And the Middling City crumbles further still.
Apparently the housing gendarmes who filter violent activity between nearby bad people and nearby decent people is fading out. Meaning. Yours Truly lives on the DMZ between Project Land and Working Class Land. Housing Cops are going bye-bye and allegedly during the summer they expect a blaze of activity, that the scene will be "busy." Heard on one MC radio program that two people were stabbed yesterday on Fulton Street en plain air and that'd be a stone's throw or so from where I blog.
Onwards.
Yesterday, while Judy Jetsoning out, saw four cop cars speeding westward (perhaps to scene du crime du jour) and in front of the pizza parlour a youngish guy watched the approaching cars and nervously wrapped his t-shirt, that he had removed and was holding, around his right fist as if getting ready for a throwdown.
Urban Pioneer Reality at its most real.
Then I went out to Middling City U to shoot another EC-produced event, this time featuring a man whose big thing is e-poetics. And he explained to sleepy students how poets working in this media hide some of their words within html code. And I thought What the hell, I like reading pomes pennyeach but who has that kind of wherewithall to be dragging an online pome's code into the light of day to read it in its entirety. Give me the word on the printed page, s'il vous plait.
He went on to say that Duncan (that'd be late great Robert Duncan), when he became himself a hotshot, would dictate to printers and publishers what font he wanted his work to appear, that he chose Times Roman for its spacing. First time I'd heard that and I find it rather suspect but oh well, let us run with it.
Today is a bad day for filming anything in the grayscape.
Time to gather the work to be delivered and disseminate images . . . and miles of smiles.

Love's Smile.