SEPTEMBER 3, 1978 - JOURNAL ENTRY - EAST VILLAGE

Last night offered eager high school girls from Dalton, they acted sexy as if they had rehearsed the wanton kisses and yearning smiles before the bathroom mirror at home. The music at the clubs was tolerable, but I wished I had been alone. Not to cheat, just to be free.

After CBGBs closed at 4am, Guadalcanal, his frail girlfriend from DC, Alice and I went to his place to snort cocaine. He had a pile of it, since he was dealing to Johnny Thunders, the Heartbreakers, their groupies, and entourage. It was a good business and Guadalcanal didn't have to cut his blow. The yellow Columbia flake was the purest in the Lower East Side.

Alice and I left a 6:30 AM and she said walking up 1st Avenue in the early dawn light, "I want open spaces. I'd like to see my brother, Bobbie, in Morgantown."

"Even after you fled your grandmother's house there?"

"I was spooked by the rain falling on that old place

"I want a holiday too. Maybe Boston."

I had family there. My mother and father woulld take me to eat at Tony's Clam Shack on Wollaston Beach. I might even get a little money from them.

"I have had enough of New York City."

That was the cocaine speaking, but I admitted, "I"ve gotten my fill too."

My heart was in this city. My heart also wanted to be in Boston or even better Maine.. Not here with all the garbage on the sidewalks. I kicked a sack and said, "Why isn't this city clean?"

"Because the city can't afford the sanitation workers," answered Alice and added, "The city can't afford anything. It's bankrupt. It's falling apart."

"Right into our hands." The city belonged to the people. "Tourists complained about the garbage. We just live with it."

"Until they take it back, it is ours."

Not forever. The banks love being in one place. Wall Street. A couple of billion and the city is good as new, at leastd on the surface. The 80s are less than a year away and 1984 closer than ever.

The radio announced the number of car crash deaths for the Labor Day Weekend.

We sounds like we will top last year.

I've survived two major car collisions and one pedestrian-car crash.

Drink was involved in none of them and nothing bad happened on a highway. The interstates are my paradise of speed and skill with smooth roads late at night. 'Hit The Road, Jack' is my modus operandi.

By thumb or car I headed West, but now I am anchored to New York by commitments to nothinglessness. Everyone here says I have drifted too long and it's true, but also a lie. I love the road.

I used to sleep in desert motels Cheap ones to spend the night Crashing in a field When the towns were too far apart.

I've huddled in city alleys I knew no one. No one knew me. Golf courses had soft grass. Little League fields too The towns had no name. I forget some of the places. I remember most.

Meeting you ended my shifting A woman to whom I owe it all We settled in the big city A drifter quit running to the sun A hillbilly woman never going back home. The bad times are still bad, but you stop my shouting.

Your love steered me away from a bad ending The one drifters dream about without ever wanting to live. Now I can tell you, I ain't going nowhere.

Believe me, baby, I'm telling the truth And I'm not leaving, because every day I keep drifting to you. A surprise to you, a happy ending for me, A drifter at the end of the road.

For Labor Day Weekend I rode the Lucky Star bus from Chinatown to Boston's South Station. BBQ traffic was tough on I-95. There were no accidents. My sister-in-law picked me up in Harvard Square. We drove back to their home on the Watertown line. Nothing was open around them and now that I'm not drinking, I settled for a hummus vegetable wrap and a glass of water.

No cocaine either.

Guadalcanal is in Kansas City.

Alice is in LA.

She hates that I refer to her as a hillbilly. Her father was a lawyer, her separate other was a teacher or something like that, and the family home in Charleston was located in a suburban development.

The streets of New York especially Manhattan resemble the bankrupt city in the 1970s; encampment of homeless, drug addicts openly dealing and shooting in the streets, and young thugs getting mouthy with their elders. Once Old Bill from Frank's Lounge said to me, "The worst thing about getting old is that no one thinks you're dangerous."

He unbuttoned his elegant suit coat to reveal a holstered .38.

This changes the young punks' mind real quick, because they can also see in my eyes that I will pull the trigger."

Damn straight, Old Bill.

I'm lying on a bed at 8PM. It is quiet outside. Too quiet to be life.

I'm reading a book.

Philip Kerr's METROPOLIS

Berlin 1928.

Paradise.

