AT THE HEART OF THE CITY

THE CITY is a living work of art its alleyways are marginal, Rain soaked puddles filled with Sun dried rainbows. Skies filled with choking canvases. People bobbing up and down in crowds of multi-coloured pointillism.

The City sets boundaries that it draws out of existence, it watches us and I watch it from my rundown apartment on New York 42cnd Street staring at my easel with its white paper and my mind remains blank.

“Alright, I tell myself, “You’re just going through a bad patch all Writers get them!!” “Except you’re not a Writer “I need reminding?” you’re a Cartoonist, or rather you were till it dried up”, “Or was it their fault?” “1950’s, Mum cooking dinner whilst looking like Mary Tyler Moore!, Dad at the office whilst I sat at the table drawing my first idea. Two people called Fay and Ray a one squared joke each based on days:

Fay and Ray on Christmas Day

Fay and Ray on Birthday

Fay and Ray on Easter Day

When I get paid its Mirthday

“Alright I know its crap “I was snacking” “What-?” “You know draw something, write a caption, start somewhere!” “Like a Writer trying to write a difficult story” Draw something you’ve done it before for fuck’s sake, “Anything” Alright so it’ll be shit, at least you’ll be one step out of this Hell-hole with its failures and self confident idiots, who think they can find a way out of a system we thought we could change for the better by marching against Vietnam, and joining The Civil Rights Campaign for our black and ethnic colleague!”.

“Look, draw something, anything!” “Ok, a man!” “Yeah that’s good, go on!”

I pick up a Cartoonists pen and begin to draw

“Do Minimalist; “Fuck you, Minimalist is crap, this ain’t Disney starting out on Steamboat Willie, you think they just want flicker books?” “Ay man we’re even passed Max Fleischer.”

“Alright, shaded, lined, Swiftian, Minimalist combined, like political caricatures the kind that English guy does, “What’s his name?” “You know the one who was/is married to that Actress I like because she has red hair like Abigail did in the Fifties, went out with Paul McCartney “Not Abigail, though she would have done!”, “Jane Asher, that’s it; “Gerald Scarfe that’s the guy, story has it he started off selling work to satirical magazines caricaturing political figures in The Sixties, a bit like I did during my Student days!”

Alright, now draw a woman. Where is she? Who gives a shit, Now someone unusual, that’s how it works, An Astronaut-“Yeah at a party, draw drinks, people in distance, table food wine chandelier caption something about atmosphere? Too much? Not enough? Alright now sign it. it’s crap, I know fucking sign it you bastard keep going, look you know how these bastards work you sold a cartoon to Private Eye six months ago, alright it wasn’t much went towards the rent for this place but at least you can do it and The New Yorker said you have potential even though they rejected your work, Draw, draw anything!

Noise outside cars hootering in New York philharmonic chorus listen carefully it sounds like:

Fuck you Fuck you Fuck you

Every minute noise, can’t concentrate things were quieter years ago, duller though quieter/ Now shouting screaming, I get up and in a rendition of Little Town Blues for grown ups shout:

“Keep the noise down..”

Three Guys, all Puerto Rican, one young in his twenties the leader, the other slightly older, his Brother no doubt, the third with a mustache no doubt the sensible one. Probably failed at Law School; like I said this area is full of fucking failures!

“What you say man?” Began the leader. “You got a fucking problem?”

“Yeah, I got a fucking problem, keep the noise down!”

“Ay, you no tell me what to do man, I ‘Merican o?”, “So fuck you man!”

“It’s American!”, “Good grief (Very Charles M Schultz) we give you people Civil Rights and you’re still fucking illiterate!”

“Oh you give me rights man!”, “Ay thank you man, thank you for my right to live in this lousy city with no job and a sick Mother and lousy Father!” “And people like you treating me like shit cause I’m Puerto Rican.” “Fuck you man, “Makes the Italian version of the

V-Sign” fuck you!”

“Go back to the ghetto or I’ll call the cops!”

He is just about to reply when the guy with the mustache guides him along with hands on shoulders saying “A Penzer, Come on man remember last time, we don’t want anymore trouble with the Police.” “Ay no problem man we’re going.” They walk on, I know he is het up, I can’t say I blame him, however that’s the end of this episode though not for me(Sic) I go sit at my easel:

“What have I done?” “One lousy cartoon!” I check my watch 5.0 PM Thursday, what have I done all week, “I haven’t been out” can’t even remember what time I got up this morning! I stagger over to my bed and sit down, I realize by the dampness that it is soaked in urine. I pull back the sheets and stare at the damp patch stained with blood then I roll up my sleeve and look at the pin sized marks covering my arm, “Had I been tripping?” “Where had I gone, back to where my Parents were?”

