chapter 17
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oh, the yugo
,
it lookd like somebody took one of those
pinewood derby cars and made it bigenough for people to fit in. it started,
on the third try, and it never went faster than twenty because, D explaind,
yugi preferd not to shift past second.
—lastime i took yugi to the shop there were pieces of metal floatin in the
trannypan, c-fouls was like dam D, how long you been drivin it like this?
—al, if anyone besides D drove yugi, the transmision would disinnigrate.
—not just the tranny dude, the whole thing’d pull a remidios-the-beauty
and float right up to heavn.
they went on like that the whole ride, most of it i dont remember, but one thing i do recall was the way they talkd about athens. like it was a difrent country almost. for example, the conspiracy nut at the chevron wasnt a nut after all. athens was jamming 3-G signals. that was one of D’s job, aparently.
—sometimes you gota remind yourself who’s in charge⋞ andy ⋟
—it is possibl to say no⋞ D ⋟not that youd know it by the way
they run things [ flip ] over there.
—cap landia i think is the technical term⋞ andy ⋟
—altho you— [ she found me in the rearview ] probly know it as
‘the world’.
—what, are you not capitalist? ive seen people use money.
—we’re workin on that. we’re postcap.
—morelike CapLite™⋞ andy ⋟
—how can a town not be capitalist?⋞ me ⋟i mean, you have— products.
—good point a-l, we do have products⋞ D ⋟and we shall discuss this
further in the near future. but we dont wana put the cart aheada the
horse. lissen up now, pay atention.
D turnd up the radio, and out of the speakers came the voice of an old chinese man, or vietnamese. he spoke gently and deliberatly, it put me imediatly at ease.
breathing in
i know, that i am breathing in.
breathing out
i know, that i am breathing out.
—evrything starts with the breath⋞ D said ⋟when in doubt,
always comeback to it.
breathing in, i smile to evrything
even to my suffring.
breathing out i release. i let go
this is the practice of freedom.
—is this thich nhat hahn?⋞ i askt ⋟
—you know tick-not?⋞ they both said ⋟
—ive read some stuff.
—dont know why youd bother⋞ D ⋟readin ticknot’s
like sniffin a rembrant, its in his voice, lissen—
she was right. i dont know why i’m writin down the words, he could be reading off hockey scores and youd understand.
breathing in, i go back to the present moment.
breathing out, i know this is a wonderful moment.
the moment when i realize that i am alive .
Not suprizingly there was a pitstop, daily groceries, the co-op where andy was the manager. seems he’d left in such a hurry that he forgot to make the deposit.
Daily was at the bottom of odd street. i’d walkd past it twice already and hadnt noticed it. it had a sign tho, they pointed out, a mozaic done by this chick krysha who acordin to D was responsibl for half the shit that actialy got done in this town.
the mozaic was enthusiastic in the way of someone who’s
willing to forgo all irony. not entirely practical in terms of street vizability,
but a definat work of art—
It was well after midnight by
the time we made it
downtown, probly closer to one. there was plenty of
street parkin, but D eschewd it all infavor of the lot nexto the forty watt.
andy said—
—fortywatt lot!
—who the hell parks on the street?
—suckers do, D.
as soon as i stept outa the car, i pickdup on the energy. you could feel it in the air— somethins gona happen tonight.
andy saw some dude who use to be in his band, or who
he wanted to be in his band or somethin, and he loped off after him.
i dont like to run after people, so it lookd like i was stickin with D.
we didnt make it very far. infact we were walkin
in the wrong direction— towrd lowyoyo.
D puld out a record and flashd it in todds face—
—kriss-kross? is that realy what you want battin lead off
in your hiphop crate? notice i use the singular ‘crate’. hiphops not a joke dude,
even if it is funny. what happend to all that late nineties underground you
sposedly got in the warehouse?
—d,dyouknowhatitslike to own a hunnerd—
—i dont care how many
records ya got, your still a music racist. juslike evrybody else in this town.
—i hav all kinds a stuff by black people. i hav jazz, funk,
r & b, ssoul you never even heard of. not to mention african. i got evrything
miles davis ever putout.
—miles davis? is that the best you can do?
—he’s black. have you seen the c,covera tutu?
todd disapeerd behind the counter.
but he popd up empty handed.
—sorry, its the promo. d,difrent cover.
—i know he’s black dude. but black people
dont lissen to im.
—sure they do.
—maybe old peeple. but let a blackdude between
the age of fifteen and twennyfive walk in here—
has a black dude ever even been in here todd?
—the trumpetplayer for snowglobe was inhere lasnite.
—he barely counts. dude if rasco walkd in here youd
prolly call the cops.
—sounds like a muppet, what is he, rrrasco the grouch?
D turnd to me.
—todd’s afraid of the proletariat. its part of his capitalist denial.
—capitalist? whered you learn that, c,college?
—i dropt outa college.
—but you went.
right then a man walkd in [ it kinda suprized me, i’d forgoten we were
in a store where people could just walk in ] he lookd like grizzly adams if
he’d stopt by the bar on his way to the woods and never managed to leav.
his glasses were so thick i dont know how anybody could see thru em,
but he musta seen o-k, cause he was makin a beeline for me.
—dont bleev ive seen you round before, you new to town?
—i’m just here for the day.
—then welcome to athens, georgia, the classic city, seat of clarke county since the day it was created by an act of the georgia genral assembly december fifth, eighteen-oh-one, whatcha lookin at there?
he reachd infrontof me and pulld out a record at random.
—now that is a very fine record— opal oh-oh-one, danny motes, lonesome and done ya wrong. danny started that label himself y know, named it for his mama. he grew up just sixty miles westa here in the riverside section of atlanta along bolton road, which came into the city in the massiv annexation of nineteen-fifty-two, he went to high school at west fulton. now lonesome was supposed to be the a-side, but bob mckee of w-a-k-e radio [ before he moved to w-a-o-k ] playd the bejeezus out of it, both sides! danny was gettin mighty busy shovlin copies out of his trunk into record stores, includin capitol record mart on capitol ave and mayo radio shop on cascade. enter mac davis—whose mama still calls im scott—
then something happend rather quickly, tho it might take me a second to describe.
D walkd up to the man and started pushing him, not like she was tryin to start a fight, morelike she was basicly sweeping him out the door. it kinda reminded me of that scene in groundhog day, when phil pushes ned ryerson out of the way, a lot like that, actualy, cause the man took it in stride, sayin things like—
—woops, hey there, i dont bleev— wu-HOAH!
as soonas he was out the door, D lockd it.
—i cant handle ort right now, sorry. youll get plenty
more chances to talk to im, dont worry.
todd was bent over the recordplayer like a mad scientist. i heard the tell-tale crackling of vinyl, then dissonant electric guitar, and then a raspy-voiced guy started singing, sortof.
—trout mask replica?⋞ D ⋟todd if i wanted
mainstream i coulda gone to wuxtry.
—you couldnt handle beefheart that isnt mainstream.
—cuz its unlissenable. why waste time on shit thats
unlisnabl when theres so much greatshit out there?
—look whos talkin, miss brownfrown.
—have i ever bought a brownfrown record?
—do they even have a record?⋞ todd ⋟
—i told you, its not about the music its about the spectacl.
—n,now evrytime a drunkguy witha guitar vomits on the audience
we’re sposeta clap?
—lets blow this popsicle stand
D said,
and she left.
we left.
and made our way—
hove, as bloody old cormac would say—
tword the music and the peeple and the lights—
tword life.