Taxi!

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

I was 3. There was my older sister Sue, and she went inside. I was alone on our driveway in Dons Terrace, New Milford.


(OK, the New York thing is a fake. But I was born in Queens, damnit.)


Sue left behind her dolly’s baby carriage. It was well built, on much bigger wheels than our overprotective litigious society permits now. It was 1967, when doll carriages were unafraid of their capacity for movement. This thing could ROLL. And there I was.

Our driveway was on top of a long, long hill, and it was a straight shot down, paved.
I knew for a fact that I was too young to be blamed for much. The idea was as solid as a rock in the air. I walked right over to that doll carriage, didn’t even need to aim it, it was pointed right. I reached as high, high, high as I could, up on tippytoes up, up to that white plastic-wrapped bar, and PUSHED.

It rolled and rolled and rolled and rolled. Because I had pushed it.

Thus was born an agent of mischief and laughter.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

One time I was five years old, on my bed. Life had just been revealed to me as less certain than I had previously deemed. Mom had described hell to me. I was crying in the bed. Somehow, though I'd always thought of myself as at least roughly a good person, I just knew I was going straight to hell, as soon as I died.

Mom heard me, and came, and comforted me, assuring me that as long as I followed the ten commmandments, I was a shoe-in for heaven. I acted comforted, dried the old eyes, and she left the room. I couldn't slice through my misgivings, though. I knew I was gonna mess it up, or there would be some screw up in accounting later, and besides, could I really never lie, for my whole life? (Confession hadn't been covered.) It was already too late! I was going to hell.

This was my first major theoretical puzzle, and I'd be lying if I said I enjoyed it. I distrusted the bible writers, and the people who would be in charge of deeming me fit or unfit in the end. I disliked the people who were more naturally disposed to good behavior than me, including my older sisters Susan and Donna.

After about an hour of mental writhing, the only out I could find was disbelief. I was either doomed to an eternity of fire and hot coals, or they were mistaken.

Thus the quiet comfort of religion blanketed other souls, leaving me out in the cold. I'm still kinda hoping they're mistaken.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Last Spring, on a Monday morning, I went into the “Wandering Moose”, and had a cup of coffee. I had just dropped my daughter Samantha off at her final day of school. Getting out of the truck, she said “I’m too old for this.” She was one day away from absolutely right. I sat in the corner booth overlooking the river, and remembered a time two weeks ago, or was it a couple of months, when I had sat at the same table, drinking coffee, having just put Samantha on the bus for her first day of kindergarten. Back then, I had been puzzled, because I had to learn to let go. Monday morning, I was puzzled, because now, I had to learn to let go. I decided a brownie was needed. It was bittersweet. Then the moment clicked by. Click.

There was a moment in late Winter when everything, everything was all right. There was nothing wrong. It began when I got a call from Shelley, at the Magic Agency, in New York. Shelley is too busy to say her full name, or the whole word “available”.

“Karl, it's Shell, are you avail, June 6, for a playoffs game at the Meadows?” I’m surprised she has time to pronounce the “arl” in my name. I am “free”. I take the job juggling for people as they walk from their tailgate parties into the arena. I agree to dress in appropriate NJ Nets colors, blue was one, and to show up at 6 pm.

In the eighties, I used to paint houses, freelance. For a break, I would take a nice drive around to relax. My minset has changed. After putting 120,000 miles on my truck every 2 years for close to two decades, I now never, never take a nice drive around to relax. On my good days, the truck is a meditation chamber. I bless other drivers, breathe deeply. I even have 2 CDs of chanting. On bad days, It’s my rolling prison, my crime, the incessant need for cash. And it isn’t so bad its not so so bad just don’t stop don’t stop do not for one second stop making that cash.
So I don’t. I cruise control hoosegow my way to the Meadowlands, and the newly renamed “Continental Arena”. Corporations will be buying the names of our moods next.
“I’m feeling kinda Benjamin Moore today”
“Really? I’m all Nike!”

I show security my credentials. Knowing myself, and thus subscribing to the adage that all men are pigs, I attempt to build rapport by tossing out a favorable comment on the appearance of the blonde in the convertible who went ahead of me. The guy tells me she’s a jerk, and adds to that that he understands why so many men are gay. Even more rapport than I’d been cultivating, there.

I’m checked through, and speed it up, avoiding potential rapport escalation. I shlep my clubs and unicycle to the gig. Will Shaw is there, and Lisa Louis. We are here to pick up large paychecks by making people go “huh” as they head toward the real event. Together, we could be called the “Surplus to Requirements Circus”. Each one of us has been in this game for well over 15 years. We are no longer insulted by “atmosphere” jobs. We are hoping the flow of money continues. Our skins have grown as thick as the first wave of laptop computers.

So I’m all calm. I’ve studied how to slow down and focus, learning eastern ways through the western discipline of eating sushi. I’ve been cultivating awareness that’s my new thing my new 3000 year old thing. Vonnegut once said, in “Timequake”, that “scientists, when studying the cosmos, must factor in not only space, matter, and time, but something very new and different, which is human awareness”. Awareness. Anthony Demello said "the guru said awareness, awareness. The disciple asked “would you elaborate on that?” and the guru said awareness, awareness, awareness". I looked in on the pre game practice and I watched closely, assuming I would see something worth seeing, choosing to participate fully as observer.

Then it happened. All these guys are shooting practice shots and in this moment, there are seven balls in the air at once. They’ve got to collide there must be trouble but no. Each ball is perfectly aimed and every throw just offset enough that all seven, in rapid succession, go through the hoop nothing but net one after the next
Fafafaffafafaffafafafafafafafafaaaaaaaaaa.