I went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, there amidst chemist brought products was a needle and a clearly labeled bottle of Lysergic Acid I took off the lid and looked in, “Yes I had used it though I cannot remember when” “I check my watch, Dad would be home now if he lived in our old home, we’d be watching The Dick Van Dyke Show or Ozzie and Harriet; seated together on the settee with sandwiches or homemade cherry pie with fresh vanilla ice-cream instead of in this fucking Hell-hole!

I return to the bedroom where I work, the small T.V remains off in the corner, I stare at the drab damp paper covering the walls, the lines of lightning cracks, I can see them forming into Minimalist pictures of faces turning to look at me I can see through the cracks I can see the cherry tree in our garden the blood red cherries, I can see blood crawling out the walls covering the cracks like drawings black lined reminiscences of The Sixties Political Cartoons throwbacks to Vietnam protests against McCarthyism the kind they did not want me to know about, the kind with ulterior motives like Warner Bros Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck cartoons that not many people realize were invented for American Soldiers during the war after the film at the cinema hence all those references about dames even if it was usually Daffy or Bugs dressed up to fool Elmer Fudd.

I know we have to be careful what we draw “They could be watching us, knowing what our true reasons can be” The phone rings it is next to the bed it’s continuous, “Leave it don’t answer it draw another cartoon!” “Come on I know it’ll be crap get out of the rut just keep going”

Louder, Louder

“Don’t!” “It could be important” “What, you’re not expecting anyone?! Besides IPC wrote back and told you to get an Agent. Yes but-““What you think you’re that fucking great? “I’m a cartoonist I’ve been published Fay and Ray remember, it folded in The Seventies; I even done one about a calypso style black and white cat from Harlem (Though I’d never been there at the time) called Spatz de’Cat. I drew him alongside political figures with calypso style-poetry to suit the political scenario. My best drawing is of him in The Seventies next to President Richard Nixon during The Watergate episode.

Spatz de’Cat he’s got a fix on

This guy they call Richard Nixon

He says it’s not too late

To water down his policies and close de gate

Or something similar, it was controversial so it never mattered;

I reach over and in defiance pick up the phone

“Hello.”

“Hi Sir, my name’s Melanie how are you?”

“You fucking idiot” I state subconscious.

“Sir?”

Black, well educated product of post ghetto self achievement, sort you find in American let’s make the hero black so they don’t realize we’re fucking them up type films, Ay what about Will Smith or Morgan Freeman, No lets have a woman so we can con feminists who think we want them to stay domesticated!

“Sir, are you married?”

“No I live on my own”

“Are you working?”

“I’m a Cartoonist I take whatever work comes.”

Sounds of clicking, bloody phone company surveys, talking, whirring, could this be the missing ten minutes of The Richard Nixon interview? “Listen they’re trying to change things no more cherry pie and I Love Lucy.” “You seen this guys cartoons?” “Why’d he go from “Love is” type subtleness to politics? “Shut up he’s onto us”

“Do you have a credit card?”

“Yes”

Sound of typing, CIA, then:

“We represent new “Gleam Clean” “This not only cleans floors it dries itself, and because it’s a liquid you don’t need to keep filling your pail with water.” Gleam Clean comes in small economy or large packets it’s a non-poisonous organic substance –“

“Yeah send me one whatever”

“You want one?”

“What?”

“You want me to send you a packet with a money back guarantee?”

Upstairs the music had started again ineligible rap played by some white guy in his forties who doesn’t know what side he’s supposed to be on.

“Sir”

“Yeah that’s great!”

“You want me to enter you in our free prize competition, £Win a Trip to Washington?!”

“Yeah that’s great.”(Confront the mind sucking bastards);

“You want me to slide your penis into my vagina?”, “You want me to slide your genitals up my legs?” “Would you like me to rub water down my breasts to increase the flow?”

Silence, thought,

“Sir I need your address!”

Music so loud how can he fucking understand it?

“Sir your address”

“Hold on-,”

I leave the phone rested off the hook and go check a old rejection slip from The Guardian (Fucking Collaborators) out the drawer to remember my address code, Noise vibrating the room, I pick up a stick I have for opening the top window, turn the hook side upside down and bang hard against the ceiling “Ay turn it down”

Louder,

“Fucking bastard”

I return to the phone and give the woman my address over the noise, then she says “Have a nice day” and I hear the phone click out of existence, then I hear my voice being played back and I replace the phone.

