Soren Kierkegaard

The work of Søren Kierkegaard crosses the boundaries of philosophy, theology, psychology, literary criticism, devotional literature and fiction. He brought this potent mixture of discourses to bear as social critique and for the purpose of renewing Christian faith within Christendom. At the same time he made many original conceptual contributions to each of the disciplines he employed.  He is known as the “father of existentialism”, but at least as important are his critiques of Hegel and of the German romantics, his contributions to the development of modernism, his literary experimentation, his vivid re-presentation of biblical figures to bring out their modern relevance, his invention of key concepts which have been explored and redeployed by thinkers ever since, his interventions in contemporary Danish church politics, and his fervent attempts to analyse and revitalise Christian faith.

Soren Kierkegaard

On the Dedication to “That Single Individual” [Note 1]

Translated by Charles K. Bellinger

My dear, accept this dedication; it is given over, as it were, blindfolded, but therefore undisturbed by any consideration, in sincerity. Who you are, I know not; where you are, I know not; what your name is, I know not. Yet you are my hope, my joy, my pride, and my unknown honor.

It comforts me, that the right occasion is now there for you; which I have honestly intended during my labor and in my labor. For if it were possible that reading what I write became worldly custom, or even to give oneself out as having read it, in the hope of thereby winning something in the world, that then would not be the right occasion, since, on the contrary, misunderstanding would have triumphed, and it would have also deceived me, if I had not striven to prevent such a thing from happening.

This, in part, is a possible change in me, something I even wish for, basically a mood of soul and mind, which does not produce change by being more than change and therefore produces nothing less than change; it is rather an admission, in part a thoroughly and well thought-out view of “life,” of “the truth,” and of “the way.”

There is a view of life which holds that where the crowd is, the truth is also, that it is a need in truth itself, that it must have the crowd on its side.[Note 2] There is another view of life; which holds that wherever the crowd is, there is untruth, so that, for a moment to carry the matter out to its farthest conclusion, even if every individual possessed the truth in private, yet if they came together into a crowd (so that “the crowd” received any decisive, voting, noisy, audible importance), untruth would at once be let in.[Note 3]

For “the crowd” is untruth. Eternally, godly, christianly what Paul says is valid: “only one receives the prize,” [I Cor. 9:24] not by way of comparison, for in the comparison “the others” are still present. That is to say, everyone can be that one, with God’s help – but only one receives the prize; again, that is to say, everyone should cautiously have dealings with “the others,” and essentially only talk with God and with himself – for only one receives the prize; again, that is to say, the human being is in kinship with, or to be a human is to be in kinship with the divinity. The worldly, temporal, busy, socially-friendly person says this: “How unreasonable, that only one should receive the prize, it is far more probable that several combined receive the prize; and if we become many, then it becomes more certain and also easier for each individually.” Certainly, it is far more probable; and it is also true in relation to all earthly and sensuous prizes; and it becomes the only truth, if it is allowed to rule, for this point of view abolishes both God and the eternal and “the human being’s” kinship with the divinity; it abolishes it or changes it into a fable, and sets the modern (as a matter of fact, the old heathen) in its place, so that to be a human being is like being a specimen which belongs to a race gifted with reason, so that the race, the species, is higher than the individual, or so that there are only specimens, not individuals. But the eternal, which vaults high over the temporal, quiet as the night sky, and God in heaven, who from this exalted state of bliss, without becoming the least bit dizzy, looks out over these innumerable millions and knows each single individual; he, the great examiner, he says: only one receives the prize; that is to say, everyone can receive it, and everyone ought to become this by oneself, but only one receives the prize. Where the crowd is, therefore, or where a decisive importance is attached to the fact that there is a crowd, there no one is working, living, and striving for the highest end, but only for this or that earthly end; since the eternal, the decisive, can only be worked for where there is one; and to become this by oneself, which all can do, is to will to allow God to help you – “the crowd” is untruth.

