Is the wind that blows

From the North

And South and East. 

The Bidet Effect

No. But I’m told they often say unexpected and amusing things. 

Huh. 

I’m going to divide by zero. 

Across over yonder, past the mirage of late night gleam, one could hear the vibration of overnight factory hum. Dogs of various variable relish in passersby. When it comes my time to dismount this great roof I’ve spent the last four hours on – on which a great flock of miscreants and dashing characters have congregated, I practically jump onto the street when a Doberman flashes his gangrenous chompers through the padlocked gate of a used car dealership.

There was supposedly a turkey running amok on this roof, but he was of too high a status to be everywhere at once. I imagined he’d be in the Bobbing For Pickles tent, but then again he could have been the DJ.

One particular sight I still recall was this beautiful woman clothed in blotches of leather. Swishin’ and swashin’ torches about her body (DJ Turkey of course, throwing down a rhythm) topped off with this absurdly proper mustache glued to her face. This torque of vivid flames somehow melted her top off and you could see her grimaces as splashes of ignited lighter fluid began to fizz onto her breasts.                                

When I ventured back to the Eden’s Elixirs tent, Jota-Ce passed me an aphrodisiac that I had to sit down for. When he was able to slip away, courtesy of Eden, whose boyfriend and operator of the tent was named Adam, we looked around us for a moment. 

And this was it. These were the people we’d always wanted to see. The distorted, maniacal folk of our generation. Artists and musicians and junkies and flame jugglers and disk jockey turkeys and that one French guy smoking a cigarette by his lonesome and the radius of people that formed around a pile of discarded electronics, waiting their turn to smash one with a sledgehammer, and the constant pulse of the city that no matter what side of the river we were on was always peripheral and the constant glances at my phone I kept routinely making because I had work in just a few hours at the Jacob Javitz Center – but for now it could wait - and probably,

The greatest laugh I’ve ever had with anyone.

Lifted from the sight of worm corpses and the mud encompassed beaks of mallards.

Eyes set to the moon opaquely mingling in the day lit sky.

That presence of humid air caking my face. 

The rippling browned water of the pond housing some dozen elusive turtles, some of which blend into the grass and soil, basking in the sun.  

I caught one once just before he darted back into the water.

And I basked in that memory for a little while. 

The off sound of the fountain spritzing sodden water upward, falling back into its body, dispersing with haste. 

A contrast between the big city back home, where the cascading currents of the Hudson River could hold one’s attention for hours.

Biscochito The Clown and immigrant buses. The latter thieving the NJ Transit of all its pennies. The line at Carlo’s Bakery that’s absolutely absurd, and Sparrow’s Wine & Liquor - my first job. The MTA fare going up. Big time players of Wall Street looking down on the protest just across the street, glasses of champagne to their mouths, clinging and clanging together with no noise from outside beyond. Less sleep every night. 

Rippling into the walls of the pond.

And then one of the toasted marshmallow mallards makes a daring dash across the pathway parallel to the pond, into the decline just before the water. 

And proceeds to rape another. It turned into a gangbang shortly thereafter at which point I stretched my arms and went home.