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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Biographical account of meeting an archaic girl.

Submitted: November 29, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 29, 2010



Sept 29th through to Sept 30th morning.

We left lee- carlo- maria, said we'll meet up later- not sure if we will - we had whole day in manhattan- eating things she's never tried- buying her dress- a new hat- bigger than the sun itself- til night fell down- so we went to the village- where basement bars of which i knew would push her to the edge or in to some eurphoric coma- of it all been to much - but she had heard-about these bars - jazz bars- and she demanded me to show her them-she buying wine- in first bar- sitting at the bar smoking- asking the lady behind the bar - what john f kennedy was like- what did he like to drink - then next bar listening to jazz,,face to face- with me seeing every atom of every girl in her eyes- deeper than ever before- every drop of water in the ocean - she like the creator- secret buried deep within her dark eyes, only ever saw it then- once- but was enough- she never once needing to say words like love- or tell me how great we where- or how rythmic me n her to the beat of the world- not the world out the window- but the world like rolling of the tide, i saw this all n only then- i thought about it. I watched her spin - like mad street child in mexican mud town- in long flowing dress of which earlier in the day she picked out- she though drinking harder than she used to- maybe the world of importance - hit her hard on the inside - or her reading politics - but only ever seeing the poor boy asleep in railroad yard of santa fe- of whom she wanted to keep- seeing him next to all these politicians of promise. We left the bar- before the song had finished- she grabbing my arm - To the next - bar - more wine - of which was alot busier - she scanned the room - trying to see everyone- understand every one - she fairly drunk - where once drunk she would get more french - n she'd whisper french jingles to herself- then we walking by bar - she heard sax - so she chasing the sound - not telling me - then me finally going down stairs to basement bar - n she alone at front of the room - twisting her dress - i getting up to her - she dancing whilst crying - tears trickling down - only time i ever saw her cry- i grabbed her hand - she let go - i let her be- till the sax man finished- she found me round the bar - we went outside - where she said - the only thing that should make some one cry is sound- its the only thing which has an definite envious end. then we going to washington square in the village - were she found people meditating - she walking straight up to them - tapping on shoulder asking if we can join - the long haired grey old man- not knowing where his beard started and his hair stopped- saying - oh why of course my girl - sit down - she n i siiting there in night garden - she crossed legged - till grey wise man - pushed medicine tray - saying this might help- she smiling- n after medication - she didnt want to meditate- she kissing old man's only skin showing forhead- then been her - chasing every thing self - like a goddess on an errand- but this time - i just watched her - knowing she was- more divine- than eve could have ever bin - more powerful in thought than any greek goddess- she was at one with the world- the things- around her -she tried hard- to understand everyone else - n the way of man plowing fields she could understand - the way of miners down the mine - she could too- but buisness men with grey tight suits- and long standing women - with nothing but empty eyes- no thought to the past- just the vision of light hitting her the pretty girls eyes- and grabbing her successful man tight - ( she later said how it was this night - where she began to undestand- why she needed to write her book - and why she started that day in lonely farm room in french countryside -) she went up the girls with medicine ease- all in the fine coats and hair not out of place - offering her wine - to come and rob great banks with her - if its money you crave- she'd say- lets go down fighting - its worth it -( she never said next bit to her- but later told me to put in my book) instead of standing like - pieces of old stories, recited by great poet when all man and women have gone- what people on new york streets did- where women would think nothing but affection and need to tell him all the time like sad scene from a bad romance- or suburban school love- she screamed in water fountain- kicking water everywhere- - like the rivers which flow perfectly to the ocean- or the snow resting on mountain tops- an empty room, where the man holds the door open to- this water running- take it, its yours- then people beatly dressed gathering round her- like i had forseen when first saw her - saw her like prophet but not one which preachs, just there to instil my life with true running blood- she spoke speech of medicated prose- she sat in the shallow water in the fountain- everyone thinkin she was either mad - or acting. \"Take the seventeenth father- who meets the thirty-sixth mother - n meets her by the geranium bush - eating berrys of great spirit - or people who meet when- taking the old subway to a trip to the woods-n both watch the same leaf fall in autumn - or those who meet with great obvious- reason like- other side of the world- both lonesome-crossing paths to perfectly or those that plow the fields- needs new curtains goes into town once- see's girl who supplys the cloth- already knowing to be the reason- all earthly manufactured- all at first sight - all as first- as earth - for everything else we see to work- these been the ones who never have to declare there love for each other- or buy great gifts for one another- there own mountain range with the greenest valley and bluest river- appears greater than any word- or gift could ever do- They are the grass of which the soil sits beneath- Our only hope is them- i prey for them.\" some clapped thinking- was some thing she had wrote- but all from her impure blood going round brain- allowing her to- speak in front of crowd- of which she wouldnt have done otherwise-i offered her my hand from out of the water fountain -\" i shouldnt have said all that- people dont need to no that-i dont even prey do i - why did i say that - \" i told her as we walked back- her leaving water trail drippin from the bottom of her dress - (and people looking not knowing what had happend- not really believing anyway if i stopped to tell them all what happend-but me not caring one bit-) that i need to take charlies car back - she saying \"oh i want to come take me \" - but me explaining - no time to stop see things of which she craved - just be going through america like one big blurry tunnel. no time to wake up or sleep- no time to stop or think, she replying \"but do you have to go\" - i saying yes- but i will be straight back- \" \"will you tell me what you see when your back, you promise to keep your eyes open- look out for that boy, you promise you'll look out for him, oh tell mr johnson at the book house- my new better book is in process soon to be finished- tell him that, also tell san francisco to wait for me tell him i'll il soon be there again soon,you will do that wont you?.\" We walked down 5th.