George Grosz to Bernie Gunther

"I draw drunkards, men puking out their guts, prostitutes, military men with blood on their hands, women pissing in your beer, suicides, men who are horribly crippled, women who have been murdered by men playing cards. My chief subject is this Hell's metropolis, Berlin. With all its wild excess and decadence the city to me seems the very essence of humanity."

Not so New York.

I sense the threads of society to humanity fraying to the breaking point.

Then nothing and I know nothing well.

THE DEFINITION OF TREASON

Last week the FBI searched Trump's Mildew-A-Lago property for classified documents from various intelligence agencies such as the CIA and the Pentagon. The right-wing NY Times demanded access to the search warrant issued by the US Attorney General and Merrick Garland released a very edited affidavit, which outlined the reasons for such a high-level invasion of an ex-president's residence as well as their haul from the raid.

The FBI found in Trump’s possession 184 documents marked ‘classified’, 67 marked ‘confidential’, 92 marked ‘secret’, and 25 ‘top secret’.

Throughout his years in the White House Trump declassified articles and passed them to Russian, Saudia Arabian and Israeli intelligence agents, forcing the CIA to shut down their operations around the world and saving as many as their operatives as possible, while seeing other assets imprisoned, tortured, and assassinated after each breach. Trump ignored their warnings and thought what do they know about anything.

His son-in-law Jared Kushner acted as a funnel to our enemies. He had been presidently pardon, but that card only works once and the Israeli informer has been distancing himself for Mr. Trump. Kushner has sat in the rooms. He has heard the conversations. More damning he has served as Trump's brain, because the old man can't read. Not even with the help of a Tell-a-prompter.

In the 1964 Jacobellis v. Ohio case, Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart said about hard-core pornography, "I know it when I see it.", however the Court ruled in favor of the Cleveland movie theater owner for presenting the Louis Malle THE LOVERS.

The US Constitution defined treason on the federal level in Article III, Section 3 as: "only in levying War against [the United States], or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort."

Like the Yalie Judge I know treason when I see it.

Guilty Guilty Guilty.

Gene Tierney

Times Asshole - John Tierney of the NY Times

Fourteen years ago John Tierney, a right-wing pundit, had been hired by the NY TIMES to attract readership from the Fox News suburbs. I had been angered at the Times publishing this head-in-the-sand Op-Ed piece. The Grand Old Lady had dropped her knickers for the SUV mass-suicidists of America. I hadn't written a rebuttal back then, but I'm Irish and we like to strike later, because as a tribe of poets our clan have vengeful memories running back and forth through the millenia and there's nothing better than to strike when your enemy never knew you.

My retorts shall in CAPs

SUMMER VACATION 2008 by John Tierney

For most of the year, it is the duty of the press to scour the known universe looking for ways to ruin your day. The more fear, guilt or angst a news story induces, the better. But with August upon us, perhaps you're in the mood for a break, so I've rounded up a list of ten things not to worry about on your vacation.

I AGREE WITH HIS ACCUSATIONS OF THE FEAR-MONGERING PRESS

Now, I can't guarantee you that any of these worries is groundless, because I can't guarantee you that anything is absolutely safe, including the act of reading a newspaper. With enough money, an enterprising researcher could surely identify a chemical in newsprint or keyboards that is dangerously carcinogenic for any rat that reads a trillion science columns every day.

WHILE NEWSPAPERS CONTAIN HARMFUL INKS, READING THEM IS ONLY DANGEROUS IF YOU BELIEVE ALL THE LIES. What I can guarantee is that I wouldn't spend a nanosecond of my vacation worrying about any of these 10 things:

1. Killer hot dogs. What is it about frankfurters? There was the nitrite scare. Then the grilling-creates-carcinogens alarm. And then, when those menaces ebbed, the weenie warriors fell back on that old reliable villain: saturated fat.

I LOVE HOT DOGS FROM THE GRILL, HOWEVER WE USED TO THINK THAT THE MEAT PACKERS JUST DROPPED WHOLE COWS IN A MANGLER AND POOPED EVERYTHING OF THE COW OTHER THAN THE MOO INTO THE SKINS. But now even saturated fat isn't looking so bad, thanks to a rigorous experiment in Israel reported this month. The people on a low-carb, unrestricted-calorie diet consumed more saturated fat than another group forced to cut back on both fat and calories, but those fatophiles lost more weight and ended up with a better cholesterol profile. And this was just the latest in a series of studies contradicting the medical establishment's predictions about saturated fat. THE RED ANTS OF THAILAND WITH EAT ALMOST ANYTHING. MY WIFE BOUGHT CORN OIL. SHE SPILLED SOME ON THE COUNTER. THE ANTS AVOIDED THE SATURATED FAT BY INCHES. MY WIFE WANTED TO THROW IT OUT. I STOPPED HER AND USED IT AS INSECT DETERRENT.

