Fumes

"The streets of Berkeley are paved with weed"
The Wife's wry rejoinder to a friend's laconic quip:
"The streets of Harlem are paved with weave"
Indeed, gentrification hasn't affected the surfeit of wigs

The Senegalese and Gambian vendors proffer the hair products
Essential oils - massage, incense and herbs with vital aromas
Nighttime potency assured, all that is missing is the candles
Spoil yourself, pomade, scent of argan oil
What strange brews, mystical even, we throw on our hair
Fake Rolexes and Gucci knockoffs - Versace misspelled on the label
Don't look too closely, fast talkers on 125th Street make their pitch
"Boss, we can make a deal, okay, tell you what, tell me your last price.."

But back to Berkeley, we lived around the block from Wavy Gravy's commune
He, the MC of Woodstock fame, the Summer of Love,
Hippie consciences, sustainability pledges
Farm to table, organic everything, ecological awareness
More conscious than thou, earnest as kettle oatmeal
Puff then, fumes, scent of marijuana
What strange fruit of the progressives
Goody Two Shoes, home of the gluten free
Righteous living, just a few miles north of Fruitvale Station

Fumes, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Wavy Gravy by Kenny Burrell
• Freedom Jazz Dance by Eddie Harris
• The Hustler by Stanley Turrentine
• Hair by Graham Central Station
• Street Corner Hustler Blues by Lou Rawls

File under: culture, observation, perception, Berkeley, New York, city, humour, sensory, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: January 15, 2023

The Drunken Toddler

A cautionary tale perhaps, my earliest memory is of being drunk
At the Christmas party, this almost 3 year old had been quite industrious
Drinking the bottom of the various glasses that the guests were imbibing
A cocktail of sharp tasting liquids, the base materials of my experiment
Until my vision blurred and the alcohol had its effect.

"My head is round"

Apparently my declaration of inhibition
   Caused alarm among the partygoers
Spoiled the festivities frankly
   The adventures of the drunken toddler

Parents, never rest on your laurels,
   Keep a close watch on your offspring
In the event, a wellspring of visions, promptly hung over,
   I counted the cost
Mum's red mini loomed large in the driveway,
   Its googly eyes staring at me
Spinning, eyes wide open, walls expanding,
   the whole world was collapsing

That'll teach you right

I've found virtue in moderation ever since
Those fever dreams and hallucinations
An early lesson in buyer's remorse
Staggered straight to bed
Never to be repeated
   The case of the drunken toddler

Punch Drunk, a playlist

A playlist on a loss of inhibition. (spotify version)

• Only When I'm Drunk by Tha Alkaholiks
• One More Drink by Jaguar Wright
• Punch Drunk by Sade
• Drunk As Cooter Brown by Cassandra Wilson
• This World is Drunk by Raphael Saadiq
• I Want to Take You Higher by Sly & The Family Stone

File under: life, observation, culture, perception, alcohol, memory, humour, Observers are worried, poetry, toli

Writing log: December 30, 2022