Just when you think the best thing you ever did

writing-wise was lost forever, it turns up again.


(This is an R-rated blog, so if you got the iggies, OUT! NOW! Just scram, ok?)

It was under circumstances that were less than happy. Looking at it again for the first time in nearly eighteen years, I wondered where I found the energy to do that, considering all the terrible things that were happening in my life at the time.

I was still living in a 17 sq. meter one roomer with a cooking niche, my 'radio Cairo' days. Communal shower and wc out in the hall. So-called because two of my three neighbors were from there, and Sundays their radios were tuned there and overwhelming. Coptic Christians, not Islamists. And crazy Julius, 'the Joker', badly asthmatic, and so-called because he thought he had the winning numbers in the Joker part of the lottery one week, and I went ape-shit for joy for him, because it was just another sign that you can be lucky once in your life, but he mis-read and one of the numbers didn't match after all. Nada.

Their predecessors, (I'd lived there a long time...) were just as 'colorful'. First there were only two heroin addicts next door. Scary people, but they disappeared fast. A bisexual guy across the way from me, who really loved his rent-boys, and took a wealthy but rather deformed looking lady named Helga for a ride financially, and who would pound on his door and yell, 'Heli, mach AUF!' (Heli being the diminutive of Helmut, and the other, 'Open UP!' ) Usually at the most inopportune moments, btw, when he had a rent-boy in there, for example..... who had to slip out of the window and over the veranda when he let her in. High drama. Oh yes. A mess. Last I heard, he is in Thailand, working for the ministry of the exterior, and happy.

Just when you think some people would get their come-uppances, they live happily ever after..... Maybe you have to be outrageous to get on in life. Sheee-it. What do I know? I wasn't brought up that way....

And a recently divorced guy named Walter, who went nuts, I tell you, NUTS, because his window was to the side street, and all he heard nights were the whores plying their trade in the building across the way, and it frustrated the hell out of him. 'The whores, the whores! I can't TAKE this, I tell you, I can't TAKE this any more!'

And that was just in my little building. The one across the way was even MORE interesting..... But won't get into it here.

Did I mention this wasn't a classy neighborhood?

And NO, those weren't the terrible things happening in my life. I kind of liked all that, where can you find such fodder if you aspired to write, ok?

No, the terrible things were job-burn-out, and am STILL there, nearly two decades later, and a friend whom I perceived as avaricious, and whom I wanted to leave at the time. Who weasled his way into an inheritance, which is only my perception. Wanted me to move to a 'fine' new neighborhood, in a house that was a bottomless pit for needing renovations, and my first reaction was: 'Sell that sucker and buy us a little bit of land and move into a pre-fab house, and live happily ever after. please!' American Dream, anyone? Do I hear takers?

Wasn't to be.

I was trying to console my half-sister, who is sort of beautiful dark chocolate of complexion, and who married a bisexual white-bread guy who decided to have an affair with a Chinese guy, and died of AIDS.

Our mother was messing up our relationship, and the good connection we had.

She managed to ruin EVERYTHING between us, manipulator extrodinaire....

Tama was the far better writer.

The best friend I ever had was dying of AIDS, just to make things really perfect.

Stress, in other words.... You either get through it, or you jump off a bridge into the nearest river.

And with all that unbelievable crap in my life, I actually wrote a play and finished it.

God, was I naive and optimistic.

Today, I was packing, as the 'fine' house looks like a ruin again. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the English say. And my friend can't live alone any more. And I needed a carton to put some stuff in. And hey, whaddaya know? A copy of my play. With the cover letter. And the Schilling stamps to ensure a reply and return.

He said I gave it to him.

I was so distracted, I believed it for the moment.

See, am so dumb and distracted, I really believed it. Till the penny dropped.

He probably thought I might have some sucess with it, took that copy from my table when I was about to send them all out, and hid it. Oh yes, he thought it was good. And he had a LOT of experience with theater and actors, and so on before he landed back in his home town.

Huh. He was afraid.

Doesn't matter now. But I was so happy to have my baby back, I didn't think about the whys or wherefores. At first.

And that play WAS my baby. I sweat blood over it.

Just when you think you come to terms with someone, you find they betrayed you in the worst possible way, and it is so perfidious... well let's just say it's too late for anything, so why get upset about it. But this one cut to the marrow.

