  And I feel, so much depends on the weather So is it raining in your bedroom? And I see, that these are the eyes of disarray Would you even care? Stone Temple Pilots I’ve been listening to Core for the past few weeks, on and off. The critics dismissed STP’s first album as a mediocre Nirvana knockoff, but what do they know? It’s pretty good. I got the CD from Bill, after he found a Sublime CD in my truck.
Sublime is good music to experience road rage by. I am an aggressive driver. I learned to drive in Boston and New York. For about a year (’79, when I did that horrendous stint with the church of Scientology, and did you know that Earth is a prison planet? ) I supplemented my meager existence working part time as a driver at a moving company in lower Manhattan called “Nice Jewish Boy” (run by Scientologists), down near Houston and Canal. I had fun doing this.
I was also taking “postgraduate” classes at NYU (auditing really, I hadn’t graduated Northeastern yet, having taken a year off to chart this unlikely course) in video studio production under the late Laszlo Benedek. The campus and the job were fairly close to each other. So I would either drive from Brooklyn (Canarsie Park area) in my 1974 Toyota Corona station wagon, or take the LL train into Manhattan. If I was working that day, I would get the day’s manifest, sign out a truck (17 or 26 foot), round up my crew, and off we would go into the stink and macadam of lower Manhattan. I learned to negotiate the regular grid pattern of the island’s streets and avenues quite well. Listening to the radio at high volume, and stoned more often than not (most mornings I would take a spliff on the pier for ‘breakfast”), I’d laugh hearing the drivers who would scream “your mother!
!” out of their windows if someone cut them off. That same year, I returned to Boston in late October, resumes school, and got a part time job driving cab. (Hack licenses were only $20 then). Most Bostonians are bad drivers (meaning aggressive), but I was tooling around in a Checker Marathon, which weighs about 3.5 tons, had a very loud horn, and would belch blue-black smoke from the tailpipe whenever I pulled away from a stop. I quit that job the same night I got robbed at knifepoint after dropping off a fare in Eggleston. It is difficult for me to write nowadays.
I rarely write about my sexuality, and generally don’t post my darker meanderings here. My 4th step (AA) is being (haltingly) completed, rather like flooring the gas pedal, and then immediately slamming on the brakes. Lots of black, smoking tire marks on the road. I am taciturn, brooding, reclusive. We were talking briefly on our chat yesterday about trust. I said that I trust myself (sometimes), my cat, and my truck – but that’s about it.
The walls that one nearly always builds around oneself are marked by bloody claw marks, documenting those times that I tried to scale those walls. I suspect that I will soon be making the effort once again. 