2. Your car's planet-destroying A/C. No matter how guilty you feel about your carbon footprint, you don't have to swelter on the highway to the beach. After doing tests at 65 miles per hour, the mileage experts at edmunds.com report that the aerodynamic drag from opening the windows cancels out any fuel savings from turning off the air-conditioner.

I AGREE WITH HIS STATEMENT, BUT ROADS DESTROY AND CARS KILL. THE AC ISN'T REALLY AN ISSUE SINCE POLLUTION FROM THE MANUFACTURE OF A CAR OR SUV OR MANLY PICK-UP ( I LIKE THE OLD FORD 150 ) OUTSTRIPS ALL HARM COMING FROM THE EXHAUST PIPE.

3. Forbidden fruits from afar. Do you dare to eat a kiwi? Sure, because more "food miles" do not equal more greenhouse emissions. Food from other countries is often produced and shipped much more efficiently than domestic food, particularly if the local producers are hauling their wares around in small trucks. One study showed that apples shipped from New Zealand to Britain had a smaller carbon footprint than apples grown and sold in Britain.

AND THESE FRUITS TASTE ALL THE SAME ALTHOUGH MASS-SUICIDISTS DON'T EAT VEGETABLE OR FRUIT.

4. Carcinogenic cellphones. Some prominent brain surgeons made news on Larry King's show this year with their fears of cellphones, thereby establishing once and for all that epidemiology is not brain surgery — it's more complicated.

ONCE MORE THE REAL HARM FROM THESE DEVICES ARE THEIR MANUFACTURE, DISPOSAL AND THE ABILITY OF GOVERNMENTS AND CORPORATION TO DEEP-MINED THROUGH SEAMS OF YOUR LIFE. SHUT OFF YOUR PHONE AND YOU WILL BE FREE.

As my colleague Tara Parker-Pope has noted, there is no known biological mechanism for the phones' non-ionizing radiation to cause cancer, and epidemiological studies have failed to find consistent links between cancer and cellphones.

THE HARM FROM CELLPHONES IS THEIR ADDICTIVE COUNTER-REALITY AND USSERS INABILITY TO RECOGNIZE THEIR DISCONNECT FROM HUMANITY.

It's always possible today's worried doctors will be vindicated, but I'd bet they'll be remembered more like the promoters of the old cancer-from-power-lines menace — or like James Thurber's grandmother, who covered up her wall outlets to stop electricity from leaking.

Driving while talking on a phone is a definite risk, but you're better off worrying about other cars rather than cancer.

5. Evil plastic bags. Take it from the Environmental Protection Agency : paper bags are not better for the environment than plastic bags. If anything, the evidence from life-cycle analyses favors plastic bags. They require much less energy — and greenhouse emissions — to manufacture, ship and recycle. They generate less air and water pollution. And they take up much less space in landfills;

PLASTIC IS JUST THE TRASH FROM THE PRODUCTION OF OIL. THESE DIABOLICAL CORPORATIONS HIRE MIT CHEM GRADS TO PROMOTE TOXIC FOREVER PLASTIC AS A BOON TO SOCIETY. THE LARGEST HUMAN EDIFICE USED TO THE STATEN ISLAND LANDFILL. IT HAS BEEN CLOSED FOR YEARS, YET METHANE CLOUDS SEEP FROM THE MOUNTAIN. BBUT FUCK IT NEW JERFSEY AND STATEN ISLAND ARE USED TO POLLUTION, SHIT WHEN WE WERE KIDS IN THE 50S WE RAN THROUGH THE DDT FOG.

6. Toxic plastic bottles. For years panels of experts repeatedly approved the use of bisphenol-a, or BPA, which is used in polycarbonate bottles and many other plastic products. Yes, it could be harmful if given in huge doses to rodents, but so can the natural chemicals in countless foods we eat every day. Dose makes the poison.

