Wharf, oh Wharf – why hast thou forsaken me?
We once were pals – I remember those times fondly – down at pier 41, the summer of ’05… there were times I had to force myself to stay away from you, and every day on the train towards you was met with anticipation for the beauty that day would bring.
You’ve changed. Of course, I have as well, but I think for the better – unlike you. You have started hanging around with unappreciative oafs, people who stand and stare for minutes on end and then saunter away as if I was simply there for their amusement. Idiotic fucks who push me from behind, or throw an empty pack of matches into my box. I swear, I have never accumulated so many pennies so quickly.
I keep looking for the answers to this in me – am I not giving enough to you? Am I not still enough, quiet enough? You know, don’t you, that it is a two way street. I work hard at having the right energy, of radiating love and beauty – but it has gotten more difficult. Incredibly difficult.
Of course, there are those times that you remind me of what it’s all about – the 80ish year old woman, dressed in black on black elegance, who stood in fromt of me and whispered “You are the best one here! Beautiful”! and, of course, the children – all of the children – but what’s with their parents these days?
“Is he real, Tommy? You think he’s real or a statue? Go touch him!” TOUCH??? No, ubercheaptouristingratefuckhead – TIP.
The moments of beauty are there, and I savor them. Either a sincere and beautiful smile, a lovely compliment or the infrequent five dollar bill which tells me that what I gave was worth more than the obligatory buck – I roll these moments around on my hearts tongue tasting every last drop, every succulent atom of them, preserving them as long as possible. Those moments are why I do this. Why I still do it, and always will. These moments are the ones that enable me to get out there when it’s the last thing I want to do sometimes, but these days, it’s more out of desperation to pay back debts I owe in a timely manner than anything else. I try however to put those thoughts behind me when I step up on my box and focus on the people and what I want to give to them. We all know the strange sense of desperation and how it repells. Go to any bar…
Still, oh Wharf, I will change for you. Try something new. At the reccomendation of a friend down there, Kenny da Klown, I have downloaded some David Bowie (for some reason my external hard drive – where just about *all* of my music is, isn’t being recognized by my computer anymore…) and for you, I will temporarily the beautiful Bach Cello suites and selections from Cirque du Soleil for a more upbeat type of music – and Kenny says I should definitely do Bowie. Okay, Easy enough.
Perhaps we might find a compromise – I’ll change the music I play to something that has words and doesn’t confuse and scare away tourists with it’s unfimiliar beauty, andin turn, you fill up my tip box with more than the completely absurd and pitifully low amounts of tips I’ve been getting.
Oh – and by the way, Wharfy-wharf – in the slim times this week, I’ve been thinking about trying to put together a fire performance – but that takes gab, so I really need to work on that, and I will – and if you *don’t* start filling up my tip box the way it should be, then I swear, I’m going to set yours, and all of those idiotic, ungrateful, inbred people that you have invited down – I’m going to set all your asses on fire.
Do we have a deal? Good.
It starts tomorrow, first thing. I want to have to take money out of my box like I used to do because it was getting too full.
Nice doin’ business with you.
And no more fucking pennies, unless they come with a whole pocketfull of change.