Just when you think, hey.

When I get back to work, I can scan it into a word doc and publish. Some of it is funny-. Some of it frightened me, because I was so angry.

And my first reaction was: where the HELL did I get that energy to DO all that?

So, next in this theater: Thanksgiving

Gonna be a bumpy ride, ok?

just when you think you've seen it all....

Someone comes along and shows you what you never wanted to know or even conceive of.

Here in Austria, they have a nice saying about things like that, nice because it's a head-shaking, well-whaddaya know sort of gesture, not denigrating: 'God's got a very large zoo...'

Sums it up.

Apropos what, my non existent readers ask? Was having a discussion two days ago, and it was about the adult diaper baby scene and the scandal involving David Vitter. And someone came up with something so odd that they had seen on E-Bay, that I was amazed, sort of bemused, and well, let's just say, unsettled, as it was also so infantile. Am not gonna go into it, because it is trivial, but let's just say that it put the character of Susie (I think that's the name, long since I read it) in 'The Hotel New Hampshire' by John Irving in a whole new light. The one in the bear suit.... (that book saved my life a couple of times with the phrase 'keep passing the open windows' btw. Odd, what sticks in your head....)

Great balls of fire, how long has that been going ON???
Did he know ???

Oh well, better than contemplating Mr. Vitter's oddity. We go through life with blinkers, like dray-horses, I guess, and that is good so. Like Annti, I have no understanding or acceptance of that. She uses stronger language, but I can understand it. She's still young and angry, like me before I got ground down. For people who have seen their closest have to use Depends, no understanding, no tolerance.

Me and my friend have been through gangrene, open sores, three amputations, a stroke on his part, me being lamed and a brain fluid infection carefully coming back to life on my part. And so, well... some people have twisted imaginations, I guess....But Annti put it much better....

Just when you think, hey....

(Shakes head.....) God really DOES have an awfully big zoo....

A Matter of Heart

At the end of his semester vacation, David Clark found himself at the Yugoslavian/Austrian border with a minimum of funds, partly due to his own extravagance, and partly due to the sudden devaluation of the dollar that February. Thus he broke a long-standing rule and hitched a ride with the two Athenian truck drivers he met while waiting to get through customs.

Their truck was fairly old, and the cab was curiously decorated. There was a white plastic Madonna affixed to the dashboard. Beneath it, where the radio should have been, hung a yellowing pin-up from a back issue of Playboy. Way back. An obligatory string of worry beads dangled from the rear-view mirror, and an icon depicting a garishly impaled St. Sebastian was stuck into the visor over the driver’s seat. The windshield itself was lined with a fringe of red pompons. And it was through this frame that they first spotted Anne-marie in silhouette against a slate-grey sky that threatened snow.

They had left the border at nine in the morning. David sat on the motor cover between the driver and the co-driver. The driver’s name was George, he learned, and spoke only Greek. George had long brown Jesus hair and a mournful face reminiscent of an Afghan hound. Paul, the co-driver, looked like an over-fed fox, short and stubby, his eyes close set, his nose pointed, and his face furred with three days’ worth of beard.

He had soon discovered that Paul spoke fluent English. He had spent some time in America with relatives, presumably learning English for truck-drivers, David thought, as Paul’s language was peppered with profanity. They had stopped in Leibnitz for coffee in a diner frequented by Bulgarian colleagues, and then in Graz to grease the axles, but finally they had made good time, until they spotted the girl.

She was standing on the side of the highway, just outside of Leoben, and as they had done constantly since David had been with them, they blew the air horn and whistled and waved. David saw the girl smile at this enthusiastic greeting, and then she held her arm out, indicating she wanted a ride.. George did a double-take, then braked.

David shifted on the motor cover between them, and wondered whether they were going to put him out of the cab in preference for her. Paul and George had other ideas, however. Paul hoisted the girl up into the cab and told David to tell her to make herself comfortable in his lap, which she did.

“Hi, my name is Annemarie, thanks for stopping.”

“”I’m David. I’m studying in Salzburg, and these guys gave me a lift from the border. Where are you going to?”

“I have to get to Bischofshofen. A friend of mine is in the hospital there.”

