In anticipation of the release of Indignation, the 29th book by Newark’s notorious son, Esquire has offered to its readers a ‘crash course’ guide to prepare readers for what I’ve seen with my own eyes is a standard, even whispy plot predictably taken from Roth’s biography.
Such Manhattanite pandering is only surpassed when Woody Allen releases a new film.
Special thanks goes to Charles Bukowski for inspiring this gem of wisdom. He once presented a signed a book of poems to Larry Mullen Jr (U2’s percussionist), wherein the poet inscribed the followng maxim: “Humanity at its greatest is a failure.”
While living in San Francisco in the late ’90s I first browsed Lloyd Dangle’s Troubletown in one of the free Bay Area weeklies. His cartoons strike the viewer’s eye with their amateur-quality (even for political cartoon standards) illustrations, sinister facial expressions and squalor-tinged settings.
Depicting whichever political scandal or celebrity idiocy of the day, Troubletown simply followed a public figure’s rhetoric to its most demented and self-serving conclusion. There’s something appealing about the crudely drawn figures that lends a deviant quality to the makers of media mayhem. You’ll often find them sketched with a diabolical brow and knowing sneer; dark rings under the eyes of those tirelessly at work on sordid schemes.
Take a look at his response to the enormous financial debt the United States owes to China. It’s a stark yet clever reminder of the lender-saturated advertising one most likely will endure while watching television or listening to the radio.
The 50th anniversary edition of William Burroughs’ Junky includes, among other treats, a glossary defining some of the terminology used by the addicts, pushers and various other unsavory characters trafficking the underworld of post-war New York, New Orleans and Mexico City. Very appropriately the glossary introduction acknowledges the influence of ‘jive talk’–a language that defined the community of marijuana users (and I would guess jazz musicians who overlapped with potheads)–and ultimately merging with those considered ’hip’ (see glossary below).
To quote the introduction more directly, “Jive talk always refers to more than one level of fact”–to which I would add that this dialect of American English inscribed a code for the essential business of scoring the next fix, as well as illustrating much of the associated activities and consequences of getting high.
are you anywhere? (Do you have any junk or weed on you?) That this question should ring philosophical, even existential, cuts to the heart of the user’s raison d’être. I would imagine an outsider’s possible response to such a question–”Are you high?”–proportionally ironic.
burn down (To overdue or run into the ground.) The glossary cites a scenario when junkies gathering too frequently at a particular eating establishment to score, that law enforcement eventually gets wise to it. The restaurant in question is then considered “burned down.”
croaker (A doctor.) As described in Junky’s text, one willing to prescribe a junky his fix. Burroughs elaborates on the type of physician a user will seek out.
Generally speaking, old doctors are more apt to write than young ones. Refugee doctors were a good field for a while, but the addicts burned them down. Often a doctor will blow his top at the mere mention of narcotics and threaten to call the law.
Doctors are so exclusively nurtured on exaggerated ideas of their position, that generally speaking, a factual approach is the worst possible. Even though they do not believe your story, nonetheless they want to hear one. It is like some Oriental face-saving ritual (pp. 17-18).
hep or hip (Someone who knows the score. Someone who understands ‘jive talk’; someone who is ‘with it.’) I believe any thoughtful observer of popular culture will acknowledge how this term has become orphaned from its origins and yet signifies the past fondly.
lush-worker(A thief who specializes in robbing drunks on the subway.) An economist accounting for the cash flow operating in the drug trafficking system in Manhattan (circa 1950) would have to account for the capital generated by preying on the intoxicated upwardly mobile.
poke (A wallet.) The pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow for your vigilant and industrious lush-worker. An example among several others when a specific action–poking around someone’s pockets–becomes a noun.
pop corn (Someone with a legitimate job, as opposed to a hustler or a lush-worker.) I suspect there’s a glint of insult in this term for someone with one foot in the “square” world and the other among the “hip.”
smash (Change, money, coins.) Another example of an action–in this case the destruction of coin-operated machines, to raise money for a fix–transformed by usage into a noun.
Often the terminology of a marginal community I have found equally amusing and intriguing. The amusement is self evident. The intrigue I owe to the mystery of appropriating accepted usage for a purpose quite far removed; to effect the function of concealing and revealing at the exact same moment; always referring “to more than one level of fact.”
Recently I read this nonfiction piece by Frank Tempone called “Born Again”, featured in the literary magazine Upstreet. (Spoiler to the evangelical crowd: it’s got nothing to do with any come-to-Jesus moment.) I recommend this piece for depicting the harrowing pity a son might experience when first acknowledging his father’s vulnerability, especially that of an authoritarian patriarch; overall, an enjoyable and pathos-inducing story.