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.

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

All the journals I can find are out on the table. Photos are from our trip to Mexico in 2009 and New Mexico in August 2002. The other night I finished a bottle of Mezcal Joven. Joven = young. I was young when I wrote the following:



“1/25/1989

The Mezcal Tastes Like Smoke

The Mezcal tastes

like smoke

from a fire

age old

In twilit suburban drear 

serve 

salt

for the wound

( and to bless the house )

lemon citron yellow

 American 

rainy season

 Gift of life 

falls from the sky

laced with cyanide

 Lilac blooms 

but its arduous aroma of
amour

no longer pervades 

the air of May

noise of tred

on wet asphalt 

whines and hisses

like an asp

coiled in rock below 

poised to strike a fatal blow

like fine wine

spiked with unleaded 

gasoline

 electric flame

rises High into the night

Neon and Argon

Silver and Gold

Flesh undulates

forth and back

muscle tenses

in attack

grabbed 

by the throat

blood

of goats

The Mezcal tastes like smoke"

And We'll Walk in the Sun...Hawaii 1999

When I left home for Hawaii in 1999, I was with a young, beautiful woman. When I returned I was in the company of the love of my life. My goals for that trip were romance and adventure. It was the romance of being with a vivacious, smart woman, and the adventure of black sand beaches, volcanoes, and lava flows. What happened was unexpected. I do love to be pleasantly surprised. Yes, there were all the elements of a fine romance novel. However, the best stories are ones that change your life forever. This is that story told in notes directly from my journal.

We were both doing the Artist’s Way at the time and writing morning pages. I was taking a lot of photographs with an SLR (single lens reflex) using good old fashioned Kodak and Fuji film, so there is a lot of jargon about photography…The trip to Hawaii at times was long and arduous, but not this part. We stayed in a place overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Room 204 of the H. Manago Hotel.

 “It’s a small family run Japanese Hotel with unbelievable rates—no phone, no TV, clean as if the word were invented here…

Aug. 19, 1999


The Luau was very commercial. A visit to the local Hard Rock Café and two “real” Mahi Thai’s by Wayne did us good. We couldn’t finish them. Bread pudding made us pucker w/ sweetness. Still – Luau was a good way to sample the local cuisine. You must mix Poke w/ Poi for it to be palatable—the Lau Lau was pork wrapped in banana leaf—good! Rice, white fish boiled or steamed more likely, cinnamon over bananas sliced in one inch thick chunks and fresh sliced pineapple filled my plate...


Roll #8 finished there the 400 slides. Roll #9 ASA 1600 B/W. I’m sure shots of Luau are a bust, but I did some stuff at the room this morning I think may go well. Using available light (as if I ever use anything else). Shot many at F8-16 (aperture opening) @ 60/30 (shutter speed)…

Manago Breakfast – I don’t know if my taste buds have awakened or if everything here just tastes so good! Papaya, toast, eggs over real easy, Portuguese sausage patties (Andouille type) silver dollar size and thick w/ a bottomless cup of Kona coffee. $10 bucks for two of us!!


Now…Time for kayaking – 9:00am – 4pm No photos of kayaking. Didn’t want to risk the camera.

The – profound solemnity of this moment defies all words. We swam with Dolphins! 

Shards of light sliced through the water and there they were—and there we were—in Kealakekua Bay.

At one point, I counted 15 [wild] Spinner Dolphins. 2 calves! One—after nuzzling its mother, sped to the surface from maybe 20-15 ft of ocean and broke the surface in a gleeful jump before my eyes at about 3 yards away! They are magnificent, sensitive creatures. I am not worthy. All the events that led us to that place…the Manago Hotel, the chance of us going to the KEALAKEKUA KAYAK RENTAL and having this nice, little old lady from Chicago and her Danish husband Olin enrolling us in the possibilities of kayaking to Cook’s Point and maybe seeing Dolphins. Dude, we didn’t just see them, we swam with them. I love Jennifer for leading me here! I love life—so much!...

On the drive home, finish Roll #9 in Waimea, Horse country. F 22/60-125 and Program

6:30PM

Phenomenal Day. Back in Hilo—What can ever possibly Top this. I HAVE HAD A PEAK LIFE EXPERIENCE. I—AM—SPEECHLESS. I’m sure tomorrow in the AM words will flow, but for now—Aloha."

"And We'll Walk in the Sun"

On Sunday last, while spending time with my wife who came to visit for her Spring Break from ECU, I came up with a title for my next piece of literary work. I did not know whether this would be a book of poetry, or a novel, but I liked the title. It's not original, I rarely ever do anything original. It comes from one of our favorite Bruce Springsteen songs.  Born to Run.

Tuesday night Jennifer and I dug into our old journals and began reading entries to one another. Not only is it one of the most intimate things we've ever done,the readings were also quite dramatic and revealed to us ourselves in a very particular way. Not purely nostalgic, but in a way where we could be objective and think critically about our own words. We were both excited about revisiting our former selves and remember well how those two people propelled us into the future. I love my wife now as much, if not more than I did back then.

Wednesday I decided to start transcribing my handwritten journal entries into my present electronic journal and perhaps share them on the pages of this Web log. I wondered if anyone would care to read it. Then something almost mystical happened.

Friday we went to the Apple store on West 14th Street and 9th Avenue in Manhattan so Jen could bring her Mac to the Genius Bar. Upon returning to the truck which we parked in a nearby garage, I noted someone had left a very readable hard cover copy of H is for Hawk in the open bed. I have not read it yet, but plan to straight away. I am taking this as a sign. The universe is agreeing with my choice to share our story.

 

This morning I dropped Jennifer off at LaGuardia and hugged her a long time before saying farewell. We saw 3 amazing plays while she was here. The Crucible by Arthur Miller. Shakespeare's (so they say) Pericles of Tyre, and Buried Child by Sam Shepard. All three were power house productions in their own right, executing and delivering their respective stories with skill and high theatrical art. We are pleased.