A crowd – not this or that, one now living or long dead, a crowd of the lowly or of nobles, of rich or poor, etc., but in its very concept [Note 4] – is untruth, since a crowd either renders the single individual wholly unrepentant and irresponsible, or weakens his responsibility by making it a fraction of his decision. Observe, there was not a single soldier who dared lay a hand on Caius Marius; this was the truth. But given three or four women with the consciousness or idea of being a crowd, with a certain hope in the possibility that no one could definitely say who it was or who started it: then they had the courage for it; what untruth! The untruth is first that it is “the crowd,” which does either what only the single individual in the crowd does, or in every case what each single individual does. For a crowd is an abstraction, which does not have hands; each single individual, on the other hand, normally has two hands, and when he, as a single individual, lays his two hands on Caius Marius, then it is the two hands of this single individual, not after all his neighbor’s, even less – the crowd’s, which has no hands. In the next place, the untruth is that the crowd had “the courage” for it, since never at any time was even the most cowardly of all single individuals so cowardly, as the crowd always is. For every single individual who escapes into the crowd, and thus flees in cowardice from being a single individual (who either had the courage to lay his hand on Caius Marius, or the courage to admit that he did not have it), contributes his share of cowardice to “the cowardice,” which is: the crowd. Take the highest, think of Christ – and the whole human race, all human beings, which were ever born and ever will be born; the situation is the single individual, as an individual, in solitary surroundings alone with him; as a single individual he walks up to him and spits on him: the human being has never been born and never will be, who would have the courage or the impudence for it; this is the truth. But since they remain in a crowd, they have the courage for it – what frightening untruth.

The crowd is untruth. There is therefore no one who has more contempt for what it is to be a human being than those who make it their profession to lead the crowd. Let someone, some individual human being, certainly, approach such a person, what does he care about him; that is much too small a thing; he proudly sends him away; there must be at least a hundred. And if there are thousands, then he bends before the crowd, he bows and scrapes; what untruth! No, when there is an individual human being, then one should express the truth by respecting what it is to be a human being; and if perhaps, as one cruelly says, it was a poor, needy human being, then especially should one invite him into the best room, and if one has several voices, he should use the kindest and friendliest; that is the truth. When on the other hand it was an assembly of thousands or more, and “the truth” became the object of balloting, then especially one should godfearingly – if one prefers not to repeat in silence the Our Father: deliver us from evil – one should godfearingly express, that a crowd, as the court of last resort, ethically and religiously, is the untruth, whereas it is eternally true, that everyone can be the one. This is the truth.

The crowd is untruth. Therefore was Christ crucified, because he, even though he addressed himself to all, would not have to do with the crowd, because he would not in any way let a crowd help him, because he in this respect absolutely pushed away, would not found a party, or allow balloting, but would be what he was, the truth, which relates itself to the single individual. And therefore everyone who in truth will serve the truth, is eo ipso in some way or other a martyr; if it were possible that a human being in his mother’s womb could make a decision to will to serve “the truth” in truth, so he also is eo ipso a martyr, however his martyrdom comes about, even while in his mother’s womb. For to win a crowd is not so great a trick; one only needs some talent, a certain dose of untruth and a little acquaintance with the human passions. But no witness for the truth – alas, and every human being, you and I, should be one – dares have dealings with a crowd. The witness for the truth – who naturally will have nothing to do with politics, and to the utmost of his ability is careful not to be confused with a politician – the godfearing work of the witness to the truth is to have dealings with all, if possible, but always individually, to talk with each privately, on the streets and lanes – to split up the crowd, or to talk to it, not to form a crowd, but so that one or another individual might go home from the assembly and become a single individual. “A crowd,” on the other hand, when it is treated as the court of last resort in relation to “the truth,” its judgment as the judgment, is detested by the witness to the truth, more than a virtuous young woman detests the dance hall. And they who address the “crowd” as the court of last resort, he considers to be instruments of untruth. For to repeat: that which in politics and similar domains has its validity, sometimes wholly, sometimes in part, becomes untruth, when it is transferred to the intellectual, spiritual, and religious domains. And at the risk of a possibly exaggerated caution, I add just this: by “truth” I always understand “eternal truth.” But politics and the like has nothing to do with “eternal truth.” A politics, which in the real sense of “eternal truth” made a serious effort to bring “eternal truth” into real life, would in the same second show itself to be in the highest degree the most “impolitic” thing imaginable.

