Ten years ago Austin Kilmer, Latt, his brother, and I left the diamond exchange on West 47th and went to Johnny Utah, a hoorah drinking bar with a robo bronco off Rockefeller Center. Packed with marketing junior execs. Having a good time, forgetting they hate their bosses. Same as me, a 61 year old diamond salesman A couple of tequilas later I was in the saddle ready to rock. Yeehah. Maybe four seconds. No broken bones.
I haven't seen Alice all day. My honey has been deluged by problems. The previous show's Emcee, David McDermott, bailed on presiding over METRO NOVELTIES. A day before the opening. His resignation might have occurred, because Klaus Nomi garnered all the praise, ignoring his hilarious haute fey frontman performance. Alice said nothing about the whys, then again we haven't been speaking or anything since her the news of her possible pregnancy.
I joked about McDermott's desertion, paraphrasing Admiral Farragut's famous quote at the Civil War Battle of Mobile Bay, "Damn, the faggots, full speed ahead."
No laugh.
It wasn't funny. Nothing has been these days.
Tom Scully, Susan, and Alice might have folded tents on the show. The rest of the participants have been down. Alice's visible mood has been one of perseverance and that afternoon I went to see a final rehearsal at Irving Plaza .
I stood with Klaus, as she addressed the cast with a pre-show, "Listen, we will succeed, because all I'm interested in is having fun. We're not in this for the money or the fame. Fun, and we're going to have fun.
I beleived her, but Klaus turned to me and said, "She may be in it for fun. I am too, but I like the idea of fame and fortune."
"You are a star."
"I was born to be a star and everyone sees that now."
It hadn't been easy for Klaus as a fatherless son in Essen.
Different and no one anywhere likes different, but we are all different in the East Village and if you can make it here, you can make it here.
Later
LOST AT SEA
As was will be
360 degrees of darkness
The Pacific Ocean
The ship
The sea
The sky
Blackness
Where is the captain?
The sea slows,
The ship speeds at 18 knots
Stars blink on and off, on and off
Never true blackness
Only the dark.
Where is the first mate?
Engines slow to half-speed
Our heading - Singapore
Due west
Two thousand plus miles
Five days away at a faster pace
Where are the crew?
A glow to the east
Not the sun
Far from land
Asea
Maybe another ship
After a half-hour
The light drowns beneath the horizon
Leaving
Only me on the late night Pacific Watch
Where am I?
That evening the air was warm. December hasn't yet been seasonably cold. Grant and I walked over to the show. A shoulder-to-shoulder crowd filed into the ancient music hall. David's absence hadn't affected the draw. People had come for the show and it was the only show in down tonight. We entered through the Polish bar on 15th Street, had a drink with Alex and the old drunks. Then another. The three of us climbed the back stairs and arrived for the opening. David is back as the emcee. A lot to do about nothing.
During the show about the over-due rent. I have no money. Alice hsa none either and has asked, "Can you pay December's rent?"
I could have, if her whore girlfriend hadn't kicked me off security after the fight with Blondie, but I have no one to blame, but me for being a pauper. I feel like going beserker. My madness has gotten me this far. An arrest and jail time for assault and battery was a solution for everything. FTW.
I stood with Kim Davis, watching the show. It has been as good as always. My pseudo-sister, Pip,held my hand and said, "I hope you and Alice can get over this."
"Over what?" I played stupid.
"Her you know what. I talked to her about getting an abortion. I said that you had taken me to Planned Parenthood. You were so good then."
"Except everyone there thought I was the father."
"You would have been a good father, if only you didn't like John Wayne so much."
"Not so much."
At the last meeting of The NRP I had mentioned that to most Americans John Waybe epitomized a true American.
"You said that we believe we are always right, even when we're wrong."
"Like most people."
"You're not always right."
"I'd be lucky to be right ten percent of the time, but people can't stand the truth."
"True, but I love you." Kim has been a good friend, ever since we met at CBGBs. I don't have many, but one is better thn none.
Last night I stayed out late on the streets, sleazing from Max's to CBGBs and then to the Crow's Nest on Avenue A to shove quarters into the illegal slot machine. A loser. No one wins on that thief. I ended up at a go-go dancer's apartment. Carol Smith and I snorted coke, but I restrained from fucking her, worried about a soft dick and coming back to Alice smelling of someone else, then remembered that Alice was staying at her friend, Susan's loft. Carol gave me $20 to suck my dick.
"I don't care you're not hard. I just feel like it."
After I came in her mouth, she gave me $20.
I thanked her and left wanting more. Sex not money.
Bodega workers were opening various businesses on First Avenue in the soft gray before the dawn. Darkness was surrendering to a rainy dawn. THe streetlights had yet to shut off. Feet slapping on the concrete behind me. Too close and I looked over my shoulder. A white boy. Brad, Clover's pseudo-brother/hustler and I asked, "Have you heard from Clover."
