Ch. 2; take two people, romantic
Frankie was my doll. Man she was the epitome. Back in those burnout harlem days, i'm telling you. she had the boys on her at all times. And they were on each other too.
Sex, to me, is the true innermost urge. It's what really motivates us to continue, as for some reason our purpose is obviously to regenerate? Why? Who gives a shit. But sex, it's that primordial thing that eggs us on to do shit we think is really stupid at any truly rational time. And truly rational times are only found by chemical aide, so i've seen. So the common consensus, even then, was free love. Shit. We were sodomites, i'm telling you, hell its better than philistines.
And you know why, it was the smell. We all were caught up in the crazy sickly-sweet smell of the times, a mixture of weed smoke and sweaty bodies, searching for the natural inner mentality with stimulants and depressants like barbituates and poetry, amphetamines and pearls, chased with a dosage of sex and violence at the 4th plateau. It was a rosy-eyed time, and male or female, everyone was doing that primal dance.
But Frankie, she was my girl. I first met her when I was 15, she was 19. Real upper-class bird, Brown swim-team, rich-daddy type with a body like a romanian gymnast. And i appealed to her. I'm telling you, she was classic. She was the tyoe you bow down to and kiss her toe-ring, you know, Jewish girl, she'd only eat green vegetables, as it's the color of nature. she'd spend a week in bed with you hating the way you looked at her and you'd love her for it.
She had these eyes, man, they were older than her, i'm telling you, i could feel them behind her cloud of opiates watching herself and her whole sphere of conciousness burning up into a mushroom cloud of fine white smoke, and she loved it like a kid stepping on an anthill an feeling the society crush beneath his feet. you know we're all pretty destructive. but honestly she was gentle. She was very gentle, and you could see it in those grey-green eyes. But she was one of the gang, a bit of the ultra-violence, and crazy drugs man. I remember the start of that jive.
After I got the boot from my old man and his dummy, I rented a moldy little cottage attic up on the hope street district. We all would be in and out of there, you know, landlord's biggest headache and shit, but what would you expect from a queer like me. It got to be a real hang-out, man, almost a real friggin nightclub, and then an apothecary. I was dealing out all sorts of mind-benders, body-droppers, soul-seekers to innocent young people who couldn't undersand the tao of it all and therefore ended up dying blissfully young. I'm past that now, i can't. It's too late for me to go that easy.
I'm damn old, man.
But Frankie, she lived with me. She was one crazy woman. Damn, the sex we had. We'd do some sick things to each other, just for the kitsch of it all. And I loved it. But she.. i can't even begin. Because i know i'll end up choking up like a fucking pussy halfway through it all.
I makes me wanna cry, what a stranger I've become.
I left her behind after a few months to seek out the panamerican dream of alcohol and indians, figuring she'd wait for me, the world honestly revolved around my head like the stars around daffy duck's skull after being hit by an anvil, man. it was just like that.
I think honestly we're all the gods of our own worlds. Think about it, you don't REALLY put anyone above your own needs, man. Oh sure, you love a person, you'd do anything, you'd DIE for her. And why? because she compliments YOU. she makes YOU feel good. And there's nothing wrong with it, it's the natural order of things. It's really a buddhist way of looking at it, man. I tried that scam though, it's all money now.
But i sure got plenty of that. And i'm still living the life of a fucking bum.
I gotta get past the romance of it all, i'm caught up in thecityneversleeps mumbo-jumbo rainy city night bullshit, i have to get out of it but i'm too old. And i'm afraid of what i'll find once the curtain comes down, man. What if this is as good as it gets? I'm too old for this. If death knocked on my door, I'd invite him in for a good cup of tea, and tell him all these stories. He'd discuss with me the contradictions of life to the point where he'd spectralize from the truth of it all. I think i should like to go with him.
I'm too old for this shit.
Sex, to me, is the true innermost urge. It's what really motivates us to continue, as for some reason our purpose is obviously to regenerate? Why? Who gives a shit. But sex, it's that primordial thing that eggs us on to do shit we think is really stupid at any truly rational time. And truly rational times are only found by chemical aide, so i've seen. So the common consensus, even then, was free love. Shit. We were sodomites, i'm telling you, hell its better than philistines.
And you know why, it was the smell. We all were caught up in the crazy sickly-sweet smell of the times, a mixture of weed smoke and sweaty bodies, searching for the natural inner mentality with stimulants and depressants like barbituates and poetry, amphetamines and pearls, chased with a dosage of sex and violence at the 4th plateau. It was a rosy-eyed time, and male or female, everyone was doing that primal dance.
But Frankie, she was my girl. I first met her when I was 15, she was 19. Real upper-class bird, Brown swim-team, rich-daddy type with a body like a romanian gymnast. And i appealed to her. I'm telling you, she was classic. She was the tyoe you bow down to and kiss her toe-ring, you know, Jewish girl, she'd only eat green vegetables, as it's the color of nature. she'd spend a week in bed with you hating the way you looked at her and you'd love her for it.
She had these eyes, man, they were older than her, i'm telling you, i could feel them behind her cloud of opiates watching herself and her whole sphere of conciousness burning up into a mushroom cloud of fine white smoke, and she loved it like a kid stepping on an anthill an feeling the society crush beneath his feet. you know we're all pretty destructive. but honestly she was gentle. She was very gentle, and you could see it in those grey-green eyes. But she was one of the gang, a bit of the ultra-violence, and crazy drugs man. I remember the start of that jive.
After I got the boot from my old man and his dummy, I rented a moldy little cottage attic up on the hope street district. We all would be in and out of there, you know, landlord's biggest headache and shit, but what would you expect from a queer like me. It got to be a real hang-out, man, almost a real friggin nightclub, and then an apothecary. I was dealing out all sorts of mind-benders, body-droppers, soul-seekers to innocent young people who couldn't undersand the tao of it all and therefore ended up dying blissfully young. I'm past that now, i can't. It's too late for me to go that easy.
I'm damn old, man.
But Frankie, she lived with me. She was one crazy woman. Damn, the sex we had. We'd do some sick things to each other, just for the kitsch of it all. And I loved it. But she.. i can't even begin. Because i know i'll end up choking up like a fucking pussy halfway through it all.
I makes me wanna cry, what a stranger I've become.
I left her behind after a few months to seek out the panamerican dream of alcohol and indians, figuring she'd wait for me, the world honestly revolved around my head like the stars around daffy duck's skull after being hit by an anvil, man. it was just like that.
I think honestly we're all the gods of our own worlds. Think about it, you don't REALLY put anyone above your own needs, man. Oh sure, you love a person, you'd do anything, you'd DIE for her. And why? because she compliments YOU. she makes YOU feel good. And there's nothing wrong with it, it's the natural order of things. It's really a buddhist way of looking at it, man. I tried that scam though, it's all money now.
But i sure got plenty of that. And i'm still living the life of a fucking bum.
I gotta get past the romance of it all, i'm caught up in thecityneversleeps mumbo-jumbo rainy city night bullshit, i have to get out of it but i'm too old. And i'm afraid of what i'll find once the curtain comes down, man. What if this is as good as it gets? I'm too old for this. If death knocked on my door, I'd invite him in for a good cup of tea, and tell him all these stories. He'd discuss with me the contradictions of life to the point where he'd spectralize from the truth of it all. I think i should like to go with him.
I'm too old for this shit.