“FUCKING SHUT UP YOU BASTARD” Christ sake how am I supposed to work in these bloody conditions?!

I pick up the phone and dial my Landlord, already the walls have turned their cracks into blood red caricatures, figures crawling all over the walls like characters in a third rate Japanese Archive Video Game “Now staring at me, laughing insanely, their tongues protruding out of their mouths, their fingers waggling with thumbs in ears, the floor covered in white petals” Noises from the mirror, ineligible sounds of cartoon animals from Disney or some early version of a Max Fleischer cartoon telling me “Mummy has made a cherry pie”

“Hello.”

“I want to complain the guy upstairs won’t turn down his music, I’ve tried complaining but he just puts it louder;

“Well I’ve given him warning from other Tenants; he kept it quiet for a while!”

“Yeah well he’s not now, I mean you can hear it”

“Yes Sir I’m saying he does have rights”

“Look, don’t give me any of that ACLU crap, I fought for rights in The Sixties because I believed things could be better!” “Instead all Civil Rights mean is, fuck you I can do what I want, you try anything and I’ll sue!” “Well I’m telling you if you don’t do anything about it I will!”

Sir, Mr.-“

“Neil, Neil Harcourt”

“I’d advise you not to do anything drastic Mr. Harcourt, these things do have a habit of sometimes backfiring.”

“I was thinking of phoning the Police”.

“I don’t think the other Tenants-“

“I don’t care about the other Tenants.” “Besides, I’m not keeping things cozy to save your job!” “Anyway I had it cozy in The Fifties but we thought we could make things better, well look at it no one has got any respect anymore, no one cares about anyone except their selves!”” I’ll give you five minutes or I’m calling the cops” “I replace the phone”

I stare at the mirror, now I can hear the animals talking louder, I stare into the trees within the mirror-world, reflected memories that comfort me over the noise, I can hear my Mother and Father and Abigail is with them yet they fade with the ineligible music and the people on the walls are still laughing at me!, I pick up the phone and dial 911 a woman comes on and I tell her I want the Police” “I place my hand over the phone and shout:

“FUCJKING SHUT UP YOU IDIOT!”

He doesn’t.

“NYPD, can I be of assistance announces a polite yet authoritarian female voice, Do you like being on top or underneath?”

“What?”

“I said what can I do for you Sir?”

“My stupid neigbbour won’t turn down his music.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Preferably”

“I see, have you spoken to your Landlord?”

“Yes he gave me some crap about rights!” “Bloody ACLU”.

“Has he been warned before?”

“Yes now he’s started again.” “Look can’t somebody do something about this? I don’t think I’m the only one who can’t stand this;

“I realize that Sir, however all our Officers are bus!”, “So far we’ve had four robberies, ten homicides, five domestics, and a gangland incident that could turn into a full scale City riot if not quelled!”

“Look I appreciate this but I’m trying to work and I’m tired.”

“Sir it’s only 6.29.” “I’m sorry maybe if you phone later, however we will give your complaint the fullest consideration, and please remember all our clients are entitled to a free blow job” “Have a nice day: The phone clicks off.

Outside darkness was forming the alley was like a pause in a Charlie Brown strip ending in either good grief or, well that’s life Charlie Brown. The figures on the walls were turning around cracked minimalism covered in cherry blood sweat covering my body urine wetting my trousers, “I screamed in horror as the figures seemed to turning into characters from cartoons in back issues of Punch” Now outside I could hear shouting;

Tut-“Way man.

I open my door Alexandrer the black guy in his forties. whom I considered one of the few people I actually like in this hell-hole, realizing he had also been brought up with the idea that we could change things for the better instead of seeing everything we believed in fail; was wearing underpants and a done up white shirt, shoes no socks, screaming at his 15 year old Son dressed in gangland colours!

“I’ve just had some guy phoning me saying you were playing ball with those guys, you’re not to mix with them, you wanna end up shot in some alley-?”

I began to walk past.

“You want all the neighbours to think we’re Street-Hoods cause we’re black-?” “Neil where you going?”

“See that fucking idiot about his music;

“Hold on I’ll get me trousers.” “You go inside your Mother’s got dinner ready”

“Yeah well you’re going out!

“Don’t fucking pull rank on me!” “Neil I’ll be a couple of seconds, have you phoned the Landlord?”

“Bastard won’t do anything” I said, going up the second flight.

I turned to see Alexandrer and his Son Delroy, the intestines in their stomachs were slowly crawling up inside their bodies, and now coming out of their faces, along with veins of dark blue to form minimalist pictures of their faces.

