THREE SECONDS

They loved it when you told them they were still pretty.

At least they pretended to love it. maybe it was a show from them to you .to thank you for your show. time makes that blur a bit.

Jesus ,it was awful. at first ,no one had any idea what it was. a club thing. a drug thing. but, pretty quickly it became a Gay thing. and by the time it was that, it was fucking ferocious. it ate my generation almost in half.

Seems odd, to call it MY generation. but it was. and is, mine. ours. and, I know the numbers aren't half, but it was half the people we knew. and, I'm straight. I just happen to be blessed with the ability to be friends with all kinds of people.

Although, at the time, I didn't feel lucky. none of us had any idea how to help. what to do, what to say.so, we just were the best friends we could be . and none of us had our shit together back then. we were fucking kids. so, we visited, and talked to the circle that gathered around. I remember, taking a ton of blankets to everyone I could get to. Because they were always so cold, there were never enough blankets. And pills. we used all our club connections to get pain killers. because the pain was fucking horrible, and I never once saw a doctor give a scrip for pain. not fucking once. I remember having to help my friends move out of hospitals because they were no longer getting treatment or even a bed to die in. because everyone was so afraid.

We kept waiting for help.

It never fucking came. and, everyone who could die, did die.

And, Ronnie and Nancy the poster couple of the GOP never even said the words hiv or aids. because no one in that party cared about any faggot disease. fuck them, that's what they get. It's Gods vengeance. and, all those sweet men, just died.

I buried half my club family while those pricks swilled wine ,got rich ,and shit on us.

And, it has only gotten worse. The Trump party fucking hates people. LGBT, women, people of color. anyone not male and white, it seems. and, the haters in this country eat it up. people want to spin it, want to tell us they have made strides, but really, this world is spiraling and unless you're rich or just stupid enough, and hateful enough to let them do what they want, you are less than human to them.

I remember a president who refused to even say the word gay, let alone help. because,fuck them, that's why. And whenever some one I know, tries to convince me it's about fiscal responsibility or the constitution, it takes me less than three seconds to think everything you have just read. And I am back there. sobbing every fucking day, because my country killed my family. and, I fucking hate you, and it won't go away. I don't have to play nice. you killed my family.fuck you. and ,shame on you.

Anyway, they loved it when you told them they were still pretty.

Lunchbox filled with notes

THE FEARLESS ONE

I guess she was about eighteen or nineteen when I met her. she could have been even younger, but I hope not. she was beautiful. I don't mean that sappy " she was beautiful " bullshit writers talk about. I mean, just stop you in your tracks, freak you the fuck out beautiful. but, I know lots of women like that. I know how lucky I am. I talk about a few of them in other stories. but, this one. this one had style. her own style , that  looked like it was familiar ,but felt brand new. and when she opened her mouth to talk, you just stopped. hell, everything stopped. you wanted to never let her out of your sight. you wanted her to go one forever. About anything. because she was talking to you. and you felt special. her heart was huge. Even then. just huge. gorgeous. smart. funny.kind. filled with excitement and hope and sweet, kind love. and I knew, I would never, ever try to fuck her.

I fucked a lot back then. it was easy. most of the time. and fun. most of the time. part of it was I just was young. and lived in the best city in the world. and smart, cool women were all around me. its one of many perks of being the guy. the door guy. the good guy. the guy who beats people up, but has a brain. The guy who works at the scariest, coolest bar in the scariest coolest city in the world. Being the door guy was great. and ,I know this sounds like bullshit,but I really wasn't interested in women who were only interested in me for my job. I met everyone, but I chased very few. everyone wants to be your pal.everyone. your job is to make everyone feel safe. and welcome. because it was a freak show. but ,it was MY freak show. I loved the place. The music. The fashion. The promise. I admit it.
 I fucking loved being the guy.

A lot of responsibility with that job , if you honor and respect what you've been given. one of those things we paid strict attention to was the group that came up in the scene right after us. it was harder for us, so we had a tough shell already. two years later, it seemed a little easier. And if you were new, your guard wasn't up as much. we watched out for those kids. at least the good ones did. the assholes preyed on them. and not just the fucking tourists .some of our own. a lot of our own. we usually could steer things right pretty quick, but you cant catch everything. you try. You can't. we kept the wolves at bay, and when we couldn't ,we froze them out. no more cheap drinks.no more free entry.no more guests or friendly banter at the door. move along, you aren't welcome anymore. most of the sleazebags got it.if they didn't ,the younger ones that were with them did. And they broke away. if you were a door guy and you did that shit? it got real ugly. Real fast. we weren't like rush street. We weren't like anyplace. we took care of our own.

