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...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
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Archive for the ‘Smith biography’ Category

Judgement Day

Sunday, August 29th, 2010

Worked on my projections yesterday to try and untangle some psychological knots. Very good to project what it is that I want for everyone, which is for me to not critique them or myself, but to know their underlying goodness. The most interesting part was working with the new house for my parents, which I am visualizing as a kind of Heaven on Earth for them (with my understanding that I should wish well for everyone, and not wish well for my parents at the expense of others, but to let this be up to the God concept of underlying equality and goodness between all “beings.”)

So yesterday I saw a ballet of grace played out depending on what my expectations and fears and hopes were.

It became a bit overwhelming, so I tried to give it up to my God concept and follow what I thought was the right thing to do, which was to not judge, and to just ask for the good and what I perceive to be as good.

At one point I took grandma to explore my parents’ barn and this like, little cottage on the property. I was worrying that by holding her hand, worrying about her tripping, I was projecting my psychic need for her to be old, or some such thing. But I realized that she is old, at least according to my perception, and that I could hope for her to not trip, but the responsible thing to do according to the history of the ‘illusion’ as I know it is to hold her hand, because I love her very much and if indeed she were to trip, I would like to prevent it. And I love the feeling of her hand in mine.

It’s been a constant battle of my ultimate will for a better me, a better universe, a better way to see, and at times it becomes frightening, because I worry about unseen ramifications of my good intent.

Visualization of important symbolism seems to be important, and exploring the weird wonderful possibilities that could be, such as talking candidly without fear about fear, such as taking that extra step to explore an area one would really like to explore… and to try to have faith that one’s good intent for oneself and everyone else is taken care of, but to also perform actions real and symbolic to carry the load one feels is appropriate at the moment.

The barn has stairs up to a loft type thing. I found some gold leaves. I took two of them, one for me, and one for Grandma. Grandma is someone I see as having a special tie to me. I have thought that we have a psychic connection, and this is what I project on to her and myself. I have been tied up in the Christ symbology/mythology, but I have tried to be ethical about my ego and to not seed this unless it needs to be seeded. (I believe we are all manifestations of Christ/Buddha/God/each other etc.)

Anyways, where I am going with this is that Grandma seemed to be constantly alluding to my Christ visualization of myself, which I tried not to encourage with words but I’m sure I projected that image onto everyone yesterday. When I gave her the gold leaf, she said it was like Christmas. I can’t quite remember the other allusions she made to me yesterday, but they were Christ allusions.

In the cottage, we found a big carpet, which was dirty. Grandma was talking about taking the carpet and putting it under the dining room table. On the carpet, we saw a weird thing that looked like a giant kitchen implement–I don’t know the name of the implement–I think it is used to thrash eggs or some such thing. Grandma said it is used to thrash carpets, to beat dust out of them. So I started teasing the carpet, hitting it with the thrasher. I said we could hang the carpet from the barn and clean it. But that seemed like a lot of work to me, so I revised my thought to something more logical, which was that Mom and Dad could possibly think about renting a machine to clean the carpet and bring it into the house, under the dining room table.

On the carpet, we also found two rolled up smaller carpets. (Carpet symbolism is important to me as I have asked for magic carpet rides.) I thought, “is it appropriate for me to ask my parents about putting these carpets in their new home?” But then I thought, well, it would be very nice for them, as were I them, I would like the carpets. So I gave the smaller carpet for my grandma to carry, and I gave the larger carpet to myself to carry, and I tried to not worry about her falling, as she is often taking loads upon herself and most likely she would not fall.

Other very interesting things happened in the cottage, but I don’t feel like going into them now.

Into the cottage walked my husband and the family friend. Grandma and I mosied around for a while, and I was fearful about my husband feeling a bit neglected by me at the expense of my concern for grandma. But I am trying to not project the feeling of neglection upon my husband, just trying to do the things I should do to respect him as my husband concept, as I love him very much and have met in him God (concept) for the first time and like, the ultimate Friend/Companion/Mentor who I’ve always wished for.

Grandma and I were carrying these small carpets. Up came this new ponytail dude and his gentle wife, my parents’ friends who I first met yesterday. The ponytail dude was very nice and seemed to want to take care of my grandma. So I let him, seeing him as an extension of myself who would do logical things to help my grandma along so that she wouldn’t fall, etc. (I worry but am trying to not project need onto others, although I think it is responsible to do what one can do to help the seemingly needy.)

