They ran around, over, under, and into the labyrinths of steel bars and plastic swings, sometimes barely missing a head-on collision with each other or the structures around them.
They twisted into and out of the monkey bars, playing and laughing shamelessly without a care in the world. Their innocence quickly shifted to violence, and then suddenly turned to forgiveness, and finally reverted back to playfulness.
Some remained in front of the swing, declaring themselves the slide kings: You may pass, you cannot; you are too ugly, and so on. Since many others simply ignored these "slide king" kids, they whizzed by and slid down before they could be caught; this angered the one's playing superintendent, but after a while, when no one was playing their games, they switched their tune: they grew angered and attempted to force the rules or started playing with everyone else.
Some tripped, hit their foreheads, but stood back up and joined the ensemble of shameless laughing and crying.
The see-saw went hee-haw as groups bunched more than 4 onto each side, crushing and suffocating each other and laughing.
A group came out from behind the steel rock-climb wall and ran past the two biggest kids that were arm wrestling; the group was chasing a boy and a girl. Leave us alone, the girl yelled, and she threw sand at them while the boy pulled her another direction; it was merry and all in good fun.
Some got mad, some got even, some got lost, many got lost. Those lost turned to each other, and then to another who pretended to know what was going on, for directions. You stand here, and wait, and wait, and renew your strength, and I will be good to those who wait, he said, as he went off to venture into what grounds he could cover.
The playground asphalt grew hot and terrorized their tiny feet; they hop-scotched and hoped for a stabler concrete that could easily provide better footing. They gathered, I fancied, and marched over to the parks and recreation office, demanding better play-grounds. It's not fair, and you exists for our needs they chanted. The man in the coat, bowler hat, and tiny mustache replied, Kiddies, listen, life is not fair. You must tough it out and be brave, face life! like me!
As I was lost in this tiny thought of children protesters, I heard a voice calling;
Hey mister! hey mister! a young boy yelled as I looked up at the sky in confusion and awe. What am I doing here? Pass the ball back mister.
I kick the ball over to him, and he resumes the game.
I start walking back home and on the way I see a police car pull over a man dressed as a clown. Nearby an elotero squeezes his horn hahh-hee-hahh-hee and his cart trembles over the pavement of cracked and pothole riddled asphalt. The clown glances my way and he looks awfully sad despite the make up on his face that outlines a smile. The officer approaches him, shining his flashlight. He makes the clown step out, asking why he seems to be acting so strange. The man replies, "ain't you ever seen a clown before?" to which the officer replies with a bludgeon to the man's forehead. The clown starts wobbling like a penguin, dazed from a blunt pop-pow to the skull.
I start laughing and the cop turns his thirst onto me, giving me a wide smile. Soon, more cop cars arrive in their black and white time capsules to get in on the clown.
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My sense of de-arrangement intensifies and, surprisingly, after so many years, I still stand in awe to the commonplace of the subspace and the no-space of alien-nation(s). . . . . . . @ . . . . . . . . . . .
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These black and white sources of 19th century romanticism and raw, unreserved experience mete out ka-pow's and thwacks with extreme prejudice on mere chance and whim to complete strangers.
They patrol the battleground of concrete jungles and surveil the run-down structures of cracked houses and creaking apartments. Some of the dwellers, properly pressurized, grow compressed and depressed, reflecting the violent condition of the madhouse and gradually metamorphosing into monkeys, dogs, cats, and rats; this tends to justify confinement into a kennel.
They establish their presence and set up centers of power wherever in whatever patch of asphalt they choose. This is Rodney King. This is deaf-mute beat by being misread. This is pre-emptive attack that aims it's violent force beyond the physical. This is discipline and punishment. This is madness. This is shameless. This is comedy. This is where I lose any sense to try to make sense of the irrational. This must be something I simply cannot comprehend. This is something I refuse to logicize. This is Kurtz. Over. Kurtz, do you read me? Kurtz's turds, Over. Oh, The Joy! The Bliss! This is me running fucking wild in a tight uniform and a hard-on for sadism. I am not the saint, or the devil; I am the clown and the cop...I am here for you! They might not know why they are patrolling and going to meetings, but I do, I'm here for you!
To Protect and Serve, Law and Order, in the name of Justice, Equality, and Freedom. yatta yatta.
Power to the police! power to the police! brrr! I raise my fist, they raise theirs. We are all together in this fight! yatta yatta.
Together, we will re-form! follow me! I am the KOP! pop pop! yatta yatta! I have the new rules, no rules! follow me! me! me who is you! You who is them! them who is we! we we! we we we! ya ta! ta! ta!
I will show how you how all these terms ring hollow against the crack of a polycarbon club to the skull. I will fill your nights with music and joy! My baton will make the night sing with the crying screams of clowns and laughs of power drunkards! together, yes together! In our tight tights. Sweaty and warm and oh oh oh! yatta! ya! ya! ya!
You see...
After the cops haul you in and take you to the madhouse. You have the right to remain laughing. See...They, the warden and the criminals, must return to their lives and head back to their houses and children, if any. Stainless steel cells, concrete walls, wood or plaster...it's all in the design.
One in the same, it's all insane, the one reflects the other in some manner and vice versa, only the label differs, only the name, which go by other associations but smell the same...it's all in the design:
~LAPD X3 VATOS LOKOS~
CHIEF AZUL
MISTER PAYASO
COLONEL KURTZ
~DO NOT PASS GO~
This madness reflects the nonsense conscience of a war torn vet, which, as "professionals" might add, makes much sense when taking trauma into account.
