El Loco Locomotive de La Ciudad de Nueva York

Art Form: Writing
Genre/Type: Novel

<---Welcome to his humble abode. So, since I've emigrated to Chapel Hill from Brooklyn for college, I've kind of lost my 'New York City intuition' and I realized that getting back on the train when I got back home. What's funny to me is that you could never really appreciate the breadth of New York City Transit unless you're new to it or have been away from it for a long time. I think the customs of the train system in New York City need some recognition. So I'm dedicating this blog/journal entry to NYC Trains. Before I go on with my spiel, I want to prelude my thoughts with a piece of writing by Ralph Ellison. Right now, albeit in spurts because of other obligations, I've been reading Invisible Man, arguably Ellison's most extolled and celebrated piece of writing. I'm not done with it yet, but so far, I can really say that I appreciate this man's prose. He writes extremely well and I've immersed myself in the story when I've felt like doing so and found time to do so. Here's an excerpt from the novel that pays homage to New York City transit. The pictures in-between the text for the length of the blog entry provide a nexus with Ellison's words, my thoughts and what it may, or does, actually look like.

"...And while I got down my bags, and my prize brief case, still as shiny as the night of the battle royal, he instructed me how to take the subway, then I struggled through the crowd.


Moving into the subway I was pushed along by the milling salt-and-pepper mob, seized in the back by a burly, blue-uniformed attendant about the size of the Supercargo, and crammed, bags and all, into a train that was so crowded that everyone seemed to stand with his head back and his eyes bulging, like chickens frozen at the sound of danger. Then the door banged behind me and I was crushed against a huge woman in black who shook her head and smiled while I stared with horror at a large mole that arouse out of the oily whiteness of her skin like a black mountain sweeping out of a rainwet plain. And all the while I could feel the rubbery softness of her flesh against the length of my body. I could neither turn sideways, nor back away, not set down my bags. I was trapped, so close that simply by nodding my head, I might have brushed her lips with mine.


I wanted desperately to raise my hands to show her that it was against my will. I kept expecting her to scream, until finally the car lurched and I was able to free my left arm. I closed my eyes, holding desperately to my lapel. The car roared and swayed, pressing me hard against her, but when I took a furtive glance around no one was paying me the slightest attention. And even she seemed lost in her own thoughts. The train seemed to plunge downhill now, only to lunge to a stop that shot me out upon a platform feeling like something regurgitated from the belly of a frantic whale. Wrestling with my bags, I swept along with the crowd, up the stairs into the hot street. I didn't care where I was, I would walk the rest of the way."

That particular abstract only alludes to the infamous thronging that takes place on New York City trains and in New York City train stations. Ellison wrote aptly though, because everything he wrote in that experience was (ironically because its a novel) non-fictitious. The subways are seriously crowded and it does get really annoying. I thought what Ellison wrote about the woman and how close he was to the mole on her face isn't too far removed from some of the experiences that I've had. I've been spat on, brushed, nudged, pushed...you name it. You just have to adapt and understand that because of the nature of the train system, people are going to cram. But being caged in by people who are easily compelled to become volatile can be the worst. Getting into a brief, or otherwise lengthy, argument about personal space on a NYC train can be entertaining, comical and really embarrassing.

The train system has other customs though. For example, I'll always remember teenagers who would come on the train with boxes of candy and introduce themselves monotonically by saying, "My name is Tyquan. And my name is Jarrel. And we're not selling candy for no basketball team. We're just trying to find a honest way to make money so we don't have to do it on the streets. Would anyone like to buy some candy? We only have m & m's and starbursts left...."
And I'd always laugh in my head as they sauntered through the train car looking longingly at everyone they passed with their dirty white t-shirts , ripped jeans and brand new Jordans and no one bought candy. Sad...



One of my favorite customs of the train system would have to be the break dancing. Its great when it's spontaneous. When it's not spontaneous, it means that you've seen the same two fools, one old fool with his little brother whose about 4 feet tall, perform the same tricks on the same train because they take the same route everyday. They are chafing. But it can be some good entertainment though. Their boomboxes are always hot. For them to use that little bit of space and do all those flips, hurdles, lunges, cartwheels, and dance moves to Missy Elliot's Lose Control in the middle of the train car is incredible. The dexterity that they have is comparable to Olympic contestants. But they'll never get that kind of recognition, we all know that.



But how about going into the train station and always finding a show, especially in the train epicenters like 42nd street Times Square and Broadway Junction on the A line in Brooklyn. There's always some kind of show that entail the performances by some of the most hustling-savvy geniuses you may ever meet in your life. These guys really know how to turn on a crowd. They are sly, shrewd, and talented. The guys know how to get women involved with clever comments and the women always grab the attention of male passer-by's with eye-popping moves. I'll never forget seeing the midget in Times Square who looked like Michael Jackson, emulated his every move, and made a ridiculous sum of money from 1 minute and 13 seconds into MJ's Thriller. Priceless. Like I said, these people know how to hustle and it is not wise to under-estimate their purview of economics, especially street economics.























