I just sent you home on this rainy first night of autumn, and I was already missing you even while I closed the car door. Squeezing your hand through the open window, leaning in to kiss your cheek goodnight, then climbing the stoop, with the memory of your heart, beating between my shaking hands.
Your long black skirt glittering with rainy diamonds, when I picked you up and twirled you in the circling gloom. Kissing your soft and rainy mouth, and so much later, in the candle light, the soft white skin above the tops of your stockings....
And now you're on your way back home again, Dang, I miss you!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Autumn Again
It's a cold October night, and the bone white light of the full moon is shining on the chilly sand. Under the Steeplechase pier lies what's left of an old carpet, beautiful hand woven Arabesques, stick figures of desert animals, its hems unravelling and blending with the all forgiving sand and shells.
And you're sitting on the carpet, wishing the world would explode tonight, wishing the sand would leak in between the threads, wishing that taste in your mouth were something other than sand, and cum, and old beer. Wishing you could just fly off into the heavens, and forget all this bullshit.
You can....and I'll be happy to hold your hand.
And you're sitting on the carpet, wishing the world would explode tonight, wishing the sand would leak in between the threads, wishing that taste in your mouth were something other than sand, and cum, and old beer. Wishing you could just fly off into the heavens, and forget all this bullshit.
You can....and I'll be happy to hold your hand.
Monday, September 12, 2011
The Best Business Phone Call I've Ever Had
Got my new Visa card in the mail today, the old one is expiring shortly, so tonight I called to activate the new one. Went through the usual entering of numbers and so on, and then talked to a representative. She asked me how the weather was in Brooklyn and I told her it was a beautiful early fall night. I asked where she was and she said, at a call center in Idaho, but she told me she used to live in Queens. I asked where, and she said, in Howard Beach, near the big Waldbaum's on Cross Bay Boulevard. I cracked up laughing and told her, back in the seventies I dated a girl (my ex Suzanne) whose sister worked in that Waldbaums! New York really is a small town.
She told me she was teaching school in Far Rockaway in the nineties, and that she was here on September 11th. We traded stories about the day. She told me that after that day she had to move back to Idaho, to be near her family, her daughter, her four grandchildren. I told her to call them when she got off duty and tell them she loves them, 'cos you never know when it will be the last chance you have to say it. Think about it, on the morning of 9/11 almost three thousand people left their homes expecting to return that evening.... She told me that she was going off duty and I'd been her last call of the evening, and we thanked each other for such a pleasant twenty-odd minutes. Totally made my evening!
She told me she was teaching school in Far Rockaway in the nineties, and that she was here on September 11th. We traded stories about the day. She told me that after that day she had to move back to Idaho, to be near her family, her daughter, her four grandchildren. I told her to call them when she got off duty and tell them she loves them, 'cos you never know when it will be the last chance you have to say it. Think about it, on the morning of 9/11 almost three thousand people left their homes expecting to return that evening.... She told me that she was going off duty and I'd been her last call of the evening, and we thanked each other for such a pleasant twenty-odd minutes. Totally made my evening!
Sunday, September 11, 2011
September 11, 2011
Lit a candle on the Promenade tonight, and set it by the flag pole at the foot of Montague Street, while the helicopters and fighter jets buzzed overhead and the bagpipes played and people sang "Amazing Grace" in the humid September darkness. I've done this every year for ten years now. My dog Casey accompanied me through 2008, he passed the following year and since then I've gone alone.
Casey was the perfect companion to have on that heartbreaking night each year. I was walking him at the north end of the Promenade on the morning of September 11, 2001; together we saw the first plane slam into the north tower. I swear that on some level he understood the horrible evil that had taken place, because each year on the anniversary he would lick the hands of anyone who petted him, lick the faces of small children, lie on the feet of anyone who treated him kindly, roll over and ask them to skritch his belly.... Jenny was so right when she called him the Perfect Buddha Dog!
But he's crossed the Rainbow Bridge now, and I was alone tonight by the harbor, alone with ten thousand candle flames, alone with three thousand burning ghosts, alone while I poured holy water on their blistering skins as they slipped over the horizon, hoping for a word of wisdom from me....I'm so very very sorry, but I don't have one to give you
All I can tell you is, turn to the people you love, and tell them you love them....You never know when it will be your last chance.
