thegrowlingwolf via the telephone has informed us that he didn't get any more written on his continuing serialized compendium of strung-together English words that keep spewing forth old-faithfully from the spontaneous geysers of his furry mind [One Spring Morning Off Spring Street], so far having vomited out 10 episodes. No, no one can make heads nor tails of any direction he's taking us in--we have inside knowledge that this tale has to do with a certain person he met in a bar in New York City on Spring Street called the Ear Inn--it's still there but it's been converted into a chic-chic watering hole for wannabe culturites, fops mostly, full of disjointed thinking in pathetic neo-nihilistic "whatever" types of self-promotion, their favorite sport while they chug apple martinis and the latest chic-chic drink made by some Brit...Jesus, we're getting just like thegrowlingwolf full growling, frowning, daring, frustrations, even to the point of DAMMIT having that full moon the Wolf Man was born under and lives under floating over our maintaining asses now in this NADA, which is all history is, NADA, and which is all the future is, NADA. Hemingway prayed to NADA and we here at The Daily Growler worship NADA, too.
thegrowlingwolf says he was terribly depressed today after reading and finishing reading Oscar Levant's book, The Memoirs of an Amnesiac, a funny but seriously distrubing book according to the Wolf Man, our human-animal-hybrid.
Oscar Levant at his worst, by Richard Avedon.
This book, again, according to the Wolf Man was compelling reading for him, a pianist, too, like Levant, a classical pianist who specialized in George Gershwin's classical pieces--Oscar lived with George Gershwin for a number of years--Levant, though, was also big with Tchaikovsky, Anton Rubinstein, and a student at one time of Arnold Schoenberg when he was living in Hollywood. Levant got hooked on peraldehyde back in the childhood days of psychiatry as practiced in the USA, the electroshock capital of the world. Levant suffered from manic depression but this was before the days of Zoloft and Prosac--this was the time of Milltown--barbiturates, and peraldehyde--and Levant became so obsessed by his neuroses he fell under the spell of the pills. It's funny but depressing, too, especially the chapter in which he describes being on the 3rd Floor of Mount Sinai Hospital in L.A., the psycho ward, trying to go cold turkey for three years--three years--started by Levant having a heart attack and not knowing it... The Wolf Man took this book very seriously and if the Yankees hadn't of won today--12-11 in the bottom of the ninth--Wolfie might have slit his throat--but nope, he's fine now--baseball is the Wolf Man's bad habit, especially this weird and wonderful year in baseball.
Tune in Monday for the continuing saga of One Spring Morning Off Spring Street--the eleventh episode--finally in DETROIT with Big Bad John and John's sister, Girl.
for The Daily Growler