But this year, after a campaign by a few researchers and activists, one U.S. government panel expressed some concern about BPA in baby bottles. Panic ensued. Even though there was zero evidence of harm to humans, Wal-Mart pulled BPA-containing products from its shelves, and politicians began talking about BPA bans. Some experts fear product recalls that could make this the most expensive health scare in history.

Nalgene has already announced that it will take BPA out of its wonderfully sturdy water bottles. Given the publicity, the company probably had no choice. But my old blue-capped Nalgene bottle, the one with BPA that survived glaciers, jungles and deserts, is still sitting right next to me, filled with drinking water. If they ever try recalling it, they'll have to pry it from my cold dead fingers. THERE IS NO CLEAN RAIN WATER LEFT ON EARTH. YOUR DEAD FINGERS MIGHT BE COMING FASTER THAN JOHN TIERNEY THOUGHT.

7. Deadly sharks. Throughout the world last year, there was a grand total of one fatal shark attack (in the South Pacific), according to the International Shark Attack File at the University of Florida.

LAST YEAR SHARKS ATTACKED TWENTY-SEVEN SWIMMERS AND SURFERS IN USA WATERS. NONE OF DRY LAND.

8. The Arctic's missing ice. The meltdown in the Arctic last summer was bad enough, but this spring there was worse news. A majority of experts expected even more melting this year, and some scientists created a media sensation by predicting that even the North Pole would be ice-free by the end of summer.

So far, though, there's more ice than at this time last summer, and most experts are no longer expecting a new record. You can still fret about long-term trends in the Arctic, but you can set aside one worry: This summer it looks as if Santa can still have his drinks on the rocks.

SANTA'S NORTH POLE MIGHT BE ICE-FREE BY THE END OF THIS DECADE. GET READY FOR SOME SERIOUS SURF.

9. The universe's missing mass. Even if the fate of the universe — steady expansion or cataclysmic collapse — depends on the amount of dark matter that is out there somewhere, you can rest assured that no one blames you for losing it. And most experts doubt this collapse will occur during your vacation.

THE PENULTIMATE LEAST OF MY WORRIES.

10. Unmarked wormholes. Could your vacation be interrupted by a sudden plunge into a wormhole? From my limited analysis of space-time theory and the movie "Jumper," I would have to say that the possibility cannot be eliminated. I would also concede that if the wormhole led to an alternate universe, there's a good chance your luggage would be lost in transit.

WHAT ME WORRY? JOHN TIERNEY SERVES THE RULING CLASS.

But I still wouldn't worry about it, In an alternate universe, you might not have to spend the rest of the year fretting about either dark matter or sickly rodents. You might even be able to buy one of those Nalgene bottles.

SOME LAST WORDS TO JOHN TIERNEY AND NY TIMES

"POG MO THOIN."

White Collar Drug Dealers Off Scot Free

According to Al_Jazeera a US federal judge in Cleveland awarded $650m in damages Wednesday to two Ohio counties that won a landmark lawsuit against national pharmacy chains CVS, Walgreens and Walmart. Lake County is to receive $306m over 15 years. Trumbull County is to receive $344m over the same period. Polster ordered the companies to pay nearly $87m to cover the first two years of the abatement plan. In his ruling, the judge admonished the three companies, saying they “squandered the opportunity to present a meaningful plan to abate the nuisance”.

Nuisance???

Over a million people have died through the Oxy epidemic and over 10,000 in these two counties from 2001 to 2022

Do the math.

$650 million divided by 10,000 ODs rounds off to $65000 per death without considering the collateral damage to families, friends, and communities. The pain from losing loved ones isn't an issue, since drug addiction has been long considered a crime by most Americans as opposed to a sickness. As a recovering addict of fifty years I can attest to the ruination of relationships and work and health. There is no real price, yet the lawyer flacks for CVS, Walgreens and Walmart are considering a challenge to the award and no one from this corporate drug cartel has been threatened with prison.

Off Scot Free.

To vacation in St. Bart's in the winter and the South of France in the summer.

Dinners with politicians to protect them from legislation against their criminal conspiracies, complaining that they never targeted poor communities and aren't responsible for the Plague.

First of the list.

The Pfizer Family paid out billions to preserve their luxurious freedom.

Not one of them is in jail.

Criminals versus victims.

In this case crime paid royally.

Time to take all their wealth and treat addicts humanely everywhere.

