blues has dissipated. again, wasn't no thing, a minor case of feeling sorry for myself, for no reason. food lifts the spirits, which i've been eating in abundance, esp. today, i ain't no gourmet, but a gourmand, a fucking pig. and so chatting with steve caratzas for about 25 minutes or so this afternoon was another boon, a major lift. something in his voice that sounds familiar, like i've known the guy for years. very cool, and very comfortable talking with him.

anyway, he called me at work, the end of the day, from his office which is located near times square. i've never been to nyc, it's sorta a mythical place to me, and even tho i think wherever you are is the center of the universe, you must live in yr own skin and mind, in whatever town or country, the thought of being at times square is sorta like, to me, the thought of being at disneyland to an 8-year-old. on 42nd st. were the old grindhouses, dilapidated theaters specializing in exploitation films which thrived before the area was disneyfied, and made safe for families. i told steve of a marvelous book about the 42nd st. grindhouses. i think i've linked to the authors' website before, but i promised steve i'd send him the link, so here it is. the book is a rich trove of wild history on the films, the theaters and the characters that inhabited those cinemas. it's been a steady favorite of mine for 4 years. where else on earth could you by crack, witness a couple of hustlers scamming a mark, and watch umberto lenzi's fucked-up cannibal ferox all at once? sounds like paradise to me.

our talk ranged from movies to poets and poetry to music. then holy shit, i accidently hung up on him when anna called to say she was on her way to pick me up at the office. felt like a hot turd.

peace out