Bits and Pieces from Waiting
You Do the Math – I Couldn’t Possibly
I have a confession: I’m an idiot when it comes to numbers. This is a source of great humiliation. Long before any drug experimentation, numbers broke apart when I looked at them. They became funny like little animated sticks and circles. A kaleidoscope that laughed at me.
No one can keep a silence longer than Peter Brook. Except of course a dead person and the corpse would squeak before Peter would blink. Peter Brook has been called a genius and an eccentric egomaniac. I believe Peter Brook is an adventurer and explorer.
A Moment in LA in the Eighties: Marlon Brando
The first time I met him I had to wait three hours [at his house] because he was swimming and getting a massage. I didn’t mind, because, of course, he was Marlon Brando, and there was something peaceful about his living room. When he emerged, he was at his heaviest weight and was wearing a sea-green muu-muu, but even so, his tremendous sexuality was not diminished. He had a power that was undeniable.
The Story of a Street Person
I was walking down Broadway on my way to a Korean deli. I saw two derelicts seated in the middle of the sidewalk. They were having a heated argument about Jesus Christ. One of them wore a jaunty cap pulled to one side, and there was tinsel in his filthy hair. A few steps further along, I realized that the “derelict” was my brother. I leaned down next to him, softly said his name and waited. When he finally saw that it was me, he let out a cry like a man who’d had a stroke and couldn’t express his joyous thoughts. We embraced a long, long time. His smell meant nothing to me.
New York City streets are dangerous. But ominous streets were the least of my brother Lincoln’s worries. The main enemy of the untreated schizophrenic is time. The schizophrenic deteriorates. The schizophrenic must use up an inordinate amount of energy dealing with paranoid delusions. It is the art of schizophrenia to sabotage any positive gestures of help.
On Yehuda Amichai
The phrase “He has become very thin/has lost his son’s weight” went through me like a shock. Simple. Lucid. Perfect. I bought the book, took a cab home, and sat with my guitar for hours, leaning over Amichai’s poetry. Yehuda Amichai began to restore my soul.
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