Docstoc

Letter to Krystal

Document Sample
Letter to Krystal Powered By Docstoc
					Letter to Krystal
Joy Cole
1978 you can't tell a book by its cover... ...or Letter To Krystal... or..all dressed up and no place to go.. or..the naked world of Joy Cole or...wasted city or..ashes to ostentations on the back of deformity or...you name it.

1

Cole

Letter to Krystal

Prologue:

Joy’s Letter to Hedwig on her 29th birthday. ….about…. HEDWIG GORSKI ….on her birthday …just notes …random …while at Spellman‟s …journal entry…Tuesday, July 18, 1978 ….hedwig is across from me. ..wearing dark glasses..her hair is tiger free…as free as her face…of adornment…except for the dark glasses…..style…she has it…HERSELF….those days she was stealing clothes from the good will…what elegance and grace in the particular things she stole….. ….she …raps…with audience…dark glasses..giving her the ….hidden eye dimension….the hidden eye…the mystery…the third eye..I…hidden….while I just luuuuvvvvvvvvvvv what she does with her hand when she adjusts them…..oh…hedwig, my darling, conditions will never hamper, hinder or hindsight you. They will only enhance the beam of energy that crazes you with foresight you contain…even in ruins… ….ruins…see them everywhere. The foresight of past creators…..exploded…spent…but the druids still dance at Stonehenge……sometimes I see them dancing at after ours…kathleen….and people travel daily to the Parthenon…the pyramids are still sacred..oh ramses…oh tutankhamen…oh nefertiti…oh cheops…what…did you know…over 2,000 years ago…LET US KNOW……

Cole

Letter to Krystal

….that‟s obvious… ….but my darling, hedwig…what about the ancient woman1 you saw in the coffee shop yesterday….her lined cheeks wearing death under the rouge…her hand grasping a sentimental birthday card…. That‟s obvious…..but….darling…what of the visualization of the perfect work of art? …a perfect work of life? …a perfect work of death? ….that‟s god‟s work you say? …well…like I say we are all baby gods. …and hedwig, …I like your style… …god …it‟s getting closer …everyday… …to being dismembered by memory …to being responsible for oracles …to being samsara for the un..elite… …you want perfection..baby…god..goddess..unhampered by decision …its nice.. …being twice born …being twice born…born…born…born… ….ah my baby god-goddess hedwig yell…hey..hi…hey man…. …da…da….da…and charges away into the full moon with a bottle of scotch in hand….. …happy birthday… ain‟t it nice…being born again….perfect…in my eyes….in the eyes of nexus…… Joy Cole
1

In reading this today, I believe Joy refers to herself by alluding to Jarry‟s description of Red Light in BM. Is it a clue that Joy did know about her terminal illness?

Cole

Letter to Krystal

LETTER TO KRYSTAL2
Thursday, July 20, 1978 Darling.... tangibility it's time....or timeless... ...the full moon was so bright last night that it hurt my eyes to look at it, and for a little while the world did a complete reverse out... I was looking into the sun...another sign in the sky... it was a vapor trail that expanded..expanded..into a giant dragon..I saw my face in it..right in the middle of the body..then it was a male face...it kept alternating..male, female... "It's about my self approval...that's why I act like an idiot," Don, a friend of Ken Kesey's, told me while we sat on the patio at Spellman's, "I don't know why you even bother with me. Why do you like me?" Sometime back, Don took me to the railroad tracks behind Spellman's and told me how he used to come here as a child and dream about the wide world. Then he'd gone out into the wide world and returned to find that on that mound of earth which he had always visualized as a giant vulva, he had the entirety of it...right there to the south of Spellman's Neighborhood Bar. "Sure, I can still see your...vulva. But no wonder you are upset! They've put these Toyotas right there on the clitoris," I said to vex his train mythos. Krystal, I think I overamped him. He ran amuck for several days. Then when we did the video of Booby Mama, he cracked up when he saw all the rings on my toes. I had one for every toe supplied by Steve, the "actor" Heathcliff found to play City. The
2

I did not alter or correct errors in any of the contents when I transcribed the letters. I limited my editing to selecting letters from Joy‟s manuscript that focused on Booby, Mama! or Powell Street. The selected letters are whole and accurately replicated.

Cole

Letter to Krystal

guitarist, Kikkoman3, telling me that I looked like a cosmic whore.... "I am a cosmic whore. I'm a mindfucker. I'm one of those trans-species," I told them. ........sometimes, Krystal, my love, my brain is so bombarded with images that I wonder how I do not shatter. I had a vision the day we taped Booby Mama which kept me imploring...God help me, I am just a mortal woman. Bring me back to NOW NOW NOW! Back on the patio at Spellperson's, Tim a handsome actor and regular patio philosopher, locked me into a brain trust. He took me in his arms and said, "Why won't anyone hold you when you are dying?" He slapped me hard across the face, and I delivered my lines from Booby Mama: "I was just feeling a little lonely and they brought me in here and I couldn't tell if this was the looney bin or what..and they said no, lady, it's a bar in Paris. Where are you from? You are free to partake in the equilibrium of the norm either here or there..." I cry when I deliver those lines. The sax player told me when you feel most vulnerable, let it out, and after Tim threw his wine in my face, I delivered the last line shouting: "BUT I WAS ON MY WAY TO BRAZIL, I SAID!" Later, in my garret on Powell Street, he asked, "Are you sure, Joy? Are you really sure that all we have to do is love? I am tired of my homosexuality. I want to feel fully what it is to be a man." Friday, July 21, 1978 Dear Daughter of the Dog-God, Hank, from the hair salon "Looking Good" was
3

Kikkoman is Joy‟s nickname for Paddy Whale.

