ass_in_ducasse_joy_in_joyce_other_fictions stork daddy the plane was mainly darkness and occasional rumbling. everyone was well behaved and settled. a sewing factory, a womb. something where everything thinks it's getting something, but often really isn't. we flew american airlines. american, the way W blurs the syllables together and smashes the mess to the window on your tv. american. airline of freedom (when the captain puts on the unbuckle your seatbelt sign) and spacious aisles. the algonquin hotel had a cat named dorothy parker. perhaps it had another name, because at that point their conscience would have bothered them. we ordered a room with one double but got two twins. was alright though, that way at least one bed can stay clean. but we won't tell them which one. you can lead a horticulture, but if it doesn't fit on a coffee mug, you'll hardly turn a profit. Everyone's selling something, but not everyone accepts all major credit cards. Didn't we all have friends, who the entire locale looked to with inspiration and awe? You should have written about it. The sun may shine and we be cold. Their face each downward scarved. Their mouth the cold. Their eyes expressed the dolour of an itinerary. References provided by Google. But truly, you and google cannot, without being in it, conceive of such cold in all but the most abstract sense of the word. Until you're used to it. And then why bother expressing it? So it was cold. Out of the comfort zone that everyone says its important we all find. The taxi driver gives you one chance to get it right. After that you're wasting his time. Invariably it's a male, who, uprooted from some other country, is not so attached to anywhere that he won't drive a stranger to it. Do you know the way to the statue of liberty? Maybe ten ways, maybe not. From some foreign country. I feel guilty for a terrorism joke occuring to me. He's actually, from all appearances, a Sikh. Oh but the very categories exist, i've just parsed it finer, that is not the same as deconstructing the categories all together. So I can't ask him about the offensive cartoons and what not. Except I imagine i do, as purposely inappropriate, for there's a part of me that enjoys schaudenfraude against myself. As a sacriligious person, all expressions of the sacred offend me and require that the purpetrator suffer pain unto death. I'm saying that explicitly now, so i won't be called the hippocrite. Did you see the cartoons though? Would the New Yorker publish a black face cartoon? Perhaps, depending on who wrote it. For here were these depictions, which footnoted a criticism of religious violence, but screamed blackfaced mohammed handing over algebra to the real adults. The west is fond of mistaking restraint for inability. Well look at China now! You can fire rockets at their shooting ranges and buy a silk suit for 100 dollars. I don't know what the targets are, extra children perhaps? That's horrible a diplomat will say while thinking how can we spin this to keep us viable. Yes viable. eh flip a coin. We have tickets to Spamalot later. Good to see Monty Python cashing in. Still enjoyable though. Funny that the British got so tired of Anglicizing other countries, they tried it on themselves. Yes I'm here to have an argument. Oh perhaps all countries would if they could. You know, glorify and oppress. Consensus is a word with different parts of town. Glitzy and dumpsy. Some irish pubs here as well. The irish certainly would have. But they made up for their inability to do so nationally, by fetishizing the personal, and pretending it was patriotism. Genius, alcohol, fighting, outbreeding the competition, we can use the pope to convince us of it, and if need be, upon arrival at our various personal destinations, we can become as white and racist as you if not more so. But I'll have a Guinness, not sure if i spelled it right, who cares? My heritage is a snow globe with green shamrock snow, and a great uncle who likes me and uses words both familiar and strange. and stories that have little use to me now since the world is now more and less island hopping than it ever was before. And so New York. Where they make bars to memorialize stories that can no longer be told, but can be culled for metaphors. Ah! The statue of liberty, not to be confused with the statutes of liberty, is quaint. Perhaps the last statue allowed to have meaning outside of MOMA. The water no longer the most convenient entry point, she is somehow in the guest house, but unmoored as she is, there remains the fantasy that you could perhaps, somehow, possibly touch her without a ticket to do so. Times Square, after lunch. Nat Sherman, tobacconist to the world, Pink, Chanel, a Toys'R'Us where they take your picture. Give me your wired and bundled masses. More functional than vegas still, since at least its only one area. Can I even describe next what occured as eating? My beeboo, who called me her idol, who mocks in me what i mock in others and loves in me what i love in others, a real why not situation wore a dress that forever scrubbed dirt and toil off of humanity's history. For a second we seemed unmoored from the drab statue in the tart and frozen ocean, clinging to us like an ex-paramour who was really only at your level before your metamorphosis. Why did butterflies ever become an object of sentimentality? An ambiguously coursed meal. 7 or 8. A room with a jazz cd on repeat but sculptures all over the room with fascinating detail. Honeysuckle Rose plays to Coy fish and trumpets. But really, if my mom had money. Nicer unicorn doilies is all. Can you pronounce Matisse in the original? I grabbed a piece of bread, when I was clearly supposed to point. There's no corkage fee if you bring your own giggles. Joking or non. The light switch to the entire room was underneath my seat. We found out only after dousing the room in darkness, when light was supposed to be delicately poured, multiple times. They suggested i either hover slightly above my chair or else clench the light switch tightly betwixt my arsecheeks so as to avoid further humiliation. The food like the girl was dressed in novel and yet deep stirring ways. As if my desires had been only able to dumbly articulate themselves until presented with their true form. Fruits were splayed like little murder victims, and pieces of calmed meat looked as if they had grown out of the plate. 