I took a stroll around a section of Passaic I hadn’t walked in since I lived on Paulson Avenue in the mid-1970s when my best friend and I used my apartment to write and record songs we hoped would make us famous and never did.
His death three years ago has left a hole in my life I can’t fill, even though I continue to record.
The walk stirred up those old memories, and then oddly, I stumbled onto a sign advertising the summer in the park concert series, only to discover that the band my poet played with for five years is scheduled to appear next Thursday, an odd bit of synchronicity since I have been typing in old journal entries from a decade ago, only to realize that there are still unresolved questions about that time in her life when she worked for the band– as to what she said to me, and what is implied in one particular poem she posted about that period in her life -- this regarding the small old woman who gobbled up boys and girls, and who went on to encourage her to take on a role she claims she had no predilection again.
She was married or about to be which means she worked her way thorough appointment books which she used for more than just laundry lists
And yet her claim that she never cheated on those she was romantically involved with is either a lie or she did what she did with the blessing of her husband.
She claimed the band members with whom she and her husband worked hit on her or were completely misanthropic around her and that she had to teach them how to behave.
Being as pretty as she is, and clearly the center of most men’s attention when on the stage, she may well have been more than a little tempted to engage with men (and maybe women) who came to see the shows, and saw her as kind of star. She could have made a good hunk of change wearing out appointment books, doing what I thought of when I first read the poem more than a decade ago.
Of course, all these years later, the point becomes moot, since she probably has gone on to some serious career, leaving behind all the clutter, and letting the memory fade away.
August 27, 2023
I took a stroll around a section of Passaic I hadn’t walked in since I lived on Paulson Avenue in the mid-1970s when my best friend and I used my apartment to write and record songs we hoped would make us famous and never did.
His death three years ago has left a hole in my life I can’t fill, even though I continue to record.
The walk stirred up those old memories, and then oddly, I stumbled onto a sign advertising the summer in the park concert series, only to discover that the band my poet played with for five years is scheduled to appear next Thursday, an odd bit of synchronicity since I have been typing in old journal entries from a decade ago, only to realize that there are still unresolved questions about that time in her life when she worked for the band– as to what she said to me, and what is implied in one particular poem she posted about that period in her life -- this regarding the small old woman who gobbled up boys and girls, and who went on to encourage her to take on a role she claims she had no predilection again.
She was married or about to be which means she worked her way thorough appointment books which she used for more than just laundry lists
And yet her claim that she never cheated on those she was romantically involved with is either a lie or she did what she did with the blessing of her husband.
She claimed the band members with whom she and her husband worked hit on her or were completely misanthropic around her and that she had to teach them how to behave.
Being as pretty as she is, and clearly the center of most men’s attention when on the stage, she may well have been more than a little tempted to engage with men (and maybe women) who came to see the shows, and saw her as kind of star. She could have made a good hunk of change wearing out appointment books, doing what I thought of when I first read the poem more than a decade ago.
Of course, all these years later, the point becomes moot, since she probably has gone on to some serious career, leaving behind all the clutter, and letting the memory fade away.
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