So, I kept an eye on her. and, her mom was a friend of mine from another club, so I felt the responsibility for her. she was family. but, she was fucking sexy and adventurous and wild .I had my hands full. we actually had apartments next to each other over Mickeys store 99th floor for a while. I lost count of the skinheads I tossed down the stairs at that place. Thank god for petey her pit .he kept his eye out while I wasn't around. I had two guys who were friends ask my permission before chasing her. which showed some class. so I said okay. it was understood what was waiting for them if they fucked up. Then,we worked at china club together. that got interesting quick. a guy I knew was trying to chase her. I told him to stop. scumbag guy,didnt want it to escalate. I ended up choking him out on the cigarette machine in the hall. Scotty Brown pulled me off him. when I told him why I was choking the guy he told me to keep going.

Then I went on the road touring, and ended up in New York . lower east side. lots of fun. I was working the door at all the hot clubs, hanging with rock stars and hells angels. and I had a huge drug habit. king of the world!!!  I ran into her outside the continental club on St.Marks. she was in town, hanging out with her man Jimmy Gestapo. she had no idea  I lived there. she was going back to Brooklyn with Jimmy after the show. gave me his number.
we were going to hang out before she went home. I stopped at the 24 hour Laundromat on 7th , bought a bunch of dope and coke ,went home and got high. I felt great! seeing her was amazing.

I woke up, I was walking, in a rainstorm . I had walked from 7 and D where I lived to the financial district. it was five fucking a.m. I found a payphone. I called Jimmy's apartment. He picked up, I asked for her, he handed her the phone. she asked what was up, and I proceeded to rant about how I had tons of cash, was up, lets party. Its going to be great! we can run around and have fun for days! its going to be the best thing ever! real quiet on the other end. finally, " oh, darling,you aren't making any sense. are you okay? ,where are you, do you want us to come get you? " and then, I heard the crying. I hung up. I walked home. all I could think about was, this little girl, who I had protected and watched over for years ,who was one of the kindest, sweetest people in my world, I made her cry. I made her cry. I couldn't fathom it. I got home somehow, soaking wet, and devastated. I passed out.

I slept a really long time. walked the half block to the laundry to cop, went to work. I was in the bathroom at Webster Hall, getting ready to snort my first line. I did a whole bag of blow first. waited a couple seconds. I put the straw in the dope bag. I leaned into it. I heard it. clear as day, I heard her crying. and I heard her voice. she was scared for a guy who was supposed to keep her unafraid. she was scared for me.and sad. I made  her sad. I started to cry. I  couldn't stop myself for about ten minutes. I did more coke. I wish I could tell you otherwise, I can't . but, I couldn't bring
 myself to  do the heroin. I just couldn't. and I stopped. it was hard. no way to sugar coat that. I was sick a long time. I still drank, I still did coke. But I never touched dope again. because I was terrified I would hear her crying. that simple.

like it happens we lost touch for years. now, we talk on the internet . she has an amazing family down in Texas .she helps people with their spirits and souls. she is the most amazing punk rock earth mother in the world.  I'm clean and sober now,lifes great. its been twenty years since I let her down. and every once in awhile, I remember it. and I cry. Or laugh.

Either way, I never said thank you. this is my thank you. I love you, and always will.
 .

THE FIST AMENDMENT

DISCLAIMER : This little ditty does not really have a big finish or anything. it just happened.

Couple things we need to get straight ,right away. first, I have led a colorful and weird life. this is not a brag , or a complaint. it's just true. so things that happen to me , will probably never, ever happen to you. which , on the whole, is a good thing. secondly, because I possess this odd ability to be many things to many people , I am able to trade in some sort of unseen karmic favor trading and by and large get away with things that seem impossible to most people. but, most of you have seen this in action, so I don't think further explanation is needed. so, here we go.......


   When I was a kid, my grandfather picked up a lot of the manly raising me duties. along with the hoodlums and greasers ,then the hippies and militants that my mom attracted.it was a weird and wonderful mix. but, my grandfather was the shit. escaped Hitler's Germany, started over here with nothing. really a quite man. but also, the toughest sob when it was needed. I was about twelve when i saw him knock out a drunk at the bar we were in. looking for my drunk father. the guy had been getting loud for a bit, but he said something to his woman friend that my grandfather did not approve of. he was asked to repeat it. he did, and my grandfather dropped him with one punch. the bartender says " Herm! what the hell? you can't knock someone out because you don't like what their saying! this is America, not Germany!" to which, my grandfather replied," the government says you can say whatever you want in this country. I know. however, I am not the government. and don't you tell me this isn't Germany, you son of a bitch,I left there to come here. you will never see me again." and we walked out of the little red schoolhouse tavern for the last time. my entire family never went back, except for my asshole father. that had to hurt a little. we drink a lot. my grandfather explained to me, that sometimes, you just know when to hit someone. and when you do, stand behind it. he could see i was confused and told me," don't worry, you aren't like your father, hitting everthing.you are like me. you know the difference.dont be afraid you are like him. You will never be like him."

so, all that stuck with me, and leads me to my response to the duck dynasty shit from a few months ago. And, things in general.

