It would appear that angels can visit you throught the internet… I’ll fire email off to Ken, the beutifully Jazzy Jazz Mongrel’svarious addresses regualarily but not frequently… And, now it looks as though he’s back. Who knows, maybe my New York friends will one day get to hear him tinkle the ivories and bare the full-assed brunt of his devilishly dark wit.
Perhaps…
——————————————————-
I started to send you this wonderful e-mail and this
computer killed my story. Needless to say I may just
have to give you a quick collect call.
Your story is beautiful and I guess its because I love
to read things about myself especially when written by
someone who loves you. So far you’re the only one who
has that I can remember.
I don’t remember doing the survey, possibly because I
just blocked it out as I have with so many things. I
used to just eat all that shit and smile. Now I’m
lashing out. I can’t keep it from spilling out. Of
course the system has a hold of me now and I’m doing
the out-patient thing again and I just hate my life
these days. And for what? Because I’m dating a white
art historian, intellectual property lawyer who cheats
on me and if I break a mirror over it she calls the
cops on my black ass. I wants me a Bollywood girl.
Find a song of mine called “Tell Me Lies”
http://www.garageband.com
It should be on the all time jazz charts at ..45 I
think.
Or just look for jazzmonger.
Also check out a CBC site called ZeD for other
submissions including a couple of paintings.
I do remember us taking strawberry microdot and going
to see West Side Story because we couldn’t get tickets
to see David Bowie in the Elephant man, lighting my
southern comfort on fire and telling Mr. Roos that I
was old enough to drink in New York. It all comes
back. I remember sleeping in your parents garage
which gave me my first taste of living on the streets.
Yikes! What happened to me? I’m a desperate
alcoholic who shouldn’t drink but I just can’t seem to
get it right. The only time I ever stayed straight
was for a year and a half from May 1997 to February 2
1999 it was at this time that I met the most beautiful
woman I’d ever seen. I started to drink and lost her
and my dignity. There is so much I’d like to tell you
but I think I save that for a phone chat. Libraries
only give you so much time on their farging computers.
Love you like a brother
always.
Ken Skinner
——————————————————-
Love you like a brother, I know what he means here, but I have to laugh as perhaps, he could have meant something else. Please send good karma to my pal here, he’s a wee bit fucked up, but he deserves better.