The crowd is untruth. And I could weep, in every case I can learn to long for the eternal, whenever I think about our age’s misery, even compared with the ancient world’s greatest misery, in that the daily press and anonymity make our age even more insane with help from “the public,” which is really an abstraction, which makes a claim to be the court of last resort in relation to “the truth”; for assemblies which make this claim surely do not take place. That an anonymous person, with help from the press, day in and day out can speak however he pleases (even with respect to the intellectual, the ethical, the religious), things which he perhaps did not in the least have the courage to say personally in a particular situation; every time he opens up his gullet – one cannot call it a mouth – he can all at once address himself to thousands upon thousands; he can get ten thousand times ten thousand to repeat after him – and no one has to answer for it; in ancient times the relatively unrepentant crowd was the almighty, but now there is the absolutely unrepentant thing: No One, an anonymous person: the Author, an anonymous person: the Public, sometimes even anonymous subscribers, therefore: No One. No One! God in heaven, such states even call themselves Christian states. One cannot say that, again with the help of the press, “the truth” can overcome the lie and the error. O, you who say this, ask yourself: Do you dare to claim that human beings, in a crowd, are just as quick to reach for truth, which is not always palatable, as for untruth, which is always deliciously prepared, when in addition this must be combined with an admission that one has let oneself be deceived! Or do you dare to claim that “the truth” is just as quick to let itself be understood as is untruth, which requires no previous knowledge, no schooling, no discipline, no abstinence, no self-denial, no honest self-concern, no patient labor! No, “the truth,” which detests this untruth, the only goal of which is to desire its increase, is not so quick on its feet. Firstly, it cannot work through the fantastical, which is the untruth; its communicator is only a single individual. And its communication relates itself once again to the single individual; for in this view of life the single individual is precisely the truth. The truth can neither be communicated nor be received without being as it were before the eyes of God, nor without God’s help, nor without God being involved as the middle term, since he is the truth. It can therefore only be communicated by and received by “the single individual,” which, for that matter, every single human being who lives could be: this is the determination of the truth in contrast to the abstract, the fantastical, impersonal, “the crowd” – “the public,” which excludes God as the middle term (for the personal God cannot be the middle term in an impersonal relation), and also thereby the truth, for God is the truth and its middle term.

And to honor every individual human being, unconditionally every human being, that is the truth and fear of God and love of “the neighbor”; but ethico-religiously viewed, to recognize “the crowd” as the court of last resort in relation to “the truth,” that is to deny God and cannot possibly be to love “the neighbor.” And “the neighbor” is the absolutely true expression for human equality; if everyone in truth loved the neighbor as himself, then would perfect human equality be unconditionally attained; every one who in truth loves the neighbor, expresses unconditional human equality; every one who is really aware (even if he admits, like I, that his effort is weak and imperfect) that the task is to love the neighbor, he is also aware of what human equality is. But never have I read in the Holy Scriptures this command: You shall love the crowd; even less: You shall, ethico-religiously, recognize in the crowd the court of last resort in relation to “the truth.” It is clear that to love the neighbor is self-denial, that to love the crowd or to act as if one loved it, to make it the court of last resort for “the truth,” that is the way to truly gain power, the way to all sorts of temporal and worldly advantage – yet it is untruth; for the crowd is untruth.

But he who acknowledges this view, which is seldom presented (for it often happens, that a man believes that the crowd is in untruth, but when it, the crowd, merely accepts his opinion en masse, then everything is all right), he admits to himself that he is the weak and powerless one; how would a single individual be able to stand against the many, who have the power! And he could not then want to get the crowd on his side to carry through the view that the crowd, ethico-religiously, as the court of last resort, is untruth; that would be to mock himself. But although this view was from the first an admission of weakness and powerlessness, and since it seems therefore so uninviting, and is therefore heard so seldom: yet it has the good feature, that it is fair, that it offends no one, not a single one, that it does not distinguish between persons, not a single one. A crowd is indeed made up of single individuals; it must therefore be in everyone’s power to become what he is, a single individual; no one is prevented from being a single individual, no one, unless he prevents himself by becoming many. To become a crowd, to gather a crowd around oneself, is on the contrary to distinguish life from life; even the most well-meaning one who talks about that, can easily offend a single individual. But it is the crowd which has power, influence, reputation, and domination – this is the distinction of life from life, which tyrannically overlooks the single individual as the weak and powerless one, in a temporal-worldly way overlooks the eternal truth: the single individual.

Note The reader will recall, that this (the beginning of which is marked by the atmosphere of its moment, when I voluntarily exposed myself to the brutality of literary vulgarity) was originally written in 1846, although later revised and considerably enlarged. Existence, almighty as it is, has since that time shed light on the proposition that the crowd, seen ethico-religiously as the court of last resort, is untruth. Truly, I am well served by this; I am even helped by it to better understand myself, since I will now be understood in a completely different way than I was at the time, when my weak, lonely voice was heard as a ridiculous exaggeration, whereas it can now scarcely be heard at all on account of existence’s loud voice, which says the same thing.

