i don't remember how the hell -- oh yes i do -- yes, batya was the
connection between me & g.s. & g.s.'s little literary magazine. i
submitted poems, & this guy wrote back how great they were, how great of
a writer i am, etc...; he fully embraced my work & wanted to promote it.
he ranted how i shld be a widely recognized writer & he was going to do
everything in his power to make it so. lyn lifshin had a video. why
didn't i?he wanted to know. i tried to explain my real-life situation,
what it is, but g.s. was on a mission. it was like a 6 hour drive to
erie, but he came with beer, smoke, a videocam, & all this continuing
praise & adoration. after we were well intoxicated & the camera was off
i shld have figured something was askew -- very personal & private
details he divulged in my cramped crazy writing-room. a few weekends
later he drove back to erie to pick me up for a trip to chicago & the
initial planning of the 1st underground press conference at depaul
university that batya was chairperson of, g. wanted that to be a sort of
springboard for my fame. midnight on little raspberry street g.'s
convertible sport's-car blasted "BORN TO BE WILD" under our oak tree. as
soon as i stepped into the car he handed me a joint & lit one for
himself. we blared off thru the dark erie streets for the interstate.
did i mention the top was down & it was a chilly crisp night? he
insisted i drive when we hit I-90. we listened to my tapes that i sent
him & he brought along -- we listened to nimmo tapes too. mostly i drove
with him coaxing me to drive faster, until i took a wrong turn somewhere
in ohio & he agreed to drive again. again he told me very
psychologically-involved admissions. enough to stun me quiet & stoned &
not knowing what to say. by the time dawn began to break & we were
sitting in some "denny's" or something drinking coffee & eating
scrambled eggs, g. seemed tense, on the edge, nervous. i wanted to talk
poetry & poets & he was deep in the drama of his mind. i took it in good
stride. he had to be ok since he sd he was my ultimate fan.
at batya's place, cheryl spirals down the spiral staircase -- she'd been
writing to g.s. too, & it was all hello's & introductions. batya had
beer. her boyfriend, a poet, had smoke. hmmmm, things are getting fuzzy
now -- we all went out to a bar, right? was nimmo there then?or the next
day? oh yes, batya teased g. a little about being gay -- how i was so
burly & g. wasn't. i thought he laughed it off. it was nothing. the next
thing i remember is being quite plastered in batya's livingroom --
cheryl was asleep upstairs & batya's boyfriend was still at the bar or
somewhere. i slumped on a chair & g. curled on the floor -- batya
covered herself with a blanket on the long couch. "i'm fingering
myself," she told me across the coffeetable. "i finger myself under a
blanket when i talk to people sometimes."
g. snuffled on the floor.
"doncha believe me?" she whispered.
i was very drunk. "no."
"wld you like to smell my fingers?" & she pulled her hand out from the
blanket towards me.
i knelt & kissed her hand & licked & suckled. it was true. it was 3 a.m.
& i hadn't slept at all in over a day & i was quite inebriated. we were
all quite inebriated.
suddenly g. throws himself up & starts screaming.
he is very angry & calling batya a slut & a whore. he tells me he's
driving back to new york right then. it got confusing. but i had no way
back to erie so next thing i know i'm back in his car & he's doing 90
down thin chicago streets -- he's ranting & raving how everybody are
pieces of shiit & i'm doing my best to calm him -- i sobered up somewhat
by then. i tried to reason with him. then we're on this highway under
amber lights & he's got the car floored. his face is full of RAGE. he
starts yelling suicide shiit & then we're heading straight for a wall of
cement barriers. he slammed the brakes so we stopped just inches from
crashing. "YOU WANTA GO BACK TO ERIE OR YOU WANTA GO BACK TO BATYA'S?"
batya's was closer. he screeched away. batya & cheryl were awake with
all the lights on, concerned, confused. i told them what happened.
i got a couple hours of sleep on the couch batya had fingered herself on
an hour before -- what woke me was hearing somebody screaming in the
morning street below. cheryl. all the windows of her beautiful red
porsche were smashed.
we've always suspected g.s. came back to do it.
