Clarkson Street
The Trouble With Apartment One — Chapter 21
One of my favorite Manhattan streets makes an appearance in this week’s chapter.
The Battery — 1995 ? — B. F. Späth.
CLARKSON STREET
Amidst an unsteady day of gathering disaffection, while despairing over the grievous insult of Apartment One, I yielded to the restless maritime pull of the Battery…
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Under the imperative of a treacherous vertical sun, I tear the mountain bike down from the wall and plunge into the Manhattan traffic.
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It is when I pass over into Clarkson Street, with its cobblestones and deserted loading docks, that I consult a certain oracular plant…
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At length, upon reaching the edge of the city, I enter the shadowy tunnel on Houston Street, and as my eyes adjust to the enshrouding gloom, it strikes me as a reasonable facsimile of the underworld—and the natural domain of the pigeon.
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As I emerge from these abysmal regions, the blinding kaleidoscope of the harbor suddenly explodes before me.
I have broken the concrete grip of the city! I said, as I stand paralyzed before the convulsive shock of the waterfront. I turn left on the Greenway, and let the Hudson carry me down to the lower reaches of the island—and the drunken pleasures of Battery Park.
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Forgotten by the city, the Battery languished in a state of exquisite dereliction—a slumbering ruin—where all manner of moribund secrets lingered in the shadowy alcoves of the park.
Neglect announced itself from every unattended corner as I wound along the listless winding passways.
Long-forgotten markers fell back in resignation, and desiccated fountains stood rooted in despair.
Abandoned flower beds ran wild and unrestrained while the harbor waters churned and boiled in endless agitation.
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But now the Battery began to germinate and flower, even while I slept.
I sought escape in esoteric customs.
I offered salutations to the sun.
At night I talked to Verrazzano while I watched the lamps come on.
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As my expeditions to the Battery grew more frequent and fell into a cadence, there dawned on me a revelation: that I had been—all unknowingly—performing a series of half-forgotten rites:
A flagellation of the body by way of iron, the sacrament of Aromatic Cane, a pilgrimage to the southernmost tip of the island—beneath the eye of the sun itself!
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The Divine Word always finds its first followers among the wretched, I proclaimed, as I patrolled the floorboards of the tenement—while my trips to the Battery became a daily undertaking…
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I attacked the weights with a ferocity bordering on madness—I erased the line between man and beast!
I put the torch to my blood with the aid of a mystical plant, and offered myself up on the promenade—beneath an antediluvian sun.
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Under the shade of The Holy Bhang Leaf, I walked the Battery as
explorer, sage, and martyr.
Great Neptune has arrived! I announced, to everyone and no one.
Is he among the prophets? someone whispered, as they watched me glide along the promenade like some wandering mystic seer.
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However, there were others who saw on me the evil shade of Saturn:
They took me for a skulking, heavy-lidded layabout—a man of filthy habits and disaffected stares.
The sorrows of the underworld have overtaken him! someone said.
And sadly, I agree with this assessment—I am but The Shadow of Disgrace!
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Yet these visionary states unravel with the night…
I hang my head in dissipation as I pedal home each evening.
I wear the dying sun upon my face.
Apartment One lies waiting, I lament. The air is thick with spirits and it’s under observation…
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But an amnesiac sun ascends in the morning and pulls me back to A Prehistoric Park:
I look sideways at the seagulls.
I watch the tourist boats unload.
I stroll along the promenade while decent people toil.
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I puzzle over cryptograms.
I write impassioned Letters to Marina.
I ignore the Hudson River and consort with marihuana daily!
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I don’t say that all of this is true. I don’t say that any of it’s true.
I merely say that I saw the words inscribed on the quarrelsome pages of that impious book—the forgery that calls itself The Trouble With Apartment One.
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Goodnight!