The ponytail dude was eating an apple–said there was an apple and peach tree behind the cottage. I thought about bringing my grandma through the lawn to the trees as I want her to be able to experience as much nature as possible, but she was already making her way down the path back to the house, carpet in arms, with the ponytail dude. Steve, however, was right there, and it seemed appropriate for us to go look at the trees. I wanted to try an apple or a peach.

As I am experiencing the Christ/Eve ‘complex’ (I was born on Christmas Eve and have always recognized a Christ ‘complex’ within myself)–I was worried about the ‘Eve’ part of this, but a large part of my philosophy as of late is to shift my perspective to try to expect good things within reason, and to not fear, and to ask my God concept what the right thing to do is.

The peach tree was not suitable. The peaches were not yet ripe, and Steve said they have ‘blight.’

The apples, on the other hand, looked very good. Well, a lot of them had insect holes/mars/etc., but they seemed good to me. Yet I was worried about the underlying implications of eating an apple in this ‘state’ which I understand as a spiritual journey/contact with the divine. “I” let everything be up to “Steve” – ironically I also see Steve as a male version of Eve. He is a man with a highly ‘feminine’ mindset.

Unfortunately for my fear at that time, I also see Steve as a snake symbol, which I can go into at another time.

I was worried that my eating the apple would unleash bad consequences for the world, and that Steve was the snake.

If Steve was the Eve concept, perhaps that would unleash bad consequences for the world.

If I was the Eve concept, perhaps I would be unleashing bad consequences for the world by messing with the apple and speculating about its divine nature.

I decided that I could see the apple as a kind of reverse apple–an apple that would reduce fear of about the nature of knowledge of good and evil, although I do not think it is responsible to abandon the concept of addressing the ‘bad’–more on this later.

Yet I felt that I needed to eat this reverse apple to help take away my judgement and rectify the myth of the apple/tree/knowledge/good-evil paradigm.

I think that yesterday was about fear, and about reducing fear, and reconciliation, and reason and faith.

Steve found a good apple for me. “Be careful,” he said. “It’s got a hole here and here, and pointed to two small indentations on either end of the good part of the flesh where one might bite down.”

I took a bite and recognized that it was a good apple, and quite tasty, maybe a Gala?

“Take a bite for me so I don’t have to bite down into the apple,” Steve said.

So I did, and got a nice bite and took it out of my mouth and gave it to him.

We walked back to the house and I ate the rest of the apple, but I wasn’t really hungry, so I didn’t eat down to the quick of the core.

I buried the apple in a geranium pot in front of my parents’ porch, and Steve and I sat on the porch for a while, and I realized that I was feeling much relief. The constant stream of data/worry seemed to be lifted, although if I ‘squinted’ my ears and thought deeply about it, I could still hear/see/feel my God concept.

Yet my worry about lack of connection seemed to be lifted, and like, this load that I’d been carrying about worrying about Grandma and Steve seemed to be lifted, and some of the constant stream of God-data seemed to be lifted. The God-data can be pretty relentless, but I think it is for the best sometimes, that it is trying to tell me there are issues that need to be resolved. Mostly the issue is about my fear and projection of fear upon reality, yet it is also about faith and balancing one’s responsibility toward the planet and toward the ‘individuals’ one loves and the rest of the perceiving entities of the universe. It’s about wishing well for everyone and doing what one could (can) within reason, dream and faith.

Love,

Lady

P.S. Earlier yesterday, I went running and asked a question of my God concept, who was throwing a constant stream of data at me, a stream beyond a reasonable doubt. I am ever skeptical of the ego/Christ complex ‘thing,’ but I said, “OK, God, how would I recognize that if ‘I’ am Christ? What would it take?” And immediately after asking that I looked into a store window and saw three Barbie dolls. The packages were a Holiday/Christmas theme. In the first package, I saw a beautiful Barbie doll dressed up in a Santa outfit. The other package had two dolls, who I didn’t stare at very long (I am every discounting the special when it regards myself)–but these dolls were also in Holiday theme. I was born on Christmas eve.

Weird, huh?

 

Illusion

Thursday, August 26th, 2010

Play City of Wonder

 

Maya

Wednesday, August 25th, 2010

What is the best possible situation for all perceiving loci?