August 25th Evening We arrived downtown San Francisco, she asking how far to where you live? \" few minutes \" . She agreed ,oh yes yes... as if she knew where i lived and as if i'd asked her a question,. Rain started,drizzlin' walked down o'farrell, up through chinatown-food stores giving out, closing down for the day-throwing meat for alley cats or cell fish rotten day old smell, which father-lee sat in the middle of all day. She watched everything, like the first time away from home,her town, her country. We reached my flat-small on columbus. Carried her luggage up the stairs, after giving her the key,telling her the number, Audrey Marie Dupont read a tag on her bag from a little town, i've never heard of, but i guess down south near them pyrenees. I slogged up two flights of stairs, she had already taken her coat off, her shoes and had found the milk, she was making coffee, i had hardly anything else in. she looked at home, i watched her, a girl looking homely- motherly in my grey skied flat . I asked to read her notes, her book, she gave me a big script of french prose, of which i made little of, i asked her to explain, so she sat-down in her big jumper which she wrapped over her knees, sitting cross- legged, facing me on my dark brown carpet, both of us, cupped hands round her french made coffee, her soft fingers around one of my chipped dusty cupboard mugs, of which she had to sip carefully to avoid, both in front of the 70s gas spark fire.she read two lines in french me watching her lips sound then she saying, enough of that though, closing the book. She stood up flushed red cheeks from the fire , she asked me if i could show her San Francisco? \" We should run through san francisco, run with me? \" i placing coffee on table, she already having done so, jumped over the wooden chair, i grabbed my shoes- she hers first, pushing my arm trying to knock me down, she skidded round the stairwell corner, in her flat- ballet like shoes, i ran after her, she laughed we ran on to the street, the alley cats curious all purred and ran along the rooftops above, the birds all set down to watch, the chinese in chinatown all turned to see, the tramways all broke heavyways, the taxis all sounded there horns, the rain thrashed down, the bums all cried from a million n one shop door steps \" well i'll be damned \" and its i, running down the street i've walked a thousand times, seeing the neighbours,the peoples faces for the first time, restaurants - bars they all turned, the whole city, watching two-crazy not yet lovers but me already truelly in love, charging in the rain,down the best road in the world, through the eleven o clock frisco night, she span let go of my hand, a full circle then grabbed it again,skippin backwards slighty ahead, forever looking back in to my now,holy ocean eyes. she slowed down, dragging me along, grabbed the inside of my arm, leant her head against my shoulder. her hair flat against her head, her jumper thick around her small frame, i was in love, 3 hours of knowing her and i was in love. ( later to learn - we werent in love just we been her n me became us and us been it- at one. )

August 25th Morning

San Jose, Oakland, San Francisco and me reading, looking out the window,at greyhound bus, eternal, users-workers, going about their shift, sat in San Jose watching three baggage handlers, smoke a whole pack of cigerrettes and not load a single bag, I didnt see her come on, she sat down, one row in front opposite isle but me watching useless fat wobble on, the lip smoke baggage handlers, didnt even notice her, the bus left san jose ( later i found out she had seen me, she'd heard from her mother about bad people from texas fields. she thought i was one, ) I noticed her when she pushed her shoes off, me seeing her women like foot sole, hanging into the isle, i put my book down, watched her trying to sleep, uncomfy, moving her great grandma's rocking chair-sewn up bag as a pillow, \"OAKLAND\" shouted the driver, she shot up from mid-dream half drowsy stroll through lille in hazy fog cobbled street. later though she told me she would have never dreamt that, and later i realised she wouldnt have too . she asked me where we where, i repeated oakland like an empty-head all eyes, image then thought. reclining to my seat, sinking seeing the yum-yum feel fall, slowly to the back of thee mind, Golden eveything- Bronze eyes- Michelangelo carved face- Charcoal hair- A Silk sounding tongue- i raised my head to her still confused angelic face, asked where she was heading, and why she happend to be on this bus, she was meeting a publisher, who she met one day when in her hometown,he on his vacation saying post me your book, he after liking it,writing n telling her to come see him in san francisco, then saving money for while, til here now and she reading book about colorado, so had first gone to see streets of denver, she stopped as if me not interested, next stop i told her, see that big old bridge, over that oakland bridge, then all that is san francisco, \" merci \" back to my old friend silence, so i picked back up my book. got off i asked her where she was to sleep, she shrugged her shoulders like late for work - paris advertising job, and when asked why by the boss, that same shrugg was enough the way only the french could do, ( later she told me she had never bin to paris like lovers always promised to go ) i told her she's welcome to my sofa. il make a bed up, all love-talking , i had no gear for that or even a sofa. that there the moment so many lovers- past - never - future either politely retire into the night, or take that unknowing to unfold,, for her later she say, nothing unknown just fate, she believed we met, because of everything that had bin her books, her stories, her chance with the publisher, her been here on this bus, then me here now asking her- her chance to make enough money for once, all tied in, she couldnt say no to staying, and this fate centric-muddled-lifeline, forever thinking- wanting to run-dance, chasing roads girl amongst busy people artists, buisness men city living working, was what made us and also book written ended us.