“Oh, am sorry to hear that. Is it serious?”

“Yes, I feel really terrible, you know? I had an accident about two weeks ago, and she was in the passenger seat. We skidded on a patch of ice and went off the road. She broke her leg, and I didn’t get a scratch. I feel sort of guilty; by rights it should have been me.”

David translated what Annemarie had said into English for Paul, who relayed it in Greek to George. And this formed their method of communication for the time they would travel together.

After the basic introductions there ensued that silence which often occurs between strangers, and a subtle, mutual sizing up took place. David guessed that Annemarie was twenty-five or so, and later found that to be correct. She was good-looking he thought. Her hair was auburn and fell loosely onto her shoulders. She gazed at each of the men directly and without embarrassment. Her eyes were deep blue, and seemed naïve. A spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose added to that impression, an impression that was spoiled by a cynical hardness in the set of her mouth..

“We haven’t been making very good time, yet,” David said. “I’ll be glad to get to Salzburg, believe me. This metal is boring right into me. Will you be able to get in to see your friend, or are you going to wait until tomorrow? I don’t think we’ll make Bischofshofen in time for visiting hours.”

“Oh no, I won’t be able to stay over. I have to hitch back and pick um my daughter.”

“You’re married?” David asked.

“No, she too was an accident. I left her with my mother.”

“How old is she?”

“My mother?”

“No, your daughter,” David said smiling.

“She’s six.”

“Oh, I see..”

“Do you really? That’s what they all say.”

David looked out at the road, embarrassed that he had been tactless. It was beginning to snow, and the mountains seemed to close in about them, naked and menacing. “That’s all we need,” he muttered in English.

Paul brightened. “Hey don’t worry, man. We drive up here in winter all the time.”

“Without winter tires, or chains.”

“Sure, all the time. No problem.”

David wondered about that. George broke out of his long study of Annemarie and let loose with a long remark to Paul in Greek. Paul then turned to David.

“My friend, he just talk now. He say---you know what?”

David smiled. “No, what?”

“He say, he likes Austrian girls better than he likes German girls. You know why?”

“No, why?”

Cupping his hands before him, Paul said, “because they got bigger tits, you know? You ask him that.”

It took David a moment to realise they wanted to relay this amazing anatomical fact to Annemarie. George and Paul looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to begin. Reddening, he repeated what Paul had said, but substituting the word ‘breast’.

To his surprise, Annemarie laughed. “Tell him that’s because we’ve got bigger hearts.” David did and the drivers laughed raucously. Annemarie asked him where he had spent his vacation.

“In Athens.”

Paul overheard, and understood that much. “You were in Athens!” he exclaimed. “How come I didn’t see you there?”

“I don’t know,” he laughed. “Athens is big.”

“I’d love to see Athens,” Annemarie said.

This statement, when translated excited another outburst from George, who had looked more mournful than ever, being confined to Greek and the few things Paul had related to him.

“My friend, he say you come to Athens this summer? You ask him that.”

David relayed the invitation to Annemarie.

“I’d love to come, but I’m afraid I couldn’t afford it.”

“My friend, he say go got no money, its no problem. But she really come? My friend, you know, he waits. Not good if she don’t come. You ask him that.”

“Of course I’d come if I say I will,” she assured David. And after a moment’s pause, added “But tell him that doesn’t mean that I’m in love with him or that he would have to marry me or anything like that.”

“Of course not,” David said dryly, which elicited a calculating look from her.

David watched the road for a while. The snow fell heavily now, and visibility was lessening by the minute. They approached and by-passed Radstadt. “You really won’t make it to Bischofshofen in time. It’s already five pm,” David said.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” she replied.

David shifted on the motor cover and cursed himself for not having waited for a car to pick him up. Annemarie was admiring an eagle tattoo on Paul’s forearm.

“I got that put on in prison,” he said brightly.

“Why were you in prison?” David asked curiously.

“Oh, they said I did something,” Paul answered evasively. “Hey, let’s get something to eat. Maybe Annemarie knows a place where it’s good for the truck. You ask him that.”

