Brooklyn

Brooklyn, NY - disappear here - Saturday, June 15th, 2002 : goo

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brooklyn, new york city (where they paint murals of biggie "in cash we trust" make his ghetto-fabulous life look pretty- what a pity)

like some sort of inanimate life-long sausage, i lie inert like on a grocer's shelf. my body: it seems a natural casing for my soul. my bed the shelf, and im approaching some half-life shelf-life rapidly expiring with every breath. do sausages ever go bad? theyre preserved somehow, with smoke and salt. my body- packed in ions and metabolic electrolytes lies in a state of self-induced preservation.

i take pills. vicodin hp's, 10mg of hydrocodone wrapped in a natural casing of 66omg of acetaminophen. the excessive acetaminophen wrecks the stomach, but the opioids quickly come on, and totally obliterate the gastric throb. i take five of these pills in one sordid gulp and they make thigns lovely but bear in mind that this is not a submission of drug use. im gradually trying to work out whats on my mind and trying to say something about cities and citynoises and urban vibes and modern addiciton.

this dose lets me lie in my brooklyn studio and stare at the ceiling. this lets me access some natural space of comfort within my body. the pain-killers put your central nervous system to bed. the only stimuli that pass through in this state are the exquisite series of itches and tingles that flux and spreaed across your body. scratching these itches is bliss, and can occupy both hands for hours. its lovely.

i have no idea why im posting this and im sure itll get removed soon due to content despite the fact that i hope this will not happen. but somethings driving me. some itch- deeper than those licking my flesh- brought me on to the web. i was hearing the luscious sounds of the city leak in from bedford, over the clicking racket of my old air conditioner. i came online (as i often do in states of weekend boredom) and searched for 'pretty city noise' and i found this site. it came like rain in a desert- odd and new and naive, lovely, refreshing, and transfixing. ive been sitting here for an hour reading the content here and i felkt some sort of need to sit here and write my rambling contribution, a song of prose to babble over the urban symphony dripping in from driggs avenue, hissed out from busses and sparked from the not-so-agile trains of the mta.

in my sedated state, the drive to actually type and post this is immensely strong, mighty enough to momentarily veto my state of chemical induced inertia and get my fingers moving between scratches and satisfying nose picks.

i feel so blanketed in my surrounding citynoises, and my mind is absolutely blown by my discovery of this subtle and fulfilling group of urbanite's noisy blurbs and photos and submissions and stories. and this is not due to my current state. id feel this way were i sober, but at the moment, the drugs are intensifying the vibe in my head. it feels strong. pardon this mindless rant, but i couldnt leave without saying something about my current moment. sharing.

i wish there were a way i could stream the racket from outside my window into this form, to post the ambient aural love thats phasing all over me now, in and out of each ear, spongily through my brain, tingling on my fingertips and skin and soulders, rolling over my penis, face, hair and passionately licking on the soles of my feet.

i guess what im trying to say is city noise, city noises. they get into you like drugs, they effect you. theyre mind altering and profound and they change your life.

so whomever sees this, im trusting that youll feel me- im trusting with all my heart and mind and naturally cased soul that youll share this fleeting energy that is so amazing right now, this love of my city, this love of my state of mind, the lovely and luscious amnion of urban noise and city cacophony.

and to whoever you people are that make this shit, thank you. you have blown my mind this evening with abstract emotions and immensely vague (but nevertheless wodnerfully powerful) energies of the urban.

thank you, brothers and sisters.

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Peter: whats a pilchard?

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