October the 7th

Carlo away working with charlie- who still blames me for the car - even though carlo said was his fault - but he still says \" you should never have took it \" well said, only seen him once since back, as him and carlo workin at sea, i wrote to her at lee's as soon as back, n she expected here soon - with she replying-last letter she sent- saying she is going catch a train back, she spoke to her publisher and he might be lending her the money - but she will come back to me soo soon- then me- after work same walk down 5th- bumping into vardarman, \" where the fuck have you been \" me explaining all about everything - n he saying charlie was gonna kill you- then explained how i squared it with him- then he saying - he knew this girl who had - best remedy for bluesyest blues- of which i had - and he knew been friend of old- and seeing every face- i had at different times - so went with him - where girl with no shoes- long dress of gyspy worn- handing medicine of non named- to every soul which attended- n i later- watching the mad rain from front porch of unknown house- with dream eyes- like looking down telescope to us, from the highest mountain top, seeing the house and seeing myself like sorry excuse for a man- waiting on her- seeing her under the rainy streetlights - and blood-medicine - helping - watching her dance like first night -then no shoed girl owner of the house- sat besides- saying- you have eyes like your missing her- me maybe thinking she said this or she in fact did say it - i saw her upon the girls flesh thigh which was open to the raindrops-bouncing off her skin- then she pushing her fingers through my blood made hair- but i saw nothing but love in this girls eyes- like true love- one whom knows so much about it - maybe wrote about it- at the expense of ever really feeling it-she was god like- like a sister of hers. Same October the 7th. it was the same 11 o clock frisco night, but not of before, the same thick matted jumper, which first sat down, in front of the fireplace, jumper, she had on, same shoes too, but eyes of great sorrow, it was rainy down columbus, she cold shivering, me out of town, but not, told her where, she walked down past those same alley cats, the chinese watching her like she's disturbed their sleep, the bars and resturant's didnt turn to see this french girl lost in sad eyed frisco, without her fate-line of then ( mee) Hollow roads- rain straight through land of sky too empty earth - Her looking up to flat she was once sat warm in - Her voice battling with the wind - and the rush of folk getting home - she hitting my window of noise with shoes- like thunder down the street- Never understanding for one moment- why she came to be there- but me not there- Not crying for us- but crying at the city - the doors- the curbs- the empty tin can Crying because she knew it would happen- n she felt she had to cry - Holding hands with an old miners soul - enough to make those indians cry- She never mad- never sad - she just knowing that happened- happened but at the present- taking time to live the start of the end but not thee end the start of the time apart from me- till knowing she must see through the presant to meet the near- watching- hearing cars with no feelings go round corners to forgotten roads- hearing trains howl - with empty wasteful boxcars- never known- She never cold- never wet- She sitting like buddha on the sidewalk with eyes not leaving my window of flat- N people offering help - she though scared of such self confident men - then she finishing with great detail pencil drawn picture wilst water came down smudging lines but she carrying on- carefully drawing the building my flat was in- grey- and bare - fighting the sea. she later wrote to me after graveyard silence for three months, of my letters,( of which she sent the pencil drawn picture she had done that night n she wrote, this will stand longer than our temporary thought of this loss- one lifetime- to learn once- to love once- isnt true- but a memory between us only ever lasts that long- - isnt long enough - we deserve longer to remain in such sorrow thoughts we were to important at the start- to be a mere thought bound within a grave- and dont let it, then went on to explain that it was, the way her book hadnt worked out- she had got it wrong, wrong line, followed-crossed - mistaken fate line spoken, she not telling me she'd waited in the rain, but later told by old ronnie fat mexican chef, shit speaker of english, \" that fooko crarzee girl man, called you, shouted you, \" as he put it, \" in da fooko rain too man. she sat in the middler of da road, she threw her shoes at your window man.fooko loopa americarrns, \" i didnt tell him how dreamlike french she was, and that explained the shoe's which i thought at the time she had left- when packing for new york- with her knowing then we was to part so left like a token or gesture of her ever lasting love, like normal end or break of dire suburb couple relationship,that she left behind-to remind me of her- i should have known her better.

