"Howl"

I remembered what I wanted to tell you. Years ago. I'd do the midnight to six am on air shift. This happened because many hosts sometimes just wouldn't show up or the recorded programs just weren't around. So as the on duty engineer I'd read stories, and play music.

This to keep company with whoever was out there.

Sometimes my radio pals were about. Max Anne Sharon R. Paul. We'd hold forth by telling stories of our collective century of on air radio adventures. Sometimes spontaneously I'd howl like a wolf. I'd howl, and howl. My dear friends would howl with me. I invited all listening to join. We'd howl into the deep deep night. We in the studio, and those alone with their radios howling.

We all of us would howl into the dawn.

"...my posts are as you see Bi-Polar",...as am I.

I remember "Ice Fog". It never happens in the City. However I remember being with friends long ago driving around upper Vermont. We drove into something we'd none of us had ever seen before. A shimmering fog.

We stopped got out, and walked in it.

It was an actual fog of ice crystals. A fog of diamonds. So amazing. A routine miracle of nature.

I say routine because nature just does this,...if we would just stop, and look.

"Heroin"

"Heroin" by the Velvet Underground is a song from the pit of my soul. 'Never a Heroin Addict, but was married to just about everything else in my time. At my memorial I want this played.

Ha! Deal with that as you go into the guests hall to eat them little dried out ham sandwiches, and stale cokes that are always the fare at these things.

Thank g-d, and the CIA for all the drugs I used back in the day...couldn't have made it here without them. They took me to the very edge of Death, and brought me back to tell the tale.

What Buddhist monk wouldn't give his prayer beads for a taste of that! I had the shit delivered. Middle Class style self immolation if you please.  In my Cocaine daze I was in the upper circles.

Diplomatic pouch grade shit straight from fucking Fidel's Cuba!. Being a broadcaster had it perks. I'm talking 90 to 100 percent pure. Yeah I hear you say 100% is 'not' possible.

Oh pardon me dear friend,...it most certainly was is, and always will be if you know who what, and where, and especially how.

Best shit this side of junkie Hell. It made all the wounds heal all the demons melt away. Just like in this song.

As for Heroin except for snorting some a few times not my cup of meat. For one the "Vomit Barrier", and the other my dislike of needles put me off. Especially since at the time we were just finding out AIDS came as a free extra sometimes.

I do Not! renounce my Drug era. Those Insane days, and nights, and months, and years! No more that a soldier would ever renounce their War. It made both of us what we are. Take that away, and we're incomplete. Shadows wisps nothing.

That time was a passage a mad hellish tonic for our blood, and guts.

It made us the Saints we are today.

"Art of the Deal"

Last Friday evening as I was about to post the call to Sabbath air raid siren went off. I live near an high Orthodox Jewish Temple. They're in, and have been for decades. In a Messianic Fever. Like Evangelicals they expect the Big Guy to show up any minute.

Unlike as in my former Catholic faith where we figure he'll leave us alone for a few thousand more years.

They decided to use the siren to make the point of the urgency.

There were complaints. However we settled it in the usual Brooklyn way. We had a meeting agreed we couldn't stand each other, and they turned the volume down a bit.

Same happened with the Haitians when their religious stuff went nuts for a while. We came together confirmed that we can't stand each other, and reached a compromise.

Would that the whole world would be so reasonable.

"...he was serious"

I don't remember if I posted the following on this particular page. I suspect dementia,...I should be so lucky.  Anyway I just came across it in my files so here it is for the first or second time. I've been musing about my broadcast years, and this came back to me.

"My latest smarty pants adventure is reading the first book, "Swann's Way", of Marcel Proust's epic triad of words, and dreams. "Remembrance of Things Past". All three books should slowly take me through the winter. I've had an off, and on relationship, like many I imagine, with these books.

It was shoved into my life in high school, and again later in my short, but world opening university life. It has hovered just out of sight with me ever since. My last involvement was during my radio career when "Watson" of "Listening with Watson" fame did a serialized reading of it."

Bill Watson was a dear friend to me. Some I hope will recall him from his classical music programs from long back in the day. A vignette. During a period of racist incidents...more than normal back in the early 1980's here in Manhattan. He offered to give me shelter at his country home if things became too dangerous in the city.

...he was serious.

He actually gave me a copy of the keys, and detailed directions if I had to leave suddenly. That was Bill. So Marcel Proust "Remembrance of Things Past" "Listening with Watson" classical music my radio life violent Jim Crow are all jelled together in "Swann's Way". Interesting how events persons works of art, and the ways of history come together in our perhaps ordinary yet still unique lives.

Btw I'm reading "Swann's Way" on "Project Gutenberg".
A wonder house of online work free to all. Google it or go here...

http://www.gutenberg.org/

"Salvation"

Praise Barbie for only she can save us

from the evil that lives within all!

Praise Her" Praise Her! Praise Her!

Her little sister Pepper too.