A hissing mauseleum 9 Eastttt 71ssst Streetttt, is, wedged between the UN, Central Park, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, with its collections of ancient Egyptian artefacts, trinkets and fetishes.
Though its sounds silenced, East River, ripping tides and currents against each other, tugs at the mauseleum, tearing its head off, watching the blood spurt and squirt, a fountain, a bird blood bath, wedged between Broadway, Harlem, and on another level, the beat of aboriginal tom-tom, Thomas Jefferson, Mannahattas Philadelphia Virginia.
Why do we call the aboriginal percussion instrument a “tom-tom”? Did the aboriginals call it that? Which of the aboriginals, then? There’s no way “tom-tom” was cross-cultural reference twixt Algonquin and Sioux. Apache, to name but a few.
Spam of Human Affection 
Leave a comment