La Dolce Vita

Can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ) n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis

"The most amazing property of cannabis is its ability to fog the minds of those who do not use it."


La Dolce Vita: 1970

Life in Roma settled into a routine. Awakened early by the busy motorcycle repair shop beneath my window i would have a European breakfast of coffee and bread augmented with yogurt. Then i would check the pages i'd written the night before. Soon after i would go out for a walk. Two short blocks away, down an alley, was a courtyard which formerly housed a stable. At the moment it housed an incredible steel and iron sculpture piece of an astronaut which was being welded and shaped by American artist Robert Brennan. Big, bearded, and jovial, the stable was his studio. Bob sculpted in stone but his main passion was metal and he was very serious about his craft. Like everywhere from Paris to Greenwich Village, there were artists who worked at it every day-or those who talked at it. Both Bob and myself were trying to be the former, which basically meant living a simple-if colorful-existence centered around one's work. It also meant missing the  romps and parties in favor of writing three to five pages every night. So i would check out Bob's progress and he mine, exchange gossip and be on my way. After that i might walk anywhere, across town to Piazza del Popolo, or through Campo di Fiori and across the river to Trastevere, or over the Spanish Steps to Via Veneto to see if any movie stars were lounging about. Along the way i would pop into the odd church or palazzo to check out the decor, or browse the local art galleries and antiquities shops, or window shop the wonderfully crafted clothes, shoes, furniture, what have you-and everywhere i turned was a fading fresco, a fragment, a sculpted archway...art. Oh yeah.
i would stop for coffee and a cigarette at selected cafes then wander back to Piazza Navona in time for lunch. During this entire urban hike i was of course mulling over various plot and character options for Raga Six, the novel i was working on.
With the help of friend Don DeMare i hooked up with a solid hash connection and was enjoying the spiritual and creative benefits of some black Afgani. However since it was hard to come by, i didn't smoke until after dinner, when i was sitting down to work. Back then we rolled it with tobacco and the fine black hash exuded that deep Bauderlairian aura with tints of Crowley.
It was cold during that winter which included a light snowfall. i would haul five-gallon jugs of kerosene through the alleys behind Piazza Navona to my apartment. Because of the cold we would basically live in our large bedroom where the kerosene heater was installed. The stove would heat the kitchen and if it was sunny the living room would warm up during the afternoon. Otherwise the marble floors and stone walls of old Rome were as cold as the Catacombs.
There was a small circle of ex-pats on the scene. The willowy African American model Luna lived up the street with an assortment of eurotrash. Kyle, a South African combat reporter and his German girlfriend were close by, Don DeMare's fellow med student and bad drunk Bill, Rory Calhoun a motorcycle buff from New York whose brother lived with Farley Granger, Peter Gonzalez who was lead in Fellini's new film and lived with Orion, a stunning Manhattan party girl and practitioner of Cuban voodoo, i'd encountered in the city years back--were all there in the hood. We'd get together, get high, drink some wine, the usual. Since Lady M and myself were fluent in Italian all the cinemas were available.
Still our liras were rationed and a bleak December was made even worse by rows of wooden stalls selling identical stacks of candy while blocking off the beautiful fountains, not to mention the psychic flow. i managed to pull of an O.Henry Christmas and as January moved towards the solstice, Raga Six began to jell and take possession of my life. That's when you know it's going well. So, i kept turning over pages on my red Olivetti portable typewriter. As Anne Lamott said in her wonderful book on writing, "just take it bird by bird."
As February pushed towards spring i hit the homestretch.
The first draft was finished sometime in March and i immediately went back to page one and began going over every word. As someone said, "There's no good writing only good rewriting."
i do know Hemingway said, "All first drafts are shitty."
By May the novel was ready to be professionally typed (by Nancy DeMare) and mailed off to my new, unknown editor at Bantam Books, Alan Ravage. And then all you can do is cross your fingers, drink plenty of holy water, and hold your breath...

Recommended Reading: Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

Edited by Robert Gilman

Roma, Fellini, and Cinecitta

Can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ) n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of cannabis

"The most amazing property of cannabis is its ability to fog the minds of those who do not use it."