"Not since she left for Germany." I had received two postcards. From Berlin and Poland. "How's it going?"
"It sucks. I had to walk here from 53rd and 3rd?"
"No action." The Loop on 53rd and 3rd supported boys with money for sex from older men. Brad was near-sighted, a blessing for hustlers when shadows don't hide the ugliness of tricks. "I stood untaken by the few creeps like no one wanted to get fucked or sucked or fuck me."
"Tragic."
We walked together to for a few blocks, taking the turn on East 10th Street. Even the sinse dealers on the corner had retired for the night.
Brad asked for money. I wasn't giving him anything.
"Sorry, I don't have."
"Can I suck you off?"
"No, I'm not into that anymore."
"Too bad, I'm really good."
"I'm sure you are."
I left him on the stairs and climbed three flights to my empty apartment. No Alice. Not even her scent on the pillows. She was really leaving me.
Later
I phoned my baby brother Michael in Amherst to wish him a belated Happy Birthday. He answered with a groggy night. After my evening I must have sounded the same, because he was unable to recognize my voice at first.I warned him about Mark Amitin.
"He said you two had spoken. He's not to be trusted."
"We spoke about the theater a little, because he talked at length about sex. He never mentioned you, but he was creepy about my staying with him and I wondered, if you had sold me into sex slavery."
"Not a chance. If you come to New York, stay with me." I was pissed at Amitin, but I was surprised at his backstabbing intrigue. Other than theater his only love is sex.
"Don't worry, I can take care of myself."
"I know."
As a young man I had wondered about Michael sexual orientation, which was confirmed by coming home to my parents' house and discovering him dragged out as much younger version of my mother.
"Happy birthday. See you at Christmas."
"With Alice?"
"Who knows."
I hung up remembering holding him as a baby in my arms and thought about Alice and I having a child on the way. Anything was possible
This afternoon I ran into Alice and her shrewish girlfiend on St. Mark's. I coldly greeted my love. I tried to kiss me and she turned the cheek. I'm pissed she stayed in Chinatown with Tom and the Bitch, but I know Tom wouldn't try anything. We are real friends. I could see she was hurt and I know that she doesn't deserve such treatment. We walked back to 256 with the bitch tailing us. I didn't invite her up and neither did Alice. Upstairs Alice sat on the sofa and started crying. I thought it was about the fight at Irving Plaza, but she whimpered, "I'm late for my period."
"How long?"
"A week."
"Is that long?" I was ignorant of pregnancy. When my father announced in 1960 that my mother had given birth to a baby boy, I wasn't flabbergasted, since I hadn't even noticed she was carrying a child.
"No, but I've never missed my period."
"What do you want to do?" Everything was up to her, but I liked the idea of having a baby with her, but I didn't tell her that I faked many orgasms, because I couldn't cum. That truth didn't seem righ to say now.
"Nothing right now?"
"Does your friend Susan know?"
"No."
I knew that was a lie.
"Please don't tell anyone."
"Not a soul."
I tried to touch her in comfort. She retched away from me, as if I were a monster who had devoured her dreams. She was only 22 and her whole life and all her dreams were on fire. I sat on the sofa and picked up TROPIC OF CANCER. I needed to escape the now and wished I was in Paris then or now. The novel is an excellent guide to float in a world of heavy winds.
Later.
That evening Anthony asked, "Do you think Alice and that bitch are pussy bumping?"
I thought it was over and said, "No." Disappointing Anthony's pornographic fantasy. He was seeing Alice's college friend, Alexa, but they were just friends.
"I was just wondering."
Alice would tell me , if she was. She's like that."
Alice tells me, because she's scared of me. Except for the few times with the Bitch, she has remained faithful, although a few times when I touched her she felt as if she had been with someone else. Paranoia. I wish I could say I had been as faithful.
Later.
Sean called to say that there was work for the next two days.
"I wish there was more."
"So do I." It's okay, I might get enough to pay my share of the rent.
Pearl Harbor Day approaches, but the day of infamy has never forgotten by most people and most Americans like in 1941 don't know where it is.
My ribs ache from the beating at Irving Plaza. Alice and I fought over that fight. She thought it was my fault. I shook my head and said, "Fuck off, why would I fight five people at once."
Her silent answer was that I was crazy and she started crying.
"I can't wait for this show to be over." She is so worried about a possible pregnancy.
I'm so happy I'm not an actor. I'm nothing and happy to be in the shadows out of the limelight.
Psycho-Loss Amnesia let down Words morals gone Arson in the brain Acid running across my synapses Fighting off the memories Psychic loss - First degree and getting hotter.
Tomorrow we're having the first NRP CONGRESS to discuss goals and beliefs.