August 25th night into 26th morning. So jazz hills way downtown frisco night, out of breath, no money, walkin in to frisco bars, looking for old friends who could, buy me n her a drink. she like me- looking in, not knowing though, what i was doing, her seeing bar. crowded round-busy-people men-wooden chairs wooden faces smokey room, , smiling at me, she asked me to show her the bay, the piers, So we ran, wet through, the rain stopping, left the golden gate and alcatraz stranded she asked why big house, and how he got to work every morning, i'd say for her to understand, big bad gun holders, train robbers all bad Bad bosh bad. We ran to fishermans wharf, hand in hand. people still walkin around ,all mac, raincoat couples , taking gentle wind blow stroll to the bay, she though running seeing everything at once, draggin me along, crashing through the street, like a tram coming down russian hill upon no line , jumping on n off, grabbing and letting go of my hand. with me the brakeman but no brake strong enough. or me no reason to apply it. we sat leg dangle-down , on the all night pier , where koreans permit free fish, ( with home made rods, great skill no pond fisher knows ) and we watched them bring in fish after fish, and smoke copious amounts of far eastern tea, she running from bucket to bucket from korean rod holder to string hook holder, \" three here, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, five ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,Quatorze !!!!!! \" pointing down and lookin at me, then when both looking out to hear, dark-mystery of ocean-sad - pacific waves , she whispered \" could you take me home ? \" She sat down, back in front of fire,cold wet, i told her she can shower, i meantime, scraping around blanket cupboard, ran nextdoor, to mike opium junky, he too no blanket for french girl spontenous meet sofa bed to make up, but came back to find her asleep on my bed, grey cover in one of my old irish rag shirts, grey pillowcase gainst her fresh skin colour, and fast asleep now warm, legs curled up, i pulled the covers over her, turned off the light. and walked back into the frisco night, over to mexican ronnies for some left overs. Walked back up later, quiet step ready for bed change, slumped on chair, no bed nor well made up, sofa chair, just an old 60s new york advertising coat, as a cover, which some friend had stolen then left, silly world that twines, when holdin then at noon, like any normal day, into a frantic frisco night a beautiful french girl in my bed, and outside, still turnover beats in the street,as the rain pours, to a special fate line tweet, like birdy birdy perched, as electro-television makes bronze stain in night air, too the window of my ear, \" let the poor boy sleep \" yells the mother and the wife of a drunk down broadway, no tram bell rings, rolls nor falls, on crossed cloud paths, you sleep over yonder up high, where silence blissed dawn over the steeple , let the birdies sing, as that old hand has it, all tweetle nearly morning, August 26th through to August 27th

Monday mornin-frantic rush, finding, shoes-looking and seaching around me on wooden chair, i unaware at first, forgetting she was there, she speakin french to herself, lookin for something in her bags, \" what time you gotta be there? \" i asked, \" 9.30 \" \" its 9.30 now \" i know, i know with gesture hand wave, sip of coffee wilst pulling zip up to the top of her skirt, then grabbing note book, and in one great movement, opening and shutting door \" back later \" sound, she was gone, back to empty flat, me watching her cross the road with animal ease, crossing vardarman on the stairs, now at my door knock knock... \" the most delicate girl just passed me on the stairs \" me too tired to tell him or not knowing myself if it all happend, \" charlies back in town, wants us to meet up, like old times,\" always old times with vardarman, he loved that phrase, \" okie, okie\" me n charlie old time drinkin buddies, he'd say but vardarman once a real drunk, now only one glass of wine a day.then says when over that one glass rule, \" its the irish in me \" with no relative of clover descent. but later i would blame vardarman for drunk night away, her not there, all purely my fault, bar room, money in hand, in need of my dear mother, to grab me by the ear, or dear audrey but her miles away, i would have taken her ( thought after rushing in home ) if i could have found her, her down columbus i would have.( she buying food to cook big meal for me ) but me typical me, she wasnt at first sight, so left in rush, no note or letter left, for her ( her big brown eyes bouncing through the front door, brown paper bag under arm, halloooo,,, nothing but me not there, a very misunderstood - no reply - silence, she waiting by candlelight , watching busy couple's walk columbus , me out of town ( not the one which ended us but the one which changed us) her reading my poems of great absence- and emptyness in all that hollowness, she went back to france, for the first time since been-here, ( later though would return more in love, and her book accepted for publish ))))

Went with vardarman to the railroad, yard to meet charlie, few drinks, and charlie paid for great steak, me then realising, her no key, might have finished with publisher, made excuse ran off with spare ten dollars charlie gave me before dinner \" boy you need to find some work, \" i knowing this, and also that, charlie liked to preach gave him, the feeling he was successful so i didnt think too much about taking it, ( all one day to pay back though) No one at mine, her not waiting, so me getting down to write book of my own, thinking she might gone to never come back, left her bags, though me confused, wundering, near 9 o clock , me not spent a dollar thinkin, i could save it go drinkin with her. til midsentence of good part, \" hallooo,,, you there? \" i thinkin it was same san francisco street not for me, \" halloooo\" i pen down, pushing window up she holding two bottles of wine, one in each hand way below, giving that gesture lift, i rushed downstairs like chasing her yesterday to let her in, then night later bottle, us ceiling up, back down lying, i reading faulkner, she smoking, askin me to read it out loud to her, wilst she sets alight small bits of newspaper, they float soft, then fall black soot, ash backdead down to earth, she watches them smiling, I say \" come on \" droppin my book, putting wine of hers up on the table, she with cigerette on end of lip dangle, \" what, where ? \" \" get your shoes on \" i grabbed her hand, we ran to north beach, small jazz bar, killians room, old jonjo slim, playing saxophone, about five other people in there, all black americans, me and her, she watching jonjo, his cheeks puff, his heavy breath, makes this, Honey Scale, Nectar tone. whose amber buzz fills the room all warm milk air. i left her staring wilst i bought drinks, she turned when brief pause, jonjo wipin sweat from brow, sip of water, from lonely stool besides him, jonjo started again, simple honey pour, she grabbing my hand,feeling her women sound, us then in river night toilet, Crashing-through-cubicle-door, Heavy-breath of hers, Entwined, Her making everything - golden, Sweet-Sax-Sound-Angel Our first true love making of, Her all- blissful honey-kiss Because when in love, making of her anyway, is god like touch, she and i in killians, in the midst of jonjo's sax, now lovers, walked shy like out, not one black american saw us come in, make maybe baby, but definately existentilistic style sex, in the toilet of, and old jazz bar, then leave, with lovers glow-shining in the night,

