More Jim Carroll - Because You Demanded it

Due to popular demand - and because in the past few days I've dug out my old rekidds and old books of his pomes - here's some more stuff about the late Jim Carroll.

I'm sure anyone who drops by this blog is hep to Jim Carroll and 'The Basketball Diaries' - so I won't be doing any glamourizing of being a teen heroin addict while bouncing B-ball and being a C-minus student as b-ball scholarship stud at at fancy-dancy Manhattan private high-school. ... Well there will be one brief excerpt from That Book about the first day of school for Grade 10.

Otherwise, keep all that in mind when checking out the photos at the top of this post.

At the top - Jim at 15. Number 2 - Jim's final yearbook picture from that same private school. #3 - Jim and Patti Smith, circa 1969, a couple of years after high-school.; and lastly, my favorite rekidd cover photo of the man. Talk about looking angelic. ... Somehow, the irony is lost on me.

Like I said, no dwelling on the heroin stuff. What I like about the guy is his sense of humour. Especially when his parents are involved. I only wish Ol' Bull Burroughs might have added a bit more of that to his famously 'dry' wit when he penned his own memoir on semi-youthful junk addiction in 'Junkie.'

That all said, we can't get started without this - from the Basketball Diaries.

Summer, 1965 - "i"m gonna be fifteen soon and the summer's 'Pepsi-Cola' heroin habit is tightening more and more around me. I'm getting that feeling for the first time since I lost my virgin veins at thirteen that I gotta start getting my ass together 'cause school's coming at me mighty quick and no way of doing that scene with a habit."

... Now, for something more cheerful - from the Winter of '65 in the Diaries -

"My Marxist pal, Bunty from my new school, finally talked me into going to one of his Communist Party meetings today. It was at this sleazy place on 11th Street called Webster Hall. All the girls looked like reformed Mary Magdalenes. Everyone moans alot and plays folk songs. One of the requirements seems to be that you have to be ugly. I was wearing my seediest clothes and I still came off looking like Arnold Palmer or something. I dig these motherfuckers, but the speeches bored the shit out of me.

I went home and told my old man how the government suppresses the proletariat from his due. "I AM the proleteriat, you dumb bastard," he said, "and I think those motherfuckers are off their rockers. Now, get the hell inside and do your homework."


... and for the final not-so-forced entry on this subject, it's from a prose piece by the most recent book I bought from the man, 'The Book of Nods,' shamefully - about 15 years ago.

It's called 'A Poet Dies.' ... I recommend you seek out the entire work on your own, but the last sentences seem fitting ...

... "I tighten the notebooks beneath my arms for my return, and look down. I will have no more from them ... I am the future, and my power is great."

......................... Sonny Drysdale Presents now returns you to your regularly broadcasted program.