Survivor June 2009

In the course of my 57 years I've stayed in a hospital once. The week of my birth. My parents took me home to Jamaica Plain. Since that day my health has been unchallenged by illness other than colds, poison ivy, and hang-overs. The last year I had thrived in the unhealthy climates of New York. One year without a serious ailment and last week I bragged to a friend, "I haven't been ill this year."

Two days later a cough invaded my lungs. My body was wracked by a low-grade fever. My strength was depleted by minimal exertion. I stayed home one day from work. I would have been fine if I had said nothing. My doctor's diagnosis excluded 'swine flu'.

"A cold. A summer cold. Nothing more." He suggested rest, fluids, and cough syrup.

I followed his advice and slept like the dead thanks to the cough syrup. I drank hundreds of gallons of water and juice. Theraflu was my sole form of entertainment. No beer. No wine. No pizza. Life was meaningless. I don't do sick well. My bed became my empire. I watched all of STARGATE-ATLANTIS Seasons 2 and 3. It's been one week. I almost feel better. I survived being sick.

The weirdest thing was that everyone else in New York looked even sicker.

But then they eat crap.

Vagabonding In the City - 2017

My disaster stint in Alaska cost my apartment in Fort Greene.

Too many hours.

A horrible boss.

Too little money.

How little?

$100 for a thirteen hour day.

I wasn't cut out for selling silver trinkets to geriatric cruise line passengers and my boss fired me without notice. I was glad to go.

May was not the month to make sales in Juneau.

Six days a week.

I lasted a month and returned to New York with less than $600 in my pocket.

My apartment was sublet and I was $4500 in arrears to my landlord and good friend.

I worked everywhere throughout the summer.

On a house in Catskill, New York.

On a farm in Greenwich, New York.

Where a tree bloodied my skull.

My son Fenway was hurt in a motorcycle crash in Thailand.

Not bad and he remains handsome as ever.

On a house in Greenwich, New York.

My old job of selling diamonds was gone. I hated hard labor, but it was better than not working at all, which is what I've been doing the last week.

A vagabond without a place to live.

I used to fit right into this street.

And one day I will again.

Just not today.

HItchhiking Delaware 1970

In 1970 coming from a weekend in DC Peter Gore and I were arrested for hitchhiking by a Delaware state trooper on this stretch of I-95. We were fined $25 at the police station and put on a bus to New York. I never paid that ticket, which has probably ballooned with penalties and interest to $1100. That is why I fear Delaware.

Especially the Delaware Welcome Center.

A slice of pizza $7.99.

And no beer.

ps the following year Peter and I also were ticketed once more for hitchhiking in George, Washington by a zealous state trooper. He threw us off the highway and then off the onramp. Peter was standing on a tree stump and a car stopped for us. The trooper pulled over the vehicle and ticketed the three of us.

I never paid that ticket either.

June 29 1997 Fire Island Journal

June 29 1997 Fire Island

The waves from Africa 
Break on the Pines beach
The sea froth surging up the sand
With a lisping hiss
The final reach of the Atlantic
Swirling around my ankles
To retreat from
'Neath my feet___
Three seconds later
Another wave ripples around my feet
My soles sinking into the sand deep
My balance threatened 
By the tug
Of the sea___
Overhead a Westbound 747
Crew of nineteen
300 plus passengers
From Europe on the approach 
To JFK
I am invisible ___
This autumn I will be westbound 
Aboard a jetliner to Heathrow 
To Paris
To the South of France
And then Ireland
But I am here now
Fire Island
Haunted by the ghosts
Of boys of summer
Their names
Countless as the sand disappearing 
'Neath my toes___
I close my eyes
I see them all
The boys of the Sexual Revolution
Soldiers
I open my eyes
I see none__
I fight to remember 
All
The boys of summer
On this beach
Within reach
1978
Before
Before 
Before__
I see us all with my eyes open
Naked 
Young
Tanned
Laughing 
Naked
Alive___
Not  
Old Polaroids  Not in my hand
Of my mind
Oh the nakedness
Now
Today
I strip naked
No longer young
Alive
Naked___
Dive into the cold sea
This moment 
Like all those gone
And those to come
All of us
Together 
Never to flee
Our nakedness then
Or my nakedness now__
The smell of poppers in the air
Ah, the Pines__

Juneteenth 1900 Texas

The above photo was taken in Texas thirty-five years after the morning of June 19, 1865, when Union Major General Gordon Granger arrived on the island of Galveston to take command of the more than 2,000 federal troops recently landed in the department of Texas to enforce the emancipation of its enslaved population and oversee Reconstruction, nullifying all laws passed within Texas during the war by Confederate lawmakers. The order informed all Texans that, in accordance with a Proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all enslaved people were free, although not in the border states until later.

Still free, but the fight for equality is not over by a long shot.

Happy ‘tenth.

Information from Wikipedia.

In This City - June 17, 1977

Rare
The clear light of a summer sjy
In this city
New York City
The sun can not burn off the haze
Rarer still are the days of easy breathing
In this city
But I knew what to expect
when I moved here
To this city
From Boston
My hometown
In a stolen car
At night driven by the need to leave a racist city
Gambling all on the love of a southern woman
Ro left for Paris the day
Before I arrived
Her gone had nothing to do with me
The stolen car gone with the dawn too
Leaving me
In this city
New York City
In the summertime
At night with the stars
Up in the sky___

Journal Entry - June 14, 1977 (Berkeley Street)

DREAMS

I walk through the darkness and the sound of bells peal from the Brooklyn churches call for everyone to leave Earth, except for me and 125 women. Why they left and we stayed is beyond me.

President Jimmy Carter and I pull up to a yacht club. He went directly to the Sequoia and I drank with friends. Cher came into the bar and couldn't find a seat.

I gave her mine.

LATER

Clinton Avenue

Matthew and I had a good time at Coney Island. He badly wanted a roller coaster ride, except the Cyclone was under repair. The ocean was hurting with tar and shit in the surf. The beach was covered wth trash, broken glass from decades of human abuse. Matthew and I rode the bumping car, which were great fun, until he lost a contact lens.

I'm heading to Hunter College for my bi-weekly acting class. Tonight should be strange.

Rare are the summer days of clear light The sun can not burn off the haze. Rarer still are the days of easy breathing But I knew that when I moved here From Boston in a stolen car At night driven by the need to leave a racist city Gambling all on the love of a southern woman. Ro left for Paris the day I arrived The stolen car gone with the dawn too.

LATER

I spoke with Libby on the phone. She has my silver brush. I won't have to stop in Westport on the way to Boston.

Class tonight with Billy reenacting a drunken bout and I released into a combative character, but improv is a game allowing people to walk inside you.

Chuck is enthused about my script D. DESCENDING. His reading from it makes me understand how far I have to go with writing. He and Carla play roles in various scenes. She goes home with me, but yturns around to watch Chuck. Man and Wife once. Still in love. She's just killing time with me.