Drowwning in Enlightenment
Located in upstate ny,at the southern end of cayuga lake,the second largest of the finger lakes, in the seat of tompkins county , lies ithaca ny.home of cornell university, ithaca gun(obviously), ithaca college and the highest waterfalls east of the mississippi river-taughannock falls. former home of carl sagan, summer home to new jersey devils star joe nuendyck. to leave ithaca you have to go uphill, the city lies in a pit . it was once the center of the film industry before they fled to sunny southern california. and in the center of it all is where you'll find the average ithacan .
welcome to the ithaca commons- lunatic central. where ,for some, it's still the summer of love and the stench of patchouli hanging in the air like a bad omen is proof. the hippies have a stronghold here and have watered down the effect of protests and marches by having one almost weekly. this is the new world order hippy who preach tolerance and acceptance of others while looking down their unwashed noses at those who don't think like they do. screaming bloody murder about the iraqi war and saving the environment ,then they climb into their beaten down vw bus that gasps and wheezes as it labors on down the road, leaving a trail of jet black oil and other automotive fluids, and sending smoke signals to the other twelve monkeys cult members griping maniacally about the current Washington administration with the demeanor of a conspiracy theorist.meanwhile they sit on the commons all day preaching about how much better they are than those who feed into the great beast that is the capitalist system ,as they sell their pot, ho-made jewelry and other hippy shit. damn hippie-crites.
out patients from the mental health services do the thorazine shuffle, the prozac rock and the haldol drool from their roosts ,as if the dodo never died.the mad buffalo hill jogger sweating off his run, "three times up, three times down" he proclaims to anyone who will listen. vinny ,the mad cackler ,howls with laughter through a blue fog of smoke , hearing the voices inside his head do their stand up routines .the angry russian and his poor , abused , shell-shocked wife make their way to the liquor store to get,yep you guessed it ,another bottle of rot gut vodka. so that he can make her fuck all the other local loonies who have twenty bucks, then beat the living shit out of her for being a whore.ahh young love. gothic matt ,the acid casualty,waits for eleven o'clock to roll around so that he can get his daily allotment of his ssi check. the mhs has to dole out his money to him ,otherwise the junkies will get him to spend all of his money on dope, then give him water shots all day.poor bastard is just so lonely ,that he'll do anything just to feel like he has a friend . a skinny little black guy dressed like a mixture of beatnik, guardian angel and black panther, hands out his poetry/rant/confession of how the government and police are harassing him. accusing him of sex crimes that i suspect he is guilty of . in the text of his testimonial ,lying among his claims of their intrusion of his life is the doozy, that the fbi planted a micro-camera "inside my penis".bernie the rock guitar god mosies along carrying a pawn shop window special , and a pignose amplifier strapped to his hip. torturing the guitar as it screams for mercy through the tiny speaker that is amazingly loud. he talks just like peter the puma from bugs bunny , the one that wants "oh three or four "lumps of sugar in his tea.from the opposite side of the commons standing in front of the first bank of ithaca is richard the schizophrenic street preacher of armageddon . not only is he entertaining but some of his one-liners are eerily sensible."nixon sold us to china for his wine collection" he bellows at whoever is unfortunate to have to do business in the bank.and my personal favorite " you can control my mind ,but you can't control my bladder" while he urinates on himself the statement that much more validity.in one of his more lucid moments, he told me he was in vietnam and that he worked for the cia,and that they planted a micro-chip inside his head so that they could tell him who he was supposed to assassinate , and they could know where at all times ." but i fooled them " he says smiling his two toothed smile as if they were dull fangs. he pulls off his hood to his sweatshirt and reveals an amazing scar, that runs from his ear to ear behind his head.he was really quite believable,and then as if a switch had been hit and he was gone,back to crazy old richard again.
