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I remember going to parties in LA and this song was blaring.  My lush, wicked, wild youth living above the art movie house that True Romance by Tarrintino was filmed at, and it seems to be site of Tarrintino’s faves.  He used to sit in my cafe and write and i was totally oblivious.  My sole job during my youth was not giving actors and famous people any clue that I may recognize them and believe me it infuriated them.  I was in my own ostrich little world with my head in the sheltering sands while i worked the Eldorado espresso machine.  I had a system of listening to as much music and grooving along, smoking cigarettes while I poured almond and chocolate syrups for chocolate egg creams or Italian sodas.  On occasion as I am still known for, I would let a rip roaring signature laugh during an emerald road banter streak. One day I notice?  At first i could not possibly imagine what she was laughing at?  Then I realized it was like the Supremes and each woman had their intellectual beat nik rebel without a cause groove.  By night upstairs in the inner sanctum and near speakeasy was where only the insiders could go, all accept for of course my Mother.  We had a surrealist manifesto macabre den where a dozen people would come over and jam, making collages, writing poetry, painting, singing and Jim had his radio inside of his birdcage.  Jim who was a great poet slept in the cemetary one night and an own fell out of a tree and died on top of his head. Jim had an incognito bond with this dear owl and used every feather and talon as an homage in art pieces or poems.

My mother really was the high priestess, every 6 hours like a treatment she would recite a poem she had written and everyone was wont to do the same.  My mother then would pretend to make omelettes with beautiful crystalline multi colored marble eggs and just sighed.  When it was time to party?  We had a huge yellow Buick which belonged to our designated driver Snapper with a red afro. Going all over the hills of Hollywood and seeing the laboratories of Doctors in their mad scientist lairs I saw very odd creatures in formaldyhyde  jars.

Lots of underground singers like Candy Cayne and a friend wore the late John Belushi’s navy fedora with it’s polka dot band. I was known to go to 6 clubs in one night and then before the wee hours we listend to Brian Ferry.  It is so elegant, so lush and now i appreciate it more than ever.  I miss those days but not the excess of party lack of mercy.  6 years of foreign films and second run movies?  We all ate dinner in the theatre and it was grande.  I miss those days but I simply love New York.



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