America

Pretty boy, weird boy.

I think New York is the most beautiful city in the world.

I realized today that I would happily trade Manhattan for Brooklyn.

They were together, they were over 40 and looking great and their smiles weren’t crooked. They weren’t planning any plastic surgery, they were just casually playing with a leather ball , their children were in high school and you could see the sunset behind Brooklyn Bridge .It made me think of Axel from Arizona Dream and his mother telling him New York was the center of the world.

And I felt sad. I realized there is no Brooklyn Bridge around here. The sunsets are dusty and you and me have to walk through hundreds of crooked and dirty smiles. Even our smiles aren’t white anymore.

It’s not about staying young. It has always been about this fucking island on which we always wanted to be.

You didn’t want to visit New York. You said you would wait until you moved there. Forever.

I wish we lived there and were poor. Our house would be big enough to fit all my clothes in it. The cab drivers from Manhattan would always refuse to take us home. We would take the subway and nobody would despise my outfits.

I would  never have to explain my choices. To anyone.

It has always been about a certain freedom we cannot understand.

Not yet.

I think America already took off all her clothes, Mr. Ginsberg. But you already knew that. You were madly in love with her. She always answered back.

 

She is a woman, strong and naked in front of the whole world. We despise her smile only because it is not crooked.

 

We are suspicious and she is hopeful.

 

She may be naïve, but naïve in a crazy and honest way, the way Dean Moriarty switched  from one girl to another, from friendship to total indifference. America took off her clothes and became human, while Hunter S. Thompson was driving with a trunk full of drugs, while Johnny Depp was writing letters to him and rehearsing his favorite parts from Fear and loathing in Las Vegas, while Tom Waits sat  by his piano, while Iggy Pop sang about TV screens, while Kusturica was telling Grace she would come back as a turtle. While Amanda and Brian we’re meeting in Boston.

 

While Henry Miller was planning his trips to Europe.

While Jim Morrison pulled his leather pants over his pure angelic soul, while Janis Joplin was taking off her glasses to take a better look at herself.

While Ginsberg was putting his queer shoulder to the wheel.

”America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.”

It occurs to me that we have always been America.


– all the credits in the world go to Allen Ginsberg, The Beat Generation and everybody’s America-

pictures made by M.M

 

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5 Comments Add yours

  1. Emanuel I. says:

    Awesome post!
    😀
    God bless America!

  2. Gnossienne says:

    Once again, I love your outfit and the way you write as well!! Glad you’re sharing this on Facebook.

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