I remember a day, out on Bird Cemetery Rd at our house where we popped the
rats with a 22 as they came out of the wall, we ate okra for 2 days cause
that's all that came up, where we floated on a sea of Balintine Ale and
ginger brandy - I think the window of your truck had met a mailbox - I
remember the announcement, I'm a bastard. Shit Ken we're all bastards look
how we're treating each other. No I'm really a bastard. It's amazing you
never became one of those people who think the world is out to get them. I
love the way you are just amazed instead of pissed.
I don't believe I owned any underwear at that point in time portland or
otherwise.
Sorry I missed you and the Miss on your pass through, tell me next time so
I'll be here. Hope you guys and gals have a lovely pig out From the remnants
of the majestic foothills of the mighty taconic mountains ctb
----- Original Message -----
From: "Gabriel Orgrease" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, August 07, 2003 5:16 AM
Subject: Re: BP Preservationeers in Portland Cement Underwear
> Met History wrote:
>
> > In a message dated 8/6/03 9:27:24 PM Eastern Daylight Time,
> > [log in to unmask] writes:
> >
> >
> >> I remember when you suggested
> >> reading "Tis"
> >
> >
> >
> > was i right?
> >
> > biological father? how did you track him down? c
>
> C
>
> No histo presto behind this door. My biological father was a Cornell &
> Columbia Teacher's grad. He was from Ridgewood, Queens. My mother was in
> love with him. At the paternity suit, in Ithaca where my mother lived,
> daughter of a carpenter, my biological father excused himself to go to
> the bathroom. That was the last contact we had with him up until the day
> Mt. St. Helens blew. My mother was sent off to Buffalo to an unwed
> girl's home for a while before she could return to Ithaca. I lived with
> a foster family in Elmira for two years, Missy Julip's territory. Every
> weekend my mother came to visit me. My mother met a guy that made her
> laugh and they married. Nobody told me anything until I was in my 20's.
> The foster family used to come on odd visits and I always thought they
> acted strange. My stepfather was running off on his series of other
> women. The first woman threatened to tell me, so my mother was forced to
> take action. I was relieved. The hard part for me was my mother telling
> me that my blue eyes reminded her every day of her true love. I never
> got along too well with my stepfather, a bit of psychological & physical
> abuse -- for which my brother, the true son of the untrue father, may
> have inherited the brunt. In the mean time my biological father off in
> California married, raised a family of five kids, and became dean of a
> college for science teachers. He also wrote a few HS science books that
> were widely known. I was precocious in the sciences in school until I
> decided to waste my life writing bull (the reason for looking up ASCII
> cows). My mother was a telephone operator, she supported the family, and
> unless someone is out about in the world really trying to hide when you
> connect a Cornell alumni directory with someone who knows the telephone
> system you can find people. So I knew how to find my biological father
> for about seven years before I called him. What I knew of him then fit
> on half of one side of a small index card. The reason I called him was
> that we were going to have a son born and I thought he might be
> interested. At first he was not. It was a rather terse and brief phone
> call. He called me about two months later and was peeved that I had not
> called him to tell him about his grandson. It was not long after that we
> met in Penn Station. I was living in MD at the time. He put me up for a
> weekend in a hotel in Manhattan and I met his wife. His wife had not
> known of me or his relationship to my mother. I do believe that he was
> relieved when they got divorced. We met him once again for Thanksgiving
> dinner at our railroad flat apartment after we had moved to Brooklyn. My
> mother has been on the West coast and has met with my father. He tried
> to keep in touch with us but it was too late for my needing another
> father, and my son has never quite known how to deal with any of his
> grandfathers. Last I heard my biological father was living on an island
> in a lake in Wisconson owned by his girl friend. He likes to read books
> and proclaims himself an agnostic. I also met my half sister. One
> half-brother was a writer for the Berkeley Barb, another a schizophrenic.
>
> There, a bio-encapsulation.
>
> ][<en
>
> --
> To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
> uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
> <http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>
--
To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
<http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>
|
