Old Writings Catching Up to Me

Please always keep in mind that these are raw writings and have not been edited.

January 1951 Mid-Atlantic. It’s late night and I’ve snuck out of my cabin once again to wander around this huge white ship sailing through the night, a ship that is taking me to America.

There’s no one on the decks except rows of wood lounge chairs. As I walk by the bar area I can see people inside drinking and talking. The ocean is rough and threatening spraying its’ restlessness all around us, even to the upper decks and the bridge of the ship.

The nose of the ship cuts deep into the black swells of water that surround us and then raises it’s self up and out like a giant white whale leaving a white frosting on the surface. I stand there transfixed.

With ocean spray all around me I make my way down the iron and wood stairs. The metal is cold against my hands and the wind is howling like wolves in the night. The sea is dark. There are no lights anywhere except the reflection of the ships lights.I make my way to the first deck and towards the front of the ship. I
watch the front of the ship rise up towards the dark sky and then fall gracefully back into the ocean slicing through the waves like a knife through butter. I watch the seawater spraying up over the
ships bow. My hands grip tightly to the cold metal railing. I just stand there. I am the captain of my ship.

That’s what I will do the rest of my life. I will be the captain of my ship. The sound of the sea and wind are deafening.

December 2003. It’s late night. From my window I can see the harbor of the little village I live in the South of France. It’s four thirty in the morning. The sea is very calm the lights dance gently on it’s surface. I’m drinking whiskey. In Los Angeles everyone is getting ready for Susan’s show. I am alone in my lonely paradise.

December 13, 2003. 5:45 AM. It’s almost show time in Los Angeles. Tonight we have the PORN CLOWNS. I’m tired, very tired. I’m lonely separated from my family. Not my first family I created with my first wife but my new family. A family that loves me and cares for me.

JANUARY 22, 2001. I’ve been crippled. They tried to cripple me. They have succeeded in a way. Actually they wanted to kill me, cause me a little stress so that I might have a heart attack. Yet it’s more like I’ve had an ART-ATTACK. My isolation calls up all the things that my mom and dad thought me when I was a child. I had great parents, parents that came from another world, another culture another time. They grew me big and strong. They made me smart, especially my father. Peter was a storybook character, a one of a kind crazy man. He had zero tolerance for weakness. I have many wonderful memories of his insanity and my mother’s tears.

Actually what these people wanted from me was money, cold hard cash, I’m back to the people that wanted me killed. I’m not talking about some terrorist agents. I’m talking about my God awful children. Sometimes I wish he would take them back but children only have a ninety-day warranty. Please take back them,
these were never my children, they were a genetic failure, a God-awful creation, a nightmare from a horror movie. These are flesh-eating worms, thieves, self-centered, self- pitying worms who should be crushed under the heavy boot of time and our family history.

Additional Notes, SEVERAL YEARS LATER: Yet children are children no matter how old they get and after all the charges they filed against me have been dropped and our family has resolved the issues, except for money of course which is always hard to deal with, especially when money is not a priority in my life.
Somehow you must always forgive your children as they forgive you. Time heals bad memories.

Through it all there are people who like to kick you when they can. People that want to hurt you and your loved ones. We all know people like that. Ex employees are notorious stompers as are ex-lovers. So when I was charged by my daughter of horrific crimes out came the vultures.

Ex employee Ben Schlaver and his girlfriend Natalie Monroe found their revenge. Of course they had to be removed from our offices for selling crack from our house and shipping drugs via Fedex across state lines with our company name on the airbill. Nice liberal family from Boston. Real smart...Schalver.

Then there's Joseph Buckman that couldn't wait to strong arm Susan into taking the company away from her as soon as I left, this is the guy who financed my trip to France. But when he wasn't able to take over the company he filed a claim for back wages for his accounting services. He was never an employee, he was an investor, consultant and our book keeper.

Then there's ex-employee Robert Sterling, the conspiracy buff and Konformist editor who stole private papers from the company files which eventually wound up on someone else's website. I won't even mention this scum bags name (at this point) who calls himself a journalist but he is well known and admits to making up stories. He has tried hard to hurt Susan, and he has moved his site from server to server to avoid taking down his story on this whole affair.

There are a lot of ugly, angry people in the world, victims of their own failures and fucked up childhoods. Animals with no soul who just smell blood and come in for the kill. Then there are all our real friends who have helped and stood by Susan, including my ex family who have helped resolve a lot of the past and continue to do so.

Max, the nights are warm, south of the border.

January 29,2004. The sad case of Cheryl Turner, Atty and her red faced lawyer, his veins pop out of his neck, he's rude, unprofessional and a God fearing man. His name is Michael (RED FACE) McCarthy. These two are the type of lawyers that give the legal profession a bad name. This scum-bag is a foul mouthed arrogant waster of time and money. The lawyer he is defending is Cheryl Turner who caused my wife and her staff to be evicted because she didn't know in how many days to file an answer.

Now don't get me wrong, I love lawyers, they are the thin line that protects our rights, they are the reason we have Democracy, they are our every freedom, they are the basis of our Democracy but like every profession there some that should not be allowed to practice.

I'll continue tomorrow night. It's late now and Michael is not returning my call, he's an asshole and he's a scared sissy with little soldiers on his suspenders, he's probably a Bushie. Call me Michael, come babble with me like you did today, see if you can bully me tough guy.

