BC&P Extra

I wear the mark of the haunted beast Prepare yourselves he likes you least The truth be told when thine grow old Ye hasten ends, thine soul is sold. ~ BCP

This morning I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. I heard the guy next door make a couple of his annoying, whiny noises. I said “God damn it” and I went into a major flashback to the 90's. The face of a former co-worker floated in front of me, mouthing his infamous words “I find that really offensive.” I've got a backstory of trade labor. I'm not going to blab endlessly about that. Just visualize that a woman who worked in non-traditional roles starting in the 70's must have either had a great sense of humor or a little spunk, but more than likely both. I could trade jabs with the best of them, nothing was ever mean-spirited or at least I never saw it that way. I managed to get along pretty darn well with people and I think people were happy to have me around. But something was creeping in, a new way of thinking. The Funcatcher. An ominous cloud, a heavy presence lurking in the corner. Suddenly the HR department became Operation Central. Ok. Before I go further, t...

I'm trying to find the words My life is a blur From the beginning of Black Sabbath  To the end. It's not that I lived everyday With the sound of their words But that they took me somewhere  When they started. My thoughts in this world  The actions I took Can all be traced to those days. The dreams, the mistakes The glad and the sad Were sparked by the visions That grew then. The year 1970 Experimentation my norm Images deepened and riveted With Sabbath. It's all a long chain  But that link has not failed  I cry when I think Of my strange stories. They ended you see On my 70th birthday, And I wonder how time has planned it. I haven't given in to becoming a ghost I fight each day in some unusual way To continue my life as expected. But I question the sign It has come to an end Please God let there be Another adventure around the bend. 07/06/25 My Black Sabbath dress.1970.

The Fourth of July, 1994. I had already made myself slightly known to The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poets by attending a few of their functions, most times a friendly crasher. There was going to be a get together on the back lawn. A lay down on blankets and watch the fireworks blowing off in nearby Folsom Field. It was a beautiful late afternoon. Not as hot as it can get, with an unusually muted glowing sky. Tables were set up with free food. Something a few of them there understood. Got David Dellinger to swipe a booklet, so he could return it to me as Abbie would. Things were just gentle and quiet. Unforced conversation. It wasn't necessary to be any such way. Observation was an art form. Time to get comfortable. There was no feeling weird. Be peaceful. I took my towel and sat myself on the ground next to Ginsberg. I was making it surreal because I like that feeling. He looked at me with his big brown knowing eyes and relaxed. The sky was purple. A deep purple befo...

I was born on the 5 th of July, 13 minutes after midnight under a full moon in mid-century America. You can't get more middle than me. Middle of the boomers, middle of the fifties. Just wishing I was born in the middle of nowhere. You hear sometimes about how it sucks for people born too close to Christmas... let me tell you how glorious it is to be born too close to the Fourth of July. It was before we all were all broken in half, which was something that had to happen in the natural course of the human existence. WWII ended after two of my siblings were born. My oldest sister was old enough to remember preparing for possible invasion because Nazi U-Boats were off of Long Island. Most people don't realize they sank a tanker near Montauk Point in 1942 and subs were off the south shore in wait. What I'm trying to say is that the stars gave us a break for a few years.** We usually went to my older sister's house for the Fourth. She lived further away from the city and...