 

Wishlist for the Universe(s)

Tuesday, August 24th, 2010

“Ask & Ye shall receive” request list:

1. The happiest, most ethical universe for me & Smith & Mandycat, together. 1a. Fame & crazy riches for Smith. 2. The happiest, most ethical universe(s) for all other perceiving entities. 2a. The mass realization that we are all one. 2b. Happy reunions for all families. 3. Reversal of global warming, or alternatively, sudden weird, scientific knowledge that global warming is a myth. 4. Sustainable, ethical farming practices on a mass scale. 5. Benevolent alien benefactors. Since I’m asking, heck, why not? And I’d like them to take me, Smith & Mandycat around in their spaceship for a while. 6. Riches. Why not? Or at least, that I don’t have to worry about money & that we can travel, have a bathtub, clean sheets & a comfortable couch, warmth in the winter and coolness in the summer, keep Mandycat happy, keep this apartment in Cleveland. 7. I’d like us to see Alaska, Japan, Chile, Peru, Nepal, Thailand and other places. It would be really really awesome if we could go to the North and South Poles to see the northern and southern lights. I’d like my family and friends to be able to travel to far flung places as well. 7a. Since I’m asking–it would be really cool if teleporter technology could be used to do this traveling. 8. Cell phones that operate on a level such as to not disturb bee navigation, and safety of the bees. I want fruit to be massively affordable & available to everyone on the planet, perpetually. I would like everyone to eat 5 servings of raw fruits/vegetables daily. 9. Elimination of illness via mass mindset. 10. Pharmaceuticals and health care to be provided for everyone for free if needed. Good health for everyone. No pain unless it is good pain. 11. A partially managed, world-wide economy that offers a minimum good standard of living for everyone regardless of perpetration or circumstance. 12. Cybernetic implants that make use of the brain while one is sleeping to carry out work tasks on the Internet. And google for the brain. I’d like this to be available & provided free to everyone without ill effects, but not make it mandatory. 13. Constant discovery/enjoyment/acclaim unless one is exhausted from the discovery/enjoyment/acclaim and needs to rest a while. 13a. I’d like to have that wire thingy or some such thing inserted into my brain so that I can stimulate my pleasure centers whenever I want, but I don’t want it to be addictive. 14. A worry-free existence for everyone. 15. I would like to be a Buddha or some type of thing like that. That would be most excellent. 16. I’d like Smith’s books and Wendy’s book to become globally famous in our lifetimes. I’d like for everyone else to have this opportunity as well, but especially Smith & Wendy. 17. I’d like Wendy’s cat situation to be happily solved. 18. A reliable, inexpensive used car for Anna. Or a free new one! 19. I’d like for torture to be stopped, period. I’d like the drug war ended. I’d like jails to return to non-profit government-run organizations, or better yet, for us to not need jails at all. 20. No more war, occupation, or killing. No more guns or nuclear bombs unless the bombs are used to detroy asteroids on course to hit the planet or some such thing. 21. Free, massively available, non-polluting energy. 22. Happy leisure and happy work for everyone. 23. Legalization of marijuana, happy LSD trips, etc. Decriminalization of drugs. 24. I’d like to become a film maker of miracles, and for my films to be famous. Writing some acclaimed ‘holy’ books would be cool as well. It would be most excellent if all my thoughts could just be, like, recorded instantaneously, you know? And then output into cool consumables for the culture. 25. No more fear. 26. Cool, far out, trippy special effects in reality for everyone who can handle them. 27. Magic carpet rides & the like. Invisible jets. Weird lassos. 28. Whatever else I’d like if it seems like it would be good for the above goals without hurting anyone. No subconscious vendetta wish granting. No ‘gotcha’ fine print caveats. 29. It would be really cool if there could be, like, no more cancer, heart disease, diabetes, alzheimer’s and arthritis. 30. What would be really really cool is if all this could like, be suddenly implemented or like, get rolling so that everyone can start enjoying immediate dividends. Anyways, this is my wishlist, so it carries my best intent–and it would be like, really cool, you know? 31. I’d like for the family business to be successful, but not at the expense of my family’s peace. I’d prefer to work, say, 10 hours per week, 20 at most. Yet I want the business to succeed. Or better yet, Smith would win the lottery or some such thing like that would happen and we all wouldn’t need to work. Although I think it’s fun to work with family. Ifn indeed we do need to work for like, the maximum happiness for all of us, I want us all to be clearheaded and successful at work tasks. I would prefer to just focus on things I like to do, as I like to do them, without having to worry too much about logistics. I’d like to strategize without anxiety. 32. I’d like to make art occasionally but I don’t want to feel anxious about it. 33. I’d like to have lots of worry-free time with Smith. 34. I’d like to be able to perform miracles & have magical powers, especially flying.

