I have been trying to find a photo of Sky, the Venice Beat that Melinda’s father had killed. Marilyn’s brother also hung out with the Beats of Venice. I remember three of them filing out of Stan’s little shack in a cloud on marijuana smoke. They wore cut-offs and sandals, and no shirt. They were as tan as Mexicans, and sported long beards. Beach Bums and Mr. Natural, they owned the Gypsy Boot’s look.
When I started dating Melinda Frank, my good friend, Bryan McLean did not approve.
“She’s a black widow. Because of her, my friend Sky is dead.”
Melinda had become close with my sister Christine. She was written up in TIME magazine for speaking sentences when she was six months old. She wrote profound poetry, she influenced by her twenty-four year old lover, Sky, who hung around the Beat Poets of Venice.
“What was
can never be
brought back
continued
forevermore”
Soon after my family moved to West Los Angeles, I am exploring Venice. I am checking out the artists and poets, the Bohemian scene going on here. In 1970 I would meet my Muse, Rena Christensen, here, at three in the morning. I saved her. She was in peril.
My friend, Bryan McLean hung out in the coffee houses of Venice. There he met his good friend, Sky. I forget…
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