Cole

Letter to Krystal

here doing my hair, and making sure only my hairdresser knows for sure. I had bleach on my head and my pubic hair and as I descended the staircase for a rehearsal...as Hedwig, (alias Heathcliff had insisted I do). I said to Tim, "I'm getting a snatch to match. And it's sure going to be nice to have my head and my genital in the same place." And to the rest of the group I said, "It is nice to be able to stand naked, without makeup, in front of you...and cry..." ...where was I...oh yes...about last night and the full moon and all that...well...I was busy fending off a young man who is on a serious quest, staring at the moon, when... lo...there was another miraculous sign in the sky. It was Jake Camptown, assistant attorney general, looming against the bright sky with outstretched arms, a bottle of wine (he always carries his own, almaden white chablis)...in each hand...saying, "Darling, my ESP told me to get here quick! That you were in need of being rescued." "Jake, your ESP was RIGHT!" We cuddled and talked about his portrait. I'm painting him in a surrealistic manner. His slender, aged torso is nude. The other half...adorned in his Texas style. Some of his hats are floating around in the background. "You good lookin' son of a beetch. Do you know what you are doing for me?" "Yeah, I know Jake. I'm showing you yourself. That's all I want to do, show the world how beautiful it is. The human race is at a major turning point. All I want is a shot at that before some maniac decides to blow up the world. Six countries have that potential right now. The seventh, Brazil, is working on it. So far we have all the sevens on our side. You're giving back to me all right. It's people like you that keep me on this earth..." The young serious man told me quietly, "Watch out for that snakey, sidewinding Dr. Camptown. He's a very influential man, but he's snakey." When he repeated it I said, "I can and will hear your opinions

Cole

Letter to Krystal

but I will not bear your redundancy!"......."uh-uh," he said, "I'm not going to hand this joint to Dr. Camptown." "You coward! Here, Jake." Jake explained to the other patio philosophers that there was a camera crew in that van parked on Don's vulva over there, "Absolutely! It's going to be shown on the news. Jake and I smoking pot... and him playing with my booby...right here on the patio of Spellperson's." I'm never sure anymore how much of what I say is prophecy. Actually Jimmy and I were going to try to organize it so that everyone in Austin could smoke pot, but...Jimmy has been busy having nervous breakdowns...but Jake, now that's a different story. Any assistant attorney general who has been arrested seventeen times for being drunk, can't be all bad. We danced like crazy, which was difficult for Jake. He has a partially fake hip and is going in for surgery again soon. Saturday, July 22, 1978 Dear Krystal, Another odd phenomena...one night while the Rainbow Family members were here...I think I told you about it on the phone...buddha took a leap off the alter and shattered the top of his head...you know the buddha Eric had in Torrance with him for so long. I glued the shattered top of his head onto the growing collage, a decoupage copy of Dali's last supper, a broken christ from saint hilarian monastery, some of Bob's ashes; and I tore the fool from the tarot deck in half and glued that on...muttering... "We've got to treat all these broken Gods with reverence. I just hope I have enough glue. I have the right to tear the fool in half. I've done it plenty of times to myself." Well now, back to reality...the reality of the

Cole

Letter to Krystal

enantiodromia manifest as I told you..."everything is falling apart...last week I was an impeccable warrior. This week I'm a pile of shit..." After the Spellman's Booby Mama performance, I left with a man named Thomas, who had played the COWBOY part once but had been replaced when he went to the gulf to work on the oil rigs. He had returned the night of the performance. I sobered up quickly when I came to the realization of where I was with him...in the old Capitol Hotel...with him getting ready to take a long anticipated piece of ass from me...I ran down those old dingy halls and walked back to the house. Everyone was up in arms...however....imploring me: "Billy has gone berserk. He's ripping up the whole place. We need your help. He was saying...'you call yourselves artists! this place stinks!!'...as he broke up Hedwig's glass wind chimes...hurled through the center room where Christina (Krzysta, the hermaphrodite in the play), had taken command of the downstairs altar...went out into the yard...destroying the outdoor shower...and into the garden ripping up the plants." I headed out the door to try and calm him. A black woman, Birdie, who says she's a witch...and has absolute power to deflect evil, stopped me. "Get in bed. Don't say a word to him. He would hurt you. Let me handle it. Joy, you absolutely must not talk to him." "Alright. Now will all the rest of you LISTEN TO ME! That is just a small example of what can happen if we are misunderstood." But Billy had not destroyed a single thing in my upstairs garret...Birdie calmed Billy down.... Jay explained it to me later, "Billy had nothing against you. He was just afraid we were all going to get busted...for SOMETHING in his mind. He was like Christ...going in to chase the money changers out..." "That may be partly true...but there is a frustrated creator if I ever saw one."

Cole

Letter to Krystal

The next night we went to Inner Art Works to see the video of Booby at Spellman's which we had made the night before. It was a super disappointment. None of these people have read either of my manuscripts...not Hedwig..not the musicians..we had been operating off psychic frequencies...the thing that upset Hedwig (alias Heathcliff) most was....I dropped two lines of her "poetics"...the lines of the song..."as I leave you for the jungle, good-bye mama, with a seven piece band." I never delivered them. "Damn it! I have been telling you all for days. I'm sick and tired of saying good-bye. I want to say, HELLO WORLD! Kikkoman! You son-of-a-bitch! Look what you did! I went right into the jungle." There I was tripping out, dancing to his music, forgetting to say good-bye. William, who had taped it, was wearing the helmet, as everyone ripped the video apart. "It is not the PERFECT ART PIECE...it should have been.." was Heathcliff's lament. Krystal, at this point I was amused, and feeling absolutely fierce. I took the helmet from William and left them there to hack away and walked to the Alamo Hotel Lounge...and Open House...and intimidated two more men into buying me bourbon...and...shhhweeeet haaaart...they just loved being intimidated by me. Sunday, July 23, 1978 H/he second chapter of S/he.....for...... Krystal, One thing for sure! I love freaks! Birdie arrived last night and we headed out into the still full moon, for Round Rock, tracking money. We got as far as Steak 'N Eggs (to get ice for our beer), and the water hose or something, blew...and I had smoked two joints...and wasn't worried about anything. "Joy, don't worry about a thing. It's just that I

Cole

Letter to Krystal

have this awful problem with mechanical things going wrong around me." "Birdie, believe me, I'm not worried about a thing. I feel utterly safe when I'm with you." Birdie has a unique problem. She drops money. I mean if she has a quarter, she drops it on the floor. If she has 5 dollars, she drops it in the gutter. If she has 50 dollars, it's sure to wind up blowing wild down Guadalupe Street before the day is over. "Here! Will you please hold this for me," she said shoving 75 cents into my hand. "I've got to stop doing this. I've just gotta stop dropping money..." "I was thinking how beautiful it is!" convulsing with laughter. "It's just that you've got to become more conscious of it." "Yeah, it's really my open hand. I don't want to close it. But right now, we need that 75 cents more than someone who might be walking down the street...lookin' down." She went to make a phone call and returned. "Give me that money. I want to play the juke box....you alright, Momma? Don't worry about a thing..." "Birdie, I'm in a state of bliss. I'm going to sit here and finish this joint and beer." Too much...too too much...gotta quit getting so loaded...(dropping money)... I went into the restaurant and four Persians were sitting at the counter. They stared at me... "That's my mother." Birdie informed them. Their eyes got bigger. "That can't be your mother." "It sure as hell is!" "You're going to have to prove that." "No, she doesn't have to prove a thing!" "That's right! This is my god-mother!" I tripped out on the music and watched Birdie dancing in her chair, alternating that Egyptian head twist with undulating shoulders, elaborate eye rolls, and snapping fingers. An ancient nubian bliss on her face as she tells me about an Egyptian document she is

