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Friday, September 09, 2005

new york midnight express. Now is What.

on the street
in my head
on the tv
in the room.

i stand innocent.
it swims around me.
i live the silent movie.
midnight express.
sleeping in the bronx,
smelling deep history
race, creed, industrialized waste,
toxic to my system,
messy, grimy,
how do people live like this?
..fixing for a taste of home,
not going to come so easy
feeling queasy.
new york, new york, giant jungle
people fight to stay alive
dyin' inside but hungry like tigers
fast and furious they push
whoosh goes the train like
hunter and hunted,
subway speed and kids doing tricks street side.
do they know what's going on in the south?
nothing comes out of this boy's mouth but
"yeah, wanna buy my pet lizard
got no disease"
the dis-ease of our nation
is seen on these streets
exemplified thrice fold.
now what?
i am alone in my thought on this
how do i make it clear
without inciting fear.
while tears wash away in the floods of new orleans.
where do we all go from here?
fear is the one thing
i contemplate while i wait for my pizza slice
filled with cheese, grease and my god it's delicious,
down in alphabet city, with the sleaze and
cuban restaurants with melodic guitars and voices and drums
and beer and wine bars and young girls with tats
and black berets and striped socks.
sleeping on the street.
she sleeps. or dribbles not sure.
i eat. i look around and find i'm in hell
how ironic as i am in love with it all.
it drives my creative muse
and i refuse to be of it
but in it in any case.
alive and kicking i also am with it,loving it
performing in it, feeling it.
now what?
i find the keyboard and
feel the ivories at c-note,
a dive bar that
eases my mood.
i drink cheap beer.
magic of lower east side.
new york city has me by the hook, line and sinker
and i'm not fine with what i see,
the black concrete playgrounds,
and a city losing time.
no time, all the time, every time
people fast, forward
in your face.
..and hard truck sounds and taxi cabs that don't stop when you
put your hand up high and say "stop" i am crossing this god damn street.
"stop" with the cockroaches and the grit on my glass of water.
"stop" with the urine down on the L line
people live with this going to work and back
and they don't see this simple fact,
they live in tunnels on the way from here to there
tunnels under the roads, the labyrinth of codes.
"stop" the chatter inside my head of fear and 9/11 and clubs that don't pay
or leave it ambiguous like they don't know what an artist needs.
what does an artist need?
         the feeling of connection...
whispering my thoughts they know, they know what is really going on?
are we all so centrifugal to our own moment
our own journey?
was this book really created for me?
"go" with my heart, my pulse, the instinct to be alive, and enjoy this fast
the ploy, the entrancing feeling of living on the edge and feeling
history,.. on 42nd street.
where i stayed last year
in 5 star hell
and finally, finally
performed on broadway with a python at that.
new york city town hall.
i have done it.
now what?
how does it feel?
what's real to my heart my ambition to know know i have grabbed what i wanted to do
in '92, as i rollerbladed through these steamy streets with Backstage mag in my hands
and dreams in my heart,
and naivety
in my lungs and all i felt was fun and cold and hot
and all the stuff that makes an artist alive, wanting, yearning, begging for a stage
to be heard.
living on adrenalin and hard dreams, ambitions to fruition
i want to be heard.. new york city. do you hear me? do you feel me? do you want me?

BUT i have done it.
i have made it real
and lived broadway
and succeeded
for whatever that success means?  what does it really mean?
this constant fire in my belly that says
more more more
i turn to the burbs
big houses, large windows
fancy mercedes SUVs and i sit here on the couch
now what?
while... an old lady dies in a hospital and i'm left holding my friend's baby
so calm and soft
she smiles
with the innocence of mother nature
she calms my mind.
the innocence of children
reminds me that i must look at life through a child's eyes
at all times
to survive
my own ambition.

now what?
NOW. Now is WHAT.

i breathe in 
i submerge to dreamland to breathe some more
and feel the blue sky beating it's heat
reminding me of life and love and california and passion surging, coursing through me
. i live an extraordinary life.
give me another slice.

gilli moon . september 10. 2005. manhattan.

1 comment:

  1. It totally brings me into the space, the place in New York City. The life, the love and the insight of one who knows what it is like to live in a constantly revolving, evolving city that is unforgiving, yet fascinating to see as a spectator and/or as a once removed participant of a place that mysteriously co-exists with sanity and insanity, the rich and poor and indifferent. Are people aware, or do they just ignore what is going on around them? Don't let on what you truly feel. Do we entertain to inform or to persuade "them", whom ever will listen, how to awaken to what is real and right? Then if the latter then let us take a moment and pray to whatever god, diety, or spiritual place for the people of the south who lost it all and the souls of the ones watching over their neighbors and friends from the other side chillin' in the New Orleans we once knew.

    P.S. Gilli, you are a great talent. Your performance in the seminar you held at the I.M.C. was phenomenal. I can't wait to see you live again!

    In responce to Gilli's spoken word piece 9/10/05 by Ron Luke of Nomanzero.