I TOO JAMES DEAN OCT 1, 1955
Just as Frank O'Hara wrote, at the start of October,
'55, 'For a young actor I am begging peace, Gods.
Alone in the empty streets of New York I am its
dirty feet and head and he is dead.'
-
I felt a great connection - what else can I say?
The rest of it is schlock. Who in the world asks
Carole Lombard to 'be good to him up there' but
a flaming, discombobulated fag on fire with movie
mags? Don't you see? At 37 W. 53rd, or again at
326 E. 49th; in either place like here, I am taking
my mornings outside and writing. And reading too.
-
Like the spruce-headed, angel-fired hipster I
always never was, my head is filled with a
weed-soaked jimson weed to burst and catch
afire. I am hot with fury and all aflame. Now
words and torches are alike to me. I am
no savior, nor a saint-to-be.
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