Kent Wills wrote on 1/10/2012 in <
j11og7ht83th4mbp6...@4ax.com>:
> So now Bit is Robert?
I know Bit personally. No, really, no troll, I do. He's an author/painter/poet
currently living in Gallup, New Mexico. I once fronted the cunt my last $32
(US) when we were hitching across the USA back about (I think) 1959, we were on
our way to New Orleans to hook up with (we hoped) William Burroughs and his
wife (Joan?, June?). Bit had gotten lost, hitching from Toronto and ending up
in Kenduskeag, Maine (US), I had begun hitching in Dallas, and somehow ended up
in Maine also (Now that story is a novel in itself, with The Big-Nosed Dude
picking up me and my little brother (after an evening drinking what seemed
like, and probably was, gallons of homemade wine that the father of this sweet
Mexican girl named Dulce had provided)) just north of White Sands, New Mexico,
on US 54 in the middle of a hot August night in 1959, me and my brother
whispering as the hot New Mexican night air blew past us in the back seat of
the guy's 49 DeSoto,
"Ya think he's queer, Fred?"
"Dunno, Mike"
"He looks queer"
"Shut up, Mike, it's a ride"
"What if he tries to rape us?"
"Jesus,Mike"
"I'm getting scared, Fred, lookee at that Big Nose"
"Shut up, Mike, you're drunk. It's a ride"
Well, my little brother pitched such a fit that I finally told Big Nosed Dude
to let us off in Alamogordo, New Mexico, and he did at the corner of 10th and
White Sands Blvd and we spent the rest of the night sleeping in Alameda Park.
Well, like I said, *that* story is a novel in itself, with my little brother,
Mike, being arrested the very next night for peeping in the windows of the good
and decent citizens of Alamogordo, New Mexico.
Anyway, back to Bit Rot and me.
So I hopped the first freight headed south out of Alamogordo (couldn't help
little brother Mike, as I had no money for bail) and when I woke up I was in
Charleston, South Carolina. I was hungry so I went to work picking rice for a
guy named (ironically) E. Carew Rice on Wadmalaw Island. (Let me tell you now
that fresh picked rice is harder to eat than a Brazil Nut), made a little
money, hopped another freight, and when I woke I was in Bangor, Maine. Word on
the street was that a hot chick named Joyce in Kenduskeag would feed and fuck
anyone who could recite a poem,so since I was really hungry and really horny, I
began hitching out of Bangor along Kenduskeag Avenue which turned into
Broadway, which turned into Route 15 and so I came to Kenduskeag, went to
Joyce's house on Grove Street and LO! Behold! There was this scruffy dude
with a Van Dyke beard pounding on Joyce's door. Long story short it was Bit
Rot and Joyce fed us and fucked us, etc.
One morning in December 1959 (I think) Bit Rot pulled me off of (and out of)
Joyce
"Fred, ya got any money?"
"A little, man. Why?"
"Need some cigs, ya cunt"
"Fucking hell, why are you asking, my pants are down there on the floor"
"I'm Canadien, we're always polite"
Well, lemme tell ya, Pilgrim, he took my last $32 (US) and the next I know he's
living with a bunch of weirdos on Eel Pie Island in England! Shades of Woody
Guthrie!
Never did make it to NOLA to see Burroughs, but me and Bit Rot kissed and made
up (sorta) years later. Oh, and little brother Mike? He got out of jail,
married, became a Mormon, and now has 23 children. Go figure.