Notes

[Note 1] This, which is now considerably revised and enlarged, was written and intended to accompany the dedication to “that single individual,” which is found in “Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits.” Copenhagen, Spring 1847.
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[Note 2] Perhaps, however, it is right to note once and for all, that which follows of itself and which I have never denied, that in relation to all temporal, earthly, worldly ends the crowd can have its validity, even its validity as a decisive court of last resort. But I am not speaking about such things, which I pay so little attention to. I speak of the ethical, the ethical-religious, of “the truth,” and seen ethico-religiously the crowd is untruth, when it is taken as a valid court of last resort for what “the truth” is.
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[Note 3] Perhaps, however, it is right to note, although it seems to me to be almost superfluous, that it naturally could not occur to me to object to something, for example that there is preaching, or that “the truth” is proclaimed, even though it was to an assembly of a hundred thousand. No, but even if it were an assembly of just ten – and if there should be balloting, that is, if the assembly were the court of last resort, if the crowd were the decisive factor, then there is untruth.
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[Note 4] The reader will therefore recall, that here by “crowd,” “the crowd” is understood as a purely formal conceptual definition, not what one otherwise understands by “the crowd,” when it supposedly is also a qualification, when human selfishness irreligiously divides human beings into “the crowd” and the nobles, and so forth. God in heaven, how would the religious arrive at such in-human equality! No, “crowd” is the number, the numerical; a number of noblemen, millionaires, high dignitaries, etc. – as soon as the numerical is at work, the “crowd” is “the crowd.”
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Sueno and Leon

Sueno, a practitioner of the controversial dark arts of information science recently completed his second masters degree.  When he is not researching scientific conundrums, distributing propaganda marketing or experimenting on his followers with mind altering sebasges, he ponders the universe and writes extensively on the Fuquilist’s place in the cosmic soup.

Leon, a master of the science of harnessing and manipulating electric energy second only to Nicola Tesla is a statistical genius and possesses the ability to predict upcoming events.  When he is not creating new inventions to save mankind, he often coins new cheerful Fuquilist phrases such as “That’s the what we do” or “What’s the use of a purpose if the purpose has no use?”

Halal Frankfurters

First stop, before the night began, was to get some gumu to avoid any drinking accidents and here you can see our photographer enjoying some Halal frankfurters before the party starts.  It was difficult to find sauerkraut and he was forced to visit three carts before securing the right ingredients for his dogs.  Service was painfully slow and Rashid, the owner of a food cart on the SE corner of 44th and 6th, was possibly the worst ever salesman and cook.  “Time is money!” was the advice that was loudly offered to him before the photographer stormed off in a low-blood sugar temper tantrum.

The birthday celebration occurred at a favorite Fuquilist hangout named Jimmy’s Corner, located on 44th St and 6th Ave.  The establishment is owned by famous boxer Jimmy Glenn.

Jimmy Glenn provides the group with some secrets of the art of knocking out your opponent

The celebration commenced as Pezcado and Leon arrived early and scouted out a table.  The Lion first gave a great oration on many topics including a famous meeting he had with boxer Roberto Duran.  Leon spent several years training to be a pugilist as a youth.  All present were inspired by the stories of his athletic tenacity. Soon after Sueno arrived and the three kings shared a “lift-off”, a name given by El Sueno, that describes a situation in which one enjoys an icy gwine accompanied by a shot of your favorite rocket fuel.

The Lift Off

Sueno expounded on his latest theories regarding the use of serendipity in combination with complex human systems in order to enhance the potential of serendipitous moments occurring in life.  His further research into this area is sure to deliver some profound and paradigm shifting results.  Then he shocked your humble reporter with some amazing news about a fear he had overcome recently when he was forced to administer a semester’s worth of training to a score of sharp undergrads and finished with successful results.  Great job!

The Arrival of the Atheist

All were shocked when we received a surprise appearance by this man, a great man known to Fuquilists only as the self espousing “Atheist” (aka Harry Lime).  His arrival provided some added levity and light-hearted conversation that stretched from the merits of Existentialism to the most celebrated aspects of Atheism to the secrets of I.R.S.  Mr. Lime is most well known and admired for his lascivious nature and his boldly executed lechery.