Free the MIAs of the Drug Wars.

Reparations too.

Drugs won long ago and now it is time to clean up the mess.

LAST CALL IN BUTTE, MONTANA BY PETER NOLAN SMITH

Tonight I rolled into Butte, Montana. Beating the M&M Bar’s last call. Gram Parsons sang on the jukebox. “Streets of Baltimore.” Mona loved that song And I never done her wrong.

Last week in Bozeman, Montana I woke to an empty bed No sign of Mona. Only a burning egg And a note saying don’t follow her, Because she never liked this town.

So it’s last call in Butte, Montana One whiskey, one beer And still no sign on Mona But I keep seeing her here.

She wasn’t in Lakeside or Malta, Montana Not a trace in Helena or Great Falls too. So I drove west on I-90 I always knew where she had gone.

Last call in Butte, Montana Holding hands with a can of beer And still no sign of Mona, But I keep seeing her here.

Mona loved the lights at the M&M. She loved the cowboys too. The bartender looked at her photo He said, “Two night ago she came through.” She hadn’t said where she was going, Because this was where she’d gone.

Last call in Butte, Montana Holding hands with a can of beer And still no sign of Mona, But I keep seeing her here.

I nodded my head and left the M&M The bartender was happy to see me go. Out on North Main Street Rain keeps coming down Every drop hitting my face Making me feel like a clown

High heels on the sidewalk I know that sound Mona was coming here To save me from all my fears Especially Butte, Montana Because we both loved it here.

THE STREETS OF BALTIMORE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8V4NoboSq6w

QUE LINDA by Dakota Pollock

I sat at the end of The bed in our Bedroom.

Her dress hung from The cheap clothing rack I’d picked up from the Dollar store on Broadway.

The dress, it was formless, But still held the shape of Her body which was very much Alive even though she was Somewhere else. I yanked the dress from the hanger, Throwing myself into The floral patterns sewn into The black cotton.

It still smelt like her, too, And though my nose had Been crushed and smashed, Carelessly played with like My stupid trusting heart, I took in that smell, letting The intimate last touches of her Graze my booger and snot crusted Nose hairs.

I ran the dress up and down My face, pulling a strand of Her hair from the shoulders Where that hair once swept, Swung and moved like The fingers of Mozart While he rested and relaxed them In salt water.

I start to cry, Pathetically holding the dress Weeping, heaving, grieving And sulking with a cool self pity That still didn’t bring her back.

I looked at myself in the mirror, The red tear stained face Staring back at me, and I said, If only she could see me now.

I finally let out a groan, an Inhuman kind of snort Like a pig stomping on a Shank of burning hay.

Snot dripped from my Nose landing on the Floor, the dress, the knees Of my jeans.

I was too crazed to notice That I was using the dress To wipe the tears from my face, Running it across the acne scars Shaped like Mars' ancient canals

It was then that I perked up, Seeing a cockroach strolling Across the floor, moving towards The hole in the wall behind The radiator.

I jumped onto the edge of The bed where my legs sank into the mattress grooves From the humps caused my legs

I threw her dress At the roach

While I tumbled and fell into the mattress, and Though I tried to get The cockroach, he, like Everything else, got me first. And the dress lie there, Among the dust, toenails, strands Of hair, In a crumpled shape That was kind of shaped Like her, But at that moment, I couldn’t remember What she even looked like And wouldn’t have cared If I did. FORMLESS I went into our bedroom And sat at the edge of the bed. Her dress was hanging from The clothing rack. It was formless, but still, very much alive. I pulled the dress from the hanger And threw myself into it. There was her smell, entwined With the floral patterns, The thin black cloth That once held her form, The shoulders laced and small, Where her hair swung and swept, Like Mozart’s fingers During Concerto 21. I started crying, Weeping, heaving, pitying myself, Before I finally managed To let out a groan and This inhuman kind of snort Like a pig stamping the damp end Of a fire burnt piece of hay. The only part of myself Remaining Was the snot dripping from my nose. I used her dress to wipe my face, The tears hiding in the acne scars, And I saw a cockroach running Towards the radiator So I tossed her dress at the roach, To scare him off. But it only landed there, Among the dust and toenails, In a shape that was no longer hers. No longer mine either.