I felt as if I would collapse as I made my way to the level inquestion. I began to press the buzzer; I could hear the music becoming softer, and Alexandrer’s wife joining in with the argument between her husband and their Son, I could hear my Mummy and Daddy calling me And Abigail telling me to come home. “The door opened at the same time Alexandrer arrived.

“Could you turn it down a bit please?” I inquired.

“Fuck you” he muttered turning to shut the door, the sounds of my Parents calling me, the noise of the music entwined with the City holding me back stopping me, I turned him round by his shoulder as he began to walk away and hit him in the face, just as Alexandrer tried to grab me to calm me down., however I walked into the house to get away and into the room where the music was blaring from a full system ghetto blaster. And that was when I saw the figures in blood red minimalism laughing at me on the walls, “I screamed because I believe now it was the only way left for me to express myself! Then I began kicking the equipment and smashing it up with my hands as best I could. Alexandrer came in.

“What went wrong?” I inquired,, “Things were better years ago, I mean is this really what we fought for?” “Independence to the point of not caring;

“Ay man you better leave the guy’s bleeding, he’s saying something about the cops”.

“You know he’s name?” I Inquired.

“Renwell something or other, “Look man-, Oh shit you’ve destroyed it!” “Look just get out, I’ll do my understanding Street-Cred black guy act and see if I can calm him down”

I went back to my floor, Alexandrer’s wife and Son were standing at the door of their house.

“What’s happening?” Asked his wife.

“I’ve turned it off!” I said, “Now maybe I can get some peace”.

I went in and locked the door.

All had become peaceful; outside I could see the alley with its dark square pause. Two yellow lights shone like cat’s eyes watching me as I scanned towards the cash dispenser outside the Bank on the corner, just before you got to the Post-Office, where I constantly sent off my cartoons to Magazines and Publishers so I could be published again.

Now the whole room had turned into our porch. The figures and walls were no longer there. And the only reality was the cash dispenser that my Father was waving from, “Ay Son come on your Mum’s got dinner ready!”, “Ay we miss you.” “Abigail misses you;” She said she’s sorry she and her Parents had to leave, but their back now”.

“Dad, I smiled coming to the window, I wanna go home.” “I don’t care “I got published |Dad, you and Mum know that, even Abigail knew before she left with her Parents; Fay and Ray on Thanksgiving Day I even signed it for her-“It’s all gone wrong Dad, “tell Mum, tell her I love you, I love everyone of you Dad, Dad what are you doing?”

“I’m getting some money out the machine Son!”, “Hold on I think there’s a dollar stuck in, if I can just reach with my arm , “AAAHHH” Oh God help me please Son, it’s got me, Oh no it’s dragging me in-“

“Dad, Oh my God!”

I watched in horror as his body was dragged through the steel mouth of the cash-dispenser. It slammed down cutting his body in half, causing the body below the waist to lay on the floor as the intestines began to form into cartoon characters, the scene now darkly black and white (Saith for the blood around the mouth of the cash dispenser) like something out of Gary Larson, I screamed and turned to see the black pause square of the dark alley that now showed itself flowing blood as if out of its mouth, coming forward eating everything in its path, “The cash dispenser opening and closing its mouth, spewing blood as blue lights reflected from the window and there came a pounding on the door.

“NYPD, This is Lieutenant Hollinger stated a man in his fifties, Sir we’ve had a complaint from one of your neighbours-“

“The bastard hit me_”

“Yeah I’m dealing with it Sir”

I could hear all the neighbours outside and Alexandrer telling the guy, it was his fucking music and how this would never have happened if he’d turned it down;

“Sir, Can you hear me?” “This is Lieutenant Hollinger; I just need to talk Sir!”

I ignored this, The City was alive and all I had was my memories; thoughts of how things were back in The Fifties, the old cartoons that represented peace and security destroyed, I knew now as the darkness of the alley began to cover all as if erasing a snack, that my only option was to look into the mirror where the rainbow shone and my Parents and Abigail were waving from the porch. The cherry tree was in full blossom, the cartoon animals and tiny birds were calling me to enter, Outside the noises were beginning to return, I hadn’t much time, “I lunged forward against the mirror on the dresser” Glass shattered cutting into my hands as I heard the door begin to give way;

“Cherries, bright red cherries all over me” “Mummy Daddy I feel giddy” “There’s so many bright red cherries.” “And now I see white, only white, yet I know you and Daddy are there and perhaps Abigail?” “I have no need to snack!” “I will soon be home with those who love me and I love also;

THE END