Annemarie did know of a Gasthaus, it was situated high up on the side of an elongated valley above a picturesque village, but had a flat parking lot where it was easy to park the truck. They went inside, being self-conscious about being somewhat grimy in contrast to the gleaming accoutrements of the restaurant. They were the only guests, however, and took a table in the far corner of the dining room.

The waitress approached and stiffened at the sight of them. When Annemarie asked for the menu in her unmistakeable Styrian dialect, the waitress’ frown deepened. “The kitchen is closed. There are only cold cuts and soup.”

“Well bring us the menu anyway,” Annemarie snapped. The waitress departed slowly, her mouth curled in disapproval.

“What’s the matter?” Paul asked, puzzled.

“Nothing,” David said uneasily. Paul’s eyebrows lifted quizzically. “Really, she is having a bad day, or something.”

The waitress returned and laid one menu on the table rather forcefully. David said, “I’ll have a goulasch soup and a glass of beer please. The others decided not to order anything at all. David felt foolish and paid in advance. When his order arrived, and began to eat, Paul decided to give him a lesson in manners, which caused each succeeding bite more difficult to swallow.

“In my country, we don’t do things like that, you know? When we eat, we eat together, or just drink, and everybody drinks. But not just one person eating and the others not.”

“I didn’t know you weren’t going to order anything. You said you were going to eat,” maintained David defensively.

“All the same, everybody in my country, they eat together or not at all.” David pushed his half-full bowl of soup aside, and said, “Ok, lets go then.

As they filed out, the waitress was still glaring, and David was feeling angry enough to blame her for his breach of etiquette. “Thank you so much for your ‘hospitality’, he remarked as he went by.

They by-passed Bischofshofen and headed toward Werfen and the Lueg Pass. They were able to talk Annemarie into trying ano9ther restaurant before crossing it.

“Are you going to hitch a ride to Bischofshofen from here?” David asked wonderingly.
“No, I’m going to Munich with them.”

They found another Gasthaus where they were served by a friendly staff, and had a substantial meal. Paul asked about Annemarie’s background through David.

“He wants to know where the father of your child is.”

“I haven’t seen him in a long while. We were in school at the time, and although we loved one another, he married another girl who had money and came from a better family. He didn’t really lover. But that’s the way things happen sometimes,” she said philosophically.

The discussion turned to politics and comparisons between different countries and cultures. David expressed admiration for the Austrian brand of Socialism, while Annemarie criticised the same bitterly. “But you are wrong, here you are put into a slot. Because you are born into one family, you are trapped in their milieu. It is still a backward nation in many social respects.

Paul summed up over coffee. “Maybe you don’t like your country, you know? I don’t know. Me, I don’t like my country, Annemarie, she don’t like her country. You know why? Fucking politics! And the people,” he continued, “they don’t got no heart. They look to this side, they look to this side, but they don’t look at me! Maybe, you know, maybe they heart is good. But not for me, “ he concluded sadly. George seemed to follow that and nodded in his mournful way, never taking his eyes off Annemarie.

Paul paid the entire bill, and when they went out into the parking lot, they found that so much snow had accumulated that the truck was stuck. George didn’t even have a shovel to dig them out so David borrowed one from the Gasthaus owner. Annemarie considered going on alone, as the storm was worsening. But they discussed that with a sense of shame, feeling that they had shared a private part of themselves with these strangers, and to go on alone seemed to David to confirm that statement of Paul’s which was still in his thoughts: ‘The people, they got no heart.’

It took them two hours to free the truck and had gotten close to ten pm. They began their ascent of the pass. Because they had no winter tires, the trip up into the night seemed endless. They gained about one meter every thirty seconds, and David fully expected that they would suddenly let loose and slide crazily down the mountain, a scene from a silent film. But they finally reached the top without mishap.

The descent was all the more hair-raising for that. The truck was equipped with air brakes, and each time the air supply grew low, George had to semi-jack-knife the truck to allow them to fill again. The atmosphere was tense, and no one spoke. Half-way down, they came upon a wrecked truck that had tilted into a snow bank. The motor had fallen out onto the road, and was afire. George stopped, and Paul said, “We must help. They are from Greece. Like brothers, you know?” He waded out into the snowdrifts. David toyed with inner visions of the Donner Party. A few minutes later Paul returned. “They say help is on the way. We can go.” The descent continued without further incident.

