Amerika. Cold, brilliant skies. The iron trees of New York.<\/p>\n
Hi, there.<\/p>\n
There are things I forget. Things I remember. Things I make up. I can no longer say the difference. So I must tell you everything.<\/p>\n
The phone rings and rings. I am alone again. Let the machine get it. I no longer know what to say to people. Is that why you read? In each sentence there is always the possibility of enlightenment.<\/p>\n
The Chinese and Japanese poets understand this.<\/p>\n
I am not a poet.<\/p>\n
I teach spoken English to the daughters of communism in Prague. It is not a bad gig. Czech girls are the prettiest on the planet. I don\u2019t know why. There is no why.<\/p>\n
My name is Zig.<\/p>\n
I am in New York to recharge my batteries. This is where I am from. This is who I am.<\/p>\n
I sublet a flat in Astoria, Queens. I can see the Triboro bridge from my window. I type these words on paper scrolled into an Olivetti typewriter.<\/p>\n
Amerika is funny. Ha ha ha.<\/p>\n
I am here to experiment. The language is so plastic. The people of New York are such talkers. What if I write a two-act play called The Coffee Drinker<\/em>? Act One<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Zig: Yep. That\u2019s all it takes.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Act Two<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Zig walks into a supermarket. He places a half-gallon of organic whole milk into a red plastic basket. He also gets a package of sliced turkey and a loaf of whole wheat bread. He pays for it at a self-checkout machine. He gets $25 cash back.<\/em><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n Zig enters his apartment. He makes a sandwich. He drinks a coffee. <\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Zig stares at the Triboro bridge.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Zig: I am lonely.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Curtain<\/em>.<\/p>\n \/\/\/<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nope. Bad idea. Forget it. I can\u2019t think of any American or Czech actors who could really play Zig. I\u2019d have to play myself. And that is no fun.<\/p>\n Now what?<\/p>\n The Slovak girl at the bodega should be in a digital movie.<\/p>\n I am afraid to ask.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Amerika rings and rings. Am I right, friend?<\/p>\n Electric wires strung from pole to pole.<\/p>\n I am of two minds.<\/p>\n No. I take it back. I am of ten thousand minds. Eighty-four thousand delusions.<\/p>\n We are plastic and electric. We are synapses and wires. We are vertical smiles and upsidedown frowns. Text messages make us sad.<\/p>\n The secret policewoman can\u2019t keep a secret: \u201cRemember Prague?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRemember the color of my underpants?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure. FD&C Blue #1.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd my eyes?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGreen.\u201d<\/p>\n A strange thought spiders through Zig\u2019s brain: Hey, listen, girlpal, are you liking the Amerika?<\/em> Prepare for the unpredictable. Anything can happen.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Are you waiting for the big asteroid?<\/p>\n I am.<\/p>\n Look up at the stars. The odds are pretty good.<\/p>\n You better go fuck your ex-girlfriend.<\/p>\n You are<\/p>\n \u2026a machinist of the mind. If you are anything. Thoughts are precise. Cut and milled. Spun on the lathe. Ten thousand rotations per second.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I am a defector.<\/p>\n I left. I fled. I disappeared. It was the most interesting thing I could do.<\/p>\n I erase the past. I forget the future.<\/p>\n Americans call me Zig.<\/p>\n Defectors are people who get deflected from their natural trajectory.<\/p>\n I hide my defect.<\/p>\n Well, friend, I lost my plot. You too? You don\u2019t say. Must be happening to everybody in Amerika. Or at least people like us.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Stir the goulash of the moment.<\/p>\n Her name is Sarka.<\/p>\n We make love according to the laws of thermodynamics. Our bodies shift to get a little more purchase, a fraction more pleasure.<\/p>\n She looks at me looking at her look at me.<\/p>\n We turn each other, inside out.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The human brain is a particle accelerator. Thoughts collide. I think I better leave the apartment. I think I better go to the bodega.<\/p>\n If I go back to Prague I will probably die.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Look at the gray block skyline of Manhattan, which in Lenape means \u201cthe land of many hills.\u201d The English language is not plastic enough for the American mind.<\/p>\n But what do I know.<\/p>\n I am a friggin’ lunatic.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Let\u2019s try a simpler format.<\/p>\n Less work, more eye.<\/p>\n Sarka and I take off our jeans and become one flesh.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The East Village is gray. Everyday thoughts are blue cigarette smoke. I can\u2019t beat these guys at chess in Tompkins Square Park. My ex-girlfriend says I wear my jeans too tight. She says people say I got a great ass.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n My ex-girlfriend says a super nova is a giant orgasm in the cosmos.<\/p>\n You asked me to come up your room.<\/p>\n I said I have a girlfriend.<\/p>\n You said I guess so.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We made love in the Anglo-Saxon style.<\/p>\n We made love in plain language. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh. Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n What is a Republic?<\/p>\n Before the President sends you to Pankrac prison. Before the priest takes away your pencil and paper.<\/p>\n Well, here it is\u2026my heart is a sprocket in the kingdom of machines.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n There are no jobs in Amerika.<\/p>\n I looked.<\/p>\n It\u2019s a good thing I teach spoken English in Prague.<\/p>\n The Americans are working towards a new Prague language (i.e. \u201cidiolekt\u201d).<\/p>\n Amerika is imperfekt.<\/p>\n Amerika is awesome!<\/p>\n I want to make an independent film called The Vampires of Prague<\/em>. Rated PG-13 or NC-17.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n What do you think?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013\u2013<\/p>\n R.G. Vasicek<\/strong> lives in Amerika.<\/span> Amerika. Cold, brilliant skies. The iron trees of New York. Hi, there. There are things I forget. Things I remember. Things I make up. I can no longer say the difference. So I must tell you everything. The phone rings and rings. I am alone again. Let the machine get it. I no longer know […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,3,2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4963","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","category-fiction","category-things"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4963","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4963"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4963\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4963"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4963"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4963"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n <\/p>\n
\nZig sips coffee from a paper cup under the railroad trestle in Astoria, Queens.<\/em>
\n
\nStranger: One cup of coffee. One fucking coffee.<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"