Watching a local celebrity live in his praise
Living on lack of sleep and shitty food
Trying to figure out these eccentric dudes....
(Yes, this should be sung/rapped in the flow of the Fresh Prince intro... duh, your face)
My couch surfing cherry has been popped. My host is insane in a brilliant way. This should be a wild ride. I am now opting going to stay another night and work Philly's first friday art walk.
Philly Intro.
My body was a mess when I got out of the station and on to this new playground. I have go to find a better way to sleep on the train. Period. Anyhow the city was big. It was noisy, and crowded. Typical. Something I am adjusting too. Walking from solitude and quite on a train, to straight action and cluster on the streets shoots me with a moment of anxiety that sets me back. Sometimes I feel the pressure to be somewhere and make money over shadows my ability to take in the city with eyes wide. Perhaps I will learn something within that determination, something I can take home and put to good use.
Once I figured out my general direction to a farmers market in town that I found online. I decided I would not cough up the 2 or 3 dollars it might cost to get on a bus-line that I know nothing about and possibly get lost. So I opted to walk with my 30 pound back pack, 20 pound shoulder bag, and insanely imbalanced roll cart with my chair/table/typewriter/sign on, and lug myself and my shit 4 miles in a city I know nothing about. After my first mile, I decide a 4 dollar philly cheese steak from some dinky street vendor was a perfect idea for nourishment, and it was. While I ate, I thought, I looked up like I always do. Eyes glazed over these buildings, these peoples..... I think ants, ants marching in line. I wonder what experience each one sees. It makes me somber at times that my judgement of people passing are not thriving to be. I am sad at the possibility that they will go through life never knowing the art of taking chances and breathing in muddy air. I want them to get wild from time to time. Behave like rabid monkeys and take to their hearts with streets of ire. Or just take some LSD or something that will unleash the freedom of being considered mad in this mad world..... it is my understanding that two negatives combined make a positive.
Carry on. Food down. Time to roll on. Cigarette bummed. Lets rock.
I choose to roll down the streets of less traffic. This kinda just happened. And it was both very positive and very negative. Positive in the sense that Philly is a very old city, and some of these side streets are wonderfully small. Carriage small, houses snugged together, and arcade of flourishing trees, all layered with cobble stones that made my eyes salty, but my travels nearly impossible. I must of toppled my cart 7 times. Every time more frustrating then the one before..... Sigh, I am not a light traveler and I am mad at myself as a result.
Another Mile in, and I bummed a smoke from a man getting on a bike who was dressed similar to me.... skinny jeans, black shirt, handsome face. I took that moment to not move while I smoked, but rather watch the passerby's and try and settle my stress and remember what I was doing, and where I was, and how exciting that was. Rule #1.... Don't PANIC!
As I strolled along, I got to a point where the neighborhood was a bit tougher then those I had recently walked across. I jotted across the street with my eye set on a stunning pit bull that was being walked by his owner. I asked if I could say high to his dog, he said yes. It came up to me and licked my face clean of any doubt that life was not beautiful. I fell in love with that dog and it lightened my heart, but sadly not my load.
Soon my GPS suggested I was nearby. I found sweet relief in the smallest farmers market in the world. It literally had 3 booths. 1 Amish farm, 1 non-armish farm, and 1 baker. Centered in the market was a fountain that had a nice subtle watering sound to it. Italian restaurants surrounded us, and soon I realized that I had landed in a little Italy of sorts. At this point in my trip while waiting to hear from my couch surfing prospects, I was just happy to be sitting down, and did not care about finances. Soon I was approached by a few folks and made a quick 10 dollars, which in bum terms is plenty enough money. I was thrown an apple by one of the vendors, and given a peach by a half shaved head punk rock chica with more piercings on her face then I could count. She had heavy eyes. The best part of my writing experience came from an Italian father son combo. The son was charismatic, and father was genuine. Both very handsome and wearing blue. In his Italian accent, Roberto (the father) told me they loved poetry, especially Italian poetry. He asked me to write a poem about the market, the moment, and all. I finished, I read it to Roberto and Aldo (the son), and they both loved it. Roberto said it was beautiful. At that point I got to witness the single most beautiful back to back, verse to verse exchange I have ever heard. Roberto, and Aldo went back and forth with this poem.
