Vicious — fallen angel … or transitioning ape?


My goal is to always «be nice». I am known as “Adam Angel”. I can be quite generous, forgiving and helpful … and then — when betrayed, or threatened to the core — I can become “bad Angel”. Despite my desire to «always be nice». I am talking about a really bad Angel. Rich, famous, «Expert», or just ignorant — all are subject to my «correction». While I try to reserve most personal attacks for when the individuals in question «have left the planet», I must admit that it can be challenging sometimes to wait for them to pass away. I never directly “go for the throat” but instead work with subtle suggestions that set in motion a self-questioning virus — designed to change (if not destroy) the Mindset that I object to. My motto is: “in three words or less!” — what do you expect? I am a poet, an author, an artist, a “sometimes vindictive faggot” and human! But — please look at it as a “helping hand”.

I have met and interacted with many celebrities, top-level politicians and wealthy persons. And there have been some quarrels — mostly with famous classical musicians and famous authors. Some of the “gossip” appears on this blog, much in public arenas such as television, radio, newspapers, internet etc., some persons and incidents are “disguised” in my published works … and, certainly, yet a few more not-before-mentioned well-known authors and critics can eventually expect a literary mention. Recently I have been using images of certain persons embedded in paintings, which is an age-old tactic throughout art history. It is all in “good spirit”. We are all human, and we all have our personal history, difficult periods … and most of us who have ambitions must learn to be “cunts” and “assholes” along The Path.


please don’t ask me how I am;
you can’t really expect
me to be any different
than I was yesterday.
we’re all really quite normal –
me, myself and I, and in
spite of our narcotic state can
be up and down simultaneously.
and don’t look at me too long;
I despise those “I know
how you must be feeling
eyes” and concerned tone.
why must you always misconstrue
the way my gaze avoids yours?
my anti-social disposition is
intended to protect you from us.
no — it doesn’t help to
speak slowly, pronouncing
each word with the sweetened
diction of a nun or nurse.
I honestly can’t tell you how to
act, for I have trouble enough
getting us to agree about
how we’ll shield you from me.
it’s really best to let me volunteer,
lest my unbridled demons unleash
their flame-throwing dragons to singe
the delicate threads of your own ego.
and you, so footloose, must avoid looking
back into the darkness whose glittering
maze of mirrors encapture those who poke
their noses where they don’t belong.
go ahead — ask me how I am …




I attended and graduated from Goddard College (Vermont, USA) in the early-1970s (toward the end of the “hippie era”). These were formative years for me, both as an artist, a writer and otherwise (philosophy, social theory, sex-drugs-rock n’ roll, etc.). Among the many interesting famous artists and authors I had the pleasure of meeting was one Gregory Corso. I lived in a student collective for organic food, Eastern philosophy, LSD and nudism freaks at the time, and it was perhaps “natural” for Mr. Corso to seek temporary lodging during his short stay at the college there where I lived. I was proud to offer him my room … well, until he promptly began “showing his ass”. His being “high” was not unusual for us — we were often “flying” in one way or another … but that combined with his rather nasty drunk personality soon became unbearable, even for the most radical of us at what was then often referred to as a “rest home for New York hippies” by non-hippie/non-hip conservative academia in America. Gregory Corso was a brilliant poet, and an interesting personality — but like Jean Genet, he seemed to me to be somewhat of a genius thug that refused to grow up. He wore me out so much that by the time he had his long-awaited poetry reading in the college library (where I sat on the floor in the first row, just inches from him), I quickly dozed off, snoring like a “muthafukka”.

Poor Gregory was furious at me, but I just apologised half-heartedly and replied: “Well, touché … I guess we are now even.”

See you next time around, dear Gregory. I have not forgotten you, you crazy fuck!


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rita Mae,

You were my idol —
back in the day …
I was so proud that
you actually spoke to me,
and appeared to like me …
me: a man.
A man who flitted back
and forth between male
and female lovers on the
campus of Goddard College …
in the “golden days”.
You were well-known amongst
“those in the know” back then,
but not as famous as now.
No, I really liked your energy;
your sense of womanhood
and humanity.
So unlike other celebrities
I had met around the same time:
like the rude Gregory Corso,
and the elusive and quiet Anaïs Nin.
You embraced personhood for me.
And you gave me strength that
I have used in my fight against
Thank you.

(from “JISEI – Death poems and daily reflections by a person with AIDS” (2013)).



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