the myth of the astonishing (paperback) book of myths

"Enlightenment is soooo overrated! Transcendence of worldly temptation... what-ever dude. Finding your inner child? Yeah right... I already know where my inner child is. He's in a urine-soaked ball bath at a Chuck E. Cheese in Salt Lake City. Karma and harnessing chi? Why don't you harness THESE N___S Dr. Who, and pass me the remote!"

Yeah. That was me. (Although I actually have never uttered any of those things. I mean really... who says stuff like that?) Ye of little faith. Wayward. Unbridled. Skeptical. I can't say that I have ever put much thought into the concept of the afterlife. There are so many crazy things that rattle around in my peanut jar of a brain on a daily basis, that I don't need another potential albatross screwing up my day-to-day. I'm good just the way I am. And then WHAM!!, just when you least expect it... salvation kicks you in the shins and calls out your mama! 

Saturday afternoon may well have been one the most beautiful days in remembrance. Mid 80's and sunny. Absolutely gorgeous. And after the sleepy malaise that this winter kind of draped over The Rotten Apple, nice weather couldn't come any sooner. So what better way to spend the first really awesome day of Spring then to go to a Midtown Hilton and sit in on Moneyfest, a big Learning Annex sponsored tradeshow offering sure fire ways to make you the next Tom Vu! Right? Right? (Long story... but it actually was helpful.)

Why does everyone have a crazy accent in this thing?

So I had a few errands to run first in the neighborhood before the seminar at 4:00PM. And I'm walking down 5th Ave. in BK minding my own business, listening to J. Dilla's Donuts album on the iPod. So I hit 14th street and something catches my eye. It's a tattered, weather-worn book. Kind of thick and no cover attached. Nothing particularly interesting about it? Honestly, I don't even know what possessed me to pick it up? I mean, it's not like I pick up every filthy old paperback I come across laying in the street. (Isn't that how you get pink eye... or shingles?) So what was it about this one that literally stopped me in my tracks? My guess... Destiny! So for whatever reason, I decide to read the first sentence on the page... 

"So I left to go to India, and I took a bottle of LSD with me, with the idea that I'd meet holy men along the way, and I'd give them LSD and they'd tell me what LSD is. Maybe I'd learn the missing clue?"

OK... that's pretty nutty. What the fuck is this book all about? I checked the spine which was pretty banged up and read it... Be Here Now. That's it. No author listed. No nothing. So I start flipping the pages, and about 30 pages or so into it, the orientation of the text changes from horizontal to vertical and its completely FILLED (like 200-300 pages) with these absolutely insane illustrations and various ramblings of text. Now I'll admit, I am as curious as anyone when it comes to random stuff. I get no greater pleasure then finding someone else's discarded crap and making use of it. Not like I buy pre-used tighty whiteys off a hanger at a thrift store or anything, but I do love finding that lost needle in the haystack. You'd be surprised how many of these peculiar things I find make their way into some "project". So I gotta say this was the score of scores!

These are pretty intense for a leisurely stroll down the street, huh?

 

Beautifully-illustrated naked ladies... OK I see a theme shaping up.

Is that Freedom Rock? Well turn it up man!

Well it seems that Be Here Now was a pretty popular book... being that it has sold over 1 million copies since its first publishing in 1971. See here

So I suppose my Saturday afternoon needle in the haystack was not nearly as shiny as I had originally wished it was. And it is here where I must interject and say as amazingly powerful as the internet is, it is also a real turd in the soup bowl of one's consciousness sometimes. I mean how much cooler would this tattered old book be if I didn't have the ability to immediately find out ever minute detail about it and its origins. I'm acting like I found the the Declaration of Independence in a box of Cap'n Crunch or something, and less then 48 hours later, my personal triumph is relegated to essentially some wheat germ-loving kook's toliet reading. Curiosity it seems has once again killed the cat. What a pussy!

