August 23, 2024 – 1:22 pm
Less than a month ago President Joe Biden debated Donald Trump on National Television. It did not go good for Joe. He looked lost in the stage and didn’t seem to be able to see as he dazed out past the audience into seemingly the Oblivion of old age. Donald Trump was probably in the same condition except he recognized that Joe was looking older even though only three years separated them. Trump kept repeating the same old mantra of fear-mongering. Joe couldn’t respond in the weeks that followed support for the president to be the Democratic candidate for the 2024 election slip both with the populace and the politicians. He tried on several occasions to look presidential, but the damage was done.
Last night vice president Kamala Harris accepted the presidential nomination at the Democratic Convention in Chicago. Joe Biden gave a speech at midnight the day before. The DNC figuring to hide him from the public. They are the worst. Hopefully Kamala Harris resist their control, although all she seems to do is smile all the time. She has come out and said that the War in Gaza must stop, although the DNC refuse to allow anybody to speak out on the IDF’s genocide. At least harris did not name Joe Shapiro as vice president and picked governor Tim Walz as a running mate.
President Biden has served the country proudly and well since his election in the 1970s the Senate representing the state of Delaware and as president for the last 4 years. I wish he had run in 2016 instead of Hillary but once more the DNC got their way.
Smile on, Kamala, smile on.
At least she has good musical tastes.
August 23, 2024 – 10:29 am
At the beach
Yesterday
Sea
Waves
Wind
Warm
Sand
Shifts
Beneath my feet
August 23, 2024 – 10:18 am
Raoul from New York is Paris’ leading baby bum for the last 6 months. Baby bum is my term for all the young transients hanging at the Pere Tranquille from this city, France, Europe and everywhere around the world, who come to the City of Light without any plan other than cast their fate to the wind. With everything considered I like the Dear Boy, who hasn’t worked a single day since arriving in Paris at the request of no one.
I let him sleep over here on Rue des Deux Ponts on Ile St. Louis. Bridget is away on a fashion shoot for Vogue or Elle, maybe the cover. Here on the top floor duplex garret, just me, Raoul and Angus, her dear scotty. Raul was worried about sleeping in the rough, having heard death threats from the clochards under the bridges. He speaks perfect French, but they can tell he’s an Amerlot or American. Sometimes he sleeps in the parks hiding under cardboard boxes. New Yorkers think Paris isn’t tough, but the thugs carry knives and they use them. Raoul carries a knife too. I keep on telling him not to, but he’s from New York, Few of the other baby bums survive this way. This is not his City. It’s not my city, but as a doorman of the Bains-Douches I ruled a small part of the city from 9:00 to 4:00 in the morning.
Heading back to New York to live with his Marx’s parents and NYU. Raul is a good mooch. I shall miss his light as a feather touch. Free entry at Les Bains-Douches, free drinks from the German bartender, and he never asks for a dime. None of the other baby bums come close.
August 20, 2024 – 11:11 am
Autumn settles on the boat pond
Central Park trees
Green to Orange to Yellow
On the pond
Two radio-controlled sloops
Race
Driven South
By a crisp Northwesterly
An imitation
America Cup___
Here
Central Park
Not the East Village
Rosy red cheek children
Run around the pond
An arm’s reach
From foreign nannies and young mothers___
I remember being young
Change of autumn
Of an October wind
Through the trees
Of the Blue Hills.
Like then
All the colors
So special
The blue of the sky
The white of the clouds, silver and gray too__
Now
Autumn
Transforming the trees’ color spectrum
From Green to yellow to orange to red
Under
The strong sunlight of October
Hearing the children’s laughter
Remember mine
And my mother’s laughter
So long ago in our backyard
In the Blue Hills.
Laughter…
August 20, 2024 – 11:06 am
I can’t drowned, because Chaney drowned in Sebago Lake in 1960. I’m more a jumper, but have always feared surviving the failure of any attempt at suicide. During my descent to death Maz was enlisted to help me end it all, but driving past the boreal pines of Quebec to the tundra. Someplace where the trees are small.
I planned on getting out of the car and walking into the wizened wasteland wearing warm clothing with an eight-ball of smack and a couple of grams of coke. Find a tree under which to sit comfortably and hit up a double OD speedball. Trying back from 100, not even getting back to 97 from 100.
My fear.
I’m stronger than death.
The hot shot was not hot enough and I wake to the sound of a timber wolve gnawing on my feet.
Crunch crunch crunch.
I shout and limp from the tudra to the road.
Maz is snorting blow behind the wheel of the car. He gets out and opens the passenger door.
“Wolf?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
I wrap my gnarled foot with duct tape.
Maz turns around and we drive back to Quebec. It was a dream, but I fought off death and live today, for nothing is written other than by the wind. I ain’t going nowhere yet.
