dear lonely student, childhood friend, bedmate, rabbi, expert or sister
Abby
(1943-1964)? Tell me everything you know, even though I'm ashamed I'm
asking.
Manna
just seeing if I can post yet.
jlaz...@gmail.com
You got me thinking
if it was Steve Smith 1943-1964 then he was writing to a dead person
"do you remember me?"
that is interesting
I've often had thoughts about the wording of "remembering the dead"
as in - re - member -
someone who has lost their members - to get members back
from this side; we can think of it as bringing back those who have
been taken in death
and if death is not the end then it makes sense that we might find an
importance in remembering the dead - Leonard has been involved in a
lot of activity that involves a communicating with the dead
Reading of "Tibetian Book of the Dead" for an example
if one is doing this kind of stuff it might lead to the question that
it could be from the other side an importance is seen to remember
those who have yet to die and so Leonard writes to the one who he
dedicated "Beautiful Losers" to "do you remember me?"
jack
Manna
I thought I responded, but it didn't come up here. :(
anyway, I'll try again.
==================================================
I knew Steve in high school. He was the kind of guy who always seemed
a little off, always a bit tense, talked so fast he would stumble over
his words and jam them together. He was too afraid of whiplash to
properly head bang, so he would bend at the waist in quick succession
such that he resembled a very gracious Japanese man or a jackknife on
speed. He was a kind person and a true friend, and somehow he managed
to fall in with the football playing beer drinking crowd, even though
he partook of neither activity himself. Bobbi Jo was their girl, Dale
was their leader. They called Bobbi Jo "Body" because she was blonde
and beautiful. And Bobbi gave Steve the nickname Stosh. A few years
after high school, I heard that Dale committed suicide, but I hadn't
really known him.
I think one thing Steve and I had in common was that we both never
really belonged to a crowd, but had friends in all of them. And so we
became friends too. Many of my closest friends have been male.
Steve was a year ahead of me, and in my junior year I took calculus
with the seniors, with Steve.
I was also taking gym with the 9th graders, and this particular day we
were playing volleyball indoors. Well, some of them were playing
volleyball, I was sitting on top of the bleachers wishing I had a
joint, wishing I didn't have to do anything else at school besides art
class and math class. I looked up just in time to cognize
"volleyball" before the thing hit me in the face, slamming my cranium
against the painted cinder block wall behind me.
This was the third concussion of my life. (The first I got as a
toddler when I mistook our bathtub for a swimming pool, and our
washing machine for a diving board. The second at age 6 when I tried
to jump over a couch in our cement floored basement. I'm still not
sure how I ended up under the couch.) My mom came to get me and take
me to the hospital.
We were in the car, and I think she said something, but I couldn't
understand her beyond knowing she's spoken. It might have been,
"How's that brain?" It scared me that I didn't understand and I began
to cry. She said some more things, and the more she spoke, the easier
it got to understand her. She said at one point, "Can you count?"
I looked at my fingers. I knew there was a number for each of them.
She said, "Start with one."
I said, "No, that's not right."
A night in the hospital, and I was feeling ok. I still couldn't do
math for crap though, and back at school, I complained of my jumbled
brain to Steve. Our calc final was about a week away, and that
friday, he borrowed the algebra, geometry and trig books from our
teacher, came over to my house, and we sat in my bedroom most of that
weekend doing math. It wasn't relearning everything so much as just
putting it all back in order.
I got a 98% on that calc final, Steve got a 95%.
I haven't seen Stosh since high school
That's my Steve story.
Oh Steve.
The End.
Manna
seemed a little off. Muscles always tense. Spoke so fast he stumbled
over words trying to get them out. He was too afraid of whiplash to
properly head bang. Instead, he would bend quickly at the waist
bending himself in half over and over like a jackknife on speed. But
he was kind and a true friend, and he managed to become friends with
Bobbi Jo and Dale, and that football / beer-drinking crowd.
Bobbi Jo - they called her Body. She was blonde and physically
beautiful, kind of stupid, and she sure knew how to swing those hips.
Steve knew he'd never have a chance with a girl like that, but they
were friends, and she is the one who gave him the nickname Stosh. His
chances were more with a girl like me, though we were never more than
friends either. In fact, I don't think I ever knew Steve to have a
girlfriend.
