I'm your man

I guess I'd say 'I'm Your Man', Leonard Cohen's much malligned 1988 eight track masterpiece, is the perfect album. For me. Right now. I keep coming back to it. And have for the past fortnight. It is wonderful. A lot of the musical backdrops remind me of early Carter. Especially the spine tingling synthetic rom pom pom on 'Take This Waltz'. I wrote a waltz tune, in my head, yesderday, as I hobbled up and down the length of Manhattan's belly. I look forward to exorcising it from my cluttered brain space.

I am reunited with 'I'm Your Man' because Sioux Z was the third woman to save me the other day. I had just finished typing out the last entry, which, nigh on pure flow from brain to fingers to keys, took nearly an hour. I looked up from the screen, took in the torrential rainfall about the library in which I sat, and Amy and Cecelia were there, and the Shandaken household could not afford to get to NY en masse. And me, with my less than ten bucks, became the beneficiary of their sweet nature, despite the ugliness which had preceded. They gave me coach fare and wished me luck on my journey. I gave Amy her birthday card, etched out earlier in the uncomfort of the foreign home I was in with other people's pens.

And I was on my way. I read the New York Times and Spin, and stepped into a New York in the midst of a monsoon. My bloodied, brok up feet hobbled the streets for an hour or so, carrying the bug bit carcass and soddden granny cart bag lady I'd become, a head growing frantic, unable to reach any of my New York people by phone. I considered trying to get into Spiky and Amy's old flat to escape the flood. And I was hungry.

So, in a moment of weakness, I broke my rule, and went against 16 months of moral righteousness, and escaped the flood under the rancid arches of McDonalds, Union Square. I gave them money, in return for fries and a burger and a carbonated soft drink. And I sat at one of thier littte tables, soggy old New York Times open, and read Al Gore's speech from the opening night of the Democratic Convention in Boston. I have a new respect for that man after that. It brought tears to my eyes.

My attention was taken by a number of the places patrons, all dirt poor, all crazy. One of Michael Palin's Python era old men sat to my left, toothlessly burping and slurping a tea through his straggly white beard, occasionally breaking into a violent spaz-out, to the huge amusment of the tiny man child to my right, who's crackhead mother ignoired his frenzied play, babbling to herself and foaming slighty at the corners of her mouth. I guess the manchild was two or three, and she was in her early twenties. She used to be pretty. Manchild gave up tugging at her leg, as she babbled hotly at the wall. He laughed with joy at the old man. He attempted communication with all who entered. He was facinated by my silly eyebrow jewelry and tatoos. He brought me gifts of straws, and put my rubbish in the bin. He said his name was "Little Boy" when asked, and I said mine was Adam. We drew picures together. "Mickey Mouse!" he gurgled happily. I drew him and Mickey Mouse. He squealed with delight. "Little Boy and Mouse!" His mother continued to babble, clawing at her left arm, white tipped tongue darting over crusty lips. Little Boy drew me a McDonalds arch. He gave me the pen, and said, "Clown?" I drew the McDonalds clown. "MONSTER!" he screamed, and ran about the place making monster noises.

I went back out into the rain after a while. As I got up to go, Little Boy's mother broke face, stopped her chatter, took her boy's hand, and said, with a Motherly assertiveness, "say gooodbye to Adam." She smiled the biggest, glittery smile. Little Boy punched my arm and hid under the table.

Sioux saved me from the rain. At hers I showered, and dried, and listened to 'I'm Your Man'. My contact lenses had arrived at hers too. I could see again.

And yesterday Paul Western Unioned me some money, and I hobbled the streets with my head held high, in new, clean socks, and I read XXL and I saw Spiderman 2, which made me cry a little, and was great in all the places the first film was dissapointing. In the nighttime I smoked a little weed, and was truly glad of all the things I have.

Today it is Sunny and Hot.