Casey was the perfect companion to have on that heartbreaking night each year. I was walking him at the north end of the Promenade on the morning of September 11, 2001; together we saw the first plane slam into the north tower. I swear that on some level he understood the horrible evil that had taken place, because each year on the anniversary he would lick the hands of anyone who petted him, lick the faces of small children, lie on the feet of anyone who treated him kindly, roll over and ask them to skritch his belly.... Jenny was so right when she called him the Perfect Buddha Dog!
But he's crossed the Rainbow Bridge now, and I was alone tonight by the harbor, alone with ten thousand candle flames, alone with three thousand burning ghosts, alone while I poured holy water on their blistering skins as they slipped over the horizon, hoping for a word of wisdom from me....I'm so very very sorry, but I don't have one to give you
All I can tell you is, turn to the people you love, and tell them you love them....You never know when it will be your last chance.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Ten Years Ago....
Ten years ago tonight I met Garrison Keillor. He was doing a book signing at Barnes & Noble on Union Square, on a rainy Monday night. He did a reading from the book, Lake Wobegon Summer 1956, and a monologue, and a singalong with the audience, for two hours, as only he can do. The whole time thunderstorms were raging outside, and through the windows behind the stage in the top floor auditorium we could see lightning bolts striking the World Trade Center, about a mile south of us.
Then he started signing books, there were at least 500 people there, and most had more than one book for him to sign, but he was kind and gracious and chatted with every person. When my turn came, he asked me if I was from Minnesota, he said my accent sounded midwestern. I laughed and told him I was born and raised in Brooklyn. He asked me where, and I said, born in Bed Stuy but I live in Brooklyn Heights now. He said, well, you must be doing something right! I laughed again and said, Mr. Keillor, it was really just a series of happy accidents. He laughed at that and said, Jim, my entire career is a series of happy accidents! He signed my copy of his book, "To a true Brooklyn!" We shook hands and I started down the escalators to the ground floor, paid for the book and stashed it in my backpack, and walked out into the late Monday night street.
The rain had just about stopped, the sky was clearing, the Twin Towers were bathed in flourescent white light just like every night. They were such a constant you barely saw them, like the stars and the tides. I walked to the subway with a few people I'd met that night and headed for home.
When I came in the door I took the book out of my backpack and set it on the table in my living room, then I took my dog Casey for his last walk of the night. When we stepped out on the front stoop we could see the tops of the Towers shining, the aircraft beacons blinking red and white. We barely saw them, they were such a part of the scenery. It never occurred to me that we were seeing them lit up for the last time.
The next morning I was walking Casey at the corner of Middagh Street and Columbia Heights when the first plane slammed into the north tower at 8:46 a.m....The book sat in its shopping bag for about three weeks on the corner of my table. When I opened it and read the inscription I realized it was no longer just a book, it was a time capsule from a world that no longer existed. It was like finding a best seller from Atlantis, and you just knew the world would never be the same again. I miss that other world....
Then he started signing books, there were at least 500 people there, and most had more than one book for him to sign, but he was kind and gracious and chatted with every person. When my turn came, he asked me if I was from Minnesota, he said my accent sounded midwestern. I laughed and told him I was born and raised in Brooklyn. He asked me where, and I said, born in Bed Stuy but I live in Brooklyn Heights now. He said, well, you must be doing something right! I laughed again and said, Mr. Keillor, it was really just a series of happy accidents. He laughed at that and said, Jim, my entire career is a series of happy accidents! He signed my copy of his book, "To a true Brooklyn!" We shook hands and I started down the escalators to the ground floor, paid for the book and stashed it in my backpack, and walked out into the late Monday night street.
The rain had just about stopped, the sky was clearing, the Twin Towers were bathed in flourescent white light just like every night. They were such a constant you barely saw them, like the stars and the tides. I walked to the subway with a few people I'd met that night and headed for home.
