"gigi" redux
i was a surprised twenty-two year old college sophomore who couldn't believe the metro-goldwyn-mayor, vicente minnelli film "gigi" won nine oscars in l958, including "best picture," "screen play," and "cinematography," after all, i had become a mature movie critic, divorced young father paying child support, cleaning printing presses at night, college student and classroom daylight hours, cheap weekend entertainment, kalamazoo downtown theater saturday matinees, couple cans of blatz, backrow seat theater far side, definitely not impressed with "gigi's" lack of gritty realism, hard artistic creative touch, leslie caron, louis jourdan dancing and romancing in preparation for the great wedding and festival, maurice chevalier singing cute songs extolling the preciousness of "little girls," certainly not a better movie than the black-and-white forceful drama, "the defiant ones," curtis and poitier's chained brotherhood, ill-fated escape attempt, just missing the train and freedom, "gigi" failed in comparison to tennessee's "cat on a hot tin roof," screenplay with paul newman as "brick," "big daddy" burl ives, sultry liz, "maggie the cat," and, spencer tracy's "old man and the sea" role, definite oscar winning acting, playing, fighting, landing, losing the 'big fish,' later reading the new york times yankee box scores to the young boy, the dynamic presence of susan hayward's role, "i want to live," other side of the tracks prostitute convicted of murder, final gas chamber scene, all pretty heady stuff in the l950's, days when i was lean, fit, clean shaven,
possessing serious college diploma direction, sham happiness of high school days rapidly fading, anxious time frame familiar to most, rote "life, liberty and happiness" bullshit, good times for the letter sweater jocks, sexy cheerleader elites, time i believed college the path to success, lockstepped existence, classes, lectures, research papers, tests, ink-stained hands earning me saturday six pack matinees, rare tavern outing, dickens inn, blue collar factory bar with country-western music weekends out by the allied truck terminal near city limits, remembering late saturday night several lifetimes ago, making out in a blind pig that used to be blackburn's bar, brown bottle scuffle quickly escalating to major brawl potential, asking a fellow, "do you think someone called the cops," ever cautious, not wishing a monday morning audience with j. towner smith, ex-football coach and western michigan university dean of men, my question bringing an invitation to step outside and do something about it, made me realize it was time to haul ass and put some distance from the promising dancehall weekend romance, looking back at the sad eyes and longing glance of the pretty crippled girl, her cane resting on a table edge, wondering now if this ws the phantom persona of "laura," doppelganger ghost from the "glass menergie," waiting to be asked "will you by my muse, soul companion and lover," instead collecting bachelor's, master's degrees, and having an ill-fated run at ph-d fame, temporary doctoral student, michigan state university's east lansing campus, on the way to the tenured "mr. smith," college professor, ersatz intellectual, academic cripple without special language to hide behind, secure company of "genre," "milieu," "taxonomy," "erratum," the miscellany of "moot" this and that, completely cut off from reality, ignorant of the complexities of the human heart, mysterious intrigues involved finding, pursuing, securing love and losing it, now sad old graybeard poet, weary dude who drank too deep and long at the cup of ambition, coveting the celebrity of the "bitch goddess of success," marrying, fathering sons and daughter, estranging wives, smith children now grown living in parts distant, twice filling "house beautifuls" with splendid luxuries considered important, wrapped up in conspicuous consumption, orderly life from one university payday to the next college check, slow growing whisper, "it this what it means to have a life," suspecting that if comfort doesn't kill, it dulls the imagination, discourages new thoughts, wildass chasing something new and challenging, finally unencumbered again, insanity of "my lawyer says" contestings, searching for something larger then power, mall-mart goods, cycle of acquiring things that turn around and own you, relearning the artistic truth "freedom means being alone," sitting nights in a dark room, understanding "the dark is light enough" as a forgotten small magazine poet once stated, musing over past wives and marriages, wondering if i am really afraid of women, the intimacy of a sincere relationship, lonely poet, fleshy flaccid cock dormant appendage, quiet companion of shriveled old bag of a scrotum, testosterone levels doubtful, nervous energies near empty, feeling like chevalier, physical strength
weak and deteriorating, but the trusty brain skull cavity still young, thinking of new adventures, like maurice's "little girls," petite feminine boulevard beauties, flowering young ladies in the park and about town, imagining blood red nipples rising above soft fleshy breasts, passing electric thoughts of mysterious dark quim sedge deltas, wetness, wondering if another romance part of my final chapter, loving companion for graying poet, couple agreeing to suspend formalities,
live together without complexities, free to say "you look wonderful this morning," and, "i love you, i truly, truly do," spending unhurried days sharing poetry, taking time to ask about dreams, desires, and fears, talking out our feelings that unspoken might create black separating barriers, femme-muse-bard-lover
joys bridging vacuum between first birthing cries, final death sighs.