Cole

Letter to Krystal

having analyzed at UT. Afghanistan was its route to her. 3,030 years old. That is her age in yoga she informs me. I am a lion I do not live with the sheep I do not sleep with the sheep I eat the sheep I eat the shepherd They have been able to decipher that much from the manuscript she told me. Her bliss ends abruptly. "I'm afraid the world is going to blow up...Palestinian guerillas are ready to drive a bomb into the U. S...about half of them are in Austin, studying electronics and physics." "Ah...Birdie...that's a collective fear...there is an alternative...I'm working on the blueprint. It's called the moron bomb..." I closed my eyes and went with the music. "You alright, Momma? You really miss the jungle don't you? Everything is ALIVE in the jungle...." All I know for sure, Krystal, is this: if I didn't have Carl Jung's work before me, I would be in a madhouse. I know what shattered Nietzsche. I know, but when I made that affirmation..."I'm willing to pay the price for illumination, let it roll....God, I'm in your hands...by your side...and fighting for unity...even as you are, God." And schweeeeeet haaaart...it's rougher than I thought. For as old Mephisto said to Faust: Just follow the old advice And my cousin the snake, There'll come a time when your godlikeness Will make you quiver and quake. In Jung's Dream Symbolism in Relation To Alchemy, he states that the usual danger of the permeability of the conscious and unconscious mind do not apply to the artist and poet...as it is the very wellspring of the creative mind (well that's

Cole

Letter to Krystal

obvious)...but...didn't mention: WOMAN-ARTIST-MOTHER-HUMANITARIAN ...and there isn't any separation between them! As I reflect on it, every man I have been involved with partner-wise had a real HARD ON for one of them... * Your father wanted to incise the creator out of me and cut off his/her balls as the ultimate rival. (He was right of course.) * His main rival was a creator, Jack...he identified with my creative side so much he forgot to take care of the woman. He UNIVERSALIZED me in the beginning. (He was right of course.) * Don had at least half of me blown away...mother...and my greater humanity...the WOMAN was God to him and he wanted to market the ARTIST. (He was right about that half.) * Shane kept insisting I was three different women, and I kept trying to tell him I was a crowd...and to stop trying to drive a deeper wedge in my already fragmenting personality. He gave lip service to all aspects of me...but it was the WOMAN he wanted. This looks simple enough when I put it on paper...because I see my life as a pageant...nothing or no one has been able to kill off any part of me. I've paid a price to keep it all ALIVE. I was furious with Shane when he came here with your brother Eric to assault me emotionally: "You are identifying with the power." "Shane, if you had ever understood me at all, you would know better than that." "God damn it! Don't you know what you do to men? You saw Mike in California...and he was a wreck for weeks." "I'm not going to accept his weakness as my responsibility. I quit that over twelve years ago. It's not my love that wrecked him. It's the absence of love." "You know what you did to Doug? That poor

Cole

Letter to Krystal

bastard was ready to kill for you." "Doug was not a poor bastard...he was brilliant, and already unhappy with the state of his creative blocks. He lived his myth with me for awhile...just as you have." "You are Kali to me alright. You are the wildest woman I have ever met...you are divinity to me...don't let my beautiful woman die...look at you...look what you have done to your beautiful hair. You are going to get old and ugly. Am I going to have to wait until then?" "If the woman dies...all the rest of them do too. I'm damned well going to die in one piece. I've paid, Shane. You never could look at me without a mirror." "You are a Medusa. You turn men to stone. I know I was afraid to look at you without another woman there to balance me out. Do you remember what I used to look like after some of our encounters?" He and Eric were in complexity shock with the psychic fields in the house. They both thought Hedwig was me. Hedwig is close to six feet tall with long red hair. One thing Eric said on leaving was, "I'm not going to worry about you anymore with Heathcliff around. She can handle anything that comes up." Heathcliff and I have settled into a nice ambience. The house is calm and we are both working hard on our own projects. Jake gave her that name and she loves it. "That's the kind of man I am looking for." It will have to be a man with passionate intensity and BALLS to take on Hedwig...for sure...it's really odd, Krystal...how unconscious4 she seems in some respects, yet so sensitive and brilliant. We were high until the implosion with Billy and the failed video tape occurred. And everyone walked around here looking
4

Tuning out was my self-defense mechanism when people did not understand me. I never offered explanations to correct them. Joy misunderstood: I meant that Heathcliff was my kind of man, not Jake. Joy‟s taste in men baffled me. I understood her sex drive, though. She once described her son Eric as erotically handsome.

Cole

Letter to Krystal

like refugees from the holocaust. All my life people have asked me if I worked in theater. I never had before playing Red-light in Hedwig's ....art piece. Now the potentiality of a film is there. When Tim first came to the house, while I was setting up the Powell St. Palace, he said, "Are you always on stage? You have worked in theater a long time, haven't you?" "Never before...but I'm going to play world theater...well, actually I have been playing world theater all my life. There are quite a few people who will witness for me that I have been playing my part all my life." FANTASY WHILE STONED ON POT: (Do you suppose I really know the difference between fantasy and vision?) I was thinking about Kevin, and what you and he both said about him going through what I was going through last year. HOW COULD I NOT RECOGNIZE THE NEWBORN CRY OF A GOD! There were some bizarre fantasies I had that night which I won't go in to...then it all turned funny again...(well...it was funny to me...but then I was stoned...) I'm talking to Kevin: "I just don't care what ILLEGAL activity you get into. You can be the biggest crook in the world. I'll have your back covered as soon as this book and movie are out." "Even if I was a pig, huh?" "Sure. I've seen you that way before. I didn't want to stick a knife in you and hear you squeal and run berserk dripping entrails...then roast you and eat you. All I did was get into the black mud and wallow around in it myself. It felt good too!" Monday, July 24, 1978 more her/story Krystal... I was given the answer to the question I asked