Back to my flat with a glow n a kiss, up on to roof of building, i got to the top, pushed through the fire exit door, with my shoulder, thinkin stuck not opened in years but swang open so one big mighty drunken fall, she placing her bare feet delicately in between now jigsawed me sprawled on the roof floor, then sits on a wooden deckchair,with other bottle of wine miles higher then anyone else, stars beating, buzzin around, the deckchair reclined, her in a loose long t shirt, mild summer night , watching. people below, drunks, and the bums,n a small phillipine man, yoga-in across the street window, on his carpet floor with a dharma hum, i laid back ,her head resting on the top of my arm, she started my faulkner-her 30 cigerettes a day voice, croakin here n there. her voice travelling for miles, maybe some lonesome hobo on the road, could hear her angelic tone, partnered with faulkners sorrow and thought something,or some one was calling him.

Sept 2nd

She getting money- for the first time-lump sum, from publisher she gave me some to go buy great bottles of wine, all red,all that twenty dollars could buy,- then me bumping into vardarman-askin-saying me you charlie, old moloko jim's bar tonight, remembering him-jim , trying to, but couldnt, but agreed, so went back to flat to get her to come with but her not in, so thought wont be long be back soon. then straight down to find vardarman n charlie, he buyin us drinks. then on a bar on 4th street- then jelly eyed pints later, on wooden stool in jims, not moved, no concievable clock-near- then claiming to rememeber jim, but hardly did, just vardarman's old drinkin landlord, feeding his drink problem, before and after his cure. then me breaking into twenty dollars of hers, for whisky all round, all lead headed-.then jim when finishin, sayin he'll drive us to party in oakland, me in back seat, stars crashin-kissing and chasing. the night sky never looking black all orange dead, sound pure, all vibrato moloko, deep ring toll bell tower. paintbrushed windows, Driftin from the holy ocean of eternity, Angel of sleep, tree log eyes, many- last thought tipples tender, small petal- floating mystic, sail across that ocean deep and heavy, take wind - take shore- moan clouds-cry thunder, unknowing petal-unfold, Saint- Sad- Carry me- Flesh ripples- petal fades Utopian light, hollow stir Upon the last shore of thought.

Sept 3rd

then morning- dropped off by jim- no sight of vardarman or charlie. outside flat no key- me knocking - shouting for her - she not there, so me climbing up fire ladders to open window of mine, climbin in,letting the street noise in, all her gone, goneness, obvious her a note left on the table to read, To he, i know dearly, my mamma back home, has took sick, must return, at once, no need for goodbye all them words derieved from sorrow, all them words of deep meaning, like goodbye , or fare well, i took the last of the wine, i took william faulkner too, So forever San francisco with these roads that you wind. like the time- a blacksmith has for his hammer, Me then me numerous letters to her, at home in france,

To you, The fishing boats look lonesome- I merely stand there without - I miss you, as the pacific ocean does so, ME then the last one i sent, 2weeks after she had gone, when no response, To you, Mon ange, wait for me then,you must, but do promise to wait, for the time will come again, this life or, in two hundered and fifty six more- we will cross once again, til then, a life- in letters, ME

September 20th

then one hollow day, down by the pier, after work, going into busy bar on 4th street, then retired to old ronnies for left overs but this time had money, \" some girl she looked for you, she no leave her narm,, she say it not matter man, then booom straight thru door, \" me grabbing coat running, to my flat, she not there down to the pier, no rain, but coat collar high night, , chasing the wooden pier, past the koreans, she not there, not anywhere, not knowing if true, till- going back to flat, all moon headed, feet watching, when she looking debutantesk, love-feel-sat on the stairs, to my flat, with suitcase, and big coat, with only her skinny ankles, and sweet face showing, she grabbing me- with a jump- wrapping legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, kissing, kiss, kissing, spinning spin, spinning, laughing, i put her down, walked up the stairs, sat down with her french made wine, talked of her time away, n how she had a new theory for we that was us, of which she said at one point, i need you like christ needed the cross, ( she did mean it in a good way )