So, around 1987/88 , I am working the door at exit. I am ,of course, king of the world. I run a pretty good party out there. if you were there, you know. but along with being the gatekeeper, I make people feel like they're part of it all. Because they were. everyone brave enough to show up was welcome. People trusted me to keep them safe. And I tried to respect that and at the same time, wanted everyone to feel included,,even if other people that were there made them uncomfortable. its a skill.

Anyway, one of the things that was normal to me, but would never be to most people, was my relationship with the hard core bikers that came in. the Outlaws sometimes, but mostly the Hells Henchmen. now patched over to the Hells Angels. for whatever reason, the level of trust between us was pretty high and i valued that trust and respect very, very much. when these guys came riding up, six at a time, I knew it was going to be show time. Little John was the president, and he ran a pretty tight ship. he and i had an agreement on colors and guns. he would tell the guys that before going in,it was ok to give me their guns ,and turn their colors inside out before going in.the fact that i knew they turned them back around as soon as they got inside, and had other guns was not the point. respect for me and my job was the point. and I showed them the same in return. they had my back many nights, and always tried to keep an eye on everything inside too. they would come get me if something started. Out of respect. so, that's where we were in the time the following happened: a student at the art institute created a piece that got some major press coverage. it was called how to display the American flag. Or something close to that. anyway, it consisted of a guest book on a shelf, and to write on it, you had to stand on the flag that was on the ground in front of it. it looked like this:

I think you can imagine the way the Henchmen took it.

So,  everyone in Chicago is talking about it. my take ,back then was ,first amendment above all else,fuck censorship, freedom of speech! Freedom of speech! and the art institute took a lot of flak for keeping it up. the kid who did it called himself Dred Scott. he got relatively famous ,fast. now that he's known and people start kissing his ass,he starts coming to exit somehow. first night I meet him, its just hi how you doing stuff. then, he starts coming in pretty regularly. and bringing people. and acting like a star. ok.fine,i give it to him, he's respectful so far. then, one night the henchmen are there. and he shows up. With his entourage. they all converge at the same time. right in front of me ,sitting alone outside. awesome.it gets ugly quick. i talk it down with the free speech, first amendment stuff.hey,people look at you in your colors and they want you outlawed completely, and you guys fucking love America! Dred is fairly contrite, says he in no way wants to offend anyone, it was a statement on whether we truly do have the right to say whatever we want,etc.. meanwhile,I've got Little John on the corner, explaining the shit storm that will land on them if this goes south, and the club cant take that heat either. détente is reached. they won't  pound him to mush if he stays away from them. that's really all I can hope for. this goes on for a couple of weeks. the Henchmen are always letting me know they will be cool, if he keeps his distance. the fucked up thing is, this kid laughs about it to me when they aren't around. thinks its hilarious they're so pissed. I try to explain to him, they come first to me. he's there on my good graces with them and if it comes to it,im gonna be on their side. Not because i agree with them about his piece, but because we have history born in fire and blood. the kid looks at me like im speaking French . after he leaves me,i realize,thats how people look at the flag. and,fuck everyone, I really don't think a symbol that kids have fought and died for should be treated the same as music lyrics or books. the flag means something more to people then that. now,it means more to me than that. But, peace is kept, and even though this kids a douche bag,i keep him safe. its tiring, but its the right thing to do.

then,another art student puts up a piece. about the late mayor Harold Washington.it looks like this:

not a big deal, really. i loved Harold as my mayor, but i think this is more juvenile than anything else. but, it causes yet another uproar, and this time it gets removed almost immediately from the gallery. by the same institution that let the flag be walked all over. shameful. But, here comes the really fun part: Im getting ready for work the day it gets taken down. Art institute stormed by alderman! is the headline. as I watch, who do I see with the painting in his hands ,but good ole Dred scott! He's there shouting racism and shame on you to anyone who has a camera. i keep this information to myself. a few days go by, Im out front ,the henchmen are hanging out, who comes walking down the street? yep. this time, instead of art school sycophants he's got a pretty good smattering of nation of Islam men with him. i can sense the boys hackles going up. They think he's brought reinforcements for his protection against them. They have no idea about the Harold painting. they all step back, a bit. Not a lot, but some. Dred scott walks up to me like we are best pals. big smile. he thinks he's about to push the envelope in some street /guerilla art scene. i look him in the eye. " what's up?" nothing, got some friends with me. " i see that. i also saw you on tv last week." my look and tone make him deflate for a second. " yeah,that was bullshit,man!,fucking racist shit"

i knocked him into the street between two parked cars, one punch. his friends back up to the left, the Henchmen to the right. I stride over to him. Bend down, and say" you know that's for taking advantage of all the good will you got because of me, right?" you piece of shit.get out of here, before I let these guys take you apart and piss  in your face." the henchmen surround me, take me inside, but me drinks and laugh our asses off. Dred and his crew leave, never to be seen again. Little John asks me what took so long I try to explain about the painting.hes lost, so i say",my grandfather always told me i would know the right time to hit someone. I guess that time was tonight." more drinks, some drugs, and im back outside working, and all is right in my world.