Airplanes and Party Mixes

Things got a bit more exciting when Sueno, fueled by a massive amount of shots, decided to turn the final exam paper he had worked hard creating for his students into a paper jet and then used it to proposition a chocolate colored hctib patron nearby sitting with a male “friend”.  After helping himself to some her party mix he made this plane and allowed her to propel it across the bar which was fun for all.

The group of rabble rousers enjoyed a flavorful round of darubeides and some more belly laughs, then said goodbye to the partygoers with the least amounts of melanin who left for home downtown.  Your humble reporter, the courageous Lion and newest Fuquilist initiate “El Tigre” hailing from the Land of the Morning Calm had a final quest to attempt.

Goodbye to Old Friends

Leon emparts ancient knowledge to a young initiate El Tigre

The remaining brothers decided to finish up “Japan style”.  It had been decided that they required more drinking and some light exotic fare at a nearby establishment named Riki, on 45th between Lexington and 3rd Aves.  There the Hidden Masters feasted on delectable ninniku saikoro steak, squid skewers and octopus in vinegar.  Many ales were made to vanish, songs of old were sung and epic tales were told of adventures that took place in the early days of Fuquilism on the sacred monastery in a region in Southern Westchester county.

Proprietor Jimmy Glenn rocks a Stifmug pose

A final thank you to famed boxer and entrepreneur Jimmy Glenn for hosting our yearly event.  We wish you well in your endeavors.

Happy Birthday brethren of the Fuquil.  Aisoo, EO and S.E.N.C.

I thought to myself I’d love to have some action now so I called my girlfriend Elizabeth, a young Colombian girl with a banging body and she agreed to meet me at my house. I guess she was going to take the A train because she used to live on 14th St near 9th Ave. Anyway, that’s pretty much the last thing I remember.

The next thing is that I feel an icy blast of wind. I shivered to my very core and opened my eyes. I had been sleeping on the train and I looked out the window. I was above ground and there was something in the distance… The Wonder Wheel! I had fallen asleep on the train and woke up at the last stop. The doors of the train were all wide open and the icy January wind from Brighton Beach was blowing right in like the was no tomorrow. I zipped up my snowboarding jacket and put the collar up over my face and drifted back to sleep.

I awoke a little time later and was this time on the moving train still above ground but heading back to the city. At that time, it was the B that went to Coney Island, later another train was routed there after 911 happened. I drifted in and out of sleep until I reached home.

Finally the A train pulled into the 181st St station and I made my way back to home. I remember stepping out from the train and having a pounding headache. I would call in sick today for sure. When I reached home I remember being astonished to find a bottle of hotsauce and a Babe Ruth candy bar. I also realized that I had completely missed Elizabeth! Well that was the straw that broke the camel’s back for our relationship. In retrospect, that was probably a big mistake.

When I woke again around noon, I tried to remember any sort of scenes from the night before and how I might have ended up in Coney Island. Im guessing the train might have been rerouted and I had been on a downtown platform instead of uptown. It’s still a mystery for me. Blame it on the E&J.

As they passed Batavia they were absorbed in debate on the future of Frankenstein Math Class and how they could establish themselves in NYC. Time just flew by and soon enough they were pulling up to Carlito’s driveway. Carlito bounded out of the house and jumped into the backseat. Carlito out of anyone was a man up for anything and so suggested that they should check out a new club in downtown Rochester on the rough side of town. The site of the three of them was something to behold. Each very unique in their style. Carlito was dressed to kill in a suit and tie with trench coat. Abajian was in full biker getup. Black leather jacket, black jeans, black boots and long shaggy black hair ready to kick some Hell’s Angels ass. Menelik dressed up as some sort of Buffalo East side gang member with his pillbox hat, black hoodie, Syracuse Starter jacket and shell toed Adidas.