September 23rd to 24th to 25th twas couple a days later, mid morning, when checking mailbox for first time in a week, found letter from old friend lee way across in new york, he had moved into,big great apartment, in the east village and said i was welcome to visit, stay aslong as you want it read- further down, how he inherited from recently deceased great grampa,,whom he never saw, so he felt it was mine as much his. I running back upstairs, her showerin- me reading it aloud to her on the bed. she then rushing in, naked-wet- dancing all around the apartment, pretending to meet, new york people,mumblin- hi sir how do you do? to the lamp, then running across the room- to the door, this way this way new show down broadway, me watching her, over letter smiling, then me stopping her mid piroette. nose to nose holdin her, but i have a plan, get charlies car, n drive across, go see carlo, down in new mexico, yah yah? she excited at any adventure.. smiling back- kiss quick more peck than kiss,,burstin free of my hold,, then running back into the shower,, then once in, time to think so thought over what she was gonna do about her publisher, like asking her self a question to answer it, then telling me, she just wont tell him, where she's gone, me not getting involved- n it meanin she was comin so i was happy,. next day down to charlies, small 2 up 2 down in oakland, he was workin away, of which i thought when he wasnt in, when i climbed through window, car in drive, out at sea, so grabbed keys, from bedside draw, left him a note, borrowing car gone to new york, to old lee clarks. feel free to join us. me not thinking how he was gunna join us, but took car- pulled up columbus, i winding window down, climbin on car roof , shoutin to her, two arms aloft, - she head out of window lookin down, smiling, laughin, one minute one minute,sound, she rattlin around, small bag, cigerettes, bottle of wine, she runnin to passenger side door,, staring all sad eyed at her great adventure across america to be, took a second, then jumped in, away we went, ( heard later, charlie came back day after we left, rightfully pissed, n left to sea again all killer eyed.) she'd climb to the back seat, watch the sky go by the clouds, then, on her front,, then she'd sit looking out the back, watching the road we'd already bin down, n the fruit fields flood by, then jump back up front, watch the road where soon to be moving over,, watching the people's houses bask in the sun, watching the oil pumps in barren fields. work like the heartbeat of the land, watching the mountains rise, then she'd do it all again, explaining, as she put it \" nothings the same, its forever changing, every bit of road is different, every bit of sky, every grain of wheat in that field, every peach hanging, every living thing out there, lets do this more often,\" this kept up till the sun started goin down, n at the point, it sank into the yellow fields, n darkness-real country dark - she asked me to stop, pulled over, - she gettin out walkin, i letting her be,she mumbling why does he-the one, (her not one bit religous though). choose to not let my eyes see all this,,i sit her down, on the roadside grass. to ease her-, or re direct her thinkin, by sayin,dont think what you cant see but what you can see instead,see that star, we could be looking at that star as it was one whole year ago,,as the light takes that long to reach our eyes. she ponderin. looking at all the stars, her mind ticking over the forever changin stars, like the road which we had gone by, then onto her fate of a star, how if you could change or choose something else, or the star might have tried every other option, before its fate was chosen, coz' we the beholder take so long to see the change, she then drinking wine n thinkin if she could manufacteur fate, for people, , then all this talkin drinkin, she decided she would drive, so she did, i slept on the back seat, wilst she drove til sunlight, probably straight across great fields of grain, or upto the peaks of windy mountains, n over n around every star. but i woke up, 20 miles from arizona,parked at a roadhouse, with only 600 miles to go.with her sleepin on the passenger seat. so i with a push and arm over my own shoulder findin door handle- with first few steps sea-legs, then all earth found below, to inside roadhouse, coffee and great big muffins, then back out to her, as dawn- casting her light straight to the right side of her face- left side pushed against the seat, me sat on the bonnet- feet on the grill,,coffee besides, her's to, me not wanting to wake her, till she came n sat besides, grabbing coffee,, then smiling,n joining me on the car, feet on grill too,, stretching, her arms aloft, then after watching the sun take its place in the sky, both letting out a sigh of relief, she smoking, flicking end into the bush, climbed back in the car, talkin over the roof, before getting in, not long to goo, not long to goo,, i saw a drop tear build in her eye, she was sad that i refered to the fact we wouldnt be seeing land go by soon,n her eyes thinking nothing had an end, all one thing to another, life moving to another. We arrived gallup new mexico, with her on the back seat watching out the window the little native american descedent set ups, little house, loadsa big mountains above them, giving them no chance to do a thing, she scribbling down notes, then a full page portrait of an indian she saw on the side of the road, big drawn face, ocean eyes, n high cheekbones, we got to santa fe we got to carlo's. Carlo big bearded half spanish looking, old friend from long time ago working. he was in the front garden, milling around, he saw us stop outside watchin our car knowing only when i stepped out that it was me, n he sayin, \" maria maria, put down what your doing and come out here, you wont believe whose here? \" n she maria with pinny wiping her flour hands on her thighs,looking beautiful, wilst walkin through the open door, to the porch, then all that meeting, she ushering us in, me not introducing her, as she had already done if for herself, n she was asking what maria was baking, n they were talkin in the kitchen like sisters of old, carlo getting onto how long it had bin, n how he's getting old n whisky sick, then asking questions like, \" so what do you want? \" or \"what you running away from ?\" n him not believing me that i was asking him to come with,n how lee young then when carlo knew him had this great big office apartment, so after few minutes n two single whiskys he had thought about it, n came out with, well shit i aint bin there for a while boy, my heart sure would wana go, maria lookin over at us talkin knowing that i was asking something of him so she half listening to us, n her asking all about cooking measurements, how many eggs? - then we both walked outside dwellin around the eastbound car laying plans down,, \" boy stay in a bed tonight here, you two look like you could do with one, then, il speak to maria, n we'll all go in the morning\" \" maria wont be happy but we'll put all our lovethings on hold, go to new york give it one last try \" he was happy, i left him to tell maria, me n her drove back into santa fe for a look around. She met a young mexican boy- sleeping in the rail road yard- she not understand why-askin- wheres ya mamma? papa? he looking up to her from half sleep- not understanding- but seeing- her like i did at first - even though he young of age- her womenness he felt- n he asked her why she's here, n why she saw him- he beyond his years in faith in religion, searching for sign he's read so much about- She knowing this wanting to give hope- and said softly - for you my boy- thats why i wandered this road i did. she handed him all the money in her pockets- and he thinking he's seen an railroad angel so didnt dare ask why - or where she came from - and where she's going. She turned to me after ushering him back to sleep, stroking his hair like she'd do to me when i asleep and she not - then turned to me- cold- like her soul had bin stretched-saying \" can we go now \" Came back to carlo on front porch, drinkin, maria no where in sight, he told me how unhappy she was, how she thought they were finally settling down- but he sayin- how he loved her always had, but settling down, never, so we sat on the porch she crossed legged on the wooden porch passing her red wine around, carlo askin her questions like, are all the women in france like you, n why is it you dig my friend- she speaking french , n carlo thinking he understood, how he suddenly was fluent in french, going yah yah to every word she spoke but really just digging-her voice, her tone, knowing something so raw- could only mean sincerity for me, we let the moon get high before we went to bed, with new york avenues, n all that night light, in our eyes,