Some time after the road had become relatively level again, they saw an exit sign for Salzburg. Pointing to it, Paul said, “We better let you out here. It’s good for the truck.” David squinted to see where the exit was, and assumed it was over the next rise. “Ok,” he said, and they braked.

“Are you really going to Munich with them?” he asked Annemarie.

“Of course,” she said, and smiled strangely.

“Well then good luck,” David said as he climbed down from the cab and thanked Paul and George.

“Same to you”, she replied, “you’ll need it.”
David looked up at her not comprehending. Paul pulled the door shut, and the three of them drove off laughing. David trudged through the whirling, blinding snow, and reached the top of the rise. There was no exit. He would later discover that they had let him out more than twenty miles south of Salzburg, once an understanding had been reached between Annemarie and Paul. As it was, David turned his back to the wind and faced the sparse on-coming traffic. And as one vehicle after the other passed him without stopping, he suddenly laughed. “Yeah, the people, they got no heart”, he said.

The Witch... we all grew up with one, right?

The Witch
The wicked Witch of Pleasant Street
Lived in a brick apartment block.
She was the only tenant,
But her yard was full of sunflower stalks.


The wicked Witch of Pleasant Street
Looked very mean, had wild white hair,
And undernourished greyish skin,
And fiery eyes that madly stared.

She'd laugh a cackling shrewish scream,
And scolded us when evening came.
For then we'd gather in her court
To tease her and to play our games.

Oh wicked Witch of Pleasant Street,
You let yourself be fooled.
You acted out the evil role
That we assigned to you!

We'd shout, 'Come out! We're not afraid!'
And clamoured in the twilight's damp.
You'd stand before your window,
Scream, 'Begone, you little tramps!'


We'd yell, 'Come catch us on your broom!
Come out and fight the slaughter!'
And when you had enough of us,
You'd douse us with hot water.


Oh, Wicked Witch of Pleasant Street,
You played into our hands,
We needed someone old and mean
To play our fears and child's demands.


I know today you had it rough.
Your husband died in Europe's war.
Alone, you had a child to raise.
You had no job. You were dirt poor.


I feel ashamed when I look back
On all the grief we gave to you.
We only wanted fairy tales:
Giants, dwarves---and witches too.


Oh, Wicked Witch of Pleasant Street,
We never gave you one small thought.
But was it really fairy tales,
Or eccentricity we fought?


All children find their Wicked Witch.
There's one in every neighborhood.
She's always the outsider
In a world defined as 'bad' or 'good'

Middle Street

Cruising the Middle Street Market

Middle Street row-houses sweat,
Their once red brick now black.
Soot runs into each crack
Along walls shining dully and wet.

Once proud neighborhood in years
Before Depression Great
Humbled it, filled it with hate;
Filled it with immigrant workers tears.

Middle Street families are gone.
Left are the aged and
Helpless, who try hard to stand
Up to everyday tasks. Life goes on.

Dog Day’s become steaming night.
And on the asphalt walk,
Scribbled in urchins’ chalk,
Is a protest against urban blight.

My footsteps echo quite loud,
And above me a head
Seems to watch me with dread…
As though I were not one, but a crowd..-..

Headlights flare on the street.
Blinded, I falter, then
Walk onward slowly when
I see it’s cop on his beat.

Once more around the block, then.
Seeking companionship.
Seeking a quick trip
To the Millyards, for sex between men.

Parked on the side of the street
Is a lank-looking man.
I look. He nods. As if planned
I get in, and his mouth and mine meet.

No words between us must pass.
He drives off a short way
To the Millyards. His hand strays
To my thigh, to my crotch, to my ass.

Two moments later we park.
Hot breath and roving tongues
Mingle and prod and plunge
Deep. Hands rip at clothing in the dark.

Cramped in the narrow back seat,
We thrust, adjust, and squirm.
He whispers, he wants my sperm.
His hands stroke, increase desire’s heat.

Then comes my on-rushing tide.
He flows, and then ebbs.
We drive back, nothing’s said
These are the rule by which we abide.

Alighting again alone.
I stare as he drives off…
Am suddenly aware of
The night and the heat and the soot black stone.

Middle Street’s seen better days.
When I was a child,
There were elms. The air was mild.

But together we all have decayed.