness, sound. I did that twice. I felt like a fool both times. No one saw. No one cared...isn't it often the crazy people who are visibly ignored by the public anyhow? DAMN that felt good. I was lightheaded. Then I remembered how real things become when you say them out loud...the thoughts take on their own life. You can think "fuck off" all you want, but until you say it, it doesn't really exist...same goes for "i love you," or "i'm a photographer," or "my work really concerns itself with....." or "yes i want this job" or "may i clear your plate?" or "i'm a moron,' "you're fantastic," "i'm a moron," conversely "ain't you a testy bitch today?!" and "you. are. a. fucking. dog!" and that's when it becomes clear: the devolution of a species...what's even more disappointing is that a dog wouldn't understand that insult anyway. i sense that i'm that adult figure in the charlie brown cartoons...everything i've said has fallen onto snoopy ears..."wahhh wahhh wahhhhhhh! wah? wah wah wah..."

anyway my little wolf, no, i do not REALLY think you're a dog...and no, you are not that missed - just your massive, soft paws are...que'l domage all that precious time spent yelling at trains together, chasing dogs and bitches, and barking up the wrong damn trees...just like i told you then, flaquchente.