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Grief
A Short History Of Part Of North Carolina
With Some Names Changed To Protect The Innocent, The Guilty, & The Dead
They had locked chains around Lester’s skinny ankles. The faded blue prison shirt and pants fitted poorly on Lester’s five-eight body, all of a hundred pounds. “Lester won’t come out,” Bambi said. She was right. Lester hanged himself in his cell within the year.
May 1976Feeling G--d
I’ll start with feeling bad. It’s a bone with a little — you should pardon the expression — meat on it. Tears are tears. Nobody needs to tell you how to feel bad. It’s as natural as bleeding. As natural as concentration camps, impotence, or saying the wrong thing.
September 1975An Open Letter To Ram Dass
It’s been more than a year since we met. Unless your recall is better than I imagine, I doubt you remember me. We talked for an hour; I was, ostensibly, interviewing you, for the first issue of THE SUN. In fact, I just wanted to be with you, and needed a good excuse.
April 1975The Good Times
Here I am, at the end of another long-term relationship. This time seems easier than the last, but I can’t really tell — time blurs my memory out of focus.
June 1974