September 25th

Morning came, n she out of bed when i woke, already helpin maria taking things to the boot, big suitcase, carlo coming out in the same clothes he went to sleep in, sayin he was ready to go, me, watching everyone scurry to quick for out of sleep morning, then we swung into the car, carlo n me up front the two girls, discussing mexico after she asked maria, about its drugs n what the mothers where like there, set off eastbound, now carlo drove, n she pre occupied with dreaming of mexico now forgetting new york bound, for a while, till maria asked weather she had bin before to new york, she saying,,, ohh yes yes,,, many times, i once acted down broadway theatres- main role- til i got caught stealing dress down, 5th, ( she not knowing if there was a dress shop down 5th, ) me smiling to myself facing forward, carlo staring at the road not listening, then me coming in n out of conversion, how she got asked to write play for big company, which has gone bust now, maria listening, not really believing but been queen like polite. carlo drove for around 700 miles til the sun was sinking maria was sleeping, i was reading, carlo still driving, she after opening window, head out, body out, her hips resting on were glass disappears into door, as we ripped along, at abt 100 i fell asleep to her laughing, shouting faster-faster.

September 26th night Sept 27th morning

We crossed into new jersey, early in the morning, maria was sleeping so was she, i was driving, Carlo looking out the window, Me telling him about this been charlies car, n how i met her, n all the emptyness before her, just drinkin, writing, then she woke up jumped over front bench in between me n carlo, she asking carlo- where did you find that women, she is amazing, she's beautiful, carlo explaining she was one of them forgotten mexican children who makes it to america, n he fell in love when he was down in texas once, picked her up hitchhiking, she gasping,- scribblin down notes, - carlo smiling\" jeese girl what you writing,\" - she covering it with two hands, \"book,,\" - well if im gunna be in your book i want to be asked the proper questions so i know your getting me down propally in that there book of urs, she liking this, \" okie okie,, wait il ask you some, then she'd ask him deeply random questions, everything from cowboys to showgirls- the cold war to the book of Zen n carlo answering- lasted til we got to the river, n crossed to manhattan, where at one time she saying, well carlo, let me ask you this- man was considered at the time our planet took shape, otherwise it wouldnt have took shape like it did at all., if it didnt already know man was to walk it, then us, n all this me talking to you now, so dont you think, if all that was wriiten like a script at the start with universe hand, then so was true love for every single soul, -true love been not like people think it been but just already happend-decided togetherness before all the actual togetherness now think of this, what if people dont go by that script , what if people try n change what was wrote at the time when it was decided- therefore true true love isnt really true love,true love is just dotting i 's n crossing t's on that first scripture, unless you change that script then you can call something love, because then it is only ever - made by the mind the love for one your not ment to truelly love, can only be called love, because been with the one- like you n maria isnt love, its just it, you can tell that, you two have the way of the earth about you, there's not one bit of love there, just earthly written bond, Dont you think so? Carlo loving all of her questions smiling n replying to her, \" now that there is a point, isnt it, knocking me with his elbow, so would you say talking at her, u n the boy here is written like rock of first earth mountain, she getting all french girl n as if he'd asked her a silly question \" we where written before the seas knew they could dance \" she kissed my cheek. We got to lee's, big brown house type- on lower east side, we knocked n but he was either in bed or out. So i left carlo n maria, me following her,. who was nearly running- as she was lookin up to the big sky scrapers. then block after block looking at the people going by, smiling at everyone- me always about 5 metres behind thinkin i'd caught up with her, then she'd see something else, so crossing avenue roads, three times everyblock. walkin into breakfast cafes- then stores.then trying to get into closed theatre, then book shops- asking the man his favourite- moon of jupiter? he sayin- pardon, but she not listening to his answer, already gone down the road- til i lost her in the crowd near times square with first work rush.. so i sat down on curb of flat or office building n watched her buy new york times from corner stand man, then walkin with every rush of buisness type coming out from subway, she'd walk for so long looking over new york times, then blend with the next rush crossing the road. with some other one way rush, then turn n walk along side the next rush, man smoking under hat, n long black coat with fine suit underneath,til he asked, when she was staring at him, can i help you miss?, n she replyin not listening at all to what he asked. with a mellow tone she put on,- \"its a marvellous day, isnt it, stocks r up, busy busy busy\", , i dragged her back to lee's with her telling me how she loved meeting them people they where great- she could have done that all day. lee's who now was in, n carlo n maria too, talking, explained how we got here, etc , n all about her. til he explained he had a letter, from charlie sayin, you must return the car at once, or il come find you with gun of old. lee laughin sayin you know what charlie's like, dont worry about it. me not worryin at all about it, just thinking how charlie oldest of oldest friends- n maybe should have waited for him., but he's pissed off anyway now, it cant get worse, il write to him in a couple of days. She introducing herself to lee. then went to sit looking outside window, writing, n drawing., she saying before, \" im not to be rude, but all these people they sure are fascinating lee, how do you ever sleep in a place like this- theres to many people, all living at the same time- all living no sleeping. \" Lee smiled. . she then saying aloud with tearful voice, \" nothing i write could come close to sitting and watching a tree grow to full health from beneath our soil \"
or watching these people go about there importance - the whole thing is poetic, from dawn til dusk, n till people retire to do it all again, \"

