February 21, 1924 – May 10, 2012

Go with God, dear friend

George in February 2012

George’s blog will remain up and running.

His friends and literary executors, Paul Sagan and Steve Susoyev, will post notices here as new copies of George’s work become available online and elsewhere.

“I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.“

Jack London
(framed beside George’s front door for
as long as any of his friends can remember)

It was so hot that I wore a blue-orange-green-red -white  and black t-shirt. The first time I haven’t been bundled up this year here in San Francisco.  Tomorrow I’m going to wear my I AM LOVE polo shirt.

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AH, YES, DOCTORS MAKE LOTS OF MONEY BY OPERATING.  NO MATTER WHERE YOU GO capitalism HAS ONE MARVELOUS ATTRIBUTE–IT IS SENDING THE ONE PER CENT TO BURN IN HELL FOR ALL ETERNITY AND THEN SOME.

A few posts ago I wrote about ANXIETY.  I received this e-mil fom CLYDE MCCONNELL: “YUMMY! Ii’LL HAVE ANOTHER HELPING OF ANXIETY, PLEASE! XO”

As for me–at 88 years old and three months my anxiety increases –I freak over loud noises but have to turn up my TV.   Don’t misunderstand. I AM NOT DEPRESSED. i/VE BEEN ABLE TO SLOW DOWN–SEE PEOPLE–ENJOY MY LIFE LIKE NEVER BEFORE. YES, INTIMACY

When I was a 40 year old firebrand of a Commie I didn’t think the WORKING CLASS got allergies.   I thought it was a myth made up by the one percent.  So when I started tearing up and feeling my head was heavy with snot it made me realize I was wrong.

ANXIETY IS THE PRICE OF A TICKET ON THE JOURNEY OF LIFE–NO TICKET–NO JOURNEY; NO JOURNEY–NO LIFE.  WE MAY RUN FROM ANXIETY AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE BUT WE THEREBY RUN FROM OUR OWN LIFE. ………………..AGAIN , WE ARE DAILY FORCED TO  CHOOSE BETWEEN DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY. THE PATH OF ANXIETY IS NECESSARY  BECAUSE THEREIN LIES THE HOPE OF THE PERSON TO MORE NEARLY BECOME AN INDIVIDUAL.

Swampland of the Soul–New Life in Dismal Places by JAMES HOLLIS

PETER–PETER–PETER!!!! Everywhere I looked–there he was on his bike GRINNING at me and handing me another pamphlet. “This one was on the CHARACTERISTICS  OF SEX  AND LOVE ADDICTION, George, he said.”  When I got home I glanced at it but didn’t read it all the way through.

About six months later I went to the upper balcony of the Strand . I was watching Joe Dalesandro  in TRASH when the movie came to a halt and the lights went on.  Three guys were down on their knees and one of them was naked.  However, what really bothered me was how—OLD–OLD–OLD  and UGLY everyone was.  I bolted down the stairs. Outside  I took in deep breaths of the fresh air.  I started to go to the Y for my work-out but then  moved down Turk Street to a scuzzy ADULT BOOKSTORE.  I BOUGHT   two dollars worth of  tokens and went into the “penny arcade.”  A skinny hustler looked at me and held up five fingers. I shook my head and hurried into a booth.  I closed the door behind me and was about to lock it when it burst open and a very fat black man pushed his way in and locked the door.  His hands were all over me. I tried to push him away–we struggled. I somehow  unlocked the door but then I heard a ripping sound.  Before I knew it I was racing  down the street. I reached for my wallet. It was gone and so was my back pocket.  I was panic stricken as I ran all  the way home.  I vowed to never go to the Strand or to a adult bookstore again. I watched television until two in the morning but then I cried myself to sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED

I was flabbergasted.  “What–what do you–”

“I’m Peter,” he said as he held out his hand.

“Uh–George,” I muttered.

“I’m a member of SEX AND LOVE ADDICTS ANONYMOUS,” he smirked as he stuffed a pamphlet in my handbag. He hurried to the exit. When I left the Y there was PETER on his ancient  woman’s bike.   There was a big grin on his face. “See you later,  George”

Not if I can help it, I muttered under my breath.  After I turned the corner I threw the pamphlet in the gutter.  I hesitated a moment as I stood in front of  the notorious Strand Theater.  The very–very dark upper balcony was a cruising  hang-out for older gay men. I paid my three dollars and and I found myself in almost pitch black darkness in the balcony. It stunk of piss and  I could hear heavy breathing. CONTINUED TOMORROW–HOPEFULLY.

!”