ending the day with the philadelphia story….

i wrote the title header to this note and closed the program.
i was going to launch a flurry of reminiscences of my own history with this film “the philadelphia story” and wander in the greytones for a while, but chose to wrap it up and look into that wealth of those colors in the next day or two.
black and white is the new green.

in my black and white night, that place in my digs where my desk sits to the left of the television, the soundtrack of time shifted from “42nd Street” to “sunset boulevard“.

the wind-down from the inauguration and the CBS no-show, when they said they were coming to BroadwayBK to witness the Thriller dance-off,….oh well, that’s show biz.
there’s a broken heart for every crack vial on broadway BK, you know….,but even that’s becoming passe’ in this area.

heroin and cocaine. there are upwardlicons even in times of economic upheaval, the most fashionable moving into the edgy bedwick-bushstuy, will find a way into that realm.
i remember a troubled kennedy hanging at scrap bar who would make harlem excursions. in the end, what he got in harlem got him to where he might presently be mingling with “the chin”, mr. Vonnegut, jesus, george patton and me (in the past, future and maybe even little bits of me right now!) – out there in the eighth-electro-plasma ocean of the ninth dimension. now, you gotta know someone very, very uptown.
it’s my job to mention that place. another link out there in googleland.
the grifting lizards swear they put it in my head and maybe they did.
i remember them telling me so. it was in one of those blogs back before i chose to call them webnotes, but it’s become my own personal google vanity link (just in case you’re new here) and owing to the unlikely event of my ever becoming “lunch and a suit” to one of those grifting lizards from mars, i’ve grown slightly protective of this wonderful place that transcends time, space and even access by the those kings and queens of the con themselves.
that’s one of the shortcomings of being almost-eternal.
the grifting lizards seem to go on and on, though they wouldn’t let on just how long they’ve been around.
after a late-night conversation in goodbye blue monday, there’s been a point made that “webnote” is about a word as bad as “blog” in describing what happens here and everywhere else in the borough of bandwidth, so the post-morning vote goes to the word “note”, the word i used back when i would put pen to paper, composing things to people that would be posted by a postal service and not by a blog.
maybe it’s my weak-kneed attempt at putting a little bit of physical humanity out there.
who knows why i do things? i sure don’t, sometimes; a lot of the time.

this is becoming one of those somnambulistic notes.
i write a sentence, close the file and watch a movie….do anything to avoid this. whine. whine. whine.
late last night, the producers was on.
i stayed awake long enough for zero mostel to utter these words;
This pin used to hold a pearl the size of your eye. Look at me now, LOOK AT ME NOW! I’m wearing a cardboard belt!

that was enough for me. i was just too tired and have been spending a little too much time in front of the picture box. i find a sense of denial behind a lot of what i do at times, whether regarding health issues (as i explain in the cancer blogs of two years ago), financial issues (probably me and about 200 million other americans), or occasional bouts of sadness that come to visit. that stuff is part and parcel of “who i am and what i’ve done” and pretty sure it’s something that comes to visit everyone, lingering where it can or has to.
i just realize where this “sense of extraordinary self-examination” came from.
last week i was getting a general check-up. as i waited, i was asked to fill out a questionnaire. it was about clinical depression.
simple questions; check the appropriate box-type answers – “never, sometimes, often, always” – with words like “anxiety, sadness, loser and doom” used in the “degree” tag.
i wondered if this was in response to the tanking of the world economy.
in case you’re still not getting it, the umbo box is sizzling hot with numbers flying out of control.
when i went in to see the doctor, there was another clipboard waiting for me with virtually the same questions. the only difference was the color of the paper. it went from white to yellow.
what’re you guys up to? i thought to myself.
is depression being proffered by the xanax people? are there that many out there?
(and am i one of them?) maybe i am, maybe i’m not, but in this age of professional “knowers” getting the word on people via clipboards in public places, is paxil gonna even me, or us, out?
i love the notion that a prescription is precisely what i need.
when i had hernia surgery percodan was prescribed, and i said “yes” to that.
i said “amen” to that.
i said “can i a refill?” and when i read “one refill” permitted i said,
“can i get a hallelujah?”
i’ll never completely stop being who that person is, nor do i want to.
it’s the little bit of that, “when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro” guy.
i’ve also been thinking about someone who may have had more to do with my writing than i’ll ever care to admit. his name is richard brautigan. he, like the “when the going gets weird,” guy ended their lives abruptly with firearms pointed at their brains. i had forgotten about that with Brautigan. these revelations alarmed and for a second i thought i needed a prescription.
i inventoried the authors that comprised my formative and teen years, the ones who made me think that words were my future….salinger, pynchon, steinbeck, vonnegut, miller, miller,….how many other literary suicides do i have to list….?
i never read hemingway.
does that account for something?
does that work out somewhere in the “gun-to-the-head” math?
…another morning reared its head and i moved onto another afternoon of chores punctuated by a brief run to sheepshead bay and an opportunity for maxx to run his heart out for 45 minutes. i hadn’t ventured far enough to meet with those con-artist lizards, i guess.
or maybe they just didn’t have anything to say to me.

looking at what i’ve written, i thought to delete portions of this.
it’s also gotten me to consider re-reading at least some of brautigan.

About stephen trimboli

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