Hands Down Richard Le Gallienne

a poor boy

who Oscar Wilde took under his arm instead of under his bedsheets and gave him a sore bum.

But Le Gallienne and why I like him?

Because he struggled and never made a huge success but had the kind of heart you only find in fairytales of Gold and never gave up.

He was a poor Romantique who constantly had to borrow cash he couldn't pay back from his father (like me) and he arched so hard to fall in Love that he almost broke, but never did.  He wasn't the best father because he spent most of his time trying to hustle up money for sorry fuckers and spent the rest of his time in his lover's wet orchard, writing for pennies with pashion and drinking until his brain shut off and riding bicycles while wearing a velvet black cape with purple pussy satin inlay.  He loved

Animals
twilight
the smell of old books in a cellar
rotten apple stench
the sound of old floorboards
and creaking ghostly doors

old glass door knobs and the dust that settled on them
the quivering glistening lips
the petticoat left under a rotting tree

wisteria
fog
the tears of old men
he loved to think of the unraveling of Time
and how in almost anything good you can find a circle.

I love him because he LOVED

full and fucking Bright.

He wasn't afraid.  Even when the Nazis took him and his wife hostage and he was quite withered by then...he never lost the faith...not in God

but in himself and that of the heart of his wife.

(off the record of course, i liked that he fucked a lot, like a whole bunch.)

but what was great about his early fuckings is that all his fucking

was done under trees

before airplanes

were invented

but he lived long enough that one day in his early 30s?

he was sinking his scubatork into a lucious young maiden and out of nowhere came this metal bird machine

pissing and hissing like a devil trombone up inside the clouds

and his dick must have shrank like a melted elf's ear or the wicked witch turning into bogus cum...

i mean can you imagine...the only thing in the sky is the sun, the moon, the stars and the clouds and sometimes Rain...and then out of nowhere, while you are getting your sweet love ON, a fucking Metal Bird shoots through the sky like soaring death, black and full of loud and strange electricity???333

Wow.

So he wrote and never got famous.
He mourned the death of his friend Wilde
he buried one or two wives
and never got over their heartstrings.
his children remained far from him...one became famous...Eva Le Gallinne
he loathed hypocrisy like christ did, he loathed facism(sp) he loved people and all their wonderous colours and their sweet madness...

he loved exotique foodz
mixed drinks
probably sank his lips onto an opium pipe once or twice

and loved kissing his wife's pussy under poplar trees during the witching hour when the moon sank low like a cat claw, or cat fang.  Half...and pointed.

He died in America...up where Bob Dylan played music with the band.

he had a cat or two

he loved his wife

he loved pens and

he worshipped his library of fading books

bless his heart and yours Dave.