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Welcome to
15footstick -- .:
Catalog :.
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Posted by: zblofu on Tuesday, June 18, 2013 - 02:18 AM EDT (3 Reads)
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Posted by: zblofu on Friday, June 03, 2005 - 01:24 AM EDT (5391 Reads)
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Sorry I am not gornic I am another administrator and I am just testing something. Sorry
 
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Posted by: gornick on Thursday, July 25, 2002 - 07:35 PM EDT (6454 Reads)
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-tickets, ya lookin’?
yeah..
-how many?
one.
-come with me.
so off we go to se anotha brotha down the block. This
one sportin’ a sixers hat.
-a single? 500 dollahs.
I got 60
he lets the slightest of grins loose…
-spend 90 and I’ll getcha a good seat.
All I got is 70.
-stay here.
off he goes while I check the scene. theres ‘bout 7
or 8 scalpers out there in the midst of penn station
traffic and some chick is commin’ up to every single
person goin’
-ya like comedy?
she even hits the scalpers, which I laugh about since
it seems so pointless to waste yer time promoting a
two-bit comedy club to two-bit ticket hustlers.
sixers hat comes back, I scan the ticket and see that
face value is 59, hand him 70 outta my front pockets,
no wallets on the streets boys, and walk off. on
closer inspection the ticketmaster charge is 8 bucks
which means I got a 67 dollar ticket on the street for
3 dollars more. YOU CAN’T hustle ME, I’M too HARD foh
New York.
(but still too soft for the world)
In we go to the depts of the greatest arena in da
world. a surreal circular monstrosity that takes a bit
of luck to navigate. my seat is little more than half
way up and you know they don’t look bad specially
after the knicks take the floor for shootaround and
the dimensions take effect. everything is perfect form
the playschool orange and blue floor to the bicycle
spoke ceiling and then the sixers come out and it’s
all that much more perfect. Heroes every one of them,
so much so that I’m seeing three times the Iverson
jerseys to anything knicks despite the free knicks
hats…And this is NEW YORK!!
there’s the little fuck himself shimming and scooting
his way casually around the basketball he almost moves
around IT or maybe IT is moving him but both are
appealing to watch and looking at it all, the boy is
street, straight-up, everything street, no fuckin’
round, so much so that Sprewell looks like an
unemployed Enron Exec in comparison. You see kids
move like this on playgrounds, but Iverson seems the
only representative here. the moment of silence for
the twin light beams downtown and the obligatory
anthem has him dancing back and forth while every
other soul in the joint is locked in silence. He
doesn’t stop till he gets his first shot off,
aCLANG….. it’s always a rugged start for these teams,
no-heart-houston is the first to go off hitting more
threes than ivy is jacking up, and suddenly the knicks
are up 15. but so what… there’s spectacular moments
here and there, some very physical play but the flow
is good and its all very enjoyable. the first half
ends with the same spread 60 to 45.
the second half opens and the knicks are quickly up
20, seemingly in control, Mutumbo is ejected (but who
cares I can’t watch that 15foot twig in the wind
anymore anyways. he ain’t doin’ nothin’) and just when
that might seem like time for the sixers to fall
apart….are YOU Kidding me??? Coleman goes off, and
then, Ivy and then snow and in two minutes it’s down
to ten, Ivy starts hitting all over, driving,
stealing, dunking, Snow shuts down Houston, coleman is
taking behind the back feeds, harpring is hustling and
rebounding and stealing and throwing knicks around and
the sixers are up before the end of the third. you
know the outcome, the knicks with crosseyed kurt and
no heart Houston can only let down spree and the crowd
which starts in with the booin’ and their coach is
lookin’ like he’s on a sunday golf course with a beer
in his hand, larry brown is having his daily heart
attack, Iverson is slashing and putting up Gornick
hookshots right in front of me (not old man gornick
hookshots, but my personal hookshot from the left
wing with a quick slash to the right block
extend-leap-hook-look at the
basket-release-swissssshhhh-oooooohhhhhh!!! jus like I
drew it up, almost as if I’d channeled it in for em,
and said “yo, Al, try this one on ‘em…. there you go,
kid, hell yeah!!! never tried that one before right?
good work, son!!!”) next he’s stealing and dunking
throwing up impossible turnarounds. Spree and ‘Spoon
are making a game of it despite no heart Houston and
country club chaney but snow and AI are too much and
the crowd is filtering out with a minute left.