Roberto started, and Aldo so brilliantly followed with such pure 4 year old expression. I owned a pure smile as they recited this insert.
From "Humpty Dumpty" by Louis Carroll
'I sent a message to the fish:
I told them "This is what I wish."
The little fishes of the sea,
They sent an answer back to me.
The little fishes' answer was
"We cannot do it, Sir, because —"'
'I sent to them again to say
"It will be better to obey."
The fishes answered, with a grin,
"Why, what a temper you are in!"
I told them once, I told them twice:
They would not listen to advice.
I took a kettle large and new,
Fit for the deed I had to do.
My heart went hop, my heart went thump:
I filled the kettle at the pump.
Then some one came to me and said
"The little fishes are in bed."
I said to him, I said it plain,
"Then you must wake them up again."
I said it very loud and clear:
I went and shouted in his ear.'
I hope Roberto emails me. There exchange made me want to have a son more then ever. To share poetry with your child..... I have no words for it, none.
The market ended with a bunch of "wise guy" style Italian older men coming by the table I had been using and sitting their as if they owned it.... and I guess they do. Soon 1 turned to 2, then 3, then 6. All trying to figure out who I was, and why I was at their legendary table. Soon I introduce myself, we talk about typewriting and I watch their interactions and constant "Forget about it", and "What are you going to do" rich conversations. I soon picked up a slight Italian accent because I am intrigued at how cool they sound. The sun is fading, and it is time to get going to meet my new friend who gave me directions to meet him at his rehearsal for "The Rocky Horror Picture Show".... but done with people and puppets..... No wonder why I picked him, ha. After a hellish time making my way through the piss smelling subways that have no handicap access, I finally bored a train and make my way to him, Sean is his name, Sean Glass to be exact. Right away, I can tell he is the type that does not sleep much, is incredibly bright, and is possibly gay.... no he is totally gay. He invites to come in and I watch some of their performance. He is talented, and the show is full of characters.... pun intended. He finishes, we have a smoke, he tells me the game plan and we jet towards the subway to get going. Sean is a fucking character first off, he is like a tasmanian wild man. He like myself is wonderful with words, and thinks so fast that I feel safe in this big city knowing I am with him. He is caring, and enjoys company, and sharing stories. He helps me with my stuff. We get caught trying to lug all my shit into the packed trains with the small doors. We get a chuckle out of this, as it provides a fun early way to bond..... I think that is what was felt.
Happy with my couch surfer choice, we make our way to west Philadelphia towards his place. His neighborhood is awesome. Old, tons of trees, parks, diversity, corner stores, porches and stoops. We scoop some beer, play some music, tell jokes and stories, smoke, stretch and merge our way into friendship. This man is a local celebrity as it turns out, he acts, he runs a quiz show, he is 40 years old and full of life. I feel pretty fortunate to have met him. We meet up with his friend, a young chef in the making. We drink and tell stories and head out to the neighborhood bar that is not considered a UPenn bar. The night is going well. The crowd at this bar is a mix of hipster meets local Rasta'ish, meets the.... I am not sure what to do with my life, type. It is a bit bizarre, my suspenders are a constant point of conversation. We bring Jolene, she is a big hit. The boys like me, the girls are not sure of me. I write a poem about a small gremlin looking dog on a table and some other random shit.... I place it on the table where the girls are sitting as we are leaving, and before I can even leave I see all of them coming around to read it. Maybe I am mysterious, maybe I give off a vibe that is unknown to these parts..... regardless I enjoy the mystery that comes along this trip, and with being a traveler.
The night ended with me eating a calzone that was given to me for writing someone a poem, and watching my host wrestle his buddy in their underwear while I enjoyed a traditional calzone from little Italy. I fell asleep contemplating either leaving a day earlier, or staying a day later.... it kinda went down like that, haha.
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