April 29,1978 - Journal Entry - East Village

Ann, her mother, and I went dinner at Serendipidity 3. Tim Dunleavey and William Lively joined us. The four of them went to a play on Broadway. I headed down to CBGBs. The Tuff Darts were on stage. I drank a beer, wearing a suit. I didn't have any money, but as my Nana said to me, "It's one thing to be broke, it's another look it."

A couple from New Jersey were hitting on a gay boy. I never liked bullies and told them to stop. They swore at me, saying, "Mind your own business, fuckhead."

I laughed at them and her date got ready to spit at me.

"You spit on me and I break your face."

I swallowed my gum, since it's never good to get whack with a slack jaw.

His drunk girlfriend crowed, "Go ahead, you faggot."

The gay boy fled the bar area. Merv the bouncer was nowhere in sight. Her friend cleared his throat and said, ""You're six million times a Jew. I should shot you."

"Why don't you do everyone a favor and try and be human."

"Fuck you." He brandished the gun in his waistband.

I sucker-punched him in the jaw and grabbed his shirt so he couldn't get away. He struggled to get at his gun. I punched him in the nose. Blood poured from both nostrils. I struck him again. KO. I released him and he slumped to the floor. No one at the bar had even noticed the brief fight and I bent over to get his gun. His girlfriend kicked at me, screaming in pure Brooklynese, "Wait till my father hears about this. He'll kill you."

I restrained her as best as I could, as her boyfriend rose up and blindsided me with a sharp right. His best punch and I heard a tooth crack. I turned to him, but before I could get revenge, people restrained us. Merv thew them out and I followed. They were gone and I went inside rubbing my jaw.

Several minutes later Ann came up, swearing under her breath at Hilly's daughter, "I hate her. She made me pay."

I never paid.

I don't know why.

"You missed my fight."

"I was wondering what was the commotion. I figured it was some idiots having a fight."

"That's me." I didn't tell her about saving the gay boy and we left the bar. Ann walked me to 11th Street. I invited her upstairs.

"I can't. My mother's afraid of the city."

"With good reason." New York was dangerous. "I'll walk you home."

"You don't have too."

"It's a dangerous city."

At her door she kissed me and said, "Come by at 3. My mother will be at a play."

"I'll be there."

LATER

Ann wasn't home at 3 and I figured she had gone to the matinee with her mother. I thought about calling an old girlfriend, but decided to wait for Ann. Her mother can't stay in New York forever. LATER People are full of shit. None of them mean what they say. I would rather be a hermit than have to listen to their drivel and my room at the SRO is like a Trappist monk's cell. No phone. No TV. The more possession you have the less you are yourself. Only a few visitors come here; William Lively, Mark, Eleanor, Ann, Anthony, Jaci, Kim, and Andy Reese.

Ann is the only regular.

No one else has returned to this squalid room. My life becomes completely obscure here. Often I'm lonely. The four walls never change. except for the pattern of the cockroaches' wanderings. These vermin are more alive than me and if the hotel burned to the ground, there would be no trace of me. My remains will be sent to a pauper's grave, since I couldn't afford a cremation and that's the end I want.

Bones ground to dust. A warm urn filled with white ashes.

LATER

Thank the stars for CBGBs. It's my only source of entertainment. Cold beer and punk rock. I need money.

LATER

Where is Ann? Where is Andy? Where is my Mother and Father? Where are my brothers and sisters. Where are my teachers? The wall to my left matches the other three walls And the ceiling, but not the floor. I am the only one in this room Everyone else in the world is outside. Where am I? Here? Where are you? Not here. Where are you and I?

LATER

Ann and I went to Max's. It was too smoky for my lungs. The doorman was charging $10 to see the Heartbreakers. I shook my head. I had no money and walked Ann back to her apartment. Outside on the street I whispered, "Let's fuck."

"My mother's there."

"I know, but we can pretend to be in high school."

"I'm not a high school cheerleader."

"I never said you were." My hand slipped under her dress and strayed between her legs.

Ann pushed me away and said, "Go now."

She wasn't angry, but didn't kiss me good-night.

I jumped on the train and sat smelling her on my fingers.

Wishing it was more.

LATER

A junkie gave me a Black Beauty on 6th Avenue. "I seen you play B-Ball at West 4th. You play defense. If you have money one day, give me $2."

I dropped the pill and continued to my room. The ruthless rush of Speed drove my blood through the night. Speed is not a good bed companion. I felt strong. I felt not alone. It was all a delusion.

