She had wanted nothing more than to live here. Now, chewed up wads of pink, yellow, and white gum stuck to the walls provided a mountainous landscape for roaches that had taken up residence in all the cracks they could find along the forgotten, once white walls. No one noticed.
Introduction by Jonathan Freedman from our Spring 2017 issue.
In pursuit of that rough and ready insight, I’ve been listening to the right of wrong and to the wrong of right in Brooklyn music for a couple of years. Here follows a smidgeon of the music in Brooklyn and a little of the Brooklyn in music, overheard.
Polio, Ebola, and fresh new diseases in desiccated Eden,
the neighborhood a locus of explosions, our nation
now the nation of murderous event, unlicensed carrying
on on on.
What little I understood was that the overseers of Library Island—our captors uttered so few words to us—were trying to tear you away from the Outer World. Every bit of you, the seen and the unseen you.