I was born April Eighth, Nineteen Hundred and Sixty Nine, the year of Our Lord.

That kills me, the Pill R U 486

My old man told me when I was Twelve that he didn't want another child, so Mom had to conspire with the doctor. Right, not a very nice thing to tell a kid, but this was after he dumped his second wife for the 'younger woman', though my Mom was no saint either. And by then I'd already built up a wall, with the help of his gorgeous new woman, a self-proclaimed atheist who was vehement in civilizing his children by mentally destroying the self with long boring lectures at the dinner table. She was a great cook. My big brother took the brunt. I tried to blow out the Shabat candles.

I moved out at Fifteen. Six months with the Baker family, and I learned more in that time on how to behave with courtesy and respect than in the entire time before. From there I bounced around Ithaca, N.Y., rooming with a guy from the game room who partied with his pal from Boston till 4 in the morning, with the monitor "Roll, Billy roll!" eschewing the need for another joint and "I just burped and farted at the same time. Isn't that unhealthy" being the most memorable line. That wall kept me from joining in.

Uncle Walt, as he was known (sounding the 'k', as he was wont to do) was head of the janitorial union at Cornell. His place was my salvation, though I almost lost it when I left some Coors in the fridge (Coors was not Union friendly).
With my old man footing the bill for rent, and with jobs at the movie theatre, Friendly's Restaurant and A & P Supermarket, I was determined to graduate high school. Falling in love with the girl at the next check out counter, beginning to write poetry and discovering what it meant to be alone.

Being a part of the baseball team with the help of three great guys, Stone, Schap and Chris. Getting laid, and feeling like a man, but then somehow empty.

Buffalo: short stories, catching rides with Alex, and meeting the girl who would tear down the wall, Kathy. Getting a blow job from a girl at the drive in while thinking of her. (The movie: Pink Floyd).

She was gorgeous, too. We had great talks. Then, after mixing drinks for the first time, finding her nestled on my chest, unable to tell her those three words. "Are we going to have sex?" she said, looking up at me. Shocked, but thinking of my old man and my big brother and what they think being a man is, I responded in the affirmative, but then failed to deliver.

Albany, and corresponding for the Troy Record, watching the thrill of seeing my by-line on the front page fizzle. Walking through cold and depressing underpass at Albany State, going out with girls who mostly liked other girls. Great long and expensive phone calls with Kathy, only to discover, looking in the mirror, she had encosted my soul. Trying to end it, her crying tearing my heart. She would go on to cry in front of her BF, her other lover, and who ever else was around. She was a big gorgeous girl and when she felt something she threw it out at the world and didn't care what the consequences were.

She changed her name to Kate, and I drove her to New York City so she could become a star. Leaving her to travel across country on the dough my uncle left me, writing a fine novel. Albany again, living with a drunk, woman who slept with other women, and a German exchange student. The Gulf War, with my editor sayin' the Chief was real happy 'bout how many papers he was selling, get more copy Get more copy.

I quit school, finished the novel. I developed Rock n' Roll lit, thinking bringing short stories into the visual medium would bring about a revolution in the arts and, with the monitor "make 'em feel" would punch holes in to the hearts of a cold and strange populous.



Buffalo again, after succeeding with Mitchel on guitar but taking it no further. Winter, with the wings and seeing a woman nine years my elder. Reading the Russian Greats, and getting the challenge from Hemingway that there's a "Forth and Fifth dimension to literature...deeper than poetry."



Getting the phone call. My big sister, reminding me about going to Prague, and how she'd seen on tv that all the writers were going there. Selling the car, saying the good-byes, getting the brown leather jacket and long dark boots. The anniversary of the Plymouth Rock landings, and riding to the air port with my old pal Brian with him putting in my boy Bruuuce singing his signature song, Born to Run.



Prague, 1992. Repainting the beautiful buildings after a half century of red-ism. And they reached out to me, a United States citizen. Falling in love, Monika, astounded that on every block was eligible model quality women. Falling in with a clique: wanna be authors and wealthy elite wanna be cinema makers.



Getting close to someone, only to have a rush of suicidal panic when, after one of the Debates, she exclaimed at the door after having broken it off with one of our mutual acquaintances that "this is the guy I'm sleeping with now."



Got laid with a Brit, and was amazed that they still refer to the higher ups as Sir and the rest commoners (she was a common person, of course). Comforting someone who got pregnant, even supporting her as she weighed in to getting an abortion. She did. Then walking around alone, drowning in Beatle songs, and smoking cigarettes.

Now, a trip.

To a castle town, with a man who helped land me a tutorial gig. It was ancient. It was summer, and the women scantily dressed. In bed with one of the girls from the trip, but nothing attempted.

Looking up at the clouds during the day, with my shades, while they played tennis. Suddenly thinking there must be a God; everything was great. Has to be..

The next morning, with still nothing happening, though I wondered she'd make a good wife. Her leaving, and picking up two apples. Then pausing, and she put them back for me.

On the train, sweltering heat. I ate the apple. It was delicious; it was good.

At night, watching the sunset in front of the King's castle at Prague, which means threshold, at the Vlatava River. Going up to the other castle. Picking up a stick. Throwing it to the manicured lawn, then getting down on one knee. Going back the next week, finding the stick still there, going to the Charles Bridge and throwing the stick in the water.

My prayer was that He comfort and bless all those who had helped me get to this point.