Cole

Letter to Krystal

you yesterday: last night... could many people bear the images I bear? yes just when Western consciousness has crucified us enough, the Eastern consciousness gives opulence to heal. "I'm obsessed, possessed, and re-possessed," I said one day to Toyota-clit Don. "You're the only woman I have ever met who admitted the Trinity within you." "No, Man, it's a Quaternity...the fourth part is MESS." This was my answer. I closed my eyes and my inner vision was filled with the whole pantheon of Eastern Gods...the OPULENCE...the fantastic visual opulence. I believe I got a real glimpse of what it will be like to visit India, Tibet, and especially Katmandu ...(cat...man...do)...to visit them in body. For even as I write this, and show you the EVENTS of my present LIFE...something just keeps pounding...I AM DYING. And Tim saying, "Who's going to hold you when you are dying?" As he took me in his arms and held me against the storm in my brain. SUNDAY....JULY "#, !(&' I am the temple virgin... even as I write why won't anyone hold me when I am dying...that is the most absurd thing of all... ...everyone wants to hold me when I am dying... ...there are a hundred men around me with open arms...and it's more than the fact that Austin has a shortage of women...some of these men are frantic...the whole fucking world is frantic...like I said to Tim...one morning...after he had been locked into a brain trust with me for three days...then he had slept for 12 hours... good morning Tim

Cole

Letter to Krystal

you're fine this morning. I'm sorry I had to lock you up like that. but I was afraid you might get violent. look at this poor thing it expired last weekend at the party (I said of my grey felt hat as I took it over and stapled it on the fence. The fence as you know contains all the debris that was just lying about. The fence itself is made out of doors...DOORS...which don't keep anyone out.) It's real simple Tim. everyone just wants a bit more joy in life. "oh sure, Joy...and that HELMET JUST HAPPENED TO BE THERE! THERE....well don't tell me you can't help yourself!" "my father used to do crazy things like this and they would lock him up and fry his brain," I said as I stapled a pair of shoes up on the fireplace. ...anyway....about dying... Monday, July 31, 1978 I had a portrait sitting with Jake. While he was downstairs washing his hair so it would be fluffier, Birdie came up and gave me a foot massage. She was sitting on the floor at my feet, weeping, saying, "We gotta take better care of you, Momma. If you die, I die. If anything happened to you, part of me would be dead forever." (Birdie is outside watering the trees. She's spraying water up high near my window, and yells, "Hey Momma, look out the window. You can see the rainbow." "Yes, Birdie," I yell back. "I can see the rainbow on this side too." men...men...men...just when I was being hotly pursued by Toyota Clit Don, Thomas, Steve, Jake....one hundred crazy idiots...going... breath breath breath

Cole ....while I'm saying...I'm A MINDFUCKER,

Letter to Krystal

they are going... body body body... and in all truth I can only say if it weren't for the yin and yang of it, I would just dematerialize. It got worse. Robin, a fragile little bird who has just come out of a violent homosexual relationship, alighted on our doorstep. She wandered around here for days recovering from shock, anxiously wanting to place her body against mine. Finally, it was all I could do. She is the gentlest little bird you have ever seen. The next night, I told her, "Robin, I have never made love with a woman. I probably never shall again. But I do want you to know, beautiful it was. I cherish you, Robin. You do not have to submit to violence ever again." "But where will I ever find another one like you?" "Robin, you will find a whole world full of love." The day I led the Gay march down Congress Avenue, her abusive lover came onto the street with demon fury and grabbed Robin. She was stopped by a very kind motorcycle cop who had questioned me about the helmet. Robin was not hurt, and Cita was not arrested, only stopped. Robin floats through the rooms here with smoothness and peace. She does not disturb the ether where she walks, just makes a nice little place where she has been. Sometimes that place contains an avocado she has left, or an apple, or some pot. She came up the other day with a big bag of pot. "I stole it, Joy. This frat-rat had given me a ride. He was going to rape me. He was just real crude. I ran. But I went back there today and stole his pot." "Good, darling. You are a good little pirate." I held Robin many nights. She was content. She didn't need to make love. She just needed to

Cole

Letter to Krystal

sleep beside me. She wears ju-ju's around her neck that look exactly like this upstairs alter....crucifix and buddha...and crystals...and a shark's tooth...etc. Ah....Birdie is doing her work well. I look out the window and the "rain" is coming down. She's been watering like crazy, trying to bring the rain down. warrior woman...drunk...broke...reading parable of the mother of the moon...to... movie camera...drinking white chablis...warrior woman covered with insect bites...an idiot in a state of bliss...trying to communicate with fleas and mosquitos...saying..."come on, darlings, leave my white pearly flesh alone. Don't mutilate me so." Filming today with John. He filmed six nudes, packed, depressed into a corner (city), then into a breathing free space (country), whirling, whirling, whirling, as I rapped revolutionary. Then missing the city: WHERE CAN I GET A FIX; WHERE CAN I GET A JOINT; WHERE CAN I GET LAY....sucked...sucked...sucked back collapsing...in a corner. I have got to stop casting my PEARLS BEFORE SWINE. But how can I? I stood down on East 11th St. one day when my pearl necklace broke and threw the pearls all over the street...and old Zip from the Alamo Hotel, and old Nat, who thought I was a punk for a long time said, "Joy, we know what you are doing, Honey. You're doing the best you can. Take your time." Later, when the house was full of Rainbow People, the black man with the dreadlocks was sleeping on the piece of marble on the floor. LEO OF THE LION'S MANE. "I put that marble there for people who like hard beds." He told me he had been in Mexico, got his feathers, can communicate with insects, and was a full Yaqui warrior now. (I think he was lying to me, but I think if he actually went to Mexico, his imagination might have psychic accuracy.) "It's all money, Joy."

