10:26 a.m.||||2001-12-17
I was reading a minute ago and laughing hysterically but quietly because baby is - ssshhhh!- sleeping. Anyway, off point, I remembered something about my bar life.
One, once when I was at this Greek bar/restaurant, I got really really smashed because Jim Carroll was there to read some poetry. Now the youngsters should note that the movie The Basketball Diaries was based on the book by the same name, written by him. One of my all-time favorite modern poems, written by him goes as follows:
"I have a tiny syringe,
I use to it to baste my tiny turkey"
Ha ha ha haah haha hha hhahahahah!
Another favorite is a poem by Bukowski, which ends, "I believe in a simple violence, this is some of it." I think its title is "three junkies in the afternoon". Anyway...My point is that at the end of my night drinking and listening to Carroll's new, substandard, actuall pretty awful now that he's straight, poems, I was all like, fuck him and his fame and his current lack of passion, I know what let's do! And I wrote a note that took three tries before it became legible and I approached him and said something and managed to somehow slip it in his pocket. It said, "if you are worth your salt, you will write me a letter." And I put my address. He never called, he didn't write. What a cheeky boozer I was!
Two, there were two bar tales. The other is that I used to be very sad and depressed and express those feelings in jagermeister. I spent an entire summer, when my Omni burnt to the ground outside the bar, taking the bus to that same bar and then walking home. It was about a three hour walk. Hard to do when you're wobbly. But if you are very angry, that helps. I walked home drunk and angry through the ghetto wearing a sheer blue shift dress and woven slippery shoes. And I was so mad at this boy I loved I just marched and marched. When I got home my feet were bleeding. Later that week I danced on a broken lamp.