HEADS UP: A week or so past i had occasion to sample variations of Chem Dawg at 3 seperate dispensaries. Sparc at 9th and Mission here in San Francisco had something called Chem 91, while a few doors down Re-Leaf  had (and still has) a strain named Chem Mix. A visit to Grass Roots yielded Chem 1. It was a rare opportunity for a quality comparison.Of the three, the moderately priced Chem Mix at Re-Leaf proved to be a best buy, clear and high with a long smooth arc.
To be sure the Chem 91 at Sparc was most powerful but lacked the clarity.
Grass Roots's Chem 1 was good but a tad mild.
The good news is that Chem Mix is probably still there..

PROPS: Medithrive's delivery service is first-rate and their consistently fine, high-quality herb takes the guesswork out of ordering. Check out their menu online at Medithrive.com and call 415 562 6334


ROMA:1970

The Eternal City is well named. Five years after my first pass, i was back in the place where i met Lady M, and everything i remembered was still there: cafes, the English cinema, outdoor restaurants, nooks, crannies, broken bits of sculpture, patches of frescoes, stone carvings everwhere, the pulse of movement both knowing and laconic...Rome's classic style now leaned in favor of very long hair, neck chains, suits with open shirts.. actually nothing that drastic for the Romans who never quite adopted the  buttoned up Brooks look, and deigned to emulate the Carnaby Street style.  (The London fashion mecca.of the sixties.) At the moment hair was very much a political statement. Class revolution was in the air.The progressive, unionist, non religious, factions were rising, and left leaning workers seemed to prefer...mullets.
Fashion however, was not my problem/ We were ensconced  in a small hotel in the center and my money was running out. Every day we went out looking for the famiar Affiti sign which meant there was a place for rent. In the midst of our daily quest two things happened which were both significant-and typical of the mystical conjunctions that made that era magical.  We had taken to reading the Rome Daily American for possible apartment leads, or even acting work. There were lots of movies being shot in Roma at the time. One column revealed that American performer Shawn Philips had written the music for an Italian film and was in town for the studio recording. Now Shawn was a friend from the early East Village days so i tracked him down. It was a warm reunion and after attending the actual full orchestra recording for the film we went to lunch with Shawn's pals, two Americans living in Rome. Don was a medical student and Nancy his wife was a secretary at at a local film studio. Tall, lanky and muscular, Don shared my enthusiam for the herb and had vague hash connections. He was also a dedicated Zepplin fan. Nancy and Don lived on the periphery and traveled by motorcycle. We became fast friends  but living in a hotel and eating out was nibbling at my funds. i started to consider returning to New York.
Until another of those synchronistic conjuctions popped up. Meandering through Piazza Navona one morning we ran into John Hohnsbeen, our expat beach pal from Tangier. Over coffee i mentioned we'probably couldn't hold out and would be leaving Rome.
"How much do you need?" John asked.
"About a thousand dollars," i estimated.
He shrugged. "I'll lend it to you. Pay me back when you finish the book."
i was astounded. Sure enough we met the next day and he gave me the cash.
"Man," i said, "You fly in from Tangier like Superman..."
John smiled. "Think of me as the Good Fairy."
Things began to click after that.
Operating under the theory that the owners of local pensiones would have apartments available, i checked them one by one. In no time i scored a three room apartment with terrace, around the corner from
Piazza Navona. The place was on Governo Vecchio, the old street leading to the Vatican. There were drawbacks, one of which i knew going in. The only heat was a kerosene heater in the bedroom. And Rome gets cold in winter. The second i didn't know until moving in. We had seen the place at mid-day when everyone in Rome was having their post lunch nap. The first morning i found out
Directly across the narrow street was a motorcycle repair shop and the motors started revving early. No matter, i was where i wanted to be.
Determined to come through i sat down a got to work. i went back to basics: 1) a writer writes every day--one can't wait on fickle inspiration. 2) write about things and places you know.
So i began writing about a man who leaves his cushy New York life behind and goes on the road. Doctor Orient hops a freighter to Tangier, Ischia and Rome in pursuit of enlightenment.
My new hood was quite hip if not upscale. Serious American sculptor Bob Brennan was down the street as was the model Luna and Peter Gonzalez, the star of Roma, Fellini's film in progress. Other expats preferred the party scene to the work ethic but i'd been there done that. i hunkered down and as winter deepened Raga Six began to take shape...

NEXT: La Dolce Vita

Edited by Robert Gilman