dream finis
past evening nightmares, frigid winter darkness, mid-aged poet no longer scared about mysteries of death and dying, black-nada-emptiness-finito, instead possessing growing fears of not having lived fully, worry dreaded big c had a terminal lock on my destiny vanishing after several weeks of paralyzing terror, annual clinic visit and physical revealing inconclusive white cell count on the blood chemistry workup, low readings suggesting poor immunity factor and worse case cancer scenario, distant quiet medico saying "we will repeat the tests in one month," time passing, three additional blood exams, waiting, desperately waiting, writing last will and testament, "in sane mind and sound body" decisions, no life-support statement, living numb mute existence, like captive actor with small cameo role, old black-and-white movie, sound off, theater empty, finally relief, white blood count rising to medical science?s acceptable level, later to be bothered with a genital rash, thinking could never be hiv infection, being "hetero" by choice, and living the quiet celibate existence, somehow and suddenly developing dribbly prostate irritations and interruptions, occasionally looking at younger, attractive women and trying to figure out how old age came upon me so rapidly, yet, living alone, a powerful imagination working overtime, probing remote, "may be" i have some how acquired a fatal infection, dying amid the social stigma, "well, he had AIDS, you know," stoically weighing symptoms and likely results, one day a letter arriving in the post containing terse comment from my forty-year old nephew living in the below the bridge indianapolis, "hoosier" flatlands, reading bill's insane scribblings, "we need a little truth in writing here, who are you talking to, tuesday morning came back from work and i had law crawling all over me, who are you talking to, 'unk,' you are not enhancing my ability to survive, come on and fess up, eh, who are you talking to," immediately thinking he's no threat, how could he get from indiana to the upper peninsula in the middle of a season in the "long white," no transportation, and he is probably broke, later recalling oswald, bremer, sirhan, "squeaky" fromme, mad personas that fired shots killing john lennon, wounding reagan, bill, older sister's son of a short failed ww ii, l940's romance and marriage, sudden exciting allure of a uniform, mystery of first time having sex, young billie growing up an abused child before the term dysfunctional invented, my mother's angry declaration, "you made your bed and now you lie in it," catherine barely managing with low telephone company wages, sharing apartment with another divorcee', mary, single parent, mother of "ritchie-bitchie," revolving collection of different boy and man friends, bill and ritchie left to their own selves, starting closet fires with stolen matches, tormenting the pet cat, time before child guidance, minimal school counseling services, wondering how to explain weird off-the-wall
letter, ravings of an ex-nam vet who ate too many drugs, mind scrambled and short-circuited, or outpatient metro indy "schizoid," suffering lows from after christmas holidays, severe depression from not taking his thorazine meds, anguished male persona deciding against manhood of heavy belt buckles, cheap 7-ll store cologne, weekends buoyed with jack daniel's wisdom and courage, instead turning to his twisted psyche, poring over volumes of dry academic texts, trying to assume a learned outlook, committing banal facts and figures to memory, becoming a walking ripley's "believe it or not," human edition, quick to challenge, ready to argue anything disputing his knowledge, changing the truth, making up information when demands made it necessary, living in fantasies, devotee to dungeons and dragons, eagerly approaching a new role drama participation, wondering if and when a whispery voice might suggest bill adding his distant uncle to the arena of action, explaining my last evening's nightmare, rushing about madly, shadowy gray
background, matted purple glow lighting the periphery, moving in slow motion holding a 357 magnum with single bullet, mentality of trophy seeking hunter, angler wanting to be certain of the kills, illusive bill image, nephew prey finally cornered, no escape possible, tightly gripping smith-wesson solution when another ghostly image appeared in the mauve foggy mist,
gun aimed at me, rushing the new adversary, hoping to force panic, dispatch the treat, deafening explosion, niter fumes and stink, warmness smothering my body, soaking in bloody rush, slowly losing consciousness, brain struggled whispers, "wait, wait, wait," as bill's shadow fading, knowing smile disappearing in the darkness, vanishing like cagey rogue wolf who has fooled the hunter and dogs, continuing to roam free.
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