8 or 9 waiters watched at all times, all but jotting down notes. Brutus would whisper to Clitus and three would come to change two plates the moment our fork rested. "Are you alright" "Sir, is everything alright?" "Sir, are you sure everything is alright"? Deliciousness ratio is either to maintain with small portions i suppose. You can count the peppers on each serving. Carnegie deli is going to other route. They know what they're here for, don't act surprised as the sandwiches grow bigger and bigger. "We are sorry that your companion could not enjoy our shellfish, so we prepared her vegetables instead. She does eat vegetables?" We were informed that our partridge was massaged by a man wearing ten olives on his fingers, and then invited to eat the olives off of said fingers. A slight supplement of course. And a tip. Beautiful plummage. The dress belongs on the floor, as a heightened form of foreplay. I want her naked. But first, of course, several desserts. Rum Baba, a twinkie soaked in alcohol. They splay the sponge cake before your eyes, they douse it with the rum, and the whip cream is placed in a manner that serves as a rhetorical questioning of obscenity. Your rum? At my restaurant they would pour wine into your mouths, and you'd eat with your hands, and if they didn't they'd be given the look. No, perhaps that is too harsh. But they'd be strongly encouraged to. As a child were you ever not allowed in a tree fort and so started your own? How did that work for you? "Well sir, this rum is a particularly bright rum, which marches confidently ahead, but not to a march, to a waltz." "It spends most nights alone, and its neighbors describe it as quiet and keeping to itself." But waiter, no Kill-Divil? Right, but what does it taste like. I'm sure I'm sure, texture, duration, intensity, and such are all cognizeable. Go dine with Wittingstein, and would the smugness outreach the awareness which in most cases allows it? Rum was discovered by pirates, i'm almost certain, who left sugar in a barrel too long and like the ensuing illness and manatee humping. What's absurd about the story, however, is that is exactly how all alcohol was discovered. But yes, I'll take the one you said as a last resort "tastes like creme brulee." It is worth noting, however, that the pirates were often employed by the queen herself, who knew how to hold a cup of tea. I will say, in defense of the restaurant, however, that the one portion of the night I was not disappointed in was the bill. Earlier in the day we went to the museum of sex. Yes another ancient ritual that needs no ritual or ancientness, because it is and it is, and so we've tried to put it on the moon. nice and clinical. this tickles a variety of important spots sir, a fine selection. then that night, is that all right, does it look all right, well which part of me are you asking? and her knees bent to the chest, feet curled like tendrils up and over my ribs, which anchor a shared and hidden beginning. It all turns to a fight of ten naked youths though. the match can go differently depending on whether or not you're allowed to wear your cleto reyes. Who hasn't lorded their exclusive decadence over the entire world at large. who against the yellow drawn shades is not the happy genius of their household? But the key is that at some point for it to become more than what it was, you have to hear about how many orgasms there were, how many were simultaneous, how amazing and unique the refraction between them. The privacy door label isn't enough. They have to hear hoarded pleasure, want to open the door, and know they cannot. Even the MOMA can't out and say it. Still closest though. Great that its one building, holding only non-necessities. Perfect place to keep the truth. Makes sure people can leave and return to being its subject. oh look, it's making fun of mechanized autonomy. Let's hurry though, I want to buy a tailored suit off of that mannequin. Oh yes, lovely exquisite corpse. I'll make the arms, you make the face. But not with our genes this time. But still really with them. Next night went to the theatre. Saw Tony Soprano and Will from Will and Grace. They looked like anyone would, except for the expressions on their faces and on the faces of those around them. If i was broadcast over the entire world while everyone was asleep, they wouldn't make those faces. Fame is old. Tv is new. But never is fame, yes it, so attainable as it is behind the yellow drawn shades. Afterwards, drinks with a friend. And we met the friends of the friend. Had to learn their names. Whatever happened to the honorable stranger? Here are the rules, you can be a moderate asshole to all whose names you don't know. And you have to be nice or a complete asshole if you do know their names. Got faced, multiple times over. Lost gloves and some jokes. the gloves can be replaced, and the jokes would have only been defaced. But who knows what else happened, while we labored under the wine dark sea, trying to keep our torch above water. Our friend was hugging in a way she never does, when functioning properly. Sunday, more walking, took a picture with a bull statue's testicles near Wall St. Didn't go to the WTC hole. Like you need to be there to see it. Still cold, the sky is cloudy but still, an untouched soil, our breath digs upwards. Density and Gravity in different proportions are all there is to heaven and hell. Homeless people in new york, it's hard to be homeless when no one has a home. Too cold. Yes, sure, of course again love, back to the hotel. The trip ends with details, other friends. An in-flight trivia game on the way home. You can see the other contestant's seat numbers. In-flight dating service i guess. A large drunk congratulates me on beating him and his girlfriend and asks what i do and what i'm reading. i don't tell him, but he sees it is ulysses. i never said i was perfect. i just wanted to go to new york. much like everyone else, much different. to just become another metaphor to cull. and to craft a phrase to stitch onto a beanie, and at the very least be a difference maker in selecting something with which you will warm your head, since your head needs warming anyways. 060222 ... unhinged . 131230 what's it to you? who go blather from