October 1st through to October 3rd
I started the car, after empty breeze blew against my morning skin, morning hair,
looking down past my nose, to the cloud leaving my mouth, i fumbling around for, keys- starting engine, waiting for carlo,
who just closing door quietly, as he not told maria as to his trip back all the way across- to see charlie,
me lonesome thinkin about leaving her, and seeing her face in the big brown building, feeling her behind the walls, reversed out,
Past the green fields of velvet- forever long god-worked grass- making the land less brutal-
then on to great truck stops of weary old love less men - stopping for great blueberry pie-
past all the sideway roads to peoples - heaven, the road to heaven - Trainyard lane-
all beat up- stones-sand from too many sun rises flat against- cut tyre tracks -
of familys who once took off west like us but them searching for eden's gates -
but maybe to far east - then farmers on great machinery- in basking sun showing, grandsons the lay of the land -
then sun falling as if to say you've seen to much for today, to much perfection of man, to much sorrow-
then heading south to go by carlo's-in the morning- were shawl road walking indians- look like to cry daily- or murderous revenge planned-
but neither ever seen- never to cry or kill - stare of silence though to see all the hurt within,
across arizona desert- of forgotten men - hard faced - cop cars rolling-
up and down endless highway- seeing mexican trucks- tough skin women though blue eyed- driving cattle- brothers n husbands all working at home-
then seeing sun go setting- into the road ahead - road behind and road in front -
up highway 5 - fruit fields where i came with her - but this time carlo driving and i watchin the things she did -
til over the top of grey country- coming down mountain road - carlo drop eyed- and carlo hitting great fence -
n losing control of car - we with a timeless roll - i seeing every unique grain like mad dream- i could hear her - i knew i wasnt to die
with this roll of charlies car- its just i appreciated the grain only when spinning upside down- and in a surreal motion of near death-
- not like her,- who thought it by just driving by-- we rolled in the field till coming to holt, up side down - on the roof -
carlo laughing - he still gripping the steering wheel as if nothing had happend - i slithered out window, i didnt speak to him -
i watched ant in the mud near the car-with my chin near to the ground- thinkin like her -
maybe the ant knew at time of birth -
on 7.22 pm friday, October the 3rd 1992, a old cheverlet car would come land on our heaven - so we need to up home,family and dearest too -
therefore he six inches away from our landing point - i walked to the road- i sat on the broken fence- the only reason i left her- was to bring charlie's car back.

October 20th

i walked into the publisher's where young girl met me- can i help you mister - i asking if they'd heard anything of her -
til white teeth man- sideway fringe like old buzzcut with bit added on came through important looking office door- have you seen her he asked ?
i told him how i took her to new york , he interupting sayin oh yes i know that she explained that- i mean since two weeks ago- have you heard anything-
then i , knowing truelly over - when she had come back to san fran - but not seen me- n i watched him talk- as his lips warbled into mesmermic open tongue slapping-
as if i where hit by hardest narcotic - not feeling hands of blood of mine - n seeing the young girls dress cover her face - like a red mess - n his barking of voice - getting
more rythmic - like an arabian drum -all the books and the wall becoming one- as i started for the door - as the paint not set on unfinished masterpiece - i sat a while on the curb outside- then.
, walked up to my apartment, dead street noise, n empty apartment,
the noise of closing the door, the noise- my feet on the carpet, then slumping on chair,
then thinking i had abit of money left i'd go drink, digg some of them jazz bars like we use to do,
so after going to old ronnie's, made way to north beach, with the night all around, hanging heavy like low cloud over frisco,
n me drink after drink, til tired of drinking walked to the bay,
sat with my lonesome legs off dangle pier, not korean one, one i climbed over fence to get to,sat there with, bootleg whisky bottle,
watching the ripple roll of waves, worthlessly tryin to hurt the land,
n the moon lighting a path as if for me to walk to somewhere else, somewhere better,
n empty sea sound making me feel smaller, than spec of sand on golden shore of gone days,
thinking like her, how maybe i knew already the first time, i took her here, i'd be here alone now
or maybe she knew like oracle- when she asked me to take her home first time here- maybe she saw me alone here now- back then- saw all the moon, n the sorry waves, n the sad night.
or maybe the ocean ship sailing knew, but not me, n some how told her to bring us here, to see us before than me alone after.
n me thinking more like her, sayin, maybe she n i knew at the point we met-we would be apart,-
sadder than when we met, but agreed with knowing that it, it that was, not it that is, was worth,
been sadder now, then when we was, before it been is, n before it been was-
i slept on the pier.

© Copyright 2020 Sammy Allen. All rights reserved.

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