In our junior year, I was taking calculus with the seniors (with
Steve), and gym class with the 9th graders. We were playing volley
ball. Well, I wasn't playing volley ball, I was sitting on top of the
bleachers wishing I had a joint, wishing to get laid, wishing I didn't
have to go to school for any other reason than art class and math
class. I saw something coming my way, and looked up just in time to
cognize "volleyball" before it hit me in the face, and slammed my head
against the painted cinder block wall.
This was the third concussion of my life. My mom came to get me from
school and take me to the hospital. In the car she said, "How's that
brain?"
I began to cry to cry. I knew she'd spoken, but I wasn't sure what
she'd meant.
The more she spoke the easier it got. She said, "Mandy?"
I sobbed, "I can't think right."
She said, "Can you count?"
I looked at my fingers. I knew there was a number for each finger.
She said, "Start with one."
I said, "No, that's not right."
We went to the hospital, and the next day I was still garbled, but
since only my math was missing, they sent me home. The calculus final
was a week away. Back at school, I told Stosh how I was, and Friday
he came over. He'd borrowed the books from algebra, geometry & trig
from our teacher, who was another friend. And we spent the weekend
together getting my math back in place. We skipped things I could
do. It wasn't learning so much as putting things back in order. I
got a 98% on that calc final. Stosh got a 95%.
That's my Steve story.
The End.
On Jul 8, 3:22 pm, Abby <abigailvi...@hotmail.com> wrote:
Manna
oh sure, so now it comes up several times.
blehhhhhhhhh
jlaz...@gmail.com
> properly head bang.
Properly head banging was a usual kind of activity in your part of the
world?
jack
Manna
I thought I responded, but it didn't come up here. :(
anyway, I'll try again.
==================================================
I knew Steve in high school. He was the kind of guy who always seemed
a little off, always a bit tense, talked so fast he would stumble over
his words and jam them together. He seemed older than the rest of
us. He was too afraid of whiplash to properly head bang, so he would
bend at the waist in quick succession such that he resembled a very
gracious Japanese man or a jackknife on speed. He was a kind person
and a true friend, and somehow he managed to fall in with the football
playing beer drinking crowd, even though he partook of neither
activity himself. Bobbi Jo was their girl, Dale was their leader.
They called Bobbi Jo "Body" because she was blonde and beautiful, and
she knew how to swing her hips. And Bobbi gave Steve the nickname
Stosh.
I think one thing Steve and I had in common was that we both never
really belonged to a crowd, but had friends in all of them. And so we
became friends too. Many of my closest friends have been male.
Steve was a year ahead of me, and in my junior year I took calculus
with the seniors, with Steve.
I was also taking gym with the 9th graders, and this particular day we
were playing volleyball indoors. Well, some of them were playing
volleyball, I was sitting on top of the bleachers wishing I had a
joint, wishing I didn't have to do anything else at school besides art
class and math class. I looked up just in time to cognize
"volleyball" before the thing hit me in the face, slamming my cranium
against the painted cinder block wall behind me.
This was the third concussion of my life. (The first I got as a
toddler when I mistook our bathtub for a swimming pool, and our
washing machine for a diving board. The second at age 6 when I tried
to jump over a couch in our cement floored basement. I'm still not
sure how I ended up under the couch.) My mom came to get me and took
me to the hospital.
We were in the car, and I think she said something, but I couldn't
understand her beyond knowing she's spoken. It might have been,
"How's that brain?" It scared me that I didn't understand and I began
to cry. She said some more things, and the more she spoke, the easier
it got to understand her. She said at one point, "Can you count?"
I looked at my fingers. I knew there was a number for each of them.
She said, "Start with one."
I said, "No, that's not right."
A night in the hospital, and I was feeling ok. I still couldn't do
math for crap though, and back at school, I complained of my jumbled
brain to Steve. Our calc final was about a week away, and that
Friday, he borrowed the algebra, geometry and trig books from our
teacher, came over to my house, and we sat in my bedroom most of that
weekend doing math. It wasn't relearning everything so much as just
putting it all back in order. Four years worth of math in a weekend,
and Steve was great, patient. Looking back, I wish I'd given him a
present of some kind.
