the Baptist church in hishome town but who apparently was too busy preaching the gospel to give his own son other than scant attention. His mother had made an effort to make up the difference but her main interest remained with her husband.
Vernon had been in the war and had accomplished nothing except the nickname Angel among his friends because he was always talking about God and because he would listen to anyone’s problems. Also he learned to smoke pot.
His appearance was rather striking and upon reaching New York he had no trouble making contacts. Just how he eventually met Spencer I don’t know but meet they did and became good friends.
One night they had both been out drinking—Vernon smoking pot and both taking nembutals—and had returned to the pad to get some sleep. Both stripped naked and fell on to the bed and into a deep sleep. When they awakened they were in Bellevue.
It seems one or the other must have accidentally brushed against the gas plate opening a valve and that the neighbors, smelling gas in the hallway, upon investigating traced it to Spencer’s and being unable to arouse anyone called the police who broke in and finding them both out cold had them rushed to Bellevue, where after reviving them decided they be held for observation. Spencer has since told me, it was a harrowing experience.
Meanwhile the people in the building all got together and signed a petition requesting that Spencer be evicted. As one old queen—who had the apartment next to Spencer’s—told me—“My dear—it was really too much. It was a regular black and tan fantasy. Both stark naked—and who knows what they had been doing—Spencer so dark and Vernon pale white. It would have been bad enough if both were the same color. Really, if Spencer wants to end it all he shouldn’t try and take one of his lovers with him.”
I saw Spencer not long ago and once again he has a charming little place of his own but it isn’t quite the 47th Street pad.
The Evening Sun Turned Crimson , 1980
Carl Solomon
(1928–1993)
Some hip cats were so fractured by intellect, temperament, and experience that they could never fit into straight society. Carl Solomon was a Marine at sixteen and after his service he traveled in Europe encountering the Surrealists, especially the visionary Antonin Artaud, who seemed to propose madness as a viable pursuit. Returning to the U.S., Solomon promptly committed himself in 1949 to the New York State Psychiatric Institute, where he met Allen Ginsberg (who would dedicate Howl to him). Solomon described his institutionalization and shock treatments in Mishaps, Perhaps from which the following piece is taken.
A Diabolist
P ERVERSITY IN all forms appeals to those who desire a new reality. The quintessence of evil suddenly seems desirable because you are bored with “What’s new?” and “How do you do?” Of all poets, the perverts seem most interesting.
Turn off the ball game. Do something odd. Run a bath and stay in for three hours, or talk to an odd-looking man you meet on the street. Then you are on the path of what certain writers call the marvelous. The end is dementia praecox. What you have been seeking is absolutely dementia, a seclusion room by yourself or a straitjacket all your own. This because you desired to turn things around to make the ugly beautiful. Such alchemy is not a pretense and is not limited to one writer. It is domain on which any daring individual may trespass. It has existed for many centuries. And the unusual says Lautréamont is to be found in the banal. The extraordinary is to be found where you sit. I cannot break the fascination with this view of life, call it the bright orange view as opposed to the gray view.
This is better than a hobby; it is almost the equivalent of a religion.
I shall make up a dream I never dreamed and you may explore it for significance. I was sitting on a beach; a dog came up to me and licked my leg; a fat boy came by; he wanted to play
Vernon had been in the war and had accomplished nothing except the nickname Angel among his friends because he was always talking about God and because he would listen to anyone’s problems. Also he learned to smoke pot.
His appearance was rather striking and upon reaching New York he had no trouble making contacts. Just how he eventually met Spencer I don’t know but meet they did and became good friends.
One night they had both been out drinking—Vernon smoking pot and both taking nembutals—and had returned to the pad to get some sleep. Both stripped naked and fell on to the bed and into a deep sleep. When they awakened they were in Bellevue.
It seems one or the other must have accidentally brushed against the gas plate opening a valve and that the neighbors, smelling gas in the hallway, upon investigating traced it to Spencer’s and being unable to arouse anyone called the police who broke in and finding them both out cold had them rushed to Bellevue, where after reviving them decided they be held for observation. Spencer has since told me, it was a harrowing experience.
Meanwhile the people in the building all got together and signed a petition requesting that Spencer be evicted. As one old queen—who had the apartment next to Spencer’s—told me—“My dear—it was really too much. It was a regular black and tan fantasy. Both stark naked—and who knows what they had been doing—Spencer so dark and Vernon pale white. It would have been bad enough if both were the same color. Really, if Spencer wants to end it all he shouldn’t try and take one of his lovers with him.”
I saw Spencer not long ago and once again he has a charming little place of his own but it isn’t quite the 47th Street pad.
The Evening Sun Turned Crimson , 1980
Carl Solomon
(1928–1993)
Some hip cats were so fractured by intellect, temperament, and experience that they could never fit into straight society. Carl Solomon was a Marine at sixteen and after his service he traveled in Europe encountering the Surrealists, especially the visionary Antonin Artaud, who seemed to propose madness as a viable pursuit. Returning to the U.S., Solomon promptly committed himself in 1949 to the New York State Psychiatric Institute, where he met Allen Ginsberg (who would dedicate Howl to him). Solomon described his institutionalization and shock treatments in Mishaps, Perhaps from which the following piece is taken.
A Diabolist
P ERVERSITY IN all forms appeals to those who desire a new reality. The quintessence of evil suddenly seems desirable because you are bored with “What’s new?” and “How do you do?” Of all poets, the perverts seem most interesting.
Turn off the ball game. Do something odd. Run a bath and stay in for three hours, or talk to an odd-looking man you meet on the street. Then you are on the path of what certain writers call the marvelous. The end is dementia praecox. What you have been seeking is absolutely dementia, a seclusion room by yourself or a straitjacket all your own. This because you desired to turn things around to make the ugly beautiful. Such alchemy is not a pretense and is not limited to one writer. It is domain on which any daring individual may trespass. It has existed for many centuries. And the unusual says Lautréamont is to be found in the banal. The extraordinary is to be found where you sit. I cannot break the fascination with this view of life, call it the bright orange view as opposed to the gray view.
This is better than a hobby; it is almost the equivalent of a religion.
I shall make up a dream I never dreamed and you may explore it for significance. I was sitting on a beach; a dog came up to me and licked my leg; a fat boy came by; he wanted to play
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