O, yeah, I almost forgot. It would be really really cool if all this happened in my ‘apparent specific continuously-experienced universe’ so that the clump of consciousness formerly known as myself can experience all this.

– –

Addendum: Since I’m ordering a new reality, I’d like to mention that I am really tired of plucking out facial hair and shaving my legs and underarms. I’d like that hair to stop growing. I’d like for my entire head of hair to turn silver ASAP rather than two-toned. I’d like for my eyebrows to remain brown, though. And I’d like to weigh, oh, in the 110 – 135 lb. range. I want to appear weirdly young for my age–like when I’m 60, I want to look 35. And when I’m seventy, in my 40s. I’d also like to get rid of my cellulite & excess skin. Thanks, reality!

 

42: The Cleveland Experience

Wednesday, July 7th, 2010

Saw glass in the middle of the bridge today; before, it was on the side. So I’m thinking that the glimmer means that I have to pick the glass up & put it in my salt & vinegar bag & then I thought, well, God will provide for everything, right? Just then, a piece of the glass feel out of this hole at the bottom of the bag. It fell out the hole at the bottom of the bag.

 

Maybe Heaven is Supposed to be this Planet

Wednesday, July 7th, 2010

Maybe Heaven is supposed to be this Planet. This is the butterfly that’s going to carry me home, and this is the trash I’m going to pick up later, I hope.

 

excerpt from criminal

Monday, September 28th, 2009

Lady and I in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette newspaper 9.23.2009 – foto by Larry Roberts

Turns out Lady and I did have our foto in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette for reading G20 protest poetry… I found it doing an internet search. I love the internet.

Friday night Lady K and I read at the 3rd annual writers celebration at Visible Voice Books. Each year they choose one author and invite writers and poets to celebrate in voice. First year was Jack Kerouac’s On The Road; second year was Charles Bukowski; this time it was Hunter S. Thompson.

Everyone but Lady and I read from Thompson’s excellent output, but she and I read a few pages from our memoir of my life: CRIMINAL by Smith & Lady. Figured it was fair because I’ve done almost as many drugs as Thompson and was giving him a pretty good run in the alcohol race until I drank myself to death 18 years ago. Plus I’ve got him beat on two outlaw counts – he never shot up for 30 years, and never served time for armed robbery.

Here’s what Lady read (pages 175-177):

My brother and I moved in together in ’76. We didn’t have any money and had to decide what was important. Alcohol won out over milk and sugar, so we started drinking our coffee black. To get more alcohol, we tromped through snow to empty lakeside summer cabins and kicked in the doors. It’s not as easy to kick in a door as it looks in the movies. We took guns, drugs, alcohol and what not. Our friend Jones sold the guns. I was having fun, but I was definitely going the wrong way.

The first night we moved in together we got stoned and wrestled, goofing off. We were trying to claim the house for ourselves. Cat was on his back on the floor with his knee up. I tried to pin him down, his knee against my ribs. I slowly sank an inch down, breaking my rib. It was the most gentle breaking imaginable. The hospital gave me codeine. I took a lot.

Pappy didn’t yet know his manual laborer was broken, so at five in the morning Cat and I went to pick up my replacement, Jones. Heading back, me driving, my brother kept shouting, “Faster, faster!” I kept saying, “Where is it, where is it?” looking for the driveway. We weren’t yet familiar with our neighborhood. I pulled around an older couple at ninety miles an hour. Just as I pulled back in front of them my brother shouted, “There it is!”

I stomp my foot on the brake, turn the wheel, and the car flips over onto its top and skids through the driveway, across the lawn, and stops six feet from the house, upside down.

Rolling it squished the top, popped the windshield out and slightly twisted the frame. Jones drove it over to a tree, jacked the car up opposite the way the roof was bent, wrapped a chain around the roof, tied the chain to the tree and kicked the jack out. As the car fell the chain jerked the top back where it was supposed to be. We epoxied the front window back and bondoed the driver’s door shut.

Jones had an easy loose attitude toward vehicles. He had a Jeep without brakes. He’d drive it through the woods, stoned. To brake, he’d downshift, and to stop, he’d run into a tree.