So needless to say, it was a pretty banner train ride to the Learning Annex spiel into the City. I tried to read a number of these pages and what did I assess from the incredible tome? Not too much really, other than it's super, super funky and without question a phenomenal undertaking. Transcendental meditation might not be my thing per se, but I do appreciate insane rantings and a good naked lady drawing as much as the next guy who puts his white draw string pants on one leg at a time. Namaste.

the myth of horseman

The New York City Subway System is truly an undervalued modern marvel. Running 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, most New Yorkers are completely reliant and yet still manage to take for granted this magnificent form of public transportation. (Trust me... ask someone for directions in this town, and you'll see what I mean.) Be that as it may, in addition to its sprawling miles of track and relatively low cost, in this writer's humble opinion, the true splendor of the subway in New York has to be the assortment of "wackjobs" that can often be found milling about from car to car. Now I make this statement by saying that I  am in no way trying to make fun of mental illness or homelessness or the like, for these are terrible social ills that we New Yorkers are unfortunately confronted with on a regular basis. Not even close. What I'm talking about is the rare individuals that make you stop short and ask a complete stranger... "Did you just see that? What IN THE FUCK was that?"And frankly, if you've lived in New York City long enough... you are bound to have your own example(s). This just happens to be mine.

Now I can't take credit for the discovery of Horseman firsthand... which after all, only adds to the mystique of his renown. That I owe to my dear friend, Greg, who first told me of Horseman and his exploits some 7-8 years ago at a party. And naturally his story went something like this... "Yo, you ever seen the Horseman on the subway? YOU'VE NEVER SEEN HORSEMAN? Oh shit... he's amazing bro!" Now coming from someone else, my interest may not have been so eagerly piqued. Let's face it, some people can really tell a story; some can't. But Greg is one of the funniest cats I know. So from that day forward, it became a personal quest to witness for myself what was so amazing about this Horseman. I assure you, he would not disappoint.

Now the thing about a myth is... you never REALLY know when to expect it. I mean, how many camera crews are around when Big Foot comes trouncing around in the woods? (I'm guessing one... and at the ready with a grainy super 8mm joint? Yeah exactly... Super.) So documentation can often be a problem. But that's cool. It would kind of suck if they had security camera footage of your Mom and Dad wheeling that GI Joe helicopter or Barbie Dream House out in the parking lot of a Toys R Us the week before Christmas, and someone insisted on showing you the tape. That's just evil, man. Some things are just better left unsaid, you know what I'm saying? 

So fast forward 6 months from Greg's revelation. Just enough time that my fervor to spot the mysterious Horseman had naturally quelled a bit. Now I've been living in New York for over 10 years now, and have lived in Brooklyn the entire time. So taking the train into the city on a weeknight evening is more a rarity than the norm. And being that I lived in Williamsburg at the time, I would often take the L to Union Square and connect on the N Express to go uptown. And to be perfectly honest that's about all I really remember... Yellow line going uptown, early evening, summer. Being that this was well before the advent of the iPod and such, often times a subway ride meant staring at a Dr. Zizmor ad for the thousandth time to avoid any uncomfortable eye contact with others in the car. So I board the train at 14th and the train starts. A minute later, I hear the far door open, and who ambles in but a middle-aged black dude with a tiny red toy cowboy hat tied under his chin. And around his waist is a stuffed horse made of papier mache complete with horse blanket, held up by suspenders, with reigns in the horse's mouth. Over either side of his "stately steed" were two tiny busted-assed red and white Nike sneakers. That particular detail absolutely floored me!! So in keeping with the rhythm of the moving train, this dude starts slowly wobbling from side to side up the length of the train with the horse, making this crazy galloping beat with his throat. This goes on for the duration of the ride from Union Square to 34th Street where the train would come to a stop and Horseman would exit at 34th and make his way to the platform. Mesmerized, I stood up immediately and watched his every move from the open door of the car. He would find the nearest girder on the platform and coyly "hide" behind it, with the ass end of horse prominently sticking out. Furthermore, he would shyly poke the head of THE HORSE... just the horse head mind you, and playfully peek around the corner. Now I've seen a lot of silly shit in New York City over the years, but this guy by far took the cake!!! He was absolutely amazing. The peeking horse deal was one of the funniest things I have ever witnessed.

And I'll firmly go on record... that was THE ONLY time I had ever seen Horseman. Other friends have told me they have seen him, and were equally blown away by his amazing dance routine. (I mean, it's New York City for God's Sake!!!) But Horseman was a true revelation, in every sense of the word. I can only hope that he is OK somewhere and that he is still making people smile.

Editor's note: I was completely unaware of Horseman's moniker of "Don Quixote" (which by the way is SO AWESOME!) until finding this great footage this morning... which goes to show, always check YouTube first before doing ANYTHING! Carlos Santana eat your heart out.