Cole

Letter to Krystal

"That's bullshit!" "Baby, you are just going to be disenchanted." "Uh, huh! Look, I don't have a penny, but everything I need is at my fingertips." "I've tried it. No, it doesn't work." "Here! Damn it! It's your turn to turn water into wine!" I handed him the silver chalice. "Well listen. When they said that to me, I said...oh yeah, O.K., but why me, Lord? They said, 'BECAUSE YOU HAVE CHARISMA AND YOU WILL LOOK GOOD ON FILM.'" "You do have charisma, Joy," Roberto once said. But I told him that...a mountain of bullshit....equals... a crystal palace. Roberto also told me he was dying of cystic fibrosis, but I don't believe it is true. He said he was dying the first week I met him. Now he says he has confirmation from a doctor. 4 or 5 years. Well that's more than most of us have guaranteed. The Rainbow Person with the dreadlocks kept muttering about money. Presumably the best thing to do is to get a bunch of money and spend it, then die. I recall one day in Spring, I was blissfully walking down the street, looking at every flower and leaf...helpless with rapture saying: heaven this is heaven right here right now Monday, August 6, 1978 S/N...or more her-story or...cosmic peyton place Krystal, You can see what dreadful things happen when

Cole

Letter to Krystal

I go months without communicating with you. This is a gusher. Jay got back from Dallas with his new love, Jim, a designer who is working on a $ 10,000 bathroom; fabric sculptured walls. A gentle soul if I ever met one. "I brought you a new warrior, Joy," was Jay's statement. We went out for breakfast in the late afternoon and compared notes. "I just couldn't bear Lucille's phone calls anymore. So I figured the best thing to do was just remove the source of the irritation." "Jay, I understand perfectly. Now you know it takes a lot to get me mad, but when Lucille took the phone through the hole in the wall into her side of the house, and spent days calling anyone she could think of...including Vallarino... and the police, telling them how evil I am..." "Well, there certainly is plenty of evil around here. But I go on my feelings. Lucille has been behind that bottle for 15 years. She's just starting to feel again, and evil...well, the closer you get to God, the more your nose is going to be rubbed in evil. Can you imagine what she feels like? Numb for 15 years behind alcohol and meleril. And that twat just starting to go tingle, having to watch you...she'd say to me, 'just wait till Joy loses that figure.'" "Jay, as much as I...we worked with Lucille, I really did want to intimidate her that day. When I went to get the phone and put it back on this side of the house. She said I would just have to call the police to get it. 'The hell I will! I'm coming right through that wall, Lucille!'" I put on my helmet and grabbed a hammer with Heathcliff saying, "Calm down, Joy. Please sit down and calm down before you go over there." "Relax Hedwig, I'm not going to bludgeon her to death with this hammer, I'm just going to nail her back into her tomb." Then I went crashing through the wall and grabbed the phone saying, "Any more vituperative phone calls you want to make about me, Lucille...you

Cole

Letter to Krystal

are perfectly free to come over and use the phone." Then I nailed the wall back up. "Now get this scene, Jay. During the first week home after her 45 days in the hospital to dry out, she was like that one-liner in the play Arsenic and Old Lace. One character wanders on stage during the whole play delivering this one line: 'grow little flower, grow.' With Lucille, it was: 'get me another beer. I need another beer.' Whatever the change of scene, that was her line. Lucille's coming out of the fooooooooog. She shudders away as Heathcliff and I kiss her good-bye, and she's saying, 'ooooooooouw, I've just got to get into a drug free, alcohol free environment.'" Heathcliff and I are leaning out the front door waving her away with tears in our eyes like any parental failures saying, "What did we do wrong?" "Lucille really does have to go. Look, that body can't endure more. She's either going to come out of the fog for real or she's going to be dead," Jay said. "I know it, Jay. And I don't care if she does hate me. She's looking at the world again." Krystal, that's Jay's mother we are talking about. "Even snakes have mothers," Jay was saying over breakfast. "Jay, this is your mother," Birdie was saying over and over, indicating me. "Well, Jay. If I were God, I would say, 'this is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased!' But since Birdie has just pronounced me your MOTHER...I can say it anyway." We went to the Austin Country, primarily a gay bar, for those old S & M bikers. I found my niche on a high platform that has large pillows and Birdie began giving me a hand massage, then had me follow her instructions on a lot of hand motions over my body. They felt ancient and Nubian. "That's it, Momma. You send too much out to others for healing. You gotta put some of it back. We

Cole

Letter to Krystal

can build you a whole new body, Momma." When people call me a fag-hag, I know they misunderstand my mission as a baby god. I took a piss on the floor that night at Powell Street because I was too drunk to make it all the way out to the yard. I swear, Krystal, I'm going to stop writing this letter. I mean, at least I think I mean it. I was lamenting to Jake the other night about how far behind I am with everything. He said, "Joy, even if you died tomorrow, you have already left a legacy in this city." So even if I destroyed these two manuscripts, and walked out of this city to fade into just...BEING JOY....hah, a fine lot of good that would do. They already rather play with my booby than "read some." Heathcliff and I laugh. That's the new sexual come-on. "Let me read some....uh, well let me play with your booby, baby. Let me read some," from Booby Mama. One more member of this melodrama on Powell Street that I must mention, Dr. Robert Vallarino, another one of my spaced cases. I am challenging him almost daily, while at the same time, running errands to the store for valium and wine. This Dr. of Philosophy, Dr. of Fine Art, accomplished film writer, Purple Heart veteran, who has been dealing with a broken body for a year and a half, has seen himself deteriorate into a wreck and identifies with his condition. His story is long. He wrote the screenplays for "Man with A Golden Arm" and much of Rod Serling's material. He enjoyed working with Serling because he was, "the most human of all the people in that city of bullshit. When I went to his funeral, I thought I would die." Vallarino was weeping. "I was making a lot of money in Hollywood. I had made it, then everything started falling apart." "Maybe you didn't give away what you were receiving fast enough, Vallarino." "I think you got that right, Hotblood! I think

Cole

Letter to Krystal

you hit the nail on the head." "Writers in Hollywood drink like a bunch of fish, but it doesn't interfere with their creativity. Like you, Hotblood." His father's twelve sisters still terrorize him when he visits them in Panama. "None of them have ever been fucked. Two of them are nuns. Wouldn't they terrify you? Here I am 48 years old and they still want to pull my pants down and spank me. They call the hotel to find out what time I got in the night before then give me the very devil about my evil ways. It's dreadful! And I have to face them when I go to Panama and Columbia next week. Hotblood, come with me. I'm terrified!" The next day I called him. "R.V. here." "J.C. here." "Listen, Hotblood. I do have a bleeding ulcer. It's coming from both ends." "R.V., I'm good at staying sober too. My business manager has a bleeding ulcer too. Ah, what price success." WELL...KRYSTAL....WHAT DO YOU THINK? love....and all that....... P.S. That was going to be the last question, Krystal. I think, however, anyone so gentle that a piece of un-namable fluff can land after auric currents have been brought under control; and travel through your body. Land gently on the ground, and is more than a little concerned about the outcome of this FLUFFHEAD....NAMELY....ME...so I thought I would continue with the day, one month from today is your birthday...I had hoped to be in California with a bound book, and signed movie rights, but all you may get is this letter. But don't panic. I am a creator and I won't destroy anything without consulting you first.