I was there and for what it's worth I was stone cold aware for it when it happened I really saw I was aware I saw this it really happened I don’t care if you don’t believe it I don’t care if you believe it and you’re not impressed it was so; unlikely, it was one of those moments where everything everything, all the tedium of childhood, and being bossed around, all the time and tears, the motor vehicle lines, the teachers dressed as homeless people, all the pathetic swimsuit clad children fruitlessly waving motorists into fundraising carwashes, the divorces and failed schemes the wasted trips endless fucking dishes ceaseless corrections of spots you missed shaving unflagging lines and lines of small physical projects that require your attention everything everything had been all leading up to just this one moment that would have been ok that is what it was it was that.
Culmination occurred. Then, other, inconsequential, unpumiced moments happened. Click.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Last Spring, on a Monday morning, I went into the “Wandering Moose”, and had a cup of coffee. I had just dropped my daughter Samantha off at her final day of school. Getting out of the truck, she said “I’m too old for this.” She was one day away from absolutely right. I sat in the corner booth overlooking the river, and remembered a time two weeks ago, or was it a couple of months, when I had sat at the same table, drinking coffee, having just put Samantha on the bus for her first day of kindergarten. Back then, I had been puzzled, because I had to learn to let go. Monday morning, I was puzzled, because now, I had to learn to let go. I decided a brownie was needed. It was bittersweet. Then the moment clicked by. Click.

There was a moment in late Winter when everything, everything was all right. There was nothing wrong. It began when I got a call from Shelley, at the Magic Agency, in New York. Shelley is too busy to say her full name, or the whole word “available”.

“Karl, it's Shell, are you avail, June 6, for a playoffs game at the Meadows?” I’m surprised she has time to pronounce the “arl” in my name. I am “free”. I take the job juggling for people as they walk from their tailgate parties into the arena. I agree to dress in appropriate NJ Nets colors, blue was one, and to show up at 6 pm.

In the eighties, I used to paint houses, freelance. For a break, I would take a nice drive around to relax. My minset has changed. After putting 120,000 miles on my truck every 2 years for close to two decades, I now never, never take a nice drive around to relax. On my good days, the truck is a meditation chamber. I bless other drivers, breathe deeply. I even have 2 CDs of chanting. On bad days, It’s my rolling prison, my crime, the incessant need for cash. And it isn’t so bad its not so so bad just don’t stop don’t stop do not for one second stop making that cash.
So I don’t. I cruise control hoosegow my way to the Meadowlands, and the newly renamed “Continental Arena”. Corporations will be buying the names of our moods next.
“I’m feeling kinda Benjamin Moore today”
“Really? I’m all Nike!”

I show security my credentials. Knowing myself, and thus subscribing to the adage that all men are pigs, I attempt to build rapport by tossing out a favorable comment on the appearance of the blonde in the convertible who went ahead of me. The guy tells me she’s a jerk, and adds to that that he understands why so many men are gay. Even more rapport than I’d been cultivating, there.

I’m checked through, and speed it up, avoiding potential rapport escalation. I shlep my clubs and unicycle to the gig. Will Shaw is there, and Lisa Louis. We are here to pick up large paychecks by making people go “huh” as they head toward the real event. Together, we could be called the “Surplus to Requirements Circus”. Each one of us has been in this game for well over 15 years. We are no longer insulted by “atmosphere” jobs. We are hoping the flow of money continues. Our skins have grown as thick as the first wave of laptop computers.

So I’m all calm. I’ve studied how to slow down and focus, learning eastern ways through the western discipline of eating sushi. I’ve been cultivating awareness that’s my new thing my new 3000 year old thing. Vonnegut once said, in “Timequake”, that “scientists, when studying the cosmos, must factor in not only space, matter, and time, but something very new and different, which is human awareness”. Awareness. Anthony Demello said "the guru said awareness, awareness. The disciple asked “would you elaborate on that?” and the guru said awareness, awareness, awareness". I looked in on the pre game practice and I watched closely, assuming I would see something worth seeing, choosing to participate fully as observer.

Then it happened. All these guys are shooting practice shots and in this moment, there are seven balls in the air at once. They’ve got to collide there must be trouble but no. Each ball is perfectly aimed and every throw just offset enough that all seven, in rapid succession, go through the hoop nothing but net one after the next
Fafafaffafafaffafafafafafafafafaaaaaaaaaa.

I was there and for what it's worth I was stone cold aware for it when it happened I really saw I was aware I saw this it really happened I don’t care if you don’t believe it I don’t care if you believe it and you’re not impressed it was so; unlikely, it was one of those moments where everything everything, all the tedium of childhood, and being bossed around, all the time and tears, the motor vehicle lines, the teachers dressed as homeless people, all the pathetic swimsuit clad children fruitlessly waving motorists into fundraising carwashes, the divorces and failed schemes the wasted trips endless fucking dishes ceaseless corrections of spots you missed shaving unflagging lines and lines of small physical projects that require your attention everything everything had been all leading up to just this one moment that would have been ok that is what it was it was that.
Culmination occurred. Then, other, inconsequential, unpumiced moments happened. Click.

[worldwidese]

Karl is multifaceted!

Perhaps a little off thread but don't know where else to drop this post.
Just viewed your stone art and am most impressed! How do you feel about ephemeral performance Art as compared to more permanent visual Art?

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Thanks for the compliment. I still feel great about live performance, and had some great shows this past weekend. The two most interesting side benefits of my focus on sculpture these past years are a new ability to notice interesting visual moments around me, and an unextpected improvement in the act. I think that caring less about the outcome of a given show has enabled me to "be with" the show more, somehow.