Dressed in an old coat I lumber Down a street in the East Village, time itself Whistling up my ass and looking to punish me For all the undone business I have walked away from, And I think I might have stayed In that last tower by the ocean, The one I built with my hands and furnished Using funds which came to me at nightfall, in a windfall.... Just ahead of me, under the telephone wires On this long lane of troubles, I notice a gathering Of viciously insane criminals I'll have to pass Getting to the end of this long block in eternity. There's nothing between us. Good I look so dangerous in this coat.
Liam Rector - 1949-2007
for Bertolt Brecht This apartment with no furniture, where no one puts anything up, where everyone schemes to get out. This mess, to the right and the left of me, that equation of garbage wherein matter moves its way, the magazine sector in glanced-at demise. This price, and that mind, and nothing to say but "violent." Nothing but violence in the expensive mind. Moving from the window towards morning. These characters at the bottom, so generous and pathetic. Those abstract things at the top, so mean, precise and arresting. That god-abandoned theatre with its three-legged dog. Staying alone to learn the lesson, the lesson being DO NOT SPEND NIGHTS ALONE FOR AWHILE. This program, these organizations, these gatherings and awards. This sweat that drags it down. These pagans with large teeth and good eyes. The profit sector giving us images, the nonprofit passing out handbills, and worried. The mind that grabs after information. The dance changed every week so no one masters any one dance. Carrying around the little guns and knives, the bars owned by a friend. The same economy that binds them together pulls them apart. The little thems, staring into the canyon. The all of us. A sense of proportion, in this dense heat, hearing the tune of romance behind the psychotic. The profit sector giving us images. Elegance, learning, poverty and crime. Those who smell power must dog these. The untuning of cement into many moods. In audacity, in hilarity, this city plays an unbelievable organ. How afternoon goes like the movies.