The garbage grows.

In the corners of out lot, the garbage grows. The bagel is gone. The refuse multiplies. The filth of a million broken dreams collects in corners and makes a nest for rats. Behind the little shack where parking fees were paid not long ago, is a place to pee. Some hipsters stole two signs that were screwed to the western wall. Now yellowed plywood takes their place.

Our lot. In life?

Stay Late, Party Down

39(8/9) after hours

Late summer: 39th (8/9)

It's like Keats was writing just for us! Especially the part about the "clammy cells"...

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease;
For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.

It rained.

The rain,
the constant steady rain came down with the insistence of a high-school Vice Principal.
It hadn't rained, really rained, for weeks, and now this rain, which assaulted the asphalt with the fury of a middleweight's combination, threatened to wash the stink off the block.

No, that's wrong.
Nothing could wash off the accumulated grime, the gum spots as numerous as the stars in heaven, the filth--both human and animal, of the street. The surface might be scoured. But the filth, the grime, the tears, blood and sweat of a thousand broken dreams were permanent as the puke dried to a marble-hardness in the corner of the abandoned parking lot that dominated the landscape.

Back to our roots...

This blog wasn't always about snapping a photo on the infamous block and penning a cheeky caption.

This blog used to be a place where people came up with ideas.
Where people gathered to better mankind and maybe even learn something.

We need to get back to our roots. Upton Sinclair, August Strindberg, and J. D. Salinger.
Al Sharpton, Cesar Chavez, and Clarence Darrow.
Dick Van Dycke, Jay-Z, and Joan Allen.

Let's take that figurative piece of paper and violently crush it into a ball, toss it in the dustbin, and start over.

A Swede grows on 39(8/9)

Chicken Condo Blu still on the market

In another sign of the worsening economic crisis, Aleef has lowered its asking price for Chicken Condo Blu. Chicken Club also available.