And We'll Walk in the Sun...out of Brooklyn...

“March, 2000


My car parked on the Friday side
with a ticket on its windshield

Never the less
Brooklyn has been kind to me
Gentler even than Staten Island or
Manhattan

Pelting searing
raindrops
drown a surreal
Wycoff Street-scape in liquid
Ash

My coffee grinder churns out words
and in the black grounds
Beat murmurings of
an unconscious Allen Ginsberg
whose own bones channel
the lost conscience of an
excavation retro generation
flayed and
Hung

Lioness March wind
cruelly soaking April in her black
Mad Cow Skirt
blew the window open
So I had to battle
Fire and Limestone
Freezing and thawing
my manic Ambition which
lies else where
having toured Wall Streets
Beverly Hills
and remains
Unimpressed.”

“April 7, 2000

I had my teeth knocked out
When I was 16
That’s why the front ones look white
While the rest look green

So what qualifies you
To represent me on that
Silver screen
When I’ve been the places I’ve been
Seen the things I’ve seen?

I was repressed and obsessed
Wound up intense and undressed
Went to Fuck U after
Graduating a school for Hard Knox

When I “came out” all I saw
Were wet cunts and
Hard cocks

How can you show me
About my life?
About my alcoholic father
Or dysfunctional ex-wife?

I can represent myself
If I live that long
Take my Dog down off that shelf
Listen to this song.”

And We'll Walk in the Sun...Brooklyn Style...

For my last post of April...the cruelest month...breeding Lilacs out of the dead ground...I offer a post from my journal...

And We'll Walk in the Sun...with Gonzo Girl...

More from my journals past before getting present…

“May 18th, 2000

Tears on the Verge of being on the Verge
Sometimes I feel like there is everywhere to go
And I can’t understand—

What’s stopping me”

April 29, 2016

Last night, this morning, I dreamed my mother died and I finally cried. I was finally able to mourn her passing, to feel my protective layer dissolve and to let the grief of her passing, of her loss, wash over me. I cried in my dream. I was trying to get back to her, I was in Chicago on a business trip trying to get a flight back because I was told she had died and I was frantic. Strangers were helping me navigate the bars and bureaucracy of Midway Airport. It was beyond sad, and a little bizarre.

Sort of like the life of Hunter S. Thompson. If you have ever wondered about the man played by Johnny Depp in the movie “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” then you will want to read Gonzo Girl by Cheryl Della Pietra. Just out in paperback, it is the story of a young woman born and raised in the protective custody of our East Coast, daring to Go West and experience the tumultuous drama of genius and human frailty in a totally immersive adventure to the edge of sanity and back.

I relate to Thompson because he was my dad. I mean my dad was him, minus the literary talent, creative genius and penchant for suicide. But the drugs, booze, guns, women,— they were twin sons of different mothers. Both craftsmen, my dad working with tin and slate, Thompson with words, both exploring the limits of freedom, physically and metaphorically. My dad died in 2008 after years of self-abuse and slow physical erosion from the effects of a 30 foot fall off a roof when he was in the prime of his life. Thompson checked out by his own hand in 2005 as his health too deteriorated. His story is the story on manhood in America in the 20th century.

If you have yet to check this book out, it is a great read. I highly recommend it.

And We'll Walk in the Sun...Tuesday Morning 9 a.m.

“5/16/00 - 3rd Avenue and East 23rd Street Manhattan, NY



Spirits move from vessel to vessel
Bright Sun to Bright Sun
Dark Sea, Dark Sea

They move indifferently
panorama walking by
each individual breath a sigh

Spirit enters, spirit passes
through solid stone and bone
flesh and mesh of moving masses

There’s rhyme in old craft-work
though I am desperate for Post-Modern
meaning

The Spirit sits me down
Bids me wait—feel what I feel
unattached to something real

Spirit rules me where non-sense
fails
where injustice wounds me
and my nature conflicts
with this artificial world

Bright warm sun
Cold dark sea
Earth damp cool
Full of Spirit
Passing through me


Tuesday Morning 9 a.m.”

And We'll Walk in the Sun...Moving...

There is a recurring theme here, this entry is from 1999, June, back when I was about to leave Staten Island to live with my then girl friend Jen-Scott Mobley.

“6.27.99 S.I. NY 6PM EST



Smoking a MACanudo Robusto my big sister (Pat) gave to me for #41 writing in pages my other big sister (Marti) sent me for same. Suckin’ on a Corona some Mexican beer makers made for me. Weight 180lbs. Some type of poison ivy type rash on the side of what’s left of my butt.



Taking in the last days here—in sub-urban NYC. Getting ready to move away from brother-in-law’s house, from hometown, from RED 10 year old pick-up truck in driveway, Rosebush, bar-B-Q, cucumbers newly planted where shrub used to be overgrown. They pulled the shrub out last year. I am now to follow.



Movin’ to NYC proper: Manhattan. Scared? Yeah. A little. Excited? Yeah. A lot. Lookin’ forward to reducing that weight up there, to indulging in Adventure.



6.28.99 7AM 41 years 6 Days 9 Hrs.



I get present with each ferry ride knowing it will cease being a part of my daily routine, hearkening back to my first ride with my sister (Marti) and her boyfriend (Al). Try calculating the number of crossings I’ve made since I was 4 years old. For 37 years. My favorites are these early mornings with young, sweet school girls and boys and fresh, smart working ladies and tourists. Well, not so many tourists on this early boat, but plenty of others.





Water—deep blue, sky white with haze, land—far away. Nothing solid. Not the bench or young man, nor flesh of my plan, no clearing, or bells ringing; waiting for a whistle to blow.



The kids travel together and converse. Their voices sounding like the cheerful chatter of tropical birds—colorful, vociferous, full of potential. Energy driving my world. Lady Liberty and Ellis Island float by. An anomalous green tug, (most of them are Red). Soon we’ll dock at White Hall, embarking on the working portion of steamy Monday, on a 28th of June.



(Later Same Day)



1:35 pm. BUILDING INSPECTOR – SHUTS DOWN DEATH TRAP



Several young male workers were sent home today by inspector Ransom of D.O.B. They were excavating a rear yard at... in the Chelsea section of Manhattan. Their permits had expired; there were no approved plans on site at time of inspection and no proper bracing or shoring. 3 violations were issued and the men sent home after being ordered to make the area safe.”




Now... I am back in the City, back to the grind...but I still have Greenville on my mind.