Possible members Alice, Anthony, To Scully, the Bitch, Kim David, her sister Kyle,Patrick, Joseph Curtin, Michael Selbach, Dana Krystol, BeeGee, Grant Stiit, Guadalcanal, and Lang.I suspect we will go nowhere.
Foto from EV Grieve
Sex becomes non status quo when one partner isn't interested in it. Alice wallows in self-pity. Last night we went to a party and I danced with men and women like a neanderthal high of cocaine. Alice drank heavily, expecting me to go into the bathroom with a woman or man, but I don't want to hurt her in this state.
Snow on the way back to East 10th Street. Alice can barely walk and there are no taxis east of Avenue B. No one is on the Tompkins Square basketball court. back in our apartment I turn on the gas stove to warm up the tenement rooms. I put Alice into bed. She can't even mumble good-night. I sit at the kitchen table and write my mind. Alice reads my journal, hoping to catch me in a lie or a sin.
Yesterday Andy Reese came over. Alice and he are friends from Tim Dunleavy. I met both of them through him. After reading a couple of pages Andy said, "Your writing is okay, but your poetry I can't stand."
My other friend, Grant Stitt, pretty much said the same thing, "Some is drivel and the rest deserves to be saved for posterity, but now right now." Why do I even bother? I have few critics of my cryptic ego-centric solipsism. The words dry, dead, slow, canned. It has no value. I want to burn my journal, but setting them on fire in this small apartment is too dangerous. Alice lays in the bedroom, wearing a quilted Moomoo like she as a Mormon wife. This flat is too small. Neither of us are out of sight of each other like we are in a space capsule. Chamber music on the stereo, which I think is music for kings to use the shitter. She is playing this music to annoy me and I keep my mouth shut. I have been yelling at her too much. More mad at me than her, although her pouting unhappiness kills my joy. Sometimes I think going to funerals would be more fun. Still I love her, even swamped bby melancholia. I can smell the sadness. She shuts off the lights. Tomorrow she has an early theater audition. I go into the bed home, expecting a good-night kiss.
"Isn't there anything on the TV?" She only like THE MATCH GAME.
"No, do you want to come watch something with me?"
"Is there anything interesting?"
"You mean like a play of Sartre or Moliere?" I wasn't joking. Alice might be a hillbilly by birth, but she knew her theater. "I don't think so. Just the Johnny Carson Show."
"As always." Both of us had fled our hometowns to escape Middle America.
I stood in the bedroom, paralyzed by the chamber music melanging with the clanging of the radiators, as if the building was conducting an avant-garde quintet. The snow has stopped. Time too. It's 11:35. Alice seems scared of what I might next do. I opt for nothing. It was a safe bet. I sometimes wish I were in a coma under nurses' care or a prisoner in solitary confinement or even a soldier. Everything in my life planned without any freedom of choice, but I relish the delight of waling up and going back to sleep, unfettered by a 9 to 5 job, the joyous liberty of sleeping into the afternoon or do with my life what I please, but truthfully that is my life without Alice. I own nothing and certainly not her.
I turned to go.
"Don't." Alice unschucks the nightgown. She's naked underneath. Her skin winter white. Untouched by any sun. Pure and beauty.
We haven't really had sex, except for the first night with her college girlfriend. Not a single blow-jobs or anal play, almost as if she had never read sexual manual or had a previous lover guiding her libido to freedom, but she doesn't fake orgasm, pleading with 'God' for release. AS an atheist I resent her need for a deity to create a menage a trois. At present our sexual acts are strictly missionary, but I love her for the purity, unlike the many women I fucked ziplessly from the clubs. More than a few, I had no idea of their names. Nor them mine.
I pulled off my clothes and lay with Ann. We fucked like Mormon and she once more called for God. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God."
Never my name, then again I cam not a God.
She cums fast and I fake cumming with a grunt. It's not the first time.
"I don't feel you inside me."
Thankfully I had her touch my cock. It was wet from her.
"See."
I don't understand why I can't cum with her, unless I think I'm fucking a nun or a virgin. I never fantasize about either.
The Kinks are on the radio. YOU REALLY GOT ME. A British Invasion festival from 1963 to 1966 marking an unexpected musical explosion from Great Britain. Many of the bands had been condemned by the Pat Boone loving conservatives. Few of those groups survived the Sixties. THe Beatles are dead, but the Rolling Stones survive.
The Kampuchea of the Khmer Rouge has been invaded by Vietnam backing up the Cambodian rebels to overthrow the genocidal madness through Pol Pot's attempt to create a classless agrarian society. Vietnam succeeded in defeating the RVN in South Vietnam after the USA betrayed their allies. The Pathet Lao, a communist coalition backed by Hanoi, rules Laos after the failure of the CIA to secure the landlocked country. The Nixon Administration had illegally bombed once-neutral Cambodia into the Stone Age and after the Khmer Rouge captured Phnom Penh, the cadres forced the population out of the city into the country. Despite the defeat the Khmer Rouge have retreated to the Parrot's Beak, once an NVA stronghold, to continue the struggle, after Hanoi decided to kick out the ethnic Chinese, Red China, the main supporter of Kampuchea.