Cole

Letter to Krystal Tuesday, August 7, 1978

Dear Baby-God, We had been driving down the street towards Guadalupe when Birdie exclaimed, "I didn't drop nothin' when we left the house, did I?" "Yeah, you did, but I picked them up." "I'm gettin' better?" "You're doing fine, Birdie. It's just too bad when we are in a blissed out state, someone doesn't just handle all those details." Ah, look at the darling, playing god today. We must make sure it's fed and watered and all that. Then the next day, uh...uh...it's my turn to play god today. You gotta take care of me...etc. "Here we are stuck in the middle." "It's that half way state, god/human." "You guys want a hit of this joint?" "Austin is the biggest half-way house I've ever seen. We should have bumper stickers made up. 'AUSTIN IS MY HALF-WAY HOUSE.' But we haven't done it yet." Oh, I know that the whole earth is a half-way house. I recall a conversation with Jimmy after the implosion. "Get me out of here, you son of a bitch!" "You ready to stop running a half-way house for all the freaks in Austin when none of them understand what the hell you're doing." "Well, I never intended it to be like this." "Huh....you think I can package you like that? Running around with the scum of Austin? You want a crystal palace? I'll tell you what! YOU HAD BETTER LISTEN TO ME JOY!" This was one of the neediest fantasizers, living in and around the activity at Powell Street, speaking. At one point, Vallarino convinced everyone that the Mexican Mafia was after Jimmy, having something to do with his wife's massage parlor on West 6th Street.

Cole

Letter to Krystal

Jimmy had a look on his face I'd seen before. He was either going to cry or he was going to throw up. He threw up. Finally, I had enough and I said: "It's time to put a stop to this, Jimmy. Now look. We'll dress you in something real funky. That black thing over there of Manny's.... They won't be able to tell if we are punks or what. Believe me, no one will recognize you. It's hard for them to tell the difference between you and me already. I was in the cabaret the other day, just after you gave me that promo shot of yourself, and an actress from New York asked me if that was me. IT'S TIME, MAN! IT'S TIME TO GO TO THE MATTRESSES! WE'RE GOING TO POWELL STREET AND HOLD THEM OFF. I mean it. I have a gun up there on my altar. It's plastic, but the bullet's real. What do you think? Ready?" "How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before we go?" Jimmy looked pale. "Sure, I'd love one, Jimmy." "That's the whole problem with that house on Powell Street. You never have enough peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I think I'll stay here. You're right. I can walk out that door and down that street anytime. I could probably even open the door myself if I want to turn the handle. Want another sandwich?" "Yes. There is nothing like having enough peanut butter and jelly." And he played Gibran's "The Prophet," and that was the end of that night's anguish. One day, everyone was in a real slump. Nothing seemed to go right. The music sounded farcical. Everyone was slurring or forgetting their lines. Skins were ready to be jumped out of. Look at us, a bunch of social failures. "Ah...I think my motherhood has overcome me. I'm actually going to cook today. But, are you going to be surprised." "I'm surprised already. Just seeing you in the kitchen." (from Heathcliff) It was a wonderful thing I did. All fresh

Cole

Letter to Krystal

vegetables, nuts, egg whirled in at the last minute. I began serving it just about the time Jake walked in with a bottle of wine. "Darling, your timing is perfect. I'm certainly glad you're not late again so that I have to yell at you. This soup is a tribute to Anne Sexton who said: “Depression is boring. I think it would be better to make soup and light up the cave." "It sure did too. Perked us right up." (from Heathcliff) "Did Anne Sexton live in a cave?" "Well, no. She had a lot of grants and things, but I think she was very fond of her kitchen." "You know what I would like?" (from Heathcliff who had just been given her knew name by Jake.) "I would like to hear you deliver some of those lines when you're drunk. I just want to hear some of those vulnerable things you do when you get drunk." "Did you hear that everyone...IT IS TIME TO GET DRUNK!" Cowboy arrived in his new car. "No I don't know what kind it is. I can't tell them apart." That, he enjoys showing off and sharing. He also has a very big selection of „50s records. "How about a memorial service for those poor dead stars? How about a memorial for the past? A requiem mass." We all piled into cowboy's car. Hedwig was in her new red lion's mane which Jay had given her. Paddy was in his new hair style that Heathcliff had given him, which is short and stands straight out. He had the stiffest hair shaft I have ever seen. Bend the hair over and it goes boinnnng, straight out from his head. Me in the helmet and a pair of jeans. Cowboy was in full leather regalia. We were all singing along with, "Ain't it funny how wine sips away" when Hedwig was galvanized by inspiration. She ran up the steps and grabbed the microphone. The musicians plugged in too. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm

Cole

Letter to Krystal

Heathcliff." The tall lion was striding the floor and tossing her mane. "We'd like to welcome you all home this evening. All you fine artists and bums. We would especially like to welcome Joy home this evening. She's just returned from Brazil. One of our finest artists, home from the jungle." "Thank you, Heathcliff. It's good to be home. I've been homeless a long time. But here...in Austin...I was homeless and you gave me shelter. I was hungry and you fed me. I was naked and you adorned me..." "Yes...yeah...that's it....Joy CRY...CRY if you want to...go right over there. There's the lady's room. There's the men's room." "But where's the hermaphrodite's room?" "Right here on stage." "You mean I can cry right here on stage?" "Now I have something I would like you to sing. A piece I wrote." "But I've never done it before. I haven't rehearsed with the musicians." I took the page into my hand as Paddy, the musical director, said, "All you have to do is snap your fingers...look us in the eye...mindfuck us like you did yesterday. You'll get what you want." "Really? Just snap my fingers or wave the page?" "Right." I began the song. "Tears....but tears..." (I'll find this song and include it.) It was eerie. Heathcliff said, "I knew an artist like Joy could do it." "Thanks, Heathcliff, I'll be happy to sing your songs any time." "And, now, Ladies and Gentlemen, a rare performance of Booby Mama." It was a good rehearsal. Later we went to the Patti Smith concert, but I got there too late to get a ticket. About fifteen strangers and I commiserated