This guy has so many babies that there is no food left in the world for the rest us, let alone our settlement. So when his client loses she'll have to pay the money out of her pocket because there will be no more insurance money left! This guy is going to use it all up in his fees! After all he said he needed $100.000 to send his kids
to college!

You know Michael you should relax, control yourself or your going  have a Heart Attack and you have so many kids to feed. I'll call you tomorrow. You said you wanted to talk to me, then call me, talk to me!

Late night, way late. I don't know what you are doing but here it is six in the morning, time to get some sleep.

Good night and learn some manners....
Max

January 31,2004. The boy- boy never called me back, Michael, his tie. I'm sorry. I can't stop thinking about this red faced bully talking to my wife as if she was some kind of floozy. This guy Mc Carthy is my new play toy boy. I'm looking for your picture. Why don't you come out and play with me young man? JUST A LITTLE MORE ROOM TO WRITE ABOUT YOU BUT NOT TONIGHT.

February 2,2004. It's late night in my little village were I live. It's a world apart from all the things I love and cherish, all the things I miss, all the things dear to my heart. All those things are one person with a gizillian little parts.

It's been a hard few weeks. My emotions are on a roller coaster. From extreme sadness to elated joy and of course bouts of fear and huge patches of Worry Weeds that have to be pulled from my fertile brain every few minutes. Then I come out of it, like a computer settling down so it can work properly.

Yet somehow I felt much better when Janet Jackson lost part of her costume and revealed her beautiful right breast. The reaction to it was beyond comprehension for a so called civilized society, the mass hysteria is frightening.

The Super Bowel, is a place where some young men go to die for the sport, where beer and slobbering drunks mix with young people around the world, a fine example of our civilization and its' priorities. Millions of people got upset about a half covered breast. Let's teach our young people how obscene a woman's breasts are, let's teach them fear of sex.

I don't want to be moralistic here but why are so many obsessed with an exposed breast with the nipple covered. Who knows. I was obsessed enough that I made up these digital pieces of her, I guess just to mark a special day of hysteria. A 9/11 nipple attack on 100 million people, go, go, tvo fans!

February 4 ,2004. Red Cheeks, McCarthy strikes again. He calls us whores, phone sex therapists, he fucks his wife like Saadam fucked his people. Today we went to court with a guy who has bred 8 children for his own ego and sexual satisfaction. I guess no one has told him about birth control, I guess that no
one has told him that the world is over populated. Has anyone told this guy that the ice caps are melting? Has anyone told him that you can not put people on the street? Has anyone told him about recreational sex versus religious sex that many times kills women in childbirth? He fucks his wife like a prisoner fucks livers
from the kitchen mess hall. Wake up asshole and stop defending this idiot of a woman that calls herself an attorney.

February 6 , 2004. Well Michael you put your foot up your ass again. ( Michael McCarthy is a lawyer with the firm Nemecek & Cole, they represent clients like State Farm. ) Michael is on the payroll of the insurance companies, if you look him up on the internet there is nothing there because all he knows how to do is keep his wife pregnant and call my wife names and throw papers at witnesses. I would suggest that Mr. Nemecek and Mr. Cole rein this guy in before he blows a fuse and gets your law firm sued.

Michael is defending a law suit against his client Cheryl Turner, Atty for malpractice. Now this is no million dollar case but Michael is spending as much of the insurance company's money as he can. After all he's got to send all those kids of his to school.I feel bad that I have to keep writing about this poor bastard and
not many other things I would like to be writing about but I'm not
going to shut up until this case is over.

FEBRUARY WINTER 1976. Meetings With Annie Sprinkle. This is a long story and a painful story that started when my first wife Susan and I where living in Newport Rhode Island in the carriage house of (I'll have to fill in the name when I remember). It was beautiful there, the winter was cold and we were publishing LOVE Magazine, that legendary "Reader Written Magazine" that at that time earned me the dubious title of "depraved" by a Rhode Island court.

Annie was working for a friend of mine Peter Wolf, one of the great sex editors of that time. PeterWolf had done several stories on us and the "Love Family", a wonderfully bizarre group of hippies, students, artists and just plain wackos that were producing the Los Angeles Star, FINGER, GOD, radical left wing publication that were the forerunners of the LA Weekly and dozens of other sex papers that were spawned by our work.

This was one of Annie's first writing assignments and we were the subjects of the piece. Annie was working part time as a reporter and part time as a hooker in a massage parlor in New York City.

She arrived lugging her camera equipment. The first thing I noticed about her was her squeaky little voice which did not really fit her body and her large breasts, somehow it seemed out of
place. I didn't know if her voice was a put on or she was just a dumb brunet. I hoped for the best. The shoot went well as did the interview. Little did I know that day that Annie and I would cross paths many times in the coming years (to be continued).

2/11/2004.

Above: FCC Chairman Michael Powell and Colin Powell's son. Hey, how did this guy get his job? Let's get these Taliban gangsters out of Washington before they put us all in concentration camps.

NOTE: These pages are part of the reconstruction of 30 years of archives for a book I am working on. The pages also contain daily entries. Nothing is corrected or edited. Dates, times, names are also just noted and not verified. In addition the entries are not in chronological order.

This column is being used as storage for art and photos to be used on different pages for other entries.

January 3.2010. I added these enteries from my Wine & Roses which I started to write in France about ten years ago. Much of it is very angry. The vultures were nipping at our flesh. A sordid group of friends and family members trying to justify their failures and misrable lives. To this day I'm trying to work my way out of the insanity of that period of my life. But I will never rest till the truth is told.