HOWL, New York!

The New York Howl Festival began today in my neighborhood. A tribute to Allen Ginsberg's ground-breaking poem, the festival gathers in Tompkins Square Park every year. Writers, artists, designers, even political activists, join to rekindle the spirit that has made this neighborhood famous, or infamous, as a community culture of free thinking, creativity, even rebellious acts. Punks, drug addicts, families, trannies, fashionistas, all gather together to celebrate the festival over five days. This weekend is the kickoff, with all sorts of fun fashion shows, gallery showings and parties scheduled over the next few days.

This year, the outside gates of the park are covered in canvas with artists transforming the blank into their own unique expressions of self. Graffiti artists, still-life, collages, sculptures, there's a lot to see. I wonder if Ginsberg would be pleased. In this day and age, so few seem to go against the grain to exercise freedom of speech. Ah. A madman just passed by screeching through the park, alternating between James Brown songs and political propaganda, a cigarette in one hand, a brown bag in the other. I never knew the man, but I think Allen would feel at home now.

The food lines have been moved inside the park today, a group of Indian women serving the masses. Only today, the line isn't just people who need a square meal. They're serving everyone. For free. Looks good. Damn fast. Tents set up throughout the park, all sorts of creative types have their wares out for offer. I picked up an original gold midriff hoodie from a local designer, New York Couture. Can't wait to sport that one! It's going to be a Miss Anne meets Rocky Balboa meets Pat Benatar get up...a girl can dream anyway!

I ran into Chico on the corner, making my way around the artists setups. He seemed to be the gateway artist, bridging the "traditional" acrylics & paint brushes artists with those whose medium is spray paint. As we chatted, a guy in a pressed button-up stopped by to ask for tips on how to get an apartment in the hood. We both gave our best on how he should go about scoring his own crib. We had just been talking about the neighborhood and how no one can seem to afford to live here anymore. At least none of the creative, which Chico equated with poor. Life is funny.

Two music stages have been cranking out a mixture of punk, rockabilly and solo songwriters, each stage rallying for fans. This neighborhood is great. A variety of peoples, that family was speaking Vietnamese. There's goes some Spanish, of course, a majority here. And was that Polish? I've got to travel more. Even in my own neighborhood, though, it's possible to get a glimpse of culture from other countries. I love where I live.