Escape from New York: The Flight of Anado McLauchlin…

…you know I am reading this book about an old friend in New York from the 70's and I have to look around and find some wood to knock on or throw some grains of salt over my shoulder….and thank the gods and goddesses and all the Teachers and allies and situations that led me to flee New York and the jaws of an early death around 1979.  It was such a wild and indulgent time…I remember remarking to friends one night on Christopher Street that I was not long for the Gay Ghetto that had seduced this corn fed boy with a  shit eating grin when I fiirst arrived in Gotham City.  The cards and circumstances fell into place and miraculously I met a woman in an all night restaurant where I was serving BLT's and she illuminated some facts for me and pointed East to India… and… I was no longer in a black and white film…..I look around me this morning and realize how fortunate I am.  My friend got famous and was a cult figure for some.  We had a lot in common but our choices were different.  He was extremely talented and the allure of fame is enticing…I had wanted that at one time…but there was this part of me that could not hold the pose and I craved authenticity…still do.  I consider myself a lucky man…I can still feel the bones of the young man in me and how these bones recognized the need for a resurrection of sorts…and how these bones got on a big jet plane and flew away from the snarls and restrictions of darkness…the Story continues…I guess one needs to "know which way the wind blows" and make arrangements……