It was just minutes from the house to the club and the three amigos rolled up on it as if they owned it. As soon as they walked in the air was tense. It was like a scene out of a modern day western. The place seemed to go quiet for a moment as everyone stopped to checkout the new kids in town. The DJ let the record spin and the 3 proceeded to the bar for a drink. Pump Up The Volume was playing in the background and the boys were feeling good. At this point they all split up to check out the club and girls. It was during this juncture that the story was about to get interesting. Carlito was dancing away like some 80′s mafioso when some drunk fool decided to grab Yigi San Carlito’s tie and put it in his mouth like a faggot. Menelik by chance had happened to walk in to that part of the club when this occurred and was not going to have his friend disrespected like that. Carlito though was laughing about it because he knew he could easily take this sucker out. Carlito was a black belt in Karate and could easily whoop anyone’s ass. Menelik walked up to Carlito and asked him what was up. Carlito explained the situation laughing but as soon as Menelik rolled up this drunk fool’s friend decided to get his other boys involved. Menelik was fuming now and grabbed Carlito to go find Abajian. Abajian as he likes to do was a bit voltar (drunk) and was sprawled across a couch with his legs kicked up kicking it to some hctib. He looked the spitting image of Slash from GnR fresh off the stage. The boys assembled and discussed options. They realised that a force was amassing against them and the only way out was probably via smashing through the window of the club. Menelik had a devious idea though and felt as the others did that they should stand their ground.

The 3 desperadoes headed towards the main dance floor which was elevated. They then faced the onlooking crowd and Menelik slowly slipped his hand inside his jacket as if he was holding a gun. The 3 stood there facing their enemies and were all ready to throw down. There was no turning back. If anyone called their bluff they were dead men. The crowd kept dancing but nervously looked around to see who would make the first move. It definitely wasn’t the enemies. They weren’t sure what to do and kept whispering to each other. Slowly but surely the enemies began to disperse. They weren’t willing to take that risk. What seemed like a lifetime for the gang of 3 was now coming to a close or was it? Yigi San Carlito motioned his comrades to take this a step further. Instead of deciding to leave well enough alone he asked Menelik and Abajian to follow him into another area of the club which had only 1 door to get in and out.

The Cult

The three walked in to the VIP area past the bouncer. The room was blasting She Sells Sanctuary by the Cult but there was no sanctuary now for our reckless fellows. The leader of the opposing force slowly approached carefully calculating how to proceed without setting it all off. He looked with trepidation as Menelik slipped his hand back in his pocket caressing his virtual gun. Menelik knew that even though he didn’t have a real gun that He was the Real Gun and He was ready to lay waste to all enemies in His path. The Arch Enemy approached and began to apologise for the actions of his friend blaming his drunken state. Menelik responded by saying he was glad that they didn’t want trouble and that it would have been unfortunate for everyone if the scene had taken a turn for the worse.

Cant we all get along? Menelik stretched forward his hand to accept the offer of a truce. The opposing gang proceeded to file past the 3 crowned kings and offer their apologies for the misunderstanding shaking hands as they passed. It was agreed a round of drinks was necessary to seal their new tribal affiliation. The drinks flowed and the best women were offered up as tribute. The rest of the night flew by and soon it was dawn and the three amigos headed home to sleep it all off to awake to a glorious new day.

Rochester Hotties

The good nights to go out in the city were Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Thursday.  Friday and Saturday were never good because the clubs would be so full with ridiculous bridge and tunnel assholes.  Tuesday also was never good, just because it wasn’t.  We usually went out once a week, or twice, if there was something good going on.  We enjoyed the action and the scene and meeting girls and the challenge that goes along with meeting them.  Since there was so much time to do research about the different parties every week, in our long drawn out boring day, we always found the best parties with the most beautiful girls and many times with celebrities.

I remember one of the first times we went out, we went to a venue called Rebar.  At the time, I was probably 25, and didn’t make enough money to drink down the bar.  So, I would usually try to buy beer or liquor and drink it before I entered the club.  This allowed me to maximize my money and still have fun.  I remember, I was wearing white baggy khaki pants with logger boots, because that was the style.  Although I remember it was cold and I don’t know why I was wearing white pants other than I probably didn’t know the rule about white pants in the winter at that age.

The deli across the street was selling St. Ides malt liquor and I bought a 40 oz.  I didn’t like the taste.  St. Ides tasted sickly sweet and I never enjoyed drinking it.  There wasn’t much choice.  This deli was closing or just didn’t have anything else.  I paid $2 or $3 and took my 40 in the paper bag and took off across the street to meet Hongo about a block away from the club.

Oso didn’t drink.  So he watched as I chugged the beer as fast as I could.  He was probably smoking a Newport.  In those days, he always smoked Newport.  I think I smoked Newport too.  It probably took me 10 minutes to drink it.  Then I laid the empty bottle in a doorway and we headed to the line for the club.

