Plastic Ocean

Plastic
Everywhere
Fort Greene Park
Farmers' Market
On a rainy Saturday Morning
After Friday's Noahic rains.

People shopping for the vegetables
Artesian breads and meats
Fruits.

At a stand
A middle-aged progressive
Blissfully packs
Apples into Plastic bags

"Do you where that goes?" I ask.

Stumped by the unexpected question, I answered for him,

"To the sea, but you know that."

His eyes narrowed and brow goes eleven.
He hates me.
He hates my speaking to him.
I don't blame him.
I am a hypocrite.

"I don't want to get my bread wet."
Artesian bread.
"Would you want to eat wet bread?"

"Sure, may I have a hunk?

I like artesian bread.
I walk away
Happy to have upset him
Happy to be a hypocrite.

My fish is in a plastic bag.

Deconsume

Kibera The Slum of Hope - 2019

Kibera
The Forest in Nubian
Nairobi
Kenya
A million souls
Living by the Nairobi Lake
On $2 a day
A slum
Bigger than Boston
Filled with every tribe in Kenya, Uganda, the Sudan, Nubia, Somalia
Living together
On $2 a day
Never giving up
Kibera is the slum of hope.

I have walked through the paths
Between the colonies of mud shacks.
With young friends
On a sunny winter day.
Banda likikushinda, jenga kibanda.
An oldiu Swahili saying.

'If you can't build a hut, build a shack."

There are hundreds of thousands
Of huts and shacks
In Kibera.
We go inside Steve's shack
Pop posters
A single overhead bulb
Dirt floor
Clean
$20 a month
It is home.
He lives the same as we all do
From past to present to future

I am a mazungoo.
A white man
I am here thanks to Tim
We met in Tibet
He was shot in Nairobi
By slum criminals

His revenge was to help Kiberans

Why am I here?

To help the team walk through the Masaii Plains
And climb Kilimanjaro

I know nothing
Of Kibera
But
I live in a ghetto
Clinton Hill
I have lived in others
In Thailand
In Indonesia
In the East Village
The poor there are poor
Same as the poor here
Same as everyone
Seeking an end to greed
And happiness.
Furaha

My friends are young Kiberans
Felix, Slow Steve, Vanessa, Maureen, Ubah, and Jackmon.
This is their home.
My friends are young New Yorkers too
Larry, Laikyn, Nathalia
Red Hook and Queens
I am a mazungoo
But here my name is not my mazoongoo name.
My name in Kibera is Mzee
Old man.
I was once young like them.
Not today.

We walk through the paths
Of Kibera.
Mud and tin shacks rise two-storys
Over paths of compressed garbage and mud.
Children play
They smile
Kibera all they know
Their world.
Gunmen roam Kibera
I'm not scared
I'm only scared of my wives.
Steve knows everyone
Everyone knows everyone
Now they know Mzee.

A dirty stream trickles along the path.
No running water
In Kibera.
Only these streams.

Vanessa's eight year old sister recites SLUM GIRL
"I am a slum girl "
Proudly defiant a slum superstar.

Hope

We walk more.
I buy watermelons at the shops
For the children
They smile with delight
They follow Mzee
Throwing gnawed rinds
On the ground to join
Dried mud and garbage
Further on
I buy another watermelon
More kids
More smiles
Old toothless women
Eat watermelon
Toothless smiles
Gunmen eat watermelon too
Fast Steve, Maureen, Ubah, Jackmon, Young Steve, Larry, Laikyn, Vanessa and Mzee smiles too u
We all love watermelon.
It offers happiness
For Mzee
For the young and old
For Kibera
The slum of hope
For the world
We are us
We are family

Today Shannon and Charlotta walk Kibera
With Steve and other Kiberans
I cannot fly yet
u They are my eyes and ears
They saved my life
Steve knows that
2024
I will be in Kibera
I will walk the paths
I will buy more watermelon
Mzee is coming
Nakuja 2024
https://youtu.be/eBpYgpF1bqQ?si=D7jlEpaAsjah_sX4

ESSENCE

Essence

Last year I died three times.
Once on an airplane
Coming from Bangkok
Twice on an Operating table.

Passing from this life
To white oblivion
Not heaven
Not hell
Merely a white oblivion

Coming back
Not as a reincarnation
But
To this life
To this body
To the meaninglessness
Of the Now.