Later I was out of work and hadn’t been making my payments. I’m sitting on my mother’s trailer porch when these two guys drive up to repossess the car. I tell them, “There it is.” As one walked over toward it I said, “Oh, you have to get in the passenger side. We bondoed the driver’s side shut.” He looked at me, shook his head, got in and drove away.

After they repossessed my car, I needed wheels, so I bought a 1977 750 Kawasaki, 450 lbs of metal with an incredibly huge engine. After I signed the papers, the salesman took me to the motorcycle. You should have seen his face when he realized I had never been on one before. He was torn because he was worried about me and concerned, but he also wanted to make money, so he showed me how to turn it on and work the pedals. I practiced going around the parking lot several times, sort of got the hang of it and took off up Route 37. Four miles later, the bike died. I didn’t know anything about mechanics. I didn’t know anything about the bike. I didn’t know what was going on. A guy stopped and showed me I hadn’t been using the main gas tank and had used up my reserve instead.

I start back up 37. It’s a gorgeous summer day. Route 37 is a two lane highway going north through Michigan. It’s up and down and up and down with all these gentle dips. There’s a lot of traffic because it’s a holiday. I’m on my first motorcycle ride ever, feeling really good. I’m zipping past all these cars. I look ahead, and it’s clear. I figure I can pass about seven cars. I pull out and I’m going a little over a hundred miles an hour when this car pops up in front of me, out of one of the little dips! I can see the driver’s eyebrows go up, I’m that close.

I leave the road going over one hundred miles an hour, in the air. At one point–this is just so magic peaceful–I’m upside down in the air, my feet are up over my head, my hands are below my head hanging onto the motorcycle bars, the motorcycle’s beneath me, and we’re flying. It’s so peaceful it’s almost like it’s slow motion. There’s no panic, no nothing. Then I think, I don’t want to be holding this motorcycle when it hits… and I let loose. There’s no sound. I don’t feel a breeze. It’s like I’m in a silent movie, a slow motion silent movie.

The bike hits. It lands in meadow field. Later on, I hit the grass and roll over a lot. I get up and find three tiny scratches on my side. I walk to the bike, pick it up, no damage at all. I look up. Everybody on the highway had stopped and were looking at me. I wave to them, yell, I’m alright, and drive home. That night, one of the rare times I play poker with my family and friends, I can’t lose. I mean, I knew I couldn’t lose, I was totally charmed.

– excerpt from CRIMINAL by Smith & Lady.

We’re looking for a literary agent and a publisher to help us get this 102,000 word memoir published.


oh the places you can go – foto by Smith of Seuss art

 

there are no monsters

Tuesday, October 7th, 2008

Mother Dwarf (1926-2005) surrounded by her art
sept 2003 – foto by smith

from CRIMINAL by Smith & Lady, excerpt from There Are No Monsters chapter.

I would give my mother the finger a lot. I would point with my middle finger, say, “See there.” I’d hold up my first three fingers together and ask if she could read between the lines, or hold my middle finger down and ask if she could read upside down, or hold all but the middle finger up and ask if she could supply the missing word.

Mom lived downstairs on the second floor. My space, the kitchen and the bathroom were on the third. She’d come up and say, “Do you need to use the bathroom?” I’d start in on a long explanation about how I was thinking of turning it into a darkroom for photography until she’d make a disgusted noise and go use it.

Every time she’d come upstairs, I’d ask, “You got a ticket?” She never did. Never understood that because we had all these tickets lying around for collage. She could have kept one in her pocket.

I tried to lure her up to the roof so I could collect on her accidental death insurance money. She never would go. Many times, as she came up from downstairs, I looked at her in a confused way, and said, “How’d you get in?”

“I’m your mother, I live here.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Since I could only collect her insurance money if she died an accidental death, I told her, “If you die in your sleep, you’re still going to fall down the stairs, as often as necessary.”

One time she was coming up the stairs as I was taking a big black bag of garbage out. At the top of the stairs, I said, “Ah, bowling for dollars.”

The best time, she was coming up the stairs and I said from the top in a low, gravelly, drawn-out voice, “Prey.”

“No. No prey,” she pleaded. “I’m your mother.”

And in the same slow low voice I said, “Prey… has… no… name.” She laughed so hard she almost fell down the stairs.

