I danced ballet starting in the third grade--
I never had a tree house or a dog. Saturdays
after lessons I sold lemonade with two girl-
friend sisters who lived next door.
I knewNijinski before I knew Michael Jordan--
but, there were problems.
The first time I tried to jump off a bridge was
back in 79'. I had returned from Munich, hav-
ing taken my Cecchetti exams. I was seventeen
and my hometown made quite a fuss over my
dancing accomplishments, plastering me all
over the newspapers.
Girls in town noticed me too and soon Michel-
la came along. She was a golden goddess.
Every boy in school was ga-ga over her long
legs and suspected naughtiness.
Michella started buzzing me like a fast saw
and soon I was down in a field of grass. La-
ter, I found out I was only a bet around town--
could she bag the virgin ballerina boy?
Soon after we graduated Michella split for
California without a howdie-doo. I was deva-
stated. I stole about a hundred of my aunt's
Valium, swallowed them and ran out of the
house.
I hid in the local cemetery. Someone found
me behind statue of Mary—
and I never danced again.
I left for college and dove into architecture
and art. That's when Tiffany, my future wife
showed up. She was the first girl to really
care about anything besides sex. I suppose
that should have clued me in to my future,
but after having gone through Michella,
what the hell?-- she asked me to marry.
I said, damn straight!
Tiffany would allow me to have vaginal sex
with her about three times a year. Her thing
was oral sex, hers. I figured I'd better keep
her temper in line by complying as she had
a hell of a temper.
She trained me well.
After fifteen years of this kind of crap, I got
chapped lips. I also found a lover, but then
the real games began. Kerry Anne was a
British Airlines Pilot and liked to fly high,
drive fast and wind me up like a toy. She
was single, brilliant and knew my buttons--
knew well that my dog's death eight years
earlier was a heavy weight on my mind.
When the scotch and soda made me too
crazy, she'd be the mean ol' school marm
and I would be the little dirty boy she
caught in the cloakroom with my hands
inside my pants.
Yeah, she had me wound up tighter, as
they say, than a drum. But it was Tiffany
all over again. Kerry Anne ran off with
an airline stewardess based out of Dallas.
Linda Lou, my wife now, and I got an invi-
tation to the wedding and then things
started going haywire inside my head.
Soon after I landed in Charter House on
Valentine night screaming "Mommy …"
naked as a Jaybird, playing Debussy on
my baby grand piano. It took four cops
to wrestle me down and carry me away
in cuffs.
After a month in the looney bin, they tag-
ged me with manic depression, sent me
home with a bag of pills that retired me
from my position as midwest branch man-
ager of the Tire and Auto Service Depart-
ment at Sears.
I quit the world. I quit the thought of sex.
For a couple years I sat on my back porch
barefoot, fed birds and smoked weed.
In 96' I read a book called "Go Ahead, Ask
Her If She Wants To Make Love," by Dr.
Tom Granfield, a professor of psychiatry
at Johns Hopkins University. He's also a
manic-depressive. His book deals with the
relation between manic-depressive illness
and the artistic temperament and under-
standing the creative process. In the book
I discovered artists and poets-- too many
to name here.
What I was searching for was the elemental
human desire to add meaning and perma-
nence to life that can be found in writing.
And as Anne Sexton once wrote, "Poetry led
me by the hand out of madness."
I first wrote as not only as a means of es-
cape from pain, but also as a way of struc-
turing chaotic emotions and thoughts,
numb-\ing pain through abstraction and
the rigors of disciplined thought, and
creating a distance from my house to the
bus stop.
I suppose it was a cheap man's therapy
and so it continues ...
Then came Annabel.
I was alarmed reading her poem
How A
Girl Poet Grooms Her Pussy Until Its Per-
fect. The sexual nature of the lines sucked
me like a hummingbird’s tongue sucks the
juice from deep inside flower petals.
I couldn't help but write her.
So began our years of dialog, my opening
up to the realization that I could bare my-
self honestly and deeply with a woman
without shame or fear of rejection. I told
her I masturbated in the shower several
times a week. She wrote back and said
she did too.
And I told her other, more personal stuff.
I kissed her ... by email. Yeah, on the net
kisses aren't contracts, and you learn the
subtle difference between holding your
breath and chaining the soul. Annabel
helped me understand fun, how fantastic
life could be and what freedom is.
However, depression is a snake. It clings
like ivy around my shoulders from time to
time.
This summer my wife took me to Nags
Head, North Carolina. We went to a
restaurant and lounge called the Wind-
mill Point overlooking Roanoke Sound.
The décor of the place held the largest
collection of memorabilia from the S.S.
United States.
The barstools were all marked with
plaques of famous people who had once
sat their ass in them. I found Marilyn
Monroe's barstool and ordered a rum
and coke with a cherry in it. Next to her
spot was Jack Kennedy's and I wonder-
ed what he drank.
Of course my wife drank too much and
I had to drive us us back to our beach
condo. She was on the bed snoring be-
fore I even had my clothes off.
Somehow the beach seemed ripe for me,
and balconies always made me think of
Lorca. I always imagined diving off some
balcony, my long white silk scarf flowing
against the air, my hair cutting through
like a Chinese kite.
And for that moment, that one moment,
I leaned over as far as my torso could ex-
tend, still looking at the moon which
was bent like half smile...
and I thought about going over.
The moon seduces, especially on bridges
and balconies. Fireworks exploded from
the far side of beach past the pier. The
sight and sound jolted my thoughts and
I pulled back. My hands started tremb-
ling and I sat down in a plastic chair,
moist from the sea breeze.
My wife's left over cigar was still sitting
in the ashtray.
I lit it and tried to blow rings.
##
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