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A graphic autobiography by B.F. Postel |
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fancy free, live wire, fit-as-a fiddle, off-the-wall, Female, bon-vivant. to trip the lights-fantastic, walk-on-the-wild-side, sweep-me off my feet, singing-in-the-Rain, at the Shine-on-Harvest-Moon, up Happy-Go-Lucky Lane. keep it light, burn-the-candle at both-ends, sail into the Sunset, reaching for the stars, hand in hand, tete a tete, pied a pied, and rock-on. over-the-counter druggie, hot under-the-collar, loose cannon, good-time Charlies, without visible means of support. heavy baggage, weak kneed, shrinking-Violet, yellow-streaked, rubber-neck, cheap-skate, cry-baby, doubting-Thomas,’ worry-warts. shop-worn cliché’s, Johny-come-lately's, strolls down memory lane, up-the-creek, without a paddle, while shuffling off to Buffalo. channel-me, do-me, over and out. No need to send a photo, I can feel your vibes. on the-spur-of-the-moment, as it popped into my head, in a stream-of-conscious, while champing at the bit, in-a-rut, the wee-hours, at the Crack-of-Dawn. |
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The window of opportunity, knocking on my door. When the Sun comes up, in a glass house, at the Head of a Wooded-Hillside, a Stones-throw, from the of Rocky Cliffs, at the Foot, of a Babbling-Brook, by the Mouth, of the Meandering River. Tacking a gamble, one-of -a-kind, chance-of -a -lifetime, toss of the dice, in a win- loose situation. dressed to kill in the Middle-of-the-Night, waking up, from my Deep Sleep. |
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Raided Premises The Bell-Air Hotel a twelve story building near Needle Park was my domicile. West 72 street, across from the Dakota, two railroad flats on every floor occupied by dealers, junkies and more, mine just one flight up from the lobby door a rapid loud knocking...... I opened the door......... and a man ran through in quite a hurry when at the front door there was a great thump, I yelled to the stranger, the yard is dug ooooooouuuuuuttttttttt! three stories down, there was great danger as he disappeared in a flurry. The metal door rattling, as I rushed to answer, a swirl of blue uniforms, at least seven, Where the dope..........they screamed in deep voices, (he jumped was my thought) though I knew what they meant, the giggles were erupting, but I feigned terror, claiming he was my boyfriend, wheres the stash. Never did I know the strangers name, he was not a resident, no local fame. theres a man down there, I went to look, a funnel of flash - light highlighted a circle on a reclining body, in a long black coat. |
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No one spoke as they sipped and slurped, all in unison, the spoons clacked, against the porcelain bowls oversized spoons all dripped and splashed, in slow motion movements to their lips. discomfort and silence, in addition the precision performance, of mouths opening, mouths closing, like Radio City Rockettes was a delight, the strained atmosphere, puzzled faces, as I bent over laughing, to this very funny sight. |
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small sleazy hotel in San Juan......,a big comedown after our ocean front apartment in Isle Verde, but it was all we could find in a hurry......Yo Yo (my ill mannered Dachshund) had attacked the owners watch dogs and I was screaming........blood was all over my dog, it was the watch dogs blood. Yo Yo, with his short paws, had defended himself. The landlords ordered us out by nightfall. My boyfriend, a saxophone player at one of the Clubs had to work that night. We moved in with his family after a few days on Calle La Luna, outside of San Juan, they had huge German Sheppard guard dogs in the back yard. Next door were a group of Dobermans behind a chain link fence, that Yo Yo teased by digging at the foot of their fence to get them,,, often I had to grab him and run because the Dobermans were frothing, snarling and Jumping. |
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