Sunday, November 9, 2014


 I am 85! When I was 16, in New York, I was as devout and dedicated a Roman Catholic as one can be. I wanted to be a priest; more, I wanted to be a saint! I spent countless hours on my knees in the chapel while my school-mates played soccer and basketball. Once, I wore a wire hanger around my waist for six months, so that I would always be uncomfortable, like the saints with their hair shirts. When I was 17, in California, I was arrested for armed robbery, and served a year and a day under the California Youth Authority. The dynamics of the contrast between those two roles, and even the physical distance between them encapsulate, reflect the manic-depressive bipolarity that has tormented me since 1986, when I broke down completely and needed medication, therapy, and institutionalization for three years. So be it. I would like to be a centenarian, because "octogenarian" is such a crude sound, and "nonagenarian" such a negative one. Anything else about me that is important can be found in this blog, particularly in the older ones, the early ones (q.v.). 

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