I should do something at this moment, but an immediate response invites a justification to bludgeon me directly...it's all in the design. I don't know very much about this law that they profess and have sworn to protect. I continue down the block minding my own business while everyone peeks out for the chisme.
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I'm out here, spacewalker, without any sense of place in the nospace of subspace. In a galaxy far far away. In a barrio in an other time and space. Consumed by the mechanix of gravity and unprovoked pressure of external forces. Is this God? the Great Unsettling that took place 13.798±0.037 billion years ago? Things tend to move in this manner: For every reaction there is an equal and opposite action, according to the Laws. Even more, for every reaction there seems to be the illusion of movement and action. Masked underneath the revolution exists the fractal that revolves around and around we go, where does it stop? nobody knows...
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This life deals unconditional doses of pain and joy, equally and without reserve or regret, but somehow I'm convinced that the grand architect is out there, to lunch somewhere, will be back in 30mins. I see it in the language that carries a structure that promotes a type of subjectivity that conditions the manner in which the public receives information (this language thus renders the subject object), but these are just "learned, cultured" theories inculcated in institution of big brain ink. Reduction of Eduction for education stations, Althusserian state apparati, I think (or do I?).
If Bill Burr where there and saw what I saw, he wouldn't be surprised at the extended whacks of the State via police bludgeon. Bill Burr, The Cosmonaut of Inner Space, that so called Godfather of Punk, would remind that the Word impacts the nervous system. The Word impacts the barrio, my community, through the forceful reminders of its power in the Black and White ink of blunt force trauma. The Word, palabra!
Here, look there, Pornification of the nation! Sex and Violence! Sex and Violins! Sex and Vile! Can you feel it? of course not, the nature of its power remains in its cunning subtlety of neutralizing with the internalization of Word. I see it in the language that carries a structure that promotes a type of subjectivity that conditions the manner in which the public receives information (this language thus renders the subject object). If Bill Burr where there, he wouldn't be surprised at the extended whacks of the State via police bludgeon, nor of the current findings in neurolinguistics. Bill Burr, The Cosmonaut of Inner Space, Godfather of Punk, would remind that the Word impacts the nervous system. The Word impacts the barrio, my community, through the forceful reminders of its power in the Black and White ink of blunt force trauma.
Here, look there, Pornification of the nation! Sex and Violence! Sex and Violins! Sex and Vile! Can you feel it? of course not, the nature of its power remains in its cunning subtlety of neutralizing with the internalization of Word...
...fuck the revolution!
Fuck it! look...here are some more abstraction reactions.
There is a discarded leaflet beneath my sole. I pause to pick it up; it contains formulated text that convey the message of a new age of spiritualism.
There are many of these new age spiritualist wandering nowadays preaching that the Spiritual age is at hand, and that it is time for a wake up call, and that the way we are living is not healthy for the earth, but they are lost in the inner space. There is a quote by some so called Krishnamurti: "It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society" ha! haha! hahaha! hahahahaha! No wonder I'm so ill at ease. But I'm not sick. There is nothing wrong here. This is the program. This is how it's been.
The Iron and the Intellectual still rule, mightily, crushing the airheads and awarding those able to best manipulate the Word-organism to entertain and enthrall and spellbind. That is why I pray every morning, I plead the 5th and concede to a shell of a man, I am too weak and too stupid to open my mouth in the age of the Iron and the Intellect:
Sana sana colita de rana! Everyone! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana!Sana sana colita de rana!Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana! Sana sana colita de rana!
Someday, someday, keep patient, I tell myself. And good things yatta yatta. God helps those who help themselves, so I'll help myself to my goal at any means necessary. Paradox? perhaps, do you know the mind of God? just wait and see...Silence is consent, silence is golden, Silence is...Paradox? perhaps...just wait...just wait...I'm reading my pedagogy of the depressed..."come on Harding, play the game. Play it!" they tell me, I say to you, that I say to them, "I am playing the game! Cease interrupting! I can't concentrate!"...."play the game! c'mon play the game!"...just wait, just you wait on these empty threats!
I looke away from the smile and arriving cars. Behind me, a man screeches and weeps. There are muffled words struggling to escape the throat: mm...pp..ppl..ppoleeesee...ay!!!!
I walk forth to the sound of static from radios and silence of no wind. The moon seems beautifully bright tonight, delicate and perfectly floating in its wandering, plotted, plight.
I shake the pathetic fallacy blues and walk toward further nonsense. I walk toward a joy and a pain worth living. I get my head out of the clouds and start focusing on the walk toward production and reproduction. There is much to do, I must hurry up. Goodnight, good bye. There are places to go and angels and demons to meet; I must perfect the art of peripheral movement. I must find, carve, fill with meaning and purpose out there, here, somewhere of nowhere. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, all lepers, rejects, cops, and clowns go to heaven. There is nothing here now. nothing but kipple. junkware. Go forth now, go forth gogogo! go forth and seek the lotos for all I care. Good night and nighty night. tick tock tick tock. See you in the front lines. Ta Ta!
Reference(s) and allusion(s):
Franz Kafka
Harry Gamboa
Ken Kesey
T.S. Eliot
William Burroughs
and other's I definitely forgot.
