So, my comments are back in a big, big way. Ask
nicely & ye shall receive.
It's with no little sense of apprehension that I reinstate my comments, cos I thought today I'd share with everyone how even more insane I was as a teenager than I am now. I took the whole wild-typewritten-pages-for-yr-own-joy notion of Kerouac's as practically gospel & I was under the influence of multiple hallucinogens. A snippet from my typewritten pages circa 1995 hints vividly at the result of this dangerous combination.
But now after so long I still wanna write madly; why did everything fuck up its like L said about T, "c'est proche mais il ne marche jamais" or whatever... for some reason or the other it never works out but obviously I dont know why or Id fix this whole stupid mess. Just like why did we even go to Boton, or to Bickfords in "submarine light"... at the laser light show pink purple red flying at us you only kissed me once inside... tripping kissing every time a bright flash came I was blinded and my eyes snapped shut and one fat tear rolled out, and after all would things have been different if we had just watched TV that nite, instead of taking off together in the Blazer?
Instead I had to sit with you in long stony silent car ride, all the way from Little Compton to Providence, no cigarettes, just like the first nite we met -- & besides the horrible car ride, THAT was the most poetic nite of all. We got back together again, I was standing in the kitchen, alone, but we were all somewhere in the house, tripping balls, and I was fascinated by everything, the madly shining hard apples I was preoccupied with when he came in and gave me a huge long hug and it was nice, but not any more so than the apples, and if hed left me to them I wouldnt have cared but as it was everything was fine with me. Later we were outside and I was spilling out every miniscule thing that was racing thru my acid mind. Cuz it was my first real trip. It was like that first nite cuz I was naive and silly and gushing and his eyes were slanted, we were getting together on the porch and I gave crazy dumb but insightful tripping commentaries: "It was Saturday nite, I had a cigarette in my right hand and Brad in my left; all in all it was a good nite." He just laughed at me & I loved him, but only as much as I loved the whole world, like the corners of tables and grinning window panes and scratched car paint. Sober now, I see him different, fuzzier, still the best thing Ill see. Im really madly in love with everybody but you just cant do that. Maybe Ive been wrong about everything where I always thought I was so sure; one day tho Ill find love & fire not lies. I hope.
: 4:06 PM