One

220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230



There was talk of movies made in the cities. There may have been someone official, with a camera in town. He was so-much-oh- I so-wanna-be - it was utterly painful to watch and listen to him. It was fairly pathetic because, I knew how impossible the crystallization was for him, in the western Allan-Ginsberg sense. I wondered if he knew how remote this Plutoid village was ? I had seen Allen Ginsberg in the flesh but a few days before. I could have talked to him or at least said hello. When did I not-want to be a star ? Did this guy have any idea of what real-fame western-style was ? Or did he all too-truly know ? He was where I had been. It was not a true there-where. It was a state of mind. It was isolated mentality. It was middle-muddle nowhere. Blind the windows deep do-do isolation. Not-any-body.

hr

Istanbul was the most difficult place I had been. It was impossible. It was troublesome. Men would make comments. They would pull my hair. They would accost me. It was of playful derision, nothing seriously hostile. I went to the huge indoor Grand Bazaar market. Now there was a Byzantine-Labyrinth. Lots of rugs, mirrors, copper and brass. Lot of pipes. Black eyes. Robes. Men everywhere. Actually this was rug-land; tents and rugs of the nomads. Seeing a women was like spotting a great white-whale. I was not identified except I was what ? This was another-deal altogether. What was I to them ? I didn't know. They treated me like a woman. So there I am deal with it. Such innocence. "What-me-worry ?" Where am I ? All part of the script. Hot southern nights, pale moon on stucco walls, thirsty-must and script on the wall.

(221 of 278)       Next Page

hr