at the west end sit the , sipping their swill from paper bags and arguing over who said what to who , in some three day old fight. the stench on their booze soaked bodies overtakes the patchouli."say man,"says smoothe old hovie,"ya got thirty nine cents for a quart?" his trick is to ask for a small amount and to be honest about what he is going to spend it on and he is able to stay drunk. i used to wonder what he did about sundays before they let the liquor stores stay open on sunday. they terrorize the students' families with their vulgarity and appearance as they shop for their dorm room's accessories. champ, an old boxer, hollers out to any woman who passes by,"scuze me ma'am,but your slip is showin'!". it always gets a giggle from the other drunks.he once told me a story about going out to a bar in new orleans after a fight he had down there. after a while he realized that he was in a gay bar and he voiced his downright disgust with the lifestyle they had chosen. one of the lads had taken particular offense and walked up to champ and told him " there's two things i love to do ; suck cock and fight!" and he finished his anecdote with,"well, i don't know how he sucked a cock ,but he sure went right up one side of me and down the other." after that he figured a guy that could fight like that couldn't be all that bad, so he sat there and got drunk with him for the rest of the afternoon.
the chess players slap their timers,as those waiting to play peer over shoulders scrutinizing every move. a bunch of young potheads gather together in a circle kicking hacky sack ,taking turns selling the next ten dollar bag of weed to the newest pot head on the scene. a bunch of high school punks sit and watch smoking their cigarettes too cool for everything. taking turns telling lies to each other about asses they've kicked, crimes they've pulled off and girls that they fucked . a junkie slipping in and out of while he defies gravity , holding a lit cigarette in his hand. it burns away as if it were a fuse to a bomb. his anemic,pasty-white girlfriends' eyes roll into the back of her head like a human slot machine. she turns and vomits in the bushes every time she lands on jackpot.
college student oblivious to the cruel world of fate that awaits them after they graduate and are cast off the educational assembly line into the "real world" where the answers come not from books and professors.they stoll by self absorbed noses in the air ,knowing and thinking they are better than the townie scum that they pass.
it is a collage of the human condition ,here, in this three of universe. a banker, accountant and a lawyer , sit together scoffing down lou's hot dogs,talking about business deals done and trials lost or won.overpriced merchandise, all geared towards the pockets of the parents of the students, hang in the window of in this valley of glass and cement.the latest catch phrase or rock icon ,name brand or "ithaca is gorges" printed on it. in fact, everything in town is overpriced due to the spoiled rich fucks that invade the town for four years trash it, fuck our women and leave.
fresh nubile young bodies, the old and decrepit,and everything in between all come together in this hub of activity -the eye of tompkins county.police eyeballing the young and disorderly,keeping up their paranoia and making the shopkeepers feel "safe".the stench of stale vomit, beer and bleach waft out of the bars awaiting another night of drunken college debauchery. piss stains and vomit in the doorways of the unfortunate businesses that happen to bookend the bars.kids scream from the playground as the pedophiles peep from their crevices nearby.ugly parents with even uglier children , who will have almost no chance in life,doomed at birth to continue the vicious that their bloodline has been cursed to. rolls by semi-wheelchair .first he was thunder, then silent thunder,now rolling thunder. cannister of oxygen strapped to the back of his chair, tube under his nose,feeding his emphysemiatic lungs housed inside his agent orange racked body-thanks for serving our country son!i call him by his birth name -marvin. beautiful women walk this way and that heads follow like a compass to true north. the bretton666 yells "mom" to the better endowed ones.cell phone conversations and random notes of music are carried in the wind, the players tunes ,with open cases at their feet,spare change and random dollar bills beg for companions from the felt.
self important community "leaders" pat themselves on the backs as they cut the ribbon unveiling another piece of "art" they paid a sum of money for, planning the next"city beautification" project ,undermining the city with their best ideas ,as they say in na "your best thinking got you here." litter dances on the wind as you head for a urine filled elevator to one of the parking ramps,leading you to the street-a maze of one way roads , filled with potholes to rival new york city's.they stake their claim on your cars' alignment and underside,making your escape from this "most enlightened" mecca almost impossible .