Cole

Letter to Krystal

about it. Four drunks walked out. Well more than just drunk, I headed in the door they walked out of. "Uh-uh, Lady." "But look, man! I'm a good drunk. I can replace any four drunks you have walking out of here." Monday, August 27, 1978 ...about 3:00 am (See what I mean? Time keeps on slipping slipping into the future.) MORE HER??/story....i....call....obsession I need a slave.... She had met this guy who wanted to be a slave to a beautiful lady. I said no, I didn't think I needed a slave because it might become too binding and who's going to pay for freedom. I was wrong; I need a slave. This is why. I'm playing god this week but I'm just a baby god. I'm blissed out. All I want to do is write and paint..and stare at leaves..and smoke pot..and drink..and make love... But it is not perfected. It's dispersed all over the landscape like a gorgonian monster. Not only that. I have to take time out to hunt for food and ciggies. It's 3 am. The Fill I sophical principle is: everyone needs a slave when they are zero-ing in with intensity. I've been a slave lots of times. I've even been a slave before they were zero-ing in, hoping they'd get there. It's my turn. I want a slave. Earlier that afternoon, Jake came to the studio. We got drunk and worked on his portrait for a while. Birdie came upstairs and talked about how her kids were taken away from her because she is an "unfit" mother. I told her that I was too and how I had gotten married and established a "secure home" and all that so I could go back into court and fight it.

Cole

Letter to Krystal

I told Jake that as much as we enjoyed each other's company, he was not my perfect mate, nor I his. And if this thing didn't work out with his new girlfriend Dorothy, I thought he should take a good look at Heathcliff. "But we don't do anything for each other besides irritate." "Yeah, but you gave her the new name and she loves it." "She does?" "Sure. And you know she's unconscious half the time. But when you named her that she said, 'Heathcliff. That was a man! I'd like to have a man like that! He'd be my perfect mate.' I think she was talking about you.” "Heathcliff said that?" "Yes. Jake did you take those nude photos of yourself that we took that night we started your portrait." "No." "Well, Heathcliff probably took them to masturbate with." "She scares me." "Do you mean that a man who fought a dragon; whacked him and fixed his wagon, goes to his wedding in terror and distress?" "Yes." "Now, Jake. I could be wrong, but it's just that knowing how wonderful you can make a woman feel, I just wish that for someone I love. I really love Heathcliff, you know." "So I make you feel wonderful, Scarlett?" "Yes, Rhett, you do, but just as we know our time is not infinite. Besides which TARA is closing down." "TARA is closing?" "The city is mad at the owner of this building because it's condemned and we are really unsafe living here. The building inspector, Mr. Wright came by. I know him from when I lived in the caboose. He said,

Cole

Letter to Krystal

'Oh, it's you again.' And I said, 'Now really darling, we are going to have to stop meeting like this.' Jake, is there anything you can do?" "I could if Jay owned it." We invited Heathcliff up for wine and Jake was acting a bit shy. And Heathcliff looked like a mountain to climb. We went SOMEWHERE...and I lost the rest of the evening. When I woke up at 3 am with this body on top of me, I thought "Jake, you snakey old thing." But it wasn't Jake. The body on top of me was Ivory. Now that's the third time Ivory has done that. One morning I woke up a couple of nights ago and said, "Damn it! Ivory! I need rest!" He left. Ivory is a black man. He's been hanging around here looking for someone to take care of. He files my toenails and strings beads. He brought me a pair of sunglasses so I could be incognito for a while. He paid the electric bill. This morning I asked him, "Ivory, do you want to be my slave for a while. Tara is closing and I have to write like crazy for two weeks, and finish all this other stuff. And all I need is some food...and cigarettes...and water." His cock is going throb, throb, throb. And he asked, "Three packs a day?" "Two should do it. Do you have any money now? I really want to go out for coffee." "No, I'll go to the bank first thing in the morning. I promise, Joy." Ivory left. We'll just see if he's going to be my slave. Saturday, September 1, 1978 Darling, The hell with being invisible! I adorn myself this morning! It is EGYPTIAN day! I'm wearing a pants suit that came from Africa. Birdie brought it to me. It has a pants, a halter top and a blouse. The blouse, I have put on my head and tied in a manner to look very Egyptian. I managed to repair my big

Cole

Letter to Krystal

necklace that I demolished last week. If I think I am weary of my "madness of magic," what does Birdie endure? She lives in a world to total magic. Every cloud has a message; every leaf, she has had a dream about. Every stone contains all the ages of animal and man. In psychiatric terms Birdie would be labeled "neurotic or crazy." Under all the tempestuous flow there is a hard core of flowering power that must have expression. That she is profoundly psychic, there is no doubt. That she recognizes her role in cosmic struggle there is no doubt. She was in my room when I woke up this morning. "Joy, I know what you are doing up here. You have got to stop it. It's going to kill you. It's going to kill us. You're a white witch, but witchcraft is dangerous." Then she went into the most awesome eruption of archaic-primitive-archetypal-power-fear-anguish-plea for love. "I came up those steps with a pounding heart. I expected you to kill me. I thought you were going to cut me to pieces with knives." She began crying. "You been crucified. We all been crucified. We go through it in our own bodies when we ask the Lord in." Her sobbing became intense. "I been fucked by the devil. The smell stayed with me a long time." I was holding onto her as she wept uncontrollably. "The necklace I gave him was sacred. He ripped it off his neck and threw it at me." "Someone's comin' into my mind with a movie of the future. I dream my life before it happens. Then when I watch the drama unfolding, sometimes I can just look at the clouds. Sometimes I got to run...run..." Birdie was weeping...weeping... There was no doubt that she had walked up my stairs after dealing with the "terrors of the night" full of archetypal images of horror. "Really, Joy, I thought you had turned into a