My body healed
Skin and bones
Looking like Willem Dafoe
My soul
Joyless
Still in limbo
Of a world Not of my making

Months pass
Healing
Winter to Spring
Healing
Alone
Spring to summer
Alive
No longer barely

Alive
Not looking like the before me
Not looking like Willem Dafoe either.
Halfway between the old me
And the new me

In June
Stronger and I went to the Rockaways
My friend FX
My lifeguard
A better than good swimmer.

The Atlantic shore break was dangerous
I stripped off my clothes
Naked to the elements
A long scar across my abdomen

FX looks at me
I at him.

I am not alone
I am with him
The wind
jThe earth
Water
Sky

The ocean calls

I race through the waves
Dive into the sea
Surface
The sun to the west

The glow of life
Surges
Through my veins
Duck under a wave
Surface
Alive
Filled with the memory
Of hundreds of beaches
Around the world

Higgins Beach Maine
My mother reaching down to pull me up
Nantasket Beach
A drowned man
Wollaston
Swimming around the sewer
The water warm
Moonlight Beach
California
LSD with seals
Mazatlan
Waikiki
Bingin Beach Bali
Nice, Cannes, Biarritz
Koh Phi Phi
I lose count

FX shouts
I shout back
The waves washing away the tears of joy

I am alive
And I no longer look like Willem Dafoe
Just another version of me.
Lazurus II

The Saddle - Kilimanjaro 2019 - Kili Initiative

Morning borke easrly and cold, but sunny. The porters are break camp, while we gather our belongings from the tnets to asssemble in kitchen tent for a breakfast of eggs, toast, and always Kigali, the Kenyan staple. Bad news.

Larry Fishbourne, my New York compatriot, and Jackmon, probably the most athletic of us, have to bail from from the next stage. Larry is dizzy as is Jackmon, who comes from Lake Victoria. Acclimating to the altitude is never 100% successful of these treks. Mawee is guiding them over the Saddle down the slope to Marangu. I'm feeling good, despite my stomach woes.

Snow topped Kilimanjaro. I could see my breath. It wouls be colder at Kibo Hut. I walked over to Larry.

Yom Kippur Humor

Yom Yippur 1972. Syrian and Egyptian tanks swarm over Israeli defenses on the Golan Heights and the Suez Canal. The Arab Forces initial successes are reversed by strategic blunders and Israeli air cover, however the losses to the IDF are catastrophic for the small nation. If a country the size of the USA had suffered the same casualties, the deaths would have mounted into the 100s of 1000s. Russian intervention was stopped by a stern warning from President Nixon.

DefCon 4 to DefCon 3.

Nuclear war.

Cooler heads prevailed over spreading the conflict to other parts of the world and Yom Kippur has resumed its position as a day of atonement for the Jewish People.

Not without humor.

A small town had two churches, Presbyterian and Methodist, and a Synagogue. All three had a serious problem with squirrels in their building. Each in its own fashion had a meeting to deal with the problem.

The Presbyterians decided that it was predestined that squirrels be in the church and that they would just have to live with them.

The Methodists decided they should deal with the squirrels lovingly in the style of Charles Wesley. They humanely trapped them and released them in a park at the edge of town. Within 3 days, they were all back in the church.

The Jews simply voted the squirrels in as members. Now they only see them at Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.

Of course my father hates squirrels. Not so much hates them, but curses them during his drives to my mother's grave. The town cemetery is overrun with the tree rodents. They scramble into the paved roads before cars. A game. My father swerved away from one and crashed into a gravestone. Almost 100 feet from the road.

"Damn Squirrels."

And he's a Convert to Catholicism.

No Yom Kippur for him.

KILIMANJARO 2019 - HOROMBO HUTS

Night falls fast on the Equatar and even faster at the 4000 meter plus altitude of Mawenzi Huts. I have been sick the entire trek. I should have listened to Tim's advice and not eatne any of the goat entrail stew at Kibo Slopes Lodge. I haven't slept soundly on the entire trip and the porters have set my tent away from the others, becausse of my frequent visists to the bushes to vomit. At least I can keep down my food during dinners.

Mawee and JR have led the climbers up a route to the cliffs of Mount Mawenzi. THe jagged peaks have rarely been climbed, as the fissile rocks present an unsurmountable danger. Tim and I have opted to rest in this break. Strangely I can get phone reception atop a hilllock and called Thailand to speak with Nu and Mem. Everyone in my family is good. I'm hoping to return to the states and then slip over to there, once Charlotta pays me what she owes me.

