The Blogs

02 09 08 Memoir Writing with Alf

Memory of the color red

I remember the frozen blood on the corner of 54th street, on the street side, and on the avenue side. I'd seen blood on the sidewalk before. I always wondered the story behind it, what tragedy, what violence. This was the blood of someone I know, I knew. I can't remember his real name, Orlando maybe. His street name I don't know how to write, DMO. I never feel comfortable with the street names because I'm not a street person. The real names feel too intimate, an invasion. Who was he, somebody in between those two names. He was a little scary because he was so big. One time he walked into my bedroom very drunk, confused, looking for the bathroom. I was told he had a beautiful singing voice and that Lucas had recorded him, or that it was sad because Lucas never had and now he was dead.

01 26 08 Vehicular Suicide

At the wake at De Riso's there's a backroom with three little boys doing cartwheels and two little girls running around. One is the daughter of the deceased, Jason Gonzalez or Sniper. The girl, Briana, is around ten years old. So when she was born he was 20. For many of those years he was in prison. He was good at breaking and entering. But he was especially good at stealing cars. He looked very small in the coffin although I remember him as tall. Was part of the body missing from the car accident? Or broken and put into the coffin in pieces. He died on impact driving fast on Fort Hamilton Parkway and 44th street in Sunset Park at 3 or so on the morning of January 22nd, 2008. That's almost four years to the day after DMO was stabbed and kicked to death on the Avenue around the corner from my house. He dropped dead across the street, maybe trying to get to us for help.

12 25 & 12 26 07

12 25 07
I’m in the breakfast room of the La Quinta Inn South in Tallahassee. It’s an ok motel, a few notches below the Hampton Inn which means the breakfast doesn’t have any boiled eggs or sausage patties. Every single thing here has sugar or corn syrup except the hot drinks and hopefully the juices.

Release time is over


So sleepy I could lie down on the carpet in my office right now and go to sleep.

First day back at work. The Commissioner is moved over to the Bloomberg Family Foundation.

I'm trying to remember jokes

Sick Again

12 19 06
Another cold. Chest, head, nose..Not like the last one where I felt I couldn't move. This one I feel feverish, but don't crave sleep. I've been having lots of odd dreams. I have to sleep propped up on three pillows because I can't breathe. (Thinking of the story W told me of the woman who choked to death on her own phlegm. Lots of those this is what a deathbed must feel like thoughts.) I'm at work although I shouldn't be because I'm afraid to be home sick this time around. Most times I long to be home when I'm sick. I'm afraid of being attacked by food. Of killing myself with food.

Gone in 40 years: the global icecap

12 12 06
Brain dead, besieged, erased..within moments of walking in, even with the beautiful white xmas plant that the 41st st mensches gave me for my birthday...

E said the planning meeting for tomorrow was unpleasant, he had no voice..


12 11 06

Sixty years old inwardly 12 or younger
At the party I asked for appreciations
and I may remember some of what they said

Gina: Good friend, good listener, dynamic vibrant an inspiration hopes hopes she can be like me at 60, I've gone to all of her performances from the very beginning...ooh I'm present when I'm there I'm fully there

Is the only emancipation from wage slavery death?

How do I proceed, push forward, finish something, this...PE
Or in theory would it go on forever until she emancipates from wage slavery? Is there any other way to emancipate besides death?

I want to say that in the next three months I will try the Constant Writer project...writing everything pretty much I do at work in note taking/ note making forms


Directions for Talking Straight


While reading The Zen of Listening

Maybe it's listening to them straight...
Stressful listening situations...
full blown arguments
disciplinary events
job interviews
talking to the boss


Tomorrow is Fidel Castro's 80th birthday. He was 20 when I was born. When I stood on the balcony at the Calle 15 apartment in El Vedado, reading the clouds for signs of my future, imagining that some day I would be a significant world leader, he was already on his way to becoming one.


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