It has become apparent, at least to me, that the sidewalks of New York City suck energy from the legs of pedestrians. It is easy to imagine that batteries—giant storage cells of sorts, are underground, below the subways, taking from man, his disposed kinetic energy.
It is dangerous, particularly this snowy winter, when women wear high heels. Perhaps the high heels pamper the soles pretty painted feet from this energy I feel, as a man, in heavy shoes who has to hold doors for them. The veins at the top of their glamorous feet are exposed to the salted elements, yet they strut on by like runway models, the spikes of their high-heeled shoes digging into patches of non-shoveled walkways, seemingly oblivious to the pain in the legs of modern man. Like rubber sneakers or the tires on a bicycle that protect children playing in wide, flat open spaces during summer afternoon thunderstorm, Prada pumps shelter the wear on the legs of women from a draining sensation that one can only attribute to some type of electrical or gamma radical, bitchy pull.
There is something under us and in those women. A movement that is like spirit– a sucking sensation of sorts that is invisible to the human eye, but a peculiar sensation zapping through us that is, if written or spoken of, psychotic or gay in nature, but nonetheless, a reality in this crazy whore town.
This sadness and outright bitchiness that we all hide under bubble coats in the winter is a mere disguise of what our lives have been reduced to while being out and about– tweeting or an important, incoming ring tone that drowns the flair of beeping tax cabs, has not always been a part of the aura of what is the old, gentle spirit of true New York.
It was only after the towers came down that this feeling surfaced– just when internet cafes were popping up everywhere– on every corner– those little nooks where one still can have a two- dollar cup of coffee and free access to those cancer causing wireless beams that are what I believe, the cause of this bitchy sensation affecting the inner ear canals of the millions who live, commute and communicate here. It is a constant humming song that only dogs, New Yorkers, and crazy people sometimes hear. I’m so sure that all this wireless communication is causing an onset of some new sin in all of us, because when I pass people on the sidewalk on their little machines, I feel an energy pass through me and that energy is so irritating!
It’s not far-fetched to hypothesize that modern science has evolved enough to borrow from pushy shoppers, street walkers and typical business people, the power that is needed to keep the city safe and aglow, and we here, going on with typical day huff and puff and self importance fail to realize we are being drained and all that energy is being shipped to tanks in China where one day, we’ll have to pay them for it.
We have become little hydro electric dams and unbeknownst human windmills as we spin on in a rush about our business, in high heels, in winter. A few news reports have gathered the facts and presented to society the risks associated with cell phone cancer, yet we are too busy yapping to care. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about what would cause humans in the future to be born two-headed!
There have been so many tragedies on the sidewalks of New York over metal manhole covers in recent years. I attribute this deadly phenomenon to the electricity we carry in our purses. At least a dozen citizens of this great city and a few of our beloved dogs have been killed by electrical shocks from Con Edison manholes over the past half decade. And from what exactly does this electrical charges originate? one must ask as they pray and walk by in non-rubber shoes over such deadly pitfalls!
Perhaps these deadly electrical shocks are mere glitches in hidden anti-terrorism mechanisms all around and under us. These FBI funded, hidden airport like contraptions that need our energy to run, are in a sense, like hidden cameras, beaming through us with thought-controlling nature. Maybe I’m the only one smart enough to feel it. Who could doubt one of the many gifted Chinese foreign exchange students who populate Columbia University like the plague came up with technology that not only monitors everything, but is energetically, and for the benefit of mankind, self-sufficient in nature?
When scientific calculators evolved from simple, nine-volt battery powered, I-Pad sized contraptions in the 1970’s to solar powered hand-held devices in the early ‘80’s, no one could fathom how invisible sunlight kept such complex networks of tiny wires functioning flawlessly, yet, science evolved over time, and so did man, until eventually, solar powered calculators became the standard and eventually they too turned obsolete, for with the introduction of Excel spreadsheets and the internet, the task of simple addition and subtraction became commonplace, until eventually, no one cared what the square root of six hundred and sixty-six is, even if one could figure it out for free with a tiny machine and the power of the sun.
As for me– I’ll be wearing these rubber boots that I’ve had for years this winter. The shit is getting deep. I rarely brought these heavy clod-hoppers out of the closet because we never had so much snow– and so much cooling down– and the disappearance of strange sensations in my ears when I walk, invisibly through the bad energy here, like the bitches in high-heels do.
They were a gift– the shoes– from a friend who worked at the Armani Exchange on the Upper West Side, back before Nine Eleven when we were all so rich. Five hundred dollars was so much for what seemed like shoes to heavy to wear, but it was a nice thought for him to bring them home from work, for free. And they turn so many heads down.
The shoe prints in the snow of New York that look like football player cleat marks in the mud are mine. The girls—they leave just one spike mark. But notice the swish in my stride this winter– I’ve left behind a track of contagious restless leg syndrome that one can never truly out run, at least when one is still plugged in to this aura of out- stepping bad winter attitude, walking the invisible line.