We made it inside, without any problems at the door.  Inside the club, it was dark, smoky, and loud.  In those days, everyone smoked in the club.  There was no problem with that, and we smoked also.

My normal routine, was to get a rum and coke, because I was already nice from drinking the 40 outside.  I probably had three before I suddenly felt that I had to take an explosive shit.  Though I tried to hold it, there was no way I would be able to for long.  I went downstairs to where the bathrooms were located and waited in line.  A few minutes past, and I got into the men’s room to see that the floor was covered in 3 inches of water.  There was a platform where the toilets for located and the only toilet with a stall had an inch of shit water surrounding it.  The toilet itself, was overflowing with disgusting shit piss soup, and I was wearing my white pants.

The logger boots, which cost me about $225 which was this huge investment for me, had a tall heel, that’s thankfully stood higher than the disgusting water.  I carefully lowered my white pants, as I hovered over the stew, and carefully unloaded my contribution.  Although I was feeling pretty nice, I somehow did it.  I was sure I was going to leave the bathroom with a huge brown stain on my white pants for the entire club’s entertainment.  Thankfully this was not my fate.

I don’t remember the end of the night, but we did go to Rebar for quite a while.  The doorman of the club was a huge black African guy named Thiam.  When I say huge, I mean like 7 foot tall.  In fact, it seemed there were lots of 7 foot tall black guys there.  I was one of the only white guys, or the only, and Hongo was one of a couple Puerto Ricans.  But, we had found the best hip hop party in the city at the time.

As we made our way up a particular block there was a group of black guys sitting and standing in and around an open car hanging out.  There was about 8 of them.  Well I guess they were looking for trouble because one of them calls to us “Hey look at the faggots”.  Then they all start saying it, like “hey white faggots”, “hey faggots”.

They outnumbered us so we just walked by and didn’t say anything.  But we had had it.  Our egos were all a bit bruised.  These guys were from another part of town and just came to try to make some trouble because they had nothing better to do.  That is how it was in Buffalo and probably still is.  Small minded people with a miserable life trying to make other people more unhappy than they are.

We kept walking but we were all a little silent.  None of us, I think, really wanted to admit that we felt that we had pussied out, but we had.   Even though, it would have been a disaster if we had tried to fight them.  I don’t think it would have been worth it.  Or to stand there and argue with them would have made no sense.  “Hey guys, we’re no faggots, fuck you!”

Still there was this feeling.  I said “Those fucking assholes, coming over here causing trouble.  Who the fuck are they.  We ought to make them fucking eat shit.”   We might have joked about it a little but the general sentiment was that we wanted to destroy them.  We kept walking and thinking about it.  I think the feeling kept building in all of us.  Those fucking bastards ruined our good times.  They made us feel like pussies.  And what could we really do about it?  Go fight them?  4 against 8?  Then I saw the answer right in front of me.

On the ground next to a tree, next to the sidewalk was a bunch of foot long metal pipes.  They were lead pipes and could really do some damage.  I could imagine taking the pipe and busting a few of their faces nicely.  But I had a better idea.  We all grabbed a pipe and headed to Maazookaavetch’s pickup truck.  It wasn’t some old hillbilly pickup or anything.   It was a Toyota pickup, with no roof in the back.  Montana and I got in the back and Maazookaavetch drove with Vercingetorix Sol in the passenger side.

I was already feeling exhilarated.  I could feel that justice was going to be served.  The truck pulled off and suddenly the night air felt warm again.  We sat quietly in the back waiting.  Montana and I nodded and smiled.  We were ready for action.

We got to the light and waited for it to turn green.  The pipe was in my hand and felt good there.  I couldn’t wait to deliver my special gift to those fucks.  The truck slowed as we neared the block where the car was parked.  The guys had all left and were probably out making trouble somewhere else.  I imagined them walking around bullying everyone with their big posse of pussies.  The truck drove up slowly next to the car.  There was no one on the block, dead calm, no cars in sight.  All perfectly meant to be.  Montana and I stood up, him at the back windshield and me at the front.  Then it was like “Go” and we launched the huge pipes right through the window and BOOOM!  They both exploded.  Then we shot out of there like lightning.  Exhilaration!  I think we all went home after that, but with a warm fuzzy feeling instead of a deflated balloon feeling.

Lets never forget, when life has you down, play dirty!