Black Market Mercurio (part,7/0)

We heading toward adventure. The sun beholding flat rooftops. We heading for some ragged Eastside playground, somewhere into, through downtown #fallinto_plaaace Ahhhh The Legion doubles dynamic unechoed dribbles and feets burned fortuitously running on concrete; 21 or “two-one,” 3-on-3s, 4-up, packed 5-to-15 deep.. Unique river-detailed industrious realm improv beats and illusions, that only in the absence of my presence of hard unnecessary breaths reforming a mess of literature/words, sweats flows up and down the scrapes as if river the balance the universe (no squeaks) ahhh just rrrrrips shreading chainnets; of shots just lets free, places under fluttered-tree-swift slanted wind-(for effect)-wiring quite frivolous, v-lines ever sweep further background, by this overpass, distantly ascended onto, short railroad tracks moreover in the shore, foreground; yet for that far-gone ways into rickety engaging reach to a neighborhood of little homes sketched at the crest of the spreads of the highway that overloom the hotel and just immersions into the choppy structures, downtown Sub-city fields, old converted hotels to apartment brick just gazing reaches… from the highway, chain-link fences, precise points, those tracks, concrete disappearances; in ways, I can’t picture or put together in words to complete the image, but the dense exits of the highway, coarse avenues, sprinkled breezes, dappled tunnels within these…. azaleas and rhododendrons along the fenced yards, vehicles parked around the entire serene segments situated so close to streets; flow in and out and up and downhill from the other sides of small bridges, rails, seams, to coasts automatically drifting up into the gravel of garages just down a-ways, a few narrow stone bedded lots, turned timbered spaces sectioned off front yards along the curbless sidestreets of tiny America almost, well for us, short circuit into the backdoor of the world-through elementary nearby slips, shortcut into that empty piece of land that bloom blocks of broken patches of differentiated growths between here and there, of weeds through pavement; and wing out and past the VFW and Fire station #i’mnotthekindthatlikestotellyou_justwhatyouwantmeto spilling around the incredulously smooth subdivision side roads that wriggle off already faltering, falling apart; before the stop sign; then slits either way or should I say T the rough inner city street-like trailer park crammed oblong to the opposite area we just cruised; until those tracks break back in; above the road; over them rattling all gnashed scrambled innards corroding thoughts like brick exposed off-shoots, potholes between, the other side of the rail crossing, over more immediately, Dulante swerve across without slowing, quite impressively, but like he knew the way, like he knew the ducks under the rail overpasses and the bridges to backways before he learned them; miss all the traffic and trains, veer these two streets ahead then unevenly slam mmmultiples of thudders and paralyzing unsettles quickly hill-slunk now again, reveling Swirlies – You’re just Jealous reflecting back the East deeply wasted shatters of angled, Radio-fueled montages variously fingered through sidestreets dipped or risen here and there to the sounds of the grinding tracks just cluttered unfabulous, branched, churning—like inthroughout downtrodden shanties, intermixing poorly with old man’s liquor bottles shhhhhaattered closer than these small racket businesses clearly cracking down on the unkempt assimilation appearing thus from another acute road sloped in humanities’ gawky attempt to repair and patch so many awful walls with such a crude variety equally reads like my fine fine recite about the immediate lives dipped like gutters hanging perpetually supporting service cables to a chub; on the collar raised slats pin some emblem, award, since they would only hear how they fixed everything; …..anyway from them, truly; and if they truly knew what they were doing they would be dangerous; the Eastside gauntlet of peeled niches thrives as the satisfaction of filth and thrives on the littered junk, emptied crosstalks, or exchanged front porch steps porch settin slides of hands flash cooler pretends luring in an alluring and obvious reason to shade the exact signs meant; but with smiling bruised toothes, blackened noses, crooked flaws fraudulently jade, neighborhood intimacy in unconditioned appearance and the apparent ugliness of any such unpolished over-bred skulks simply weening out by an ungracious form of education and communication, such thee old-timey type place be damned and proud to piss on it; assume first hand this place is far worse than whenever we came straining to the baneful looks, to the hideous dignity, to the talks ripped right up close for intimidation, shouting across tight streets tight brows tight consternation about how they never been afraid here; with that perspective we attain such the place (such a saying under a look upon the ineffable infamous, saying, “see what I have been through, behind me, see where I have gone into each every evening?”) and set afire my Styrofoam legs embracing the the multitude denizens; found fresh disaster, triumphed-like everyone; to leave this place intertwined with the travelers following us now throughout the magnitude of such a glorious change in they, themselves, into the now invincibly immune penetration, developing in; somewhere ….. Ohhh somewhere was I? Right. Where was I? Oh yea – just like an Eastsider pressed in the closeness, keying keen mistakes tending to be pieces of art in the scribble, scrambling like scat a tea sketch of one enormous canvas high into the heavens set up of the ultimate fantasy; from beyond the road, downhill; with Dulante squinting the Legion; and Rudy rolling another one of them infamously blooming comments, “this looks like a good place to run.”….maybe that makes ya go what the hell was that? Tell ya, though, here we come up onto the steel picnic tables alongside this court and the fact no no thee epiphany blasted, “we should get Radio to play Frankie’s,” the huge-st out of nowhere kind of juxtaposed thought I tweak (cuz its just kinda what I do..). “Thee hugest band in the smallest club in the freeland….” Its perfectly funny how the black market works. Word of mouth. Spread about. Oh leak around; like a signal chasing its tail so fast this double exposure blends …just like right there amongst The Legion and thee one and only, Radio.


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