Notes From An Old Journal

 Jan 29 ‘01

“I’ll write my epitaph on your mother’s ass.”

                                      -Clyne

March 10 ‘01

fuck the age-old

opium addled poets

I’ve a wreath of scorpions

around my neck

sure, the albatross sits

on my face

but I don’t mind

Verlaine was a puppet

he can sit on my

face

as well

of course I say that

knowing

he’s dead

and what’s left of

his ass

Rimbaud

already

abandoned

March 26 ‘01

I’m in Municipal Court (New Orleans) listening to dozens of people plea before the judge.  A coterie of public defenders is floating in front of the bench.  They wear cheap ill-fitting blazers (some of these outfits look fifteen years old!  Who’d trust a PD dressed like that?).

The judge is a red faced Irishman.  About 85% of the defendants are black, several are women (1 white woman, my girlfriend, arrested and sentenced for petty larceny).

April 1 ‘01

I went in to buy my ticket at the place on Park and 42^nd.  Ticket to LaGuardia to meet Mom and Dad.

Woman outside holding the door open.  White middle aged.  A bag on wheels behind her.  Nervous looking.

“Excuse me,” I said, wanting to go in, she blocking the way.

“Oh!  Go ahead!”

And she let go of the door and it shut in my face.

I opened it and went in.  Right inside the door is obviously the woman’s husband.  He’s blocking the way, talking confusedly with one of the uniformed employees.  Another uniformed employee sits in a chair, young Hispanic guy.

I rest my bag while I wait for the husband to move himself and his bags out of the way.

KERPLUNK my bag falls over into the legs of the standing employee.

“Sorry,” I say, picking it up.  The husband suddenly realizes he’s in the way so he starts to move.

The seated Hispanic guy says, “Call 1-800-LAWYER if you’ve been injured in an accident.”

“Blood from a stone, man,” I say.  “Blood from a stone.”

April 3 ‘01

From Shiva Naipaul’s “Black and White”:

“I was constantly beat over the head with the vision of the future: a fast approaching world crisis of combined nuclear war, starvation, uncontrollable disease, epidemics, crime and violence and the extinction of human life on this planet.”

I remember Jim Jones, 3 Mile Island…

April 7 ‘01

In the studio of WWOZ radio station, New Orleans:

its another jobless

sunday morning

the sun is coming

to me with

the promise

of spring

bring it

bring it on

over the darkened

treeline

as the birds sing

for morning

but I’ve been up

all night

blowing all my money

and the top of my

skull off

and knowing each morning-

like this morning-

I’ll have to say

to hell with it

all over

again

June 7 ‘01

So I figured what the hell and began again…

At 8am, after running out of cigs, I went out to the K-store to buy some more.  Circle-K.

8am New Orleans!  Esplanade Avenue.  After a storm too.  Damp and cool.  What a marvelous bright morning!  Impossible to fully describe.