I got a 98% on that calc final, Steve got a 95%.
I haven't seen Stosh since high school.
That's my Steve story.
Oh Steve.
The End.
Manna
it won't let me post a reply
grrrrr. I've tried 2x. this is #3.
Manna
wrote:
yes - in early 90s proper head banging technique was an important
dance move.
Strange question. Was head banging not part of your world?
Abby
not that kind of person. Then he suggested that I be someone else.
It seems he wanted me to be you.
Manna
But I didn't make it up. Everything I wrote is true.
I don't think Jack would ever want you to be a real someone else.
Jack loves you as you.
But sometimes we all pretend. I think Jack wants you to feel free to
pretend.
jlaz...@gmail.com
Ah !! er !! No
and besides my suggestion was to try to imagine a Steve that was only
in your imagination.
we all do imagine things - we don't always have to imagine what is
stressful.
Jack
Abby
Manna
> Fuck off. How's that for being someone else?
that's great!
How'd it feel for you?
abby
Manna
> Like the tip of an iceberg.
Are you playing? Sorry, but I can't tell if you're pretending or if
you're really angry.
abby
and only half of his shirt was tucked in. He didn't make much eye
contact, but sometimes it's hard to make eye contact with me. He told
me that if I don't get angry now all my anger will turn into a
superficial cancer on my left shoulder. Me and Steve, we sweat when
those vegetarians who only eat roses try to tell us how to look more
attractive to them.
Manna
Wow! That's great. :D
So that's why you were shortly silent.
jlaz...@gmail.com
> Me and Steve, we sweat when
> those vegetarians who only eat roses try to tell us how to look more
> attractive to them.
just the other day I was sort of eating some roses or at least I was
experimenting with using rose essence in a drink I made with coconut
juice and orange juice and thinking about how limited we are in what
we usually eat. The drink was great but maybe it could use some
Tequilla.
and then I was thinking more about what people eat when I was
listening to Bob Dylan sing today
I got the pork chops and she got the pie
she ain't no angel and neither am I
now what is that Jewish man doing with pork chops?
and today it also came to my attention again about the restrictions
that are placed on what we eat while listening to Democracy Now a
discussion about why we are not all given access to Miracle Berries.
http://www.democracynow.org/2008/7/9/the_fruit_hunters_a_story_of
jack
jlaz...@gmail.com
wrote:
> and today it also came to my attention again about the restrictions
> that are placed on what we eat while listening to Democracy Now a
> discussion about why we are not all given access to Miracle Berries.http://www.democracynow.org/2008/7/9/the_fruit_hunters_a_story_of
>
> jack
When watching Democracy Now I very seldom ever see Amy Goodman smiling
but she sure was smiling today after eating a Miracle Berry
Jack
abby
vegetarians I was referring to. You like to try different approaches,
right? Maybe you could try not making us sweat. We're fucking tired
of it.
jlaz...@gmail.com
ok
I don't like sweating either and so I leave now to be beside the lake
the last three nights my pillow was soaking wet by morning
Jack xxoo
Snow
>I was listening to Bob Dylan sing today
he's extremely good
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHVFLgIo1ug
Manna
wrote:
I just ordered some miracle berries. Sounds like fun.
abby
sick? What was his funeral like? Who were his friends? Did he have
a girlfriend? Talons?
Snow
he had leaku loukea leou leok some kind of blood cancer. mercenary people
who make money from death and curiosity will send anyone willing to open
their wallets obituaries from old newspapers, but i don't think it's
important enough to warrant such morbid enthusiasm. it serves its purpose.
leonard likely put that dedication in his book in order to 'set the scene',
to give it a perfect air of mysterious tragedy - which is why the
'(1943-64)' was unnecessarily included.
g
abby
or get close to him. I should've asked if anyone had a good reason
for thinking F. had anything to do with Steve Smith. So now it's
pretty clear to me that the thought I entertained for a few days, that
F. could be Steve Smith, is wrong. I'm thinking about this because
Manna recently began rereading Beautiful Losers and writing about in
the forum. Then you, Manna wrote that maybe the he of the first lines
of Book of Mercy could be F. I'm not terribly comfortable in the
forum but I'm interested in Beautiful Losers. I always liked the
narrator so much but now I'm interested in F. Maybe we could just
talk about F. for a while.