Rising Of The Gulf Of Siam - VDO

Sri Racha pier - April 2022

To view this video, please click on the following URL

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3LdLS6KxnnQ&list=TLPQMDUwODIwMjLjCZ8PRnnntg&index=2

Thai No Nos

Last night I left Chinatown and surveyed the skyline shimmering under a clear sky dotted by the few stars strong enough to pierce New York's light umbrella. It was hot and sweat dripped from my hair and I thought that my last hair-cut had been in Thailand.

Three months ago.

I could trim my scalp later, then I remembered Mam's warning that you shouldn't cut your hair at night and never on Wednesday. The rising moon would be setting in Sri Racha. I phoned across the globe. My wife sleepily told me that both were against Thai tradition. I hung up for her to return to sleep and continued walking over the Brooklyn Bridge, wondering how this prohibition came into being.

Upon reaching my top-floor apartment in Fort Green I sat at my MacBook Pro.

A search of Google revealed nothing about the edict against cutting hair at night, although I suspected it has something to do with the night-cutter's night vision, however a website suggested that the Wednesday ban can be attributed to the centuries of the royal family having their hair trimmed on Wednesday during the day and commoners i.e. serfs are banned from any royal behavior.

Only trusted stylists were allowed this privilege to avoid the theft of the noble hair for the purpose of magic.

The tradition was also steeped with superstition, but then I'm half-Irish and we believe in leprechauns.

Other Thai Superstitions:

(1) Don't whistle at night because you will invite ghosts into your house. (2) Don't let women eat chicken feet because they will have an affair (3) Do not let pregnant women whistle because her baby will have a crooked mouth (4) Do not allow an adult pay respect to a child (wai) because that child will have a shortened life (5) Do not joke while you are eating because the ghost will steal your rice (6) Do not cover your head when you go to a temple because this will make you bald (7) Do not sharpen a knife at night time because you will offend the angels (8) Do not look at naked people because your eyes will become swollen (9) Do not have sexual intercourse on holy days (wan phra) because bad things will happen. (10) Do not let the bride and the groom meet three days before the wedding because their marriage will not last (11) Do not smile while sowing corn because it won't grow (12) Do not stand in a doorway because a ghost will enter the house (13) Do not sew at night because the ghost will haunt you (14) Do not throw money away because you will lose your finger (15) Do not sing while you are eating because the ghost will curse you. Of course most farangs don't believe in superstitions. Only the Irish are smart enough to know better.

HANDS OF BRICK by Peter Nolan Smith

Hockey and baseball have long been New England's two favorite sports, since they offered outdoor entertainment to young boys in the seaons of good sledding and bad sledding. Our gods played in Fenway Park and the Boston Garden, but one night a radio announcer's raspy voice introduced the world of basketball and Johnny Most sunk his hook deep.

I loved the Celtics, but my lack of offense skill prevented my playing even on the schoolyard, until I hit New York City to discover that my defense was my forte. After that revelation I became a fixture in Tompkins Square Park. My teammates called me 'The Brick' for my horrid shooting and ferocious defense against taller player.

I played all the time and on the court forgot everything about the world other than playing ball.

I still shoot baskets at the DeKalb playground and the ball feels good in my hands, although its hitting the rim like a brick outnumbers my 'all-net' shots by an incalculable number.

These three stories tell about my basketball jones and the people with whom I played.

They are my friends forever.

To purchase HANDS OF BRICK for $11.99 please go to the following URL

http://www.amazon.com/HANDS-BASKETBALL-BASEBALL-STEALING-ebook/dp/B00BQFHCM2

The Wonder of Wonders

The new Seven Wonders of the World were announced on 07/07/07 in Lisbon, Portugal. These modern marvels replaced the ancient septet via an internet poll managed by a filmmaker.

The Bangkok Post later listed the modern Ancient Wonders.

Millions of people were the jury as opposed to Philon of Byzantium choosing the ancient Seven Wonders. One man with one vote picked what existed in his world i.e. the Mare Nostrum or Mediterranean Sea.

Only the Pyramid remained out of the original Magnificent Seven. The rest have vanished from the face of the Earth.