It's cold up here. Snow flurries on a stiff wind. I wonder how the climbed are doing in this cold. Only the New York contingent have experienced winter. The Nairobi gang complain about the cold. The only warmth comes from hot tea. There are no trees. There are no fires.. Only our parkas and sleeping bags protect us from the increasing cold.

The Kibo Huts under Kilimanjaro are only six miles away across the saddle between these two mountains. A ascent of 3000 feet, which will take five to six hours.

Breathe that's all I have to do.

That and stay warm.

It's only going to get colder.

Thai Perfection or Lak-sa-na-tee-dee

The Standard English joke about the perfect girlfriend is that her father owned a pub, she’s 3′4″ with a flat head so you can put your beer on her.

Simple needs, but in Thailand more than likely your girlfriend’s father is distilling moonshine lao khao or rice whiskey, she’s 5-3, and there is no way any Thai will let you mess with their head even if it’s flat.

I’ve had several Thai girlfriends.

Vee was one-eyed and beautiful in sunglasses. My friends thought she was money-hungry. They were right, but at least she bought me a cake for my birthday.

Mem won the 2001 worst girlfriend award in voting from a UN of Western and Thai men. Even her brother thought she was wicked to the core.

Twice burned I came up with a list for the perfect Thai girlfriend.

So what qualities make for the perfect Thai girlfriend?

I googled ‘perfect thai girlfriend’ and the search engine came up with over 870,000 results.

The late Mangosauce’s contribution was his reverse alchemy factor where a Thai girlfriend can turn gold into Khorat dust. Funny, but more a warning shot over the bow than a helpful hint as to what pluses might answer a farang’s fondest desires.

Thailovelinks.com offered contact with the perfect Thai girlfriend.

The girl on the home page seemed right for me, but she was nowhere to be found within their promo pages, plus my attraction was only physical. Being near-sighted I don’t need a beauty queen. Pretty yes, but I don’t want to fight duels over the perfect Thai girlfriend with every other farang on Walking Street.

The next website was asiastreetmeat.com.

No one is looking for girlfriends on this XXX offering.

Only girlfiends who serve their sordid yearnings well.

I’ve had several Thai girlfriends. Nice everyone of them, until they weren't nice. I had my own list for the perfect Thai girlfriend.

No tattoos / Especially if it’s a heart with a name scratched out.

Minimal to zero English / Not long on the bar scene.

No cigarettes or drinking / nasty habits in a woman and especially English men cunts.

Dead Thai boyfriend / hopefully by a meteorite to the head so everyone would be scare shitless at the mention of his name.

No children / Mam and I have four. Pen Pen Fenway, Fluke, and Noi. Angie from Nu. I can deal with that number. Seven too. But I'm very happy with my two grandsons.

No internet skills / Dead give-away of a foreign boyfriend, who strangely shows up when you are leaving town. “Not worry, he only friend.”

No Gold necklaces / Another indication of sucker boyfriend, although we have to defer to Mangosauce’s theory of a Thai woman anti-Midas touch on how to turn 22K Gold into Khorat dust. elements.

Your first date should be a short-time from Soi 6 although no more is stronger than blinding passion than lust at first sight.

And penultimately of all no slash marks across the wrists / the warning sign of a true dangerous maniac. Also great sex.

Lastly she also has to be funny and loving.

Needless to say no such creature exists in Thailand or America or the rest of the world, because no one is perfect.

Charles de Talleyrand manipulated kings, emperors, and statesmen during the 18th Century. This eminence gris had been in love with the most beautiful and erudite woman of the Paris salons. The starlette ditched him for a captain in the Swiss Guards, who was supposedly gay. Being smart she needed a challenge. His marriage to the daughter of country gentry astounded his friends, until he confessed, “One must have loved a genius to appreciate the love of a fool.”

And I’m no different.

No matter what qualities I admire in a woman they will be never enough to satisfy my dreams, because as the the great philosopher MICK JAGGER said, “You can always get what you want, but if you try some time you might end up with what you need.”

Nowadays deviant Londoners would love to meet Mr. Jimmy, except the Chelsea Drugstore is a Mickey D. fast food chain instead of a nihilistic heroin connection featured in CLOCKWORK ORANGE.

Nothing is sacred anymore, except the profane.

Thankfully some wickedness exists, because sometimes you don’t need nothing if you’ve been to the Chelsea Hotel, where Sid Vicious the Sex Pistols bass player was found in bed with Nancy Spungen, his girlfriend. She had been stabbed dead. Room #100.

Sid and Nancy.

Now that’s perfect love.

Lak-sa-na-tee-dee.