I’ve been working with Mexicans at the metal shop for the last year and a half.

As always I try to improve my language skills and I help them with English.

The other week I gave Oscar, who has prevented my fingers from getting ripped off my lathes or pierced by drill presses, the movie EL TOPO by Alejandro Jodorowsky.

I explained the surrealistic story line of a mad gunfighter or pistelero loco.

Oscar had walked across the Sonoran Desert for three days.

He finished his water within 24 hours.

“On the third day I thought I was going to die, but I said, “I am not going to die here.” I walked another day to the pick-up. Everyone was happy, because they figured me for dead. So I know surrealism, but you know what an el topi is.”

“A gopher.”

“Si, pero tam bien caca.”


“Yes, because when you take a shit in Mexico, we say, “Se me sale le topi.” Because the shit is like a gopher sticking his head out of a hole.”

“No way.”


We had a good laugh and Oscar took the film home.

He never watched it, but we still laugh about ‘el topo’.

Mexicans have a good sense of humor.

SNOW-WHIGGITY by Gianni Rage

Gianni Rage posted this poesie.

It tells of a time of the back then before the rich ruled Manhattan.

It was our city and for a good reason.

People like hookers, pimps, and dope fiends.

They protected us from the rich.


SNOW-WHIGGITY by Gianni Rage

It doesn’t have a title ironically, that was not really a poem…I was going to write it as poesies but opted for something more linear and prosaic…I will definitely have a look at this!!I am almost like a changed man with this weather…I feel like writing tonight…
A fairytale.
About a hooker.
A hooker named Snow-Whiggity…
This is back in the day when NYC was actually still a city, not a giant terrarium…
The whole thing takes place on 23rd St.
Snow-Whiggity has a mean, gay pimp named Evil Queen…
She wants to get away from him but it is hard because she is a dope fiend.
Then she is hired for a party by “seven little men”—seven very small Puerto Ricans….
They are so impressed with her that they let her live in their social club on 9th Ave.
Snow-Whiggity has it made…she can now turn all of her tricks in comfort…and keep her own damn money ‘cuz the little men don’t ask her for nothin’
She even does a porno flick with them as a laugh.
But Evil Queen finds her and manages to slip her a hot shot…
She turns blue and goes unconscious, and the seven little men think she is dead.
So they do the only thing you could do with a dead junkie hooker in those days, which is drag her dead ass down to the West Side Highway and make it look like a hit-and-run…
But the little men like her too much to be that cold.
So they lay her in an old refrigerator box and pin a note to it.
But of course she is not actually dead, the dope was just REAL GOOD…
And she wakes up to find a brand new, handsome, young, straight pimp named Prince Charming leaning over her…
And the seven little men take out Evil Queen.
And everybody lives happily ever after

HANG UP Tagline

The other afternoon at a 8th Street bar I was drinking with several friends discussing the reasons for my movie script not having found a home.

“BET ON CRAZY has it all, a diamond heist, love, violence.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t says anything.” Jason came from Malibu. He had movie star friends. He had helped me with BET ON CRAZY. “When you pitch a script, you have to think on one line.”

“The tag line.” I knew the process.

“Yes, producers are besieged by countless ideas every minute of the day. You have to think of a better tagline.”

“Diamonds are forever and a crime takes a minute.”

“A little cliche.”

“A diamond belongs to one man until someone else takes it.”

“But it’s not telling the story.”
Jason typed out something on his cellphone and showed me the poster for a black exploitation film from the 70s.


His job was busting junkies.
His mistake was loving one.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

Jason was right. Those two lines told it all.

“His job was selling diamonds. Stealing one was much easier. Getting away with it was the hard part.”

“Better, but that has nothing to do with your story.”

“And I’m sure that neither does the tagline for HANG UP.

“Work on it.” Jason ordered another vodka. I had a gin tonic. They brought out my mean streak. I left at the end of happy hour and kept my mouth shut on the train. No one wanted to hear mean.

She Got Me There – Six Degrees West

Here’s a great tune by Six Degrees West out of Kansas City.

My old friend Ray Santos is on drums.

To hear SHE GOT ME THERE by Six Degrees West, please go to the following URL

Meir Kahane Is Dead

This weekend I petitioned passers-by at the General Fowler Triangle in Fort Greene. Blacks were eager to sign. White people shook their head, when asked to sign a petition asking Congress and President Obama to support a ceasefire in Gaza. Hamas’ resumption of its missile attacks reminds too many New Yorkers of 9/11 and the dangers of Islamic fundamentalism. Their statements about Hamas using human shields and accusations of anti-Semitism came straight from the Western Media without any consideration for the injustice caused by the foundation of Israel.

Hamas is evil.

Israel is defending itself.

A Russian Jewish friend walked by the triangle.

“I can’t believe you’re supporting terrorists.”

“No, I’m supporting an end to the fighting.” I quoted Michael Jackson’s line from BEAT IT. “I don’t care who’s wrong or right. All I want is peace.”

“Meir Kahane said we can never be at peace with the Arabs.” Mike was a young man. We knew each other from 47th Street. He bought gold. I sold diamonds.

“Meir Kahane?” I hadn’t heard the name of the JDL’s assassinated leader in ages.

“Yes, Kahane argued against the two-state solution, since the Arabs could outbreed the Jews.”

“I recollect his saying that the Arabs should be forcibly deported from Biblical Israel.”

“It’s the only solution.”

“You mean like a Final Solution?” This adoption of the Nazi policy against the Palestinians was too ironic for my tastes.

“It’s us or them.”

“But not the two.”

“Never two.”

“I don’t think the USA will support that measure.”

“That’s naive. The Arabs don’t care what happens to the Palestinians and neither does the USA. Only Israelis care about them and the only way to end the war is to end Palestine.”

“A pogram?”

“They threw us out of North Africa by the hundreds of thousands.”

“After letting the Jew live amongst them for centuries.”

“Everything comes to an end. Good and bad.” Mike walked away toward Atlantic Terminal.

“Sie gesund.”

“Ed, the head of Brooklyn Peace Intiative came over to me and asked, “What was that about?”

“Meir Kahane.”

“Meir Kahane. He was a friend of Bob Dylan and he instructed Arlo Guthrie on the Torah.”

“He did?”

“Yes, but he’s dead since the 90s. He was shot at a hotel. Supposedly the first al-Qaada attack, but the killer wasn’t convicted of murder.”

“Why not?”

“CIA?” Ed shrugged and we returned to petitioning the pedestrians.

None of them were Meir Kahane. He was dead.

Only people on their way home or Frank’s Lounge or Mullane’s or Mo’s or la Habana.

Life was good in Brooklyn.

It wasn’t Gaza.