The Lighthouse of Alexandria in Egypt had been built to guide ships through the labyrinth of sandbars to reach the port of Alexandria in Egypt. The Lighthouse, or Pharos of Alexandria, was the only ancient wonder to have served a practical purpose. Built between 299 and 79 BC, the lighthouse stood some 166 metres above the city's western harbour and was financed by the Greek merchant Sostratus who wanted to help ensure the safety of shipping traffic. Polished bronze mirrors were specially devised to reflect sunlight out to sea during daytime, and fires were lit to serve as a beacon for lost ships at night. The tower stood relatively intact until a series of earthquakes and gradual deterioration from natural elements caused the structure to collapse and eventually be dismantled for its stones.

The Temple of Artemis stood as the most magnificent accomplishment of Greek civilization and Hellenistic culture, built as a tribute to Artemis - the Greek goddess of the hunt, mistress of Nature, protector of wild beasts and the sister of Apollo. The Temple of Artemis was located in Ephesus, the richest seaport in Asia Minor. It once consisted of 127 marble columns each standing 20 metres tall. First built in the 6th century BC, the temple was destroyed by fire 200 years later and then rebuilt under the supervision of Alexander the Great.

The great temple was eventually destroyed successively by invading Gothic hordes, earthquakes, and plunderers. Today, only a solitary column remains of this once-glorious structure.

The Statue of Zeus was commissioned in 438 BC by the Council of Olympia in reverence for Zeus, the ruler and most powerful of the Olympian gods. The great statue was the work of the Athenian sculptor Phidias and was constructed inside the Parthenon, the great temple overlooking the city. According to Phelon of Byzantium, this was the most inspiring of all the seven wonders of the ancient world. The statue of Zeus was later destroyed along with its temple after an earthquake in 170 BC.

The Colossus of Rhodes stood 32 metres high on a marble plinth built to revere the Sun God Helios who supposedly helped Rhodes to ward off Demetrius of Macedonia. Constructed by the engineer Chares of Lindos, the Colossus of Rhodes was completed after 10 years of meticulous work so that the legs would sustain the enormous weight of the giant statue's balls. Unfortunately, in 227 BC, an earthquake caused the Colossus to crack at the knee and set it in motion so that it collapsed into pieces.

Even so, the statue was so admired that it was left lying in huge fragments for over 900 years until its valuable parts were brought to Syria.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon had been built in 7th century BC in the middle of the arid Mesopotamian desert, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon were testimony to one man's ability to, against all the laws of nature, create a botanical oasis of beauty amid a bleak desert landscape. King Nebuchadnezzar created the gardens as a sign of esteem for his wife Semiramis, who, legend has it, longed for the forests and roses of her homeland. The gardens were terraced and surrounded by the city walls with a moat to repel invading armies. There remains doubt, however, amongst historians and archaeologists as to whether this lost paradise ever existed, given that excavations at Babylon have left no definitive trace of this mythical oasis.

The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus was dedicated to King Mausolus of Caria by his grieving wife, Queen Artemisia, as a memorial to their great love. According to Plinius the Mausoleum once stood 50 metres high and was surrounded by 36 columns, standing atop a marble pedestal at the intersection of the two main streets of Halicarnassus.

The Mausoleum stood relatively intact until 1522 AD, when the Vatican ordered the tomb's destruction to rid the world of another example of pagan art. Just another reason why I hate the Catholic Church.

The Pyramids of Egypt are only surviving Wonder of The Ancient World. Built between 2600 and 2500 BC, the three pyramids at Giza encompass more than 5 million limestone blocks which were painstakingly transported via timber sleds and by being rolled over the top of logs.

As cranes were yet invented, each block had to be dragged via ramps up to its designated place. According to Herododus, the largest of the three pyramids, known as the Great Pyramid, about 146 meters high took 20 years to complete and served as the tomb for the Egyptian Pharoah Khufu. The pyramids represented the link between heaven and earth and were a signal to Horus, God of the World.

sic gloria mundi transit or all glory flees this world.

ps All that Bible crap about the Jews being slaves was bullshit.

As for the modern wonders, I voted for the Alhambra, Stonehenge, Timbuktoo, Chichen Itza, Taj Mahal, Sophia Hagia, and the Easter Island Statues, the last, because my late Cousin, David Barry and I called ourselves the Easter Island Head people.

We never decided who had the bigger head.

Him or me.

Unfortunately there were no write-in spaces for Sophie's Phnom Penh.

It was a wonder of wickedness.

And home for the wicked.