From Albion to Shangri-La
Jul23

From Albion to Shangri-La

From Albion to Shangri-La consists of collected excerpts from Peter Doherty’s journals, circa 2008 to 2013, with an added selection from his tour diaries, all rounded off with a previously unpublished interview with editor, Nina Antonia – the rock journalist’s rock journalist, no stranger to the darker excesses of some of rock’s more elegantly wasted sons – whose sharp eye and clear ear have been called upon to assist in this literary...

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“To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing” i
Jul22

“To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing” i

The title of the William Butler Yeats poem “To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing” makes me cringe. Is it kind to encourage a friend whose talent may be nonexistent, or is it kinder to speak plainly, in other words, tell the truth? Friend, it’s my unfortunate obligation to say you have no talent in this area and must give this up, the sooner the better, because you‘re wasting everyone’s time and making yourself crazy and are...

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Carousel Gone
Jul18

Carousel Gone

“I hitch-hiked to Asbury Park . . . when I got there, I was exhausted—” i Carousel gone “No plans, lady, just making the building stable. Keep away from the machine.” Enable me, construction man, to see beyond coarse gritty sand Mermaid vamp and debauch Rests upon a tarnished couch Where goest dream place childhood? Face the ocean where once we stood Soggy foggy July morn Hung over and still forlorn Parking deck hangs undone In the...

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Goetleib and the Path of Least Pleasure
Jul17

Goetleib and the Path of Least Pleasure

Goetleib, the undisputed arbiter of taste and opinion, was sitting cross-legged in his armchair with a book clamped open in his left hand. He licked at his elongated snout with the thin whip of his tongue. His brow wrinkled suddenly, severely, and he mused out loud - Gah! I wish Mancuso hadn’t used dashes instead of quotation marks, no, oh my, no, no, no, no… He turned another page in the book with a flick of his foreclaw and turned...

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Vanity of July
Jul16

Vanity of July

Tonight it pours for the first time in three weeks In the hot humid heat of July I watch from second floor window As Red Bank streets puddle Girls carrying packages run down narrow alley Boys stand in a doorway ready to make mad dash Happy to see rain wash dry streets For the first time it’s quiet here I like the sound of rain And flash of lightening Thunder Empty waterfront streets I wish it would rain all summer And stay cool...

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My War
Jul15

My War

It wasn’t the heat that was getting to me. It wasn’t the seasickness, the overcrowded boat, getting jabbed in the ribs by the butts and muzzles of guns, or even the fact my right knee felt primed to explode. We had been on the boat for seven hours, just drifting around the Gulf of Thailand, the temperature well above a hundred degrees, and us soldiers wearing itchy woolen shirts and trousers, oversized water-filled boots, and...

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Red Banks
Jul08

Red Banks

Train whistles blow past Edward Hopper Early Sunday morning red brick buildings Long sad golden windows whisper intrigues Always watching me The sun sets in the West on the brick and windowpanes As I look down upon the Navesink My heart sinks, sank, sunk What am I doing here on these red banks? What am I doing any place? I woke up and didn’t know where I was Fixx across from my window I fix I fixed I have fixed i Fix the Fixx, a wharf...

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The Burroughs File Filed
Jul06

The Burroughs File Filed

It was my husband’s task to pack the books in the garage. Just take the good ones, I said. As I was  unpacking his selection, I came across a 1929 edition of An Anthology of World Poetry edited by Mark  Van Doren (Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg’s Columbia University English professor) and a 1984 copy of  City Lights Books The Burroughs File. I look forward to what I might find in the other two unopened boxes of books, but this is...

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