On the walk to the library, I pass by yet another day care
center set up in a family house as an ingenious way to make money. I see
overweight women talking away the day while children run around behind iron
bars in The South Bronx under a (unlicensed?) banner of Dora The Explorer.
Coming back home, I see the children’s brains still being wired for running
around that will get them left behind in school.
As I write this, the
five black children upstairs are, as always, making stampede that disturbs
concentration on writing about them being taken out of a homeless shelter for a
better life in a building that is across the river from Riker’s Island Prison.
The city pays the Hasidim landlord about $2,800 to house them in an apartment
with a view of The Ortiz Funeral Home.
For that kind of
money, shouldn’t this poor designed program be upgraded to make it mandatory
for their mother to take them to reading programs at The Public Library?
I told this to a well-dressed African-American employee of
the program and he disrespectfully walked away from me far removed from It
Takes A Village To Raise A Child and Help Me Howard. IT’S ALL ABOUT THE MONEY,
an African- American politician screamed on a wiretap before he was arrested just
like a Puerto Rican politician secretly videotaped in The South Bronx of
America as seen on NBC News.
On Father’s Day, I
woke up to what sounded like an air strike over my ceiling and found myself
walking on water like Jesus when someone upstairs left the kitchen faucet
running. It was coming down in gushers as cracks appeared on wall. It’s Déjà vu
all over again like Yogi Berra said at The House That Babe Ruth Built several
blocks away from our neighborhood so close to The Bronx Family and Criminal Courthouses
Five minutes layer,
the Dominican Spanish speaking super (whom I tried to get to attend free NYPL
English classes) went from knocking to banging on the door. When it finally
open, I had to translate for him to the mother of half naked children staring
at me.
Oh, I forgot to close the faucet, she said and began to
close the door without an apology. She has a satellite dish outside her fire
escape. Guess she went wanted to get back to TV immune to a commercial that
states A Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste
I fear for her children.
This city is allowing their minds to grow like toxic mold on
bathroom walls. Soon it’ll be time to harvest another crop of criminals by
bullets and chokeholds in The Funeral City of Illegal Guns and Roses. But what
do I know. I’m a hobo with a library card soon to be a movie because books are
nearly obsolete.
Like Mark Twain wrote, everything done by humans is
pathetic.
21 Century is gangrening and I have to play at being doctor?
Oh, can I play Doctor Who? You kids love that TV show?
So be it. I have a dream for The City That Never Sleeps…
It’s time to wake up sleepyhead adults before Duh End
(The Theme From Doctor Who plays as credits roll)
I learned art is the lie that tells the truth.
When I was a kid, The Daily News presented me with an award
for my painting that lied about New York City in the happiest time of the year.
Years later, my godchildren lied so well they taught me how
to lie better than ever.
And that’s the truth.
Tele-eclectic Reinvention Copyrighted 2914
