the sun baking hot, the tar a gummy liquorice. the airconditioned 4 train, in its shimmery shiny chrome skin, me, danny brawler, and gena g skidded out to Burough Park.
Borough Park is one of like a thousand little Jerusalems barry peppered around New Yark city. here its a wee lil shtetl where yiddish is probably the first language, pita and shwarmas the local delicacy. and if you listen closely you could hear the theme track from fiddler on the roof. here we rolled in the sweetness of apple sauce and burst into song at chocolate pastries. we tucked ourselves in the comfort of shlurpy mess-on-your-sunday-best falafels, and yiddished our way into popularity.the day was dusted for the D&G show and it was time for me to soak up more.
i caught a train down the road to crown heights, centre for the lubavitch jewish community and home to the late lubavitcher rebbe. the number on his door, 770. here in the streets, the black hat hovers, the black coat billows in the fresh breeze, and push prams cut grooves in the side walks. and in the background alicia and jayzee are shootin' hoops on the ball courts. i asked the locals if anyone knew fitz speigelman, and lo and behold i had a crowd of black hats scouring their 'berries for his contact details.another day in paradise.
coney island, a once playground to the stars, a place of leisure, a place of fun. roller-coasters, candy floss, toffee apples and shoot-the-freak entertainment. all images that'd spring delight and excitement in a kids eyes. that was in the late 1800's.coney island harboured this sorta mystery for me and on coming to new yark city it was sure to be one of my many destinations.
as the throngs of people burst outta the D train from manhatten i got the sense that i was back in south-end-on-sea up in the UK. from african americans, to russians, to chinese, to hispanics, to neon sign plastered strips, this was surely the periphery of manhatten. it was a culture shock i didnt quite expect and it was a view through a pin hole of what one could see outside of new york city.all of a sudden the people swelled to xxxl, the russian talk threw me back to vodka swirled moscow, the american drawl placed me in that oprah winfrey movie, the colour purple, the hand ball courts threw my mind to ghettoised america and the people i saw at the edge, probably just wanted to fall off it. and thrown in amongst all this oddity were religious jews pushing prams, strolling, enjoying a sunday out and playing hand ball with the mexicans.
the promenade was full of take-out joints, dripping in fried goods, candy sticky and heaving to the sounds of led zepelin and the eurythmics. oversized cartoon characters holding hotdogs bobbed the skyline, the beaches full of bathers and frisbee throwers. the pier, strewn with fishermen in wife beater vests, stained to the chest and the pit.at first sighting this lil kinda-island scared the begsus outta me, but slowly as i walked its path i began to enjoy its oddity, its strangeness, its freakiness, its absurdity, cos afterall this is where excitement lies.
from the trailings of mesmerized lad
the russian bear hunter
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