It didn’t dawn on me I was homeless until I awoke in a very cold field in Oklahoma. It had gotten below freezing. I shivered myself to sleep. There was frost on the ground and on my poor sleeping bag. I greeted the warmth of the rising sun. I heard my angel say this;
“You can die this way!”
I believe it was January 7, 1964. I’m telling time by the day President Kennedy got shot. I was ironing my pants on the house on Glendon in West Los Angeles when I heard the news. Millions of people can recall exactly what they were doing. I can see the steam rising from my pegged pants as I pressed hard down on the seam that I had to get exactly right. Our sister Christine had taught my brother Mark how to sew, and I asked him to show me. This pat might be a case of selective memory because I think my brother might be dead. I going into a deep rem sleep when I take my old man nap on my couch. My brother appear as an F-16 fighter jet that he helped designed. It was in a stall. Mark was trying to right it, and the nose pointed straight into the air. His pride and joy was headed for an outcropping of jagged rocks, not unlike the rocks that killed his two siblings. For the second time in my life I saw Mark – not in control. This time he could admit it. Having died, I own some expertise.
“Is this how it goes?” Mark asked. “I’m going to die.”
“Yes!” I said, and watched my brother hit the rocks. I awoke. If Mark was already dead, there may not be a way of knowing. According to Shannon, Mark had a stroke and disappeared. The last time I talked to our sister, Vicki Presco, she had refused to undergo a nother long lecture – with quiz – from the surviving misogynist neo-Nazi in the family, and he (the man of the family) and in a rage told our baby sister he was going to disappear himself and no one will find him.
Yesterday, around three, I awoke from another old man nap. I was in the Purvis home on Laguana Street in Oakland. Keith and Brian’s mother was going to make us dinner. Elizabeth was a O’Niel born in England. She married John (Jack) Purvis, a coal miner in Duncaster, like his forefathers. Jack did not fight in World War Two because he was a forman in the mines. He did his duty bringing up coal for the War Effort. Jack and Elizabeth gave birth to three sons and two daughters. When Kieth Purvis was nine, the Purivs family moved to Canada. Jack did not want his sons to work in the mines. Three years later, Elizabeth found herself in Oakland being the best mother I ever knew, and will know. She is the template of an English Mother who always welcomed me into her home. Late last night, as I lie in my bed, I figured out why. When I was seventeen, I took care of the baby in the Purvis family. I had made it to New York City and was living on the edge of Gweenrich Village when there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and it was Keith. He was sixteen years of age. I was seventeen.
“What are you doing here?” I asked incredulously.
“You told me I could stay with you, did you not! We spoke on the phone yesterday.”
“Yes, we did. But you said you were in Oakland and were hitchhiking to New York. How did you get here so fast? Where did you call me from?
“Pennsylvania!” That said, this, youth, pushed his way past me. I had two beds in my roo at the Saint George Hotel on 13th and Broadway.
“The small bed is yours!” I told this – strange stranger, and he let go a look of disdain. While I was at work the next day, Keith rearranged my room. He redecorated it. When I came home I found my bed over by the sink, wedged up against the pipes. His bed was moved next to the window where he would catch what breeze there is in the Hell City. Then I noticed this impetuous British Lad had moved the arnauea over, and it covered my infamous “dark” painting that Raphael mention on the Evil Biography. I had shucked it cross country in Uncle Fred’s duffle bag, along with my Harmony guitar I bought at Kaleibs. Byran MacLean sent me there. This was one of his hangouts.
“What is this?” I asked. A border and boundary had been crossed, and I was trying to demonstrate how upset I was, but, being an eccentric artist and poet, I got it. As my future best friend explained how things were going to be between us, or, how things are going to be – for him – I am chuckling. I am hearing the stranger is Heir t the throne of Ireland because his mother is a O’Neil. Thus, he expects to be a treated – with dignity!
“One other thing. I don’t have to work!”
“Are you saying – I have to support you?”
“I can get you a job tomorrow – just like that!”
“I can’t work because I don’t own a Social Security Card!”
“I can get you that also. I had to get one to work at Man Power Inc. They send you out on temporary jobs that can become a steady one.”
“I don’t want a card, and I don’t want to work!”
“You can not stay here, unless you help with the food and rent!”
All the way to the Social Security office, Keith – ranted! He was famous for his rants that were delivered in his own accent. They were other worldly We are doing Dylan’s ‘Positively Forth Street’. I would never see the world completely – my way – again. I decide we could be friends. Already Keith is telling me he will never forgive me for forcing him to give up a huge party of his identity. He was born on a kithen table. I think Mrs. Purvis sent her sons Birth Cirtificate afer we called her on the hotel phone in the lobby. Jake and Neil heard the alien dialogue. This is why Mafia Max did not want to shoot me in the head, too, when three years later we returned to New York. Tim O’Connor was in the station wagon. He had slipped Mafia Max a goodly dose of LSD, and crossing the Mountains at three in the morning, Max hits the breaks, hard, jumps out, and shouts;
“EARTHQUAKE! Everyone out!”
I first heard of Keith from my late sister, Christine. She had gone up to Oakland to visit her friend, Linda Johnson. The Purvis home was a hundred yards away. Keith spotted Christine, and brought her home to meet his family. It was love at first sight.
“His mother dresses him every morning.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw it. Linda went over one morning, early, and woke him up. We couldn’t believe it. His mother was down on one knee putting on his socks!
So, I was going to be treated to Elizabeth’s famous English cooking, again, in my dream. There was a problem. Keith’s Mum has been dead for twenty years. I was left with a very deep sence of lonliness. Elizabeth was my second mother. I never met a kinder person. She was everything Rosemary was not. But, she tried. I remembers her calling up Tim O’Connor seneior. I met Tim when he was fourteen, at the wild party Vicki threw. He did not want to go home. There was some negotiating going on. Tim moved in with my mother, my sister, and Ray who owed the house in Reseda. Ray is my step-father.
In a fog, caught between two worlds, I check my e-mail. I read Tim’s message. He wants to make amends. I got upset when he refused to let me post the e-mails he sent me about his famous, who died – sixteen months ago? He never asked why I wanted to share our words. Let me tell him – now!
I had found my new Muse after Rena resigned. I was homeless when we met. I spent fifty days camping with the most beautiful woman in the world. She lied about her age. She was seventeen, the age of consent in Nebraska where she lived with her grandmother who later thanked me for taking care her granddaughter, and, making sure she got home, safely. Both Rena and Lara Roozemond inspired me to begin my James Bond novel, starring Victoria Bond. I considered a movie script, with Lara as the lead. We had one brief exchange, and I wanted her to know Tim, who lived on a boat his father gave him, on a