WA Delegate: None.
Greenwich Village is home to a single nation.
Today's World Census Report
The Most Extreme in Greenwich Village
The World Census ranked nations on the basis of how odd, extreme, or fundamentalist their social, economic, and political systems are.
As a region, Greenwich Village is ranked 1,633rd in the world for Most Extreme.
|1.||The Protectorate of Tuitio LXXXVII||Corrupt Dictatorship||“Preserve”|
- : The Constitutional Monarchy of Waldora of the region Pacific Isles proposed constructing embassies.
- : The Federation of Australian Republic of the region Regionless proposed constructing embassies.
- : The Badlands Beyond The Brink of The Bizarre of the region The Illuminati proposed constructing embassies.
- : The Queendom of Mathilde VI departed this region for Bree.
- : The Protectorate of Tuitio LXXXVII arrived from Tuitionis.
- : Ureyzyq ceased to exist.
- : Ado of the region The Pirate Bay proposed constructing embassies.
- : The Imperial Republic of Imperial Arconia of the region The SOP cancelled the closure of its embassy in Greenwich Village.
- : 4 of a kind of the region The SOP ordered the closure of its embassy in Greenwich Village.
- : The People's Republic of WeareAllScrewedville of the region East of West proposed constructing embassies.
Greenwich Village Regional Message Board
I just saw some weird bearded cat, dressed up in a red suit with white fur trim, sitting on a sleigh and being pulled around Washington Square Park. Trouble is the sleigh was pulled by a couple of horses instead of 8 reindeer. Anybody know what's going on there? Makes me think Santa's franchising out or something. And anyway, he's early.
where is inspiration in another new year?
we've done this all before
and our ancestors before us
countless and nameless they are and
pointless on this point
Full of hope and hoopla
of ritual and resolution
they looked at each old year as slavery
to each new year as emancipation
and filled their lives with futility
and here we are cresting another wave of time
have we figured out yet that january 1
is just like may 18 or august 4
or will we trade our old calendar for new
and trust its empty magic for a new life?
Sheesh! all they did with the snowmageddon alert was screw up my business for the day. Good thing so many of my regulars are locals or I would've lost money on the day.
Hi, my name is Forrest Hamer, I'd like to read a poem called "A dull sound varying now and again" :
And then we began eating corn starch,
chalk chewed wet into sirup.
Argo boxes stored away to stiffen
my white dress shirt, and my cousin
and I played or watched TV, no longer annoyed
by the din of never cooling afternoons.
On the way home from church one fifth Sunday,
shirt outside my pants, my tie clipped on
its wrinkling collar, I found a new small can of snuff,
packed a chunk inside my cheek, and tripped
from the musky sting making my head ache,
giving me shivers knowing my aunt hid cigarettes
in the drawer under her slips,
that drawer the middle one on the left.
Another poem by Forrest Hamer. This one's called "Grace"
This air is flooded with her. I am a boy again, and my mother
and I lie on wet grass, laughing. She startles, turns to
marigolds at my side, saying beautiful, and I can see the red
there is in them.
When she would fall into her thoughts, we'd look for what
distracted her from us.
My mother's gone again as suddenly as ever and, seven months
after the funeral, I go dancing. I am becoming grateful.
Breathing, thinking, marigolds.
And a bit of Lawrence Ferlinghetti:
Night closed my windows and
The sky became a crystal house
The crystal windows glowed
shown through them
through the whole house of crystal
A single star beamed down
its crystal cable
and drew a plough through the earth
unearthing bodies clasped together
around the earth
They clung together everywhere
emitting small cries
that did not reach the stars
The crystal earth turned
and the bodies with it
And the sky did not turn
nor the stars with it
The stars remained fixed
each with its crystal cable
beamed to earth
each attached to the immense plough
furrowing our lives
For sure, peace. And espresso. And poetry. And art, and music. And Beatness.
Welcome! Feel free to help fill our coffeehouse with the sounds and songs and sights of the reality under the fog. I'll take care of the smells and tastes of food and coffee.
Bless the Village.
I love the poetry of peace.
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
By Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that wonít compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion Ė put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didnít go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
"The Earth is an Indian thing." - Kerouac
It's maybe 1956 or 1962, or some other time, because a calendar is just a map of time. The Village is a Beat community of poets, artists, musicians, writers and thinkers.
Kerouac also said, "It is because I am Beat, that is, I believe in beatitude and that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son to it... Who knows, but that the universe is not one vast sea of compassion actually, the veritable holy honey, beneath all this show of personality and cruelty?"
Beat? Make yourself at home here. The espresso is hot, the pastry is fresh, and the soup will be ready in a few minutes.