… zeitbites … Friday, January 3, 2014 … who needs hookers now that CraigsList exists?

I do my cruising now in a virtual world, as in, I have pretty much surrendered on the whole “real people” thing and accepted that I’m going to live in the books I write and read … so I stay in touch with the world (such as it is – and that’s not such – or much) via my computer during ingestion of my morning coffees. Yes. Multiples. COFFEES. And woe be to the person who tries to talk to me before – say, cup four or five which is a good thing to know before reading my morning Zeits, which, I am afraid, are a little snarkier than I would ideally like to be – as in, prior to coffee I am a suicidal, dark son of a fuckwad. (Following three images are from SICK PAGE art tumblr … follow here.)

Christopher Saccaro

Christopher Saccaro

John Estwards

John Estwards

Mike Bailey-Gates

Mike Bailey-Gates

My nephew said of me once – on a morning when I had had only one cup of coffee thus far and was irritated by a driver and started swearing profusely (although, of course, with great syntax and panache), “Does someone need more coffee, Uncle Charlie?” Yep. I’m old school. A two-fisted, heart-rate and health concerns be damned, coffee junkie. I am the Hemingway and Parker of coffee drinkers. Straight-up black. Re-heated all day long on a wood-stove to a muddy, acrid consistency if possible. All day. And I’m only on cup two now. I can’t even dress until having slammed down the first cup, cooled with ice to a gulpable temperature, after which, cup two can be a bit warmer and thus savored. Here goes . . .

car hookup

I read Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York blog (CLICK HERE)  – but not too often – because I can’t bear seeing the evidence that the New York of my youth has been decimated and the city turned more and more into a strip-mall of storefronts owned by multi-nationals. I also have the sneaking suspicion that people have been feeling this way for generations; everyone bemoans the loss of the way things were in the good old days, and – truth is – the good old days meant I couldn’t marry my boyfriend and the cops were bashing my bros at Stonewall . . . so, change is, I guess, good . . . but not always. And what Marriott did to the Algonquin Lobby (which I’ll be writing about in the continuation of my New York Chronicles – but you can read PART 1 (CLICK HERE) right now and PART 2 (CLICK HERE) -)- is INEXCUSABLE as is the loss of Colony Records which happened because, as recorded by Jeremiah: Colony Records: 60 years in same location closed when the new landlord, Stonehenge Properties, quintupled the rent to $5 million per month. Wow and holy fuck. I couldn’t bring myself to get anywhere near it while I was there this time.

Empty ShellNew York City isn’t what it was … but, honestly, it never WAS what it WAS. It was just a place, a symbol I – and billions of others – made up. Nothing is what it is, even though I say – almost every day – “it is what it is” – but, in fact, we all make everything up by filtering and interpreting and languaging the energy of reality into our own narrative . . . no two of which are alike. It isn’t so much that the emperor has no clothes, it’s that there is NO EMPEROR at all – only the clothes – fuck it, it’s Friday.


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