WhoooooWeeee!!!! It’s over!!! and it’s back to the
streets that inspires all this with motions of heroism
dancing in my duck soup estillo chino down on eight
ave.
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Posted by: gornick on Tuesday, June 18, 2002 - 03:41 AM EDT (7274 Reads)
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Floating in a mall on top of a hill spraying
harmless lead bullets from a stolen gun, camflauge is
a color that runs. I must escape, this mall doesn't
belong here, I don't belong here. I must eat. There is
a joint I remember down by the river, let us escape,
round the corner . There, I can see it at the bottom
of the hill, in front of the river, a long ways off.
And on the other side of the river the city rises in
the dusk, twinkling and spectacular, down the hill we
go, wow! maybe the greatest city in th... EXPLOSION!
dust and water and fire just on the other side of the
bridge a building falls, My dream eyes wide open
stupifyied to watch another buidling go on the other
side of the horizen! What tha fuck?!? goes my dream
mind. It's happening: dreamtime Appocolypse and
building after building and bridge after tidalwave of
fire and dust and water rising behind and I suddenly
don't feel safe on Dreamhill. Fuck my shit up! and
round we go back up to the mall with the waters rising
behind. I see something white coming round the corner
but it's just a garbage truck, not the rush of death
so I look over my dreamtime shoulder and It's all
black... gone pure vaccuum, dreamtime new york gone,
dreamtime brooklyn gone, dreamtime Gornick...
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Posted by: gornick on Saturday, January 26, 2002 - 07:57 PM EST (4929 Reads)
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I'm sitting on the train thinking of my sister's
discription of emerging from the subway with that
whooosh rush of city energy, anticipating it,
relishing it perhaps. At the same time i'm considering
this new forum my boy josh got going at 15footstick
with all my long winded accounts of such and such and
as the train door opens i'm already hearing shit,
notes floating down the stairs much faster than the
old women blocking my way with their one step a minute
pace and the overflow of impatient late-people behind
them. Me? I'm letting my sisters' whooosh flow even
before i get on the street and trying to discern what
those notes are bouncing like fucking mad between the
walls of the subway station. Maybe it's that Peruvian
pan-pipe shit that's been taking up valuble
performance space-time-train-continium. I recently put
that issue to this peruvian kid at work, saying
"What's up with all this pan-pipe shit in the subway
now adays?" He didn't respond but later he tried to
scare me on the elevator. But no, it's definetely not
that cause it's grooving and that's definelty a sax,
and as I finally get around those annoying old women I
hear it swinging and as I get to the source I realize
it's in three and it's minor and tenor is going off
and the rhythm section is loose but funnky and just as
tenor hits his crescendo i realize they're playing
"Afro-Blue" with that open coltrane feel whooshing
right along. guitar's got this beat up ole punk rock
swagger as he takes his solo and it's built real
nicely playing in and funky and working to out and
quirky and he finishes real nice. the entire time i
consider how much better this feel is than that stiff
latin jazz shit that Evillia and I had checked out
where the rhythm section seemed to force too much out
of the music instead of lock in and let the music
force them into somewhere else. I'm noticing the dozen
or so folks gathering around with cold smiles of
appreciation, some tapping out the time wishing they
were dancing, others stone cold cause you got to be in
this city. the late folks pass quickly in the same
range of emotions, plus, some are completely annoyed
by the volume which was ludicriss, cause the train's
squeals are ten times this decibel count. Some are
oblivious, probably imaging what the next Friends
episode is going to be like, some dance their way to
the trains perhaps better off than when they left
their bosses sight path. In front of me is a little
fella outta the squirrly guy mold in as colorful an
outfit as is allowed in wintertimenewyork: big yellow
jactet, bright blue pants, orange cap, and peeking out
a squirrly red smilling face, uttering grunts of
astonishment at drums' intricate rhythms. drums
finishes his solo with a nod towards tenor and they
play the gorgeous melody Mongo Santamaria stole from
some african folk tune and they rap everything up with
a round of applause and squirrly guy striking a
football ref's pose of first down and exuberently
grunting "uuuuuhhhhgh uuuuhhhgh!!!!"
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