Every time a particular ethnicity appeared in a movie, such as Chinese, I’d say, “I have Chinese blood in me.” Even claimed animal, insect, snake flowed in my veins.

“No you don’t. I’m your mother. I know what you are.”

I’d answer, “They put six pints of blood in me in at the hospital, and you have no idea where it came from.”

I’d tell her I had a big penis one day and a small the next. Got so she’d ask, “What kind of a day is it? Big or small?”

We’d be watching a Western movie and see the Indians call a train the Great Iron Horse. I’d turn and say, “The Indians used to call me Great Iron Penis. I was so big I had trouble getting through the tunnels.”

“You don’t say things like that to your mother.”

People who came over thought Mom really nice. Wished they had one like her. I kept trying to sell her to them. Told them, “You could take her for a trial run. You could rent her, or lease her with an option to buy.” They just laughed.

Once I asked her who she was.

“I’m your mother.”

“I doubt this, but you can stay anyway, because I need somebody slower than I when the monsters come.”

“There are no monsters,” she said.

“There will be,” I replied in low menace voice.


mom, me, pappy 1947 – foto of foto by smith

 

da bluez

Monday, October 6th, 2008

blues – foto by smith

lady’s discovered the blues, specifically martin scorsese’s 5 disc soundtrack: Martin Scorsese Presents The Blues – A Musical Journey (2003).

what names these 5 cds contain – slim harpo, guitar slim, memphis slim, memphis minnie, bukka white, son house, robert johnson, big bill broonzy, elmore james, t-bone walker, bessie smith, billie holiday, lowell fulson, leadbelly, as well as all the 40s, 50s and 60s masters such as muddy waters, little walter, howlin’ wolf, bo diddley, junior wells, junior parker, etta james, b.b. king, john lee hooker, lightnin’ hopkins. even includes bob dylan, elvis presley, jimi hendryx, janis joplin, fleetwood mac (most folk don’t know, but fleetwood mac was an excellent blues band before watering down with stevie nicks).

the blues are songs of life gettin’ through life, with the wife off in another’s bed and payday waylaid way after the need to pay.

life is hard. blues blows show you ain’t alone.

a musical excerpt from Criminal by Smith & Lady:

Early 70s I went backstage to interview Bill Haley of the Comets. The usher took me to him and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Haley, this man’s here to interview you for the paper.” Haley looked up at me and said, “Go away, kid. I’m counting my money.” And that was it. The sad part is I could have interviewed Little Richard instead of a used car salesman.

I was at a radio station to interview Alice Cooper and his opening act, Flo and Eddy, who were half of the Turtles and also played with Frank Zappa. The radio station supplied the dope, and we all got wonderfully stoned. Alice Cooper insulted fans who called on the phone, while Flo and Eddy, who also recorded as Phosphorescent Leech and Eddy, were warm and funny, friendly, marvelous folk, magic.

As I left the radio station without my interview with Alice Cooper, a parking lot full of teenyboppers started SCREAMing. One little girl ran up to me and said, “Are you somebody?”

Sad to say I had to say, “No, I’m nobody.”

Interviewed Tiny Tim for 45 minutes. He was broke, touring honkytonks. I watched the act, and after he went through all the normal stuff like Tiptoe thru the Tulips and the vaudeville jokey stuff, he went into a fifty song medley; one song would be from 1890, the next Creedance Clearwater Revival. I went back after the show and told him, “I’m blown away. I think you’re a genius.” Tiny Tim was so hungry for recognition, he took the tape recorder out of my hand and for 45 minutes talked and sang into it. He did a Bob Dylan song in Rudy Vallee’s voice, he did a Rudy Vallee song in Bob Dylan’s voice. He told me about a party in New York City where he opened a closet and there was George Harrison in a cloud of marijuana. He told me he was ripped off by his managers, was broke. They stole everything. Every now and then his wife, Miss Vicky, would try to get him off to do something else, and he’d brush her off.

After my time was up and the tape was finished, the manager came in and said, “Mr. Tim, There’re only six people out there for the next show. Do you want to cancel?”

Tim said, “I don’t care if there is only one person in the audience. I’m going on.”

He wrote his address in my notebook and made me promise to send him the review, which turned out to be a front page piece. I wrote what a genius he was, and I never mailed it to him. Man needed it. I promised it. I didn’t deliver, and it still bothers me. Shame never goes away.

