as a conversation with pop went:
i got really stoked on this new thing where i hide in a small tree in our alley every tuesday morning at 7, when the garbage trucks ride by i leap onto the back. i clad myself in molson canadian beer shorts, sunglasses with neon arms, and nothing else. once on the back of the truck i wave a tea towel that has ‘go fighters!’ scrawled on one side of it and ‘fuck yeah cunts!’ on the other. I wolf howl at pedestrians and do air kicks with my free leg until the drivers see me.
the first six times it was sweet, the truck would stop, and the dudes who were a bit annoyed but generally stoked would get out and tell me to take a hike. they actually said that, ‘take a hike.’ After they would kick me off i’d keep the stoke going and bolt back home the long way screaming ‘go fighters!’ and ‘fuck yeah cunts!’, get into bed and sleep until eleven forty as though nothing had ever happened.
but the last time while doing air kicks i unfortunately wasn’t looking and booted a bus stop pole and my poor 3rd, 4th, and 5th metatarsals got broken. The drivers did give me a ride back home though, and wrapped my foot in my tea towel. i think we are going for beers next week. funny the people that you meet.
New York is full of quirky people just waiting to be met. According to the TV, they’re really quirky and say funny things like “fuggedaboutit” and “get the fuck outta here.” I haven’t met any yet though I hope to. Instead, I keep meeting people running around looking to meet quirky New Yorkers. We talk about them and about wanting to meet them and maybe one day even becoming them or at least grabbing a bit of their magic indifference for ourselves for a time. I’m beginning to suspect that maybe they don’t exist at all or if they do that maybe once you become one you’re called to a magical New York in the sky not accessible to anyone else where the bagels are rounder, the cabs harder to hail, and the people at bars even more endearingly curmudgeonly, wise guys with hearts of gold who know how to get by in the city but don’t care for any of this excitement business, calm down tourist. My other theory is that somewhere around the seventies or eighties a part of New York cracked off the island and sunk into the Hudson where it remains, full of picturesque squalour and fish, like Atlantis with graffiti. So the New York the terrorists flew into wasn’t even the real New York but a shadow New York that’s more like the waiting room for the doctor’s office that is the real New York. Take that terrorists. All you flew into was the idea of New York which isn’t even a real thing, no matter how much we all want it to be while we run around trying to find it or someone who knows where it is or was or where a scent of it still remains.
I have rediscovered the brilliance that is the Terror Blog. Fuck yeah cunty Terrors!