AD's Journal 2024

  (posted from my phone)   perhaps I always suspected if I did not know that she had a substance abuse problem she had all the classic signs although I thought when I met her she had already overcome most of them specially the rumors of cocaine the problem is that at the end of her time in our little county she was associated with some of the most provocative Mobsters apparently and where Mobsters go so this abusive of substance a recent post saying that she is now 3 years clean says a lot about her determination to make a new life for herself although what surprises me is I thought she had overcome these issues back in 2016 rather than 2021 her move out of the county to Manhattan and a prestigious job on Union square seem to be extreme positive sign that she had turned her life around now from our latest post it is clear she's still struggled and wasn't until she made her Way South where she managed to pull the pieces together into some sort of positive mosaic

    so we found some bears in Bear mountain.   they just happen to be in a zoo, animals rescued who could no longer survive in the wild . They mingled with other answers we found there this was our first trip to Bear mountain as opposed to all of those previous trips through it to some other destination mostly in the past to Woodstock or Kingston we discovered route 9W during the previous trip North not with any destination though we did get within 28 mi of Kingston before we decided to turn back then got lost but during this trip we saw magnificent vistas of the Hudson River we needed to return to for closer inspection this time we drove until we saw the signs for Bear mountain State Park and piloted up through a road that climbed away from the river, a severe disappointment as was the collection of buildings and huge lawns we eventually encountered, not to mention the $10 charge to park when we paid in made our way past the building with the merry-go-round and sleepy at

It was that dream between waking and sleep that comes just before the real waking, the memory of which lingers on beyond dawn, haunting, physical, realer than real, heavy endowed with all those feelings that the brain filters out during ordinary consciousness. She wasn’t in the dream per se, at least, not the she I’m talking about. She doesn’t look like the she in the dream, the she from back then, blonde, not brunette, shorter than the memory person, yet with the same intense stare and deep, dark, mysterious eyes, And because this dream she was with someone else, I naturally got jealous. She wasn’t in the dream from the start. The dream began in The Bronx of all places, in an apartment filled with the contemporary version of hippies, and I was there with my guitars and my music, and my cameras, playing a bit before they raised serious questions about whether or not I liked Elvis, and when I said, I did, they accused him of being racist and asked us to leave. I struggled to f