I became manager of an Avant-Garde experimental theater. It was one of those places where if the play started twenty minutes late, everybody sat there wondering if nothing happening was part of the show. Wasn’t very good stuff. The playwright was fascinated by my being a poet, a milkman and a writer. He asked if he could write a play about me. I said, “No. I’m saving me for myself.”

The place lasted two months. I didn’t get paid, but met a lot of interesting people. One of them brought his synthesizer over to our place and played. We tried to get him a record contract. The record man stopped by once a week with free albums and his bong and good smoke. I had passed recordings of the synth player on to him, which sounded a bit like Rick Wakeman in his Six Wives of Henry the VIII phase. The record guy passed the recordings on to his company. For a while we thought we were getting close to signing. I was going to do the album cover, and we’d get money out of it. It fell through, just another dream along the way.

I graduated from Loyola with a BA in English and minor in Philosophy. I still needed a job. The weekly newspaper only paid five dollars an article. I went to some poor peoples’ program and they sent me to a dead Catholic church to be taught speed reading. They timed me and I read faster than their goal, so they sent me to a milk company. It was cool. I figured I could get up early in the morning, do the milk route, go home, get some sleep, then go out to review concerts and interview bands.

One morning on my milk route, I saw a fox in the middle of the road. I stopped and got out. The fox and I stared at each other for ten minutes. Another morning, I drove very slowly as a leaf skipped down the road in front of me. It skipped a long time, it’d start, and stop, and skip, and I’d start and stop with it, talking to it as if it were a leaf alive.

I don’t have any sexual milkman stories. I saw a wee bit of early morning female flesh, but not much. The worst part was they expected you to call on non-customers and try to sell them milk. The milk route was badly designed. After my three week training period was up, I redesigned it and cut two hours off the run. My boss was furious. He raged at me and fired me. As I left, he caught up with me and told me to keep my job. That afternoon I parked the milk truck but I had milk on the bottom of my foot and it slipped off the brake as I was backing into my slot. The truck rolled forward into my boss’s new car and crumpled its fender. A week later, I quit. They owed me three hundred dollars, gave me a check for $5.37.

[ we’re looking for a literary agent with links to the main publishing houses. Criminal is done ]


the me within – detail from smith assemblage – foto by smith

 

real life ‘on the road’ for mutants

Tuesday, August 19th, 2008

view from our roof top patio – foto by smith

lady just finished edit 19 of Criminal by Smith & Lady and passed it back to me. the book is sort of a life-long non-fiction On The Road for mutants.

here are the first 60 years of my life reduced to 1 sentence: Born in Bitterroot, raised on Paradise Prairie, farm boy, car thief, Naval Academy, expelled for dope, high society marriage, armed robbery, jail, escaping the cops, illegal loft dweller, ArtCrimes, rat attacks, overdose, celibate, remarried, expat.

and here’s the contents:

ONE
1950 11
Paradise Prairie 13
Bone 19
The Bridge 23
Car Thief 27
High School 33
The Misfits and the House of Mavericks 39
Memphis 43
Prep School 49
Naval Academy 53

TWO
Kicked Out 65
Calvert Street 71
Robin 81
Journal Entries 87
Ray 99
Journal Entries 103
My First Armed Robbery 109
Journal Entries 113
My Second Armed Robbery 117
Mind Fuck 121
Prison Journal 127
Charles Street 147
NULVOID 157
Journal Entries 163

THREE
I am Born 183
Michigan 185
Smith, Smith & Jones 191
Another Man’s Wife 197
White Trash High Rise 203
Regional Art Terrorist 207
Wilson 215
Masumi Hayashi 225
Celibacy 219
Violations 225
Smith vs. the Lizard Police 233
Art 237
Poetry 241
Daniel Thompson 249
ArtCrimes 253
Dead Cat 259

FOUR
Running from the Cops 265
Mother Dwarf 269
Serial Suicide 273
There Are No Monsters 279
Wrong Address 285
Freedom 289
Programmer 297
First Freefall 301
Lab Rats 303
Ash to Ash After 313
The Flow 319
The Church of Not Quite So Much Pain & Suffering 323
Cancer 335
Create Your Own Reality 339
Why Not 345
Selected Press 349
Resume 353

now we need to find a literary agent. send out letters of inquiry next week to a batch a literary agents who have access to the main publishing houses and see what happens. it’s too big a book to go small press or second tier.


folk standing in shade – foto by smith

 

 
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