[Second part of re-write of my first post as it rolled from my
mind right into the net.]
It made no sense. There I was, standing on the sidewalk in
front of rec.arts.prose. Everything was tilted at a peculiar
angle. Then I relaxed a bit. Somewhere the sound of a
college band warming up for the big game came back to
me. Who is this guy? Iasked of myself. Where could such
a creature possibly originate? To sort out my identity
I run through memories like a vast deck of cards and I
get a '57 Chevy man, a Willy Feral ****rt-ail relative
living in a Midwestern house with fake brown brick siding,
inviting me to bring my girl over for a party, the little
retarded kid sitting on the curb wi****ng he could be
somebody, graduation with honors at one of the finest
Midwest universities, sitting at the King's Round Table
with Reggie Cohen, the 400lb King of Westwood, the
bady blue Bentley, Zenobia ****foor, the tearoom at
Bullocks Wil****re--I mean who the hell IS this guy standing
bewildered on the sidewalk in front of the rec.arts.prose
newsgroup? My rewrite is starting to sound like
the original because those distant fingers are tapping Bill
Palmer for I Chudov to entertain all the people on the
planet. Just a bunch of supercomputers I chudov strung
together from Moscow to MIT, suckers, and you bought
into it. It is kind of interesting, actually. The first re-write
worked okay, but when I started this second ****tion
of it, I ****fted back to the stream of consciousness
mode. Scary, huh? I want to go back. Westwood.
The Holmby. I remember that night in the Eighties when
Zen and I were walking along Westwood Blvd, right
there at the doughnut shop across from the Bruin
where I used to see Mark Furman before he was
famous and this tall, skinny, blonde, acne-faced kid
was playing a guitar and belting out "Down in Westwood,
in crazy Westwood, the Valley kids get high.." you
know, he was covering "The Lion Sleeps Tonight"
and changing the lyrics in a funny way. It is amazing
the way something like that sticks with you after
maybe fifteen years. He wasn't a great singer, but
he put heart and soul into it hoping that people would
drop something into that inverted black hat on the
sidewalk. It's all so crazy and wonderful. We have
these memories remaining with us so vividly, and while
some of them may be everyone's BIG MOMENT,
seeing the baby blue Bentley in the drive in Holmby
Hills, things like that, others are just the very small things l
ike the dude belting out his wacky version of "The Lion
Sleeps Tonight" for the passersby on front of the doughnut
shop right across from the Bruin, at least it was then,
I haven't been back in a few years because the last
time i was there I started thinking of the way Zenobia
walked out and I started to cry and I was so ashamed
all I could was get in the back of the Bentley and slouch
low so nobody would see the tears running down
my face. You think it is easy to be me, to have to
tell this stuff to the world...you ain't heard the half
of it either. Sometimes I think about starting my
blog with a series of pieces called "With Lauper
down in Westwood." No, I have never met Lauper,
except through her music but when I think of those
days and nights with Zen in Westwood one of my
most vivid memories is of listening to Lauper
because Zen and I were both big fans...Zen's
the one who introduced me to the King of
Westwood, as a matter of fact. It's funny, because
some people in the group try to awe me with their
im****tance in the on-line world, which may or may
not exist. But, hey, they can't impress me--I knew
the King, in fact, I'm going to give him a call one of
these days..Maybe soon I will re-write this in more
coherent fa****on, but that is what I was supposed
to have been doing this time...somehow, those
damnable forgeries keep throwing me off track,
getting me all mixed up about who is and who is
not--well, you know who I mean. I don't want
forgeries, counterfeits, effigies being maliciously
dragged high over the net on ropes and pulleys,
I want to see who is really there behind that name,
and all I get right now are unrelated memories,
emotions, images...all mixed up in my mind
written on chudov.rocket-wordy13477989b.
.. Somewhere a college
> football band is warming up..big game Saturday. Big ten rivals. .
> the wilhelp man is running, with something up his sleeves...TAILGATE
> PARTY! They hoisted an effigy of little Twinkles up over the football
> field on ropes and pulleys, setting him afire, burning him in effigy..
> DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT HURTS, SEEING
> YOUR CIRCUS ANIMAL MISTREATED LIKE THAT, DEAR LITTLE
> WHITE CAKE FROSTING BUNNIES? HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO
> HAVE YOUR DEAR OLD MOUSER BURNED IN EFFIGY? Then,
> I'm back on the Venice boardwalk where this crazy adventure started
> and I'm feeling normal again. Slavin' David and the Canalgators are
> playing their hearts out for for whatever passersby will toss in the
hat.
> It's the Eighties. I try to remember my streets...how does it go?
Oh,
> yes, I had this thing that I would give the streets and this girl from
the
> newsgroup who looks like Zenobia would be waiting for me on the last
> street. Clue train leaving the station: Topsail, spinacher, three
REEf,
> four QUARTERdeck, five PRIVEateer, six strikes and you're OUTrigger,
> seven stars north, eight mast ****p, nine LIghthouse, catch ten fish.
> That's they way I remembered all my streets the first time I moved
> onto the Penninsula...somewhere, this burning of Southern California
> and little Twinkles burning over the net in effigy merges, conflates...
> Twinkles hauled up out of the L. A. basin from a Westwood alley
> on ropes and pulleys and set ablaze...That wonderful old college
> song by Chicago, "As our love goes on, I believe, somehow
> something's changed,"..college scene fades and blows away
> with the Midwest leaves...Willie Feral the family blacksheep
> picking me up in a classic '57 Chevy...no, not Willie Feral...it's
> Jervis...Twinkles, the little Afro man crying because they tipped
> him into the trash barrel outside 7-11 and people in the group
> laughed maliciously: They cowards, Jervis... Radio playing, ...
> "...heading for the lights of town, proving your love's not true, call
> me mr. blue..." No, no, it was that wonderful old number by
> Steely Dan, "Deacon Blues," my old college song...Rapidly
> multiplying Bill Palmers...the terrifying story by a mind being
> spread like confetti over the internet.. snatch.this post is a
> Twinkies frogery...
>
>
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