I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


Comments Welcome!

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

How Gary Became a Bartender


January 16, 1975  (I was 30)

How Gary Became a Bartender
The door was kicked in
pointing guns stockings over faces
three of them all over the room
and gun at his head said
The money and the stash Now
I’ll blow your fucking brains out
Gary gave up the cash said Refrigerator
which held the hash
and was pistol smashed in the face
Look at the floor Big One said
musta weighed three hundred
Where’s the Coke
No coke said Gary looking at the floor
Don’t tell me that shit
grabbed Shelly by the hair
45 between the eyes said
Where The Fuck’s The Coke
no coke she said and Gary’s face
was pushed into the floor
Where are your Guns
Just one behind the door
I should stick it in your mouth
Take off your clothes
Get in the other room
Come out the door and you’re dead
lights went out
stood naked waiting
for silence
night blew into the house
they were gone
with the stash
and twenty-two hundred in cash

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