42nd St subway - w dirty woosh a' comin down the track
Rebels are we...born to be free...Your money or your life? I am thinking....
After checking the bags, we went to see Rob first in the 50s, stopping along the way for raspberry fritzers, record shopping, ice lattes, newspapers, commentary. A war in Lebanon had started, and it was somehow palpable here. In the drone of the subway. Certainly in the headlines. That there and the sad fate of matron Brooks Astor now dowager doyen down on luck at 105. Perfect for Daily News. The Post was hard to find.
Rob has moved uptown, and things have apparently recovered from the depression of 9/11. We talked about the old days for Jake’s elucidation. The Black Panther posters of Madison 1971. An unharmed people are subject to subjugation at any time. Profit is not a bad thing, Rob the Prophet intoned. I agree. When 9/11 struck, not far really from his 16th st lights and wind machines shop, everything stopped. The big fashion season started on 9/11 [check out that days NYT front page] and that came to halt too. Rob gave over his trucks to the work of helping the work at Ground Zero. All of course a great tale in his hands. He is mix of farmland wisdom and big city chutzpah.
Rob is not an artist, but has become a work of art. The guns we posed with [my idea, they were laying there] are paint ball guns – so no humans were hectored during the making of this picture.
I never actually got the hang of the crosstown subway before. But with age and heat, and the notion of ‘learning the subway’ on tap, we managed to trek up and cross town several times via subway. Which for two people [at $2 per] is not way cheaper than a cab. Insect life, Koyannsquatsi. On 30th near Lexington, had to wait to get our room, but we sat in the lobby [no bigger than my living room], cause it was so damn hot outside. Long as there is Mountain Dew.