One other custom that you'll find in the subway, is that people always go to the furthest part of the platform as possible and look into the tunnel to see if the train is coming.....every three minutes. What's funny about it is, does it matter when it's coming? It's not like by you gawking at the rat and graffiti-infested train tunnel is going to make the train come any faster. Even worse, when people can see the train coming in plain view, they still look deeply into the tunnel to see if its coming. I can't malign those folks though, I'm one of them. It's just part of the culture I guess. Another part of being inside the train car, is what I like to call the "pole competition". The pole competition is a sport where individual passengers compete to see who will get what hand spot on the pole positioned in designated areas in the train car. Certain advantages are determined by height and strength of arm pit smell. Dead serious. If you stink, people will move away from the pole and let you have it. Thus you win. Someone who is small in stature riding the train will always suffer adverse situations because there will always be someone who is about six feet tall hovering over you with their burly arm(s) sitting on top of your head while they're frantically holding onto the pole. It sucks, but that's just the way it is.



One of the more irritating experiences one can have on a NYC train is the "Stand clear of the closing doors" aspect. The time when it totally sucks can be one of two situations. Either the train doors are broken so they repeatedly open and close and you're left standing in front of them angrily because you want them to shut so the train can move because you have to use the bathroom really bad and the paunchy man behind you keeps pushing you further and further into the corner of the area. The other situation is standing in front of the doors and seeing people hastily running down from the nearby station steps to try and catch the train. And while you stand there hoping that those feverish bastards don't make it because you really want to get home after one of the most taxing days of your life, they do make it and the doors have to open and close once again. Or, they actually don't make it but they manage to catch the doors closing with their bare hands and are so persistent about getting on that train that they won't let go until the train conductor re-opens the doors. By this time, 15 minutes have gone by, and you're ready to karate chop everyone who just made it on the train.

A apologize for not having a picture to illustrate this scenario. I guess Google isn't that resourceful. I hope my writing effectively provided the scene.

If you're not a native New Yorker, or haven't been to New York before, I may have thoroughly discouraged you from using the subway system if and when you get here. But I implore you to not be apprehensive when it comes to NYC trains. Its an experience you have to have. Honestly, I didn't appreciate them until I came back on breaks from school. New Yorkers are kind of spoiled with that kind of culture and we do take it for granted. So if you haven't been to the NYC, you better come and take the train because I spent too much time moiling over this blog trying to attest to the train culture that is special here. I'll see you on the A line in Brooklyn. I'll be on Broadway Junction in front of the Filipino woman and her daughter with their big blanket sprawled out across the tiling with about 65 bootlegged DVD's and unpopular mixtapes that has no intrinsic value which they're selling.

Before my parting thoughts, I'd like to end this entry with one last photograph and a song that fits the theme of this entry by my main man Guru. Enjoy.






















Parting Thoughts:
The summer here is not as bad as its been in past years. But I shouldn't speak to soon, it's only July.

And since it's July, that means that my birthday is coming up in a few weeks. The theme of this blog is very timely because I'd like to announce my plans in the short future. I'm going to ask my parents to buy me a Super 8 Millimeter Camera for my birthday. If and when I get it, I'm going to embark on my first film endeavor. I plan on shooting a short documentary on four controversial topics: abortion, the death penalty, euthanasia, and surrogacy. I'll be shooting on different NYC trains throughout the city, candidly interviewing passengers who are willing to participate. I think it'll be extremely interesting and fun. There are always eccentric people on and in the subway and I'm excited about meeting different people with different ideas.

I find it funny that the women who go natural the most with their hair in this country, are white women. Is that technically, conscious for them? I guess that depends on if you believe that wearing your hair the way you were born with it is 'conscious'. I personally like some of the Europeans styles. Ain't nothin' wrong with a perm. Well, maybe there is, sometimes. And I still can't tell the difference between real hair and weave. People have told me its because my mom has long hair. Guess so.

I've been reflecting on my past dealings with women and I've realized certain things in an effort to clear up my search for a good person in the future. I was once with the over-indulged hip hop cultured girl which didn't go well with my maturation process. I've also dealt with puritanical women which I realized probably won't work out in the future because of my staunch heretical beliefs. I definitely have found myself gravitating to those who are grounded and have a subtle benignity about them because it brings me to a comfortable level of communication. Ehh, I could go on about this for days. I'm just anxious to meet a motivated and deeply layered debutante who will compel me to cease defining the word, 'love', as just a fancy noun.

Over and Out.

Oh yeah, Tajai what are we? Masterminds.