Cole

Letter to Krystal

werewolf; but I was ready to face it. If you were going to rip me to shreds with your teeth, it was all right." I was holding on, caressing her face and kissing her tears as she wracked with agony saying..."God help me...God help me." I held on to her and prayed. "Oh Joy. I'm so TIRED of being fucked over by men." "I know darling. You want to love so badly. You have so much love to give. You need a counterpart." I massaged her stomach covered with stretch marks, expanded too fast carrying the children she had lost because she was "unfit." I massaged her forehead, putting pressure on the third eye. She had thought for a year that she was dying of cancer, then they had been able to reverse it. I left her lying on my bed and placed a sphere in her hand. "This is a symbol of wholeness, Birdie. You are a whole person, darling. Hold it as a talisman against anyone fragmenting you again." I brought her some V-8 juice and she said, "Thanks Momma, I'm alright now." Then we adorned ourselves and we looked BEAUTIFUL! Jay has given her a new haircut and brought up a sack of gorgeous clothes. Birdie kept saying, "We're beautiful. We gotta look sharp all the time! We can't forget it! We gotta keep our shit together!" "Yeah, Birdie. I put 'Looking Good' on the alter a long time ago." And she smiles seeing the napkin from Jay's opening on the altar next to the peccary skull. She went bouncing out saying, "Now I'm gonna be gone for awhile. You won't need me for a few hours, will you?" Sunday, September 2, 1978 ...getting closer to Krystal's birthday... And I can't believe my kid actually said,

Cole

Letter to Krystal

"There's not much you really want to know about out here. It's as boring as ever." ...come home baby, come home. As I chant on the streets of Austin. No school...can't afford school...can't afford your education...still a broke bum... ...come home darlin'..... come home to chaos..... come home to NOTHING..... with your note signed: that's all hate, hate and more HATE. Krystal cave. a crystal cave is exactly what the world is looking for... Stay with nourishment, stay with love, darling, while the world hates. Get your education in your bones... in your flesh. I think this typewriter is having a nervous breakdown! 'Cause the SCHOOL OF LIFE is gettin' harder....and I just poured my last glass of wine. I unzip my purple, regal toga...and find my breasts are as sublime as anyone's imagination. Wake up, Joy! THE TOY WORLD IS OVER! Walking towards Jimmy's, I saw a black girl laying in the street. She had an arm band from the emergency room of Brackenridge. I sat with her on the curb as she began to come out of it enough to tell me her boyfriend would be there soon. He showed up and I helped them get to the bus. They were desperate, he informed me. They had been seeking help all over town. Now they just needed to get back to Houston. Naturally I offered them a place to sleep.

Cole

Letter to Krystal

Kay was asleep on the floor in front of my writing table. The black girl went to sleep on my bed. Hedwig and Birdie were downstairs with Birdie's new boyfriend. They said, "You invite any more philosophers in, they are going to have to sleep outside." "Well Ms. Goodheart, I can help you find a few more," I said. Somewhere way past the WITCHING HOUR...Saturday morning. IS THIS THE TWELFTH(WHAT?) OF SEPTEMBER? Spellman's had been closed and locked up. Everyone was debating about where to go to continue the party. I called Vallarino. "I need to talk to you. Can I come over?" "Sure. Buy some grape juice on the way." He never said wine. Someone drove me to Vallarino's. He was getting into his long robe, but his bare ass was still hanging out. "Oh to hell with it, Vallarino! I got problems!" "What's wrong, Hotblood?" "We got the official notice from the city yesterday. We must be moved out in fifteen days or risk paying a 200 dollar-a-day fine. How would you like to have two room mates? Heathcliff says you deserve us." "I wouldn't! You and Heathcliff! I do not deserve that! Now, look, Hotblood. There is a couch in the other room. And a desk. There is another desk in the back room. Suitcases, yes. But not the rest of your shit. Come here, but NOT FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. Do you sleep walk?" "I did once that I know of." "When?" "When I was fighting for custody of my kids. I knew I was losing. The court investigator was not the

Cole

Letter to Krystal

young black chick I had hoped for. She was a sixty-five year old maiden who hated me on sight. And I exited the foray just to keep Eric and Krystal from testifying. UNFIT. UNFIT." When I got back to the house, Birdie was packing. She has a job caring for children, and a place to live. It's a relief to me knowing she'll be okay. I was still trying to sort out, in my own head, where magic, fantasy, and the reality of it all lay. September 25, 1978 Last entry....promise, Of all the things in the world I would like to be doing today, it is to be with you Krystal, and Eric, and Kevin... This warrior has had the wind knocked out of her. I'm tired and I'm hurt, and I'm lonely. With all the people that have floated in and out of the Powell Street Palace, I'm lonely. Why do I love people so much? I think Vallarino got mad because I wouldn't fuck him. I went into another room and went to sleep on the floor. I woke up this morning with him shouting at me about his missing wallet. He kicked me in the stomach. I couldn't believe what was happening. I had actually planned to rent a room from him and hoped to activate him, perhaps to work on a movie script. It hurts. I'm not physically hurt. My soul aches. I left him in a state of shock, weeping. "Vallarino, I will never understand why you didn't believe in me as much as I have believed in you." So I walk down 5th Street to Wiggy's to buy a six pack of beer. There is a Chicano family that lives just across the street from the old caboose. This is how they feel about me ON SIGHT: "Hey, honky! You are in the wrong neighborhood! Go down to EAST 6th...or East 11th. They will pay for it there! Bitch!"

Cole

Letter to Krystal

As I got into the car of clone-patrol George, who has a miniature zoo glued on his dashboard, they shout: "Bitch! Honky! You better make good money tonight! Sleazy ass! Get your ass in gear!" It makes me sad. George dropped me off at a coffee shop so I could collect my wits. Norris said I was going to write one more book about Austin called WASTED CITY. Maybe this is it. Everyone I know here who is worth a damn is wasted. All things considered, why in God's name can't we BREAK THROUGH? I'm mad. Real mad! Had I wanted to be a prostitute (physical) in this city, I would have been rich by now. I got a glimpse. Working as a nude model. The poor bastards. And other days, like when I walked down 6th Street and someone yelled, "Fag. We know what you are, punk!" And no one knows. No one knows. Sure. I'll walk proudly beside you. Punks. Lesbians. Niggers. I'm mad. (And probably redundant beyond my capacity.) What's the matter with the world, Krystal? Can we fix it? If so.....can we bear the responsibility? I am actually expecting a good hard slam from you when I see you. That is, I know you are going to give me hell for being a fool. I'm ready. The eyes have it....you said it. I'm luckier, however, than most grandchildren. I HAVE YOU... 'night grandpa...

Cole

Letter to Krystal

photo by Danna Byrom

Hedwig Gorski (left) and Joy Cole (right) in a newspaper promo photo for a poetry performance at Nightlife in 1981


				
DOCUMENT INFO
Shared By:
Categories:
Tags:
Stats:
views:58
posted:10/30/2009
language:English
pages:37