Culture, San Francisco, Poetry, Music, Reviews, Short Stories and Life
I started at Carolyn Cassady’s introduction and read: He is known to have hit women, but I’m sure they asked for it, and that it was a sexual turn-on, as some have confessed to me. Here I am, bubbling over with barely contained fury. Hitting someone is never a sexual turn on, come on guys […]
MoreMy favorite old wreck is alive. Discharged from hospital, living purely on spite and whiskey, and the ability to torture me with a telephone. I lost my temper. One thing he can’t do is bullshit me like he manages to bullshit people who haven’t been there. It is always tomorrow that they will sober up, […]
MoreMy father abused me and my mother was complicit. I don’t have family. I did ask for help now and then, I told them I was being hurt. I am no contact with them, have been for decades. They are vile, racist, right wing, fuckheads and I hope they are miserable. I don’t want much. […]
MoreI didn’t intend to go to The City Lights Bookstore today, I guess the road had other plans. The road has other plans even when you are on foot, especially when you are on foot, I guess, no solid walls of the vehicle to shield you, no wheels to out run Fate and her furies… […]
MoreThe fog is closing in on San Francisco, the street homeless outside huddled around a radio, the dogs even looking damp and chilled to the bone. I am grateful for the shelter tonight, I’m grateful to be inside, I’m grateful for the heater in my room. After five years on the road, five years without […]
More“Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your […]
MoreI guess I should have known when I saw the small sized men’s shirt in the charity shop, that it was not the best idea. There was Keef, in all his junkie hey-day glory, cigarette hanging from his lips, mirrored shades, the torn and frayed elegantly wasted Keith that we all know, and I thought […]
MoreHere is Speed Limit, Neal Cassady, driving the Merry Prankster’s bus, Furthur, down the road, in I think 1964. A perfect amalgam of space and time and wing and a prayering it down those twisted roads I travelled in our own bus, Beastie. All good buses deserve names. The hippies and Kesey’s glorious acid freaks […]
MoreThis morning it all went wrong. Nothing that could go easily or right did, every interaction and request just went wrong. It was one of Those Mornings. We all have them. Nothing beat the sheer indignity of losing an hour’s sleep, then being greeted with, I shit thee not..”Hello..BANG BANG, baby! How can I make […]
MoreHere is the only known footage of Jack Kerouac reading his work aloud in motion picture recording. I had never seen this before today, and was immediately immensely touched by Kerouac’s shy, nervous demeanor, which, with his book in his hands, and the right words to speak, transformed into something else, something special, something fragile […]
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