Snow
>it's pretty clear to me that the thought I entertained for a few days, that
>F. could be Steve Smith, is wrong.
at the risk of handing you an insult, i do believe you remind me a little of
myself. well, is curiosity a weakness or a strength? it can be creatively
positive or destructively negative - or both. often it's difficult to resist
opening unsolicited e-mail attachments even though one knows the possibility
of a virus is paramount. my personality being such, i love picking locks -
am an incurable cyber locksmith by heart. in jarkko's forum, for example, i
spent more time reading what i shouldn't have been reading. all very
antisocial. steve smith is not the 'f' (flamplatz) character in beautiful
losers, that is layton.
g
Manna
I wonder how many people have an F in their life. Someone whose
torment they adore. Someone you hate for trying to teach you
something, because even if they are right, they seem so wrong. I've
been examining something of the contradictions of my life lately. I
love them.
Tom Layesman
Who was he?
abby
happened in the forum when Irving Layton died. And I did see you'd
written this:
"Thank you, Lizzie, for this. But what do you think they did? What
picture did you see when you read those words? Because it is natural
and necessary for the human mind to visualise verbalisations - to make
the word three dimensional flesh. I just want to know what these two
got up to. One of them is dead now, so there's no need for discretion
unless the survivor is ashamed. Nobody is going to judge anybody - we
live in an enlightened age. We are all adults here and I object to
being treated like I am not old enough to know or understand what went
on. Nobody is asking for details. Do you think it was something
sexual? I thought we were all supposed to be open with each other here
and not have any secrets. If you had to guess, what do you think might
have been the nature of Leonard's coyness? He's no prude. We are all
born with an imagination, and I would like to know what people
imagined when Leonard said that the acts he and that other man
committed were so bad that he wouldn't talk about them. You cannot
hear somebody say that and not form an idea of what they are hinting
at. I think he should be a man and confess or else people will always
speculate and in the end there will be rumours and it will snowball
into such a monstrous outrage that will forever taint their literary
work. I don't want to read Mr Layton's poems I want to know what he
did with Leonard, who took the initiative to it and which of the two
was the dominant partner - and how long did it go on for and where did
they do it."
And when I read that I felt that old shame for this particular
curiosity. F. isn't named and who he is is none of our business, but
I want to know everything I can about him. I want to know who and
when and where and for how long. And then I want to sit back and
smoke a cigarette at that moment and from time to time in the future
knowing that Leonard is just as dirty as I am.
I also read Greg's little story about what happened and I just don't
care unless you tell me you know. What the hell, Greg, depravity? It
was more like love.
abby
> torment they adore. Someone you hate for trying to teach you
> something, because even if they are right, they seem so wrong. I've
> been examining something of the contradictions of my life lately. I
> love them.
Do you have an F., Manna? God protect anyone who tries to teach me
how to dance.
abby
and wrote much of what's quoted about her life.
Melia32
enthusiasm.
> '(1943-64)' was unnecessarily included.
>
> g
A great good vibration word, i & i gonna use more of those.
Want to trade?
Melia32
On Jul 11, 11:33 pm, "Snow" <ak...@online.no> wrote:
" enthusiasm "
and melia32 wrote :
"A great good vibration word, i & i gonna use more of those.
Want to trade?" melia
Manna
I did in my tween years. I remember being about 11, and I was at her
house. She was trying to convince me that unicorns were veritable
creatures of this world. Her mom had some book with images that had
the appearance of photographs of unicorns. And unicorns are mentioned
in the Bible. She concluded that my disbelief in unicorns would prove
to be my misfortune, and she washed her hands of it. I begged for
more. Is there any other evidence? Had she ever seen a unicorn? Of
course she had. My unwillingness to believe was proof of my mistrust
of the entire world. Proof that I was incapable of making some kind
of leap. That I kept asking for proof was proof itself that I was
unwilling to commit to a conviction.
Tom Layesman
since I read BL. I just reread Book Of Longing and I do prefer the
novel. So imaginative and decadent! :)