he had written for three months and only now was beginning to transcribe the pages  remember what forged the thoughts he committed to them remember moments that otherwise would pass into memory and only if a stone happened to be tossed down that well or kicked into a handdug hole would he hear the disquiet  have the echo tickle his senses remind him

                           to remember

he interspersed his memoir cut it like heroin with more timely pieces imagined adventures live and lived

                                                                                             he wasnt a shrinking violet

he didnt shrink from violence nor confrontation

if he had to write with blood  
                               so be it

he wrote like a lava lamp belched and percolated

                                                     Preeetty . .

                                                                       Pretty fuckedup man

1033,  Sunday,  15  3. 20

1541,  Sunday,  6  9. 20

Zappa  Hungry Freaks, Daddy  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0JTNVkhyS8