I will never step foot in the Art Institute again.

MARCIA ANNE MATTHEWS

      Jesus , she started out rough. Born six months before Pearl Harbor . Her old man was fifty something when she came around. never supposed to happen. He had been gassed in the first war , it took a toll. Hell, he was already a veteran of some pretty nasty shit before THAT war even started. He fought with Blackjack Pershing . all through France, Belgium, etc. He didn't really have a choice . He was sent to Canada to fight ,because it was that or Australia after the Post Office Easter Uprising. Anyway , he was pretty dead inside for the next couple of decades, and sick as hell. So, she was a surprise. not a welcome one, either ,it seems. He loved her. doted on her. Her mother? not so much. And, as it turns out , she didn't mind telling her so.

So, some pretty awful shit early on. Samuel treated her great. Then, he took a bad turn and was gone by the time she was six. Venetia didn't have a problem letting her know what a burden she was. The living was hard. single mom, waitress at a shitty hole in the wall. Then, it got really bad. Venetia got sick. Hard. No other family here in the states. So, off to the orphanage she goes. it was Dickensian to say the least. You know what it was, I'm  not gonna pile on. She got to say goodbye to her mother at least. In the consumptive ward of a charity hospital. Eight years old. They force her into a room to say goodbye. Her mother laying there, Blood coming out of her nose and ears. My Mother never got over that. How could she? So, now she's all alone. no family. She gets to spend the next ten years in ward of the state limbo. It's ugly. She settles in finally, at a widows place. Purely for the money. She gets it. .Prefers it to the humiliating orphan showcases she's gone through. And, through it all , she tells herself " someday, ill have my own family. I will love my kids. I will get through this " And she does.

She loves Rock and Roll. Saves her. She finds a family with the hoods and the greasers.She feels safe. And she is. Until she marries my father.

He drank. and hit. she left. in 1967 she was working part time at the psych hospital as a typist. Sister Assumpta took her under her wing. and told my mother life was to short,and precious to let me see that. A catholic nun .back then. amazing. Marcia got us out. worked full time.1.35 an hour. But, it changed everything. it sounds like a cliché , but I don't care , we were dirt poor ,but happy. we lived in a shack between the river and the railroad tracks. seriously, the river came into the house when it rained, and the tracks were no more than thirty feet from the front door. But, we had love. Lots of it.and Christmas. The first Christmas my mother ever celebrated was with my fathers family. she had never seen a tree inside before. Or presents under it. she was twenty. until the day she died, my mother loved Christmas like Scrooge after the visits. So, what im saying is, she got handed a bunch of shitty things early on.

Here's the thing....She was the happiest fucking person I've ever met.

Growing up, I hung out with greasers , hoods ,hippies ,black panthers ,migrant workers, hells angels ,rock stars , nuns ,priests ,doctors, Gay ,straight , blue collar regular Joes. and, I learned from them all. My mother didn't have the family she dreamed of to get her through hell. she got a better one. and, so did I.

My life ,up until this very second,has been filled with love and adventure and thirst for more. more knowledge,more people,more moving,more fun,more love. and still, I hear her voice " I think you should try that,and see what happens. you always do the right thing"

END


so, if you read this,i think of you as family. parts of this are going in the book. a little more fleshed out. I was just inspired to say something today. and I wanted to share it. this is just a love note ,I guess.its not for publication.but,i needed to tell a story,or go mad. thanks for looking.



  

Well, I'm not sure this is a great idea . I'm not sure it's a bad one either. but ,you know me, and I trust you , or you wouldn't be here. so, here it goes..... I'm going to write things here. most are chapters for the two books im doing. a bunch is for a spoken word thing I may be doing. my pal Diana has invited me to give it a try, and after we talk,im hoping she thinks its something we can do. and,theres going to be from time to time, some rough ideas for scripts for tv show ideas. I have an irrational fear of letting anything I write be seen until its published. which ,I have come to realize is just a sort of bullshit excuse for being lazy. so, with your indulgence and patience , im gonna toss stuff up here. I hope you dig it. this is new to me, so who knows how it'll work out. but, I hope it stays interesting. also, as you may have sussed out already,im not big on editing or formatting when im at this level. sorry. that will probably get better, but no promises. thanks for looking.