The Khmer Rouge number 90,000 against Vietnam's army of over one million with Soviet Russia's backing. Southeast Asia appears ready for a massive regional war. Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia versus Thailand, but no one was to fight them, so the Domino Theory stops at the Thai border. The Soviets, while dedicated to world revolution, want to bide their time for capitalism to collapse. The USA will never go red. We are fiercely in love with potato chips. The eucharist of patriotism from east to west.
Foto of the Khmer Rouge evacuating the cities.
Monitor lizards are native to Southeast Asia. These carnivorous predators are related to the famous Komodo Dragon and varanid lizards are cooperative hunters like raptors in JURASSIC PARK. According to the Bangkok Post monitor lizards are known to cluster in the city's secluded water pipes and up to two hundred of the two-meter long beasts reside in each of the sunken city's districts.
Many urban Thais regard the sighting of a hia or monitor lizard as the harbinger of bad luck in spite of the legend about sighting them warns humans of crocodiles. Down south on the Isthmus of Ka country folks keep the miniature monsters as domestic pets, because crocodiles still wander the mangrove swamps lining the peninsula.
"They keep increasing in numbers because these reptiles have few natural enemies, and their food is always plentiful," a Thai reptile expert said, "Water monitors eat almost anything; fish, eggs, and even rotten meat."
The only lizard in my hometown south of Boston was Jim Morrison singing 'crawling king snake', but in 1991 I ferried from the Malaysian Peninsula to Tioman Island in the South China Sea, which the Lonely Planet had called a tropical gem. Jungles blanketed the hills and the sea was an invisible sheet of desperately clear with white sand gleaming white in the midday sun.
European backpackers overstayed their visits on this paradise. The beer was cold and the bungalows were cheap.
On my second week there I met a Swedish blonde traveler. She liked my poetry and we spent four nights together.
"Our sleeping together means nothing." Velda was telling the truth. European hedonists were devoted to the pleasure of the sun and on the fifth morning our relationship had reached the end.
"I want to sleep alone," the slim Swede announced with her back tuned to the dawn.
"No problem."
I got dressed and returned to my hut. Velda didn't even kiss me good-bye and I expected that she would leave on the morning ferry for the mainland. I slept in late and hit the bungalow bar at noon.
"Beer for all my friends." There were only three Germans at the bar, but I loved that line from the movie BARFLY.
Before the beers arrived, a scream screeched through the trees.
Velda ran into the bar. Her long blonde hair was a Medusa snarl and her voice hit a soprano high on every word, as she exclaimed in a panic, "There's a lizard in the bathroom."
The Malays working at the restaurant laughed about a lizard. Lizards and snakes crawled and slithered everywhere on Tioman, but I understood her fears. My mother was scared of insects. If one got into the house, she cried, "There"s a monster in the bathroom."
I figured that Velda was just as hysterical as my mother and grabbed a broom.
"I'll get rid of a lizard."
"He more big than Gecko." The terror had stripped away her high school English.
"I"ll take care of it. Show me." I followed her down the path to her bungalow. The A-frame stood in a palm grove perched next to a tidal inlet. Mangrove trees had sunk their roots into the brackish swamp water. It was good breeding place for lizards. The buzz of mosquitoes hummed from the swamp and Velda pointed to the bathroom door.
"He's in there."
"Don't worry, this will only take a second." I grabbed a whisk broom.
"Be careful."
"Careful is my middle name."
I peered inside the room. The bathroom door was shut. I heard no noise from inside and figured that the lizard had escaped through the ceiling. I tiptoed across the floor, broom in one hand. I yanked on the bathroom door expecting to find only a toilet, instead thick-chested monitor lizard bared slimy teeth with a hiss.
The broom dropped to the floor and I slammed the door shut.
"That is a big lizard." I ran outside to Velda. "You want to stay at my place?"
"Yes, but no sex."
"None at all." I grabbed her bag and she moved back into my place for another week.
I thanked Jim Morrison the Lizard God for those extra days and nights.
I had seen the Doors at the Boston Tea Party in 1968. I didn't tell that to the Swedish girl. Velda hadn't realize that I was in my late-30s. The twenty year-old's skin was as smooth as river-polished stone. After her departure to Koh Phi Phi, I spotted the monitor lizard lazing in the sun.
I bought a dozen boiled eggs from the warung and fed them one by one.
It was the least I could do for a cousin of Jim Morrison.
Anything else would have doomed me to bad luck and bad lick with a lizard was worse than bad.
