most probably die; on the 4th of this month I noted a healthier appearance, an improved smell, four open leaves and two more unfurling, plus a single tendril which reached to the edge of the pot. Now there are almost two dozen leaves, broad and dark green and oily looking. The tendril which had reached the lip of the pot has now attached itself to the wall and runs nearly six inches up toward the ceiling. It would look almost like an FM radio antenna except for the tightened curls of the new leaves along its length.
Other tendrils have begun to crawl along the shelf where I put the plant, and they are attaching themselves in the best ivy tradition. I pulled one of these tendrils loose (had to stand on my overturned mop-bucket to get to Zenith’s level) and it came...but with surprising reluctance. The tendrils have stuck themselves to the wooden shelf with surprising tightness. I could hear the minute ripping sound the tendril I chose made when it parted company from the wood, and I did not much care for the sound.
86
It left little marks in the paint. It has, near the pot, produced a single dark blue flower—not very pretty or remarkable. It is of the sort, I believe, produced by the type of ivy commonly called gill-over-the-ground. But...all of this in three weeks?
I have an unpleasant feeling about this plant. It’s as much in the way I so easily and unconsciously refer to it as “him,” I think, as in its extraor-dinary growth-spurt. I think I want to have a botanist look at it. Floyd will know one. There’s one other thing but I don’t even want to write it down.
I th
(later)
That was my Aunt Olympia, calling from Babylon, Alabama. My mother is dead. It was very sudden, she said through her tears. A heart attack. During her nap. No pain, she said through her tears. How does anyone know. Oh bullshit, my mother. I loved her. Aunt O. said she’s been trying Floyd but no one answers, oh I did love her my sweet fat uncomplaining mother who saw so much more than she said and knew so much more than she let on. Oh I did love her and love her.
Movement now is best. Floyd first then arrangements; family; burial.
Oh mama I love you.
I’ve had whiskey. Two big gulps. Now I’ll write it. That plant. Zenith.
Zenith the Common Ivy. Can’t be an ivy. Fucking thing’s carnivorous. I saw two leaves that were open three days ago rolled up today. So I unrolled them. This is when I was standing on the mop-bucket, looking at it. Dead fly inside of one. What I think was a mostly decomposed baby spider inside the other. No time now. I’ll deal with it another time.
Christ I wish I’d said goodbye to my mamma. Does anyone ever get a chance to say goodbye?
87
From The New York Post, page 1, March 27, 1981: MAD GENERAL DIES IN MORTUARY HORROR!
(Special to the Post ) The mingled ashes not much doubt about what he did then—
of a man and a woman were recovered from
raked out their ashes, turned on the gas,
the floor outside the crematorium of the Shady
crawled in himself—although the temperature
Rest (L.I.) Mortuary yesterday afternoon, and
must have still be very high—and just flicked
the ashes and bones of a second man, believed
his Bic. Poof! 3,000 degrees of spot heat. The
to be Major General Anthony R. Hecksler
jets were still flaming when the heat alarms
(Ret.), who escaped from Oak Cove Asylum
went off in the house across the street and the in upstate New York twenty-three days ago,
Leekstodders’ daughter-in-law came to see
were discovered inside the crematorium fur—
what was going on.”
nace itself.
It was not a Bic lighter that the mad
The other two dead were Mr. And Mrs.
General actually flicked, but a platinum-plated Hubert D. Leekstodder, owners of the Shady
Zippo with the Army Emblem on it and
Rest.
engraved TO TONY FROM DOUG/AUG.
Sources close to the investigation told
7th, 1945. The “Doug” referred to is believed
the Post yesterday that Hecksler had had busi-to
Other tendrils have begun to crawl along the shelf where I put the plant, and they are attaching themselves in the best ivy tradition. I pulled one of these tendrils loose (had to stand on my overturned mop-bucket to get to Zenith’s level) and it came...but with surprising reluctance. The tendrils have stuck themselves to the wooden shelf with surprising tightness. I could hear the minute ripping sound the tendril I chose made when it parted company from the wood, and I did not much care for the sound.
86
It left little marks in the paint. It has, near the pot, produced a single dark blue flower—not very pretty or remarkable. It is of the sort, I believe, produced by the type of ivy commonly called gill-over-the-ground. But...all of this in three weeks?
I have an unpleasant feeling about this plant. It’s as much in the way I so easily and unconsciously refer to it as “him,” I think, as in its extraor-dinary growth-spurt. I think I want to have a botanist look at it. Floyd will know one. There’s one other thing but I don’t even want to write it down.
I th
(later)
That was my Aunt Olympia, calling from Babylon, Alabama. My mother is dead. It was very sudden, she said through her tears. A heart attack. During her nap. No pain, she said through her tears. How does anyone know. Oh bullshit, my mother. I loved her. Aunt O. said she’s been trying Floyd but no one answers, oh I did love her my sweet fat uncomplaining mother who saw so much more than she said and knew so much more than she let on. Oh I did love her and love her.
Movement now is best. Floyd first then arrangements; family; burial.
Oh mama I love you.
I’ve had whiskey. Two big gulps. Now I’ll write it. That plant. Zenith.
Zenith the Common Ivy. Can’t be an ivy. Fucking thing’s carnivorous. I saw two leaves that were open three days ago rolled up today. So I unrolled them. This is when I was standing on the mop-bucket, looking at it. Dead fly inside of one. What I think was a mostly decomposed baby spider inside the other. No time now. I’ll deal with it another time.
Christ I wish I’d said goodbye to my mamma. Does anyone ever get a chance to say goodbye?
87
From The New York Post, page 1, March 27, 1981: MAD GENERAL DIES IN MORTUARY HORROR!
(Special to the Post ) The mingled ashes not much doubt about what he did then—
of a man and a woman were recovered from
raked out their ashes, turned on the gas,
the floor outside the crematorium of the Shady
crawled in himself—although the temperature
Rest (L.I.) Mortuary yesterday afternoon, and
must have still be very high—and just flicked
the ashes and bones of a second man, believed
his Bic. Poof! 3,000 degrees of spot heat. The
to be Major General Anthony R. Hecksler
jets were still flaming when the heat alarms
(Ret.), who escaped from Oak Cove Asylum
went off in the house across the street and the in upstate New York twenty-three days ago,
Leekstodders’ daughter-in-law came to see
were discovered inside the crematorium fur—
what was going on.”
nace itself.
It was not a Bic lighter that the mad
The other two dead were Mr. And Mrs.
General actually flicked, but a platinum-plated Hubert D. Leekstodder, owners of the Shady
Zippo with the Army Emblem on it and
Rest.
engraved TO TONY FROM DOUG/AUG.
Sources close to the investigation told
7th, 1945. The “Doug” referred to is believed
the Post yesterday that Hecksler had had busi-to
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