When I came in the door I took the book out of my backpack and set it on the table in my living room, then I took my dog Casey for his last walk of the night. When we stepped out on the front stoop we could see the tops of the Towers shining, the aircraft beacons blinking red and white. We barely saw them, they were such a part of the scenery. It never occurred to me that we were seeing them lit up for the last time.
The next morning I was walking Casey at the corner of Middagh Street and Columbia Heights when the first plane slammed into the north tower at 8:46 a.m....The book sat in its shopping bag for about three weeks on the corner of my table. When I opened it and read the inscription I realized it was no longer just a book, it was a time capsule from a world that no longer existed. It was like finding a best seller from Atlantis, and you just knew the world would never be the same again. I miss that other world....
Friday, September 9, 2011
I'm Burning Away To Nothing, Leave Me Buried In The Pit
It's the last minute of our lives, making love while the buildings turn to dust and the sky turns to fire. And we're slipping beneath the Hudson's green waves, cool smooth water whispering in my ear while I tear your white blouse open, push your skirt up to your waist, stuff your panties in your mouth, already soaked with river water, because it's what you begged me to do....and I want so badly to make you happy.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Rainy Ghosts
Did my best to stay indoors tonight, the rain is coming biblically down. But I had to go out and toss my trash and recycling, anything that makes this dump even a little cleaner is worth the effort. Threw it all in the cans as fast as I could, then stood in the doorway to watch the deluge....
Ghosts are floating in the rain tonight, ghosts awakened because the Anniversary is coming this Sunday. But they aren't the only ones....I swear I just saw Walt Whitman's ghost swagger by, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, following a young sailor lad on his way home from the docks. And across the street I just saw the ghost of a fourteen year old girl who died from polio in 1950, when I was just one year old. She was wearing pedal pushers and smiled at me as she stubbed out her cigarette on the sole of her Keds sneakers. Up at the corner of Hicks Street I saw the ghost of a man who died in France, in the Argonne Forest, in 1917. He believed the company line that the War To End All Wars would be over by Christmas and he'd be home to marry his already pregnant sweetheart...
But the oldest ghost I saw was the soul of a man who died about the time that Shakespeare was born, in 1564. And he told me not to worry, and he told me not to salute, and not to believe, until I saw a man who seemed real to me.
Well, I'm still waiting for that man....
Ghosts are floating in the rain tonight, ghosts awakened because the Anniversary is coming this Sunday. But they aren't the only ones....I swear I just saw Walt Whitman's ghost swagger by, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, following a young sailor lad on his way home from the docks. And across the street I just saw the ghost of a fourteen year old girl who died from polio in 1950, when I was just one year old. She was wearing pedal pushers and smiled at me as she stubbed out her cigarette on the sole of her Keds sneakers. Up at the corner of Hicks Street I saw the ghost of a man who died in France, in the Argonne Forest, in 1917. He believed the company line that the War To End All Wars would be over by Christmas and he'd be home to marry his already pregnant sweetheart...
But the oldest ghost I saw was the soul of a man who died about the time that Shakespeare was born, in 1564. And he told me not to worry, and he told me not to salute, and not to believe, until I saw a man who seemed real to me.
Well, I'm still waiting for that man....
Monday, September 5, 2011
Richard Brautigan Takes The Ferry For The Last Time
Tonight I'm feeling so frickin' crazy that I make Richard Brautigan look almost sane. And he was the greatest poet of the twentieth century, so you know he was out of his mind. Right after his fiftieth birthday he went out to his barn under a Montana sunset, put his rifle barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger with his toe....there are days when I kinda wish I'd done the same. But I missed the date by twelve years, and to do it now would seem like just a bid for attention. Past a certain age, suicide becomes an act of vanity.
So I'll pray that the winter comes soon, and that it doesn't bring too much ice and snow. And I'll pray that this storm ends soon, before the solstice comes, and the sun turns north, and we start all over again. I could use some quiet.
So I'll pray that the winter comes soon, and that it doesn't bring too much ice and snow. And I'll pray that this storm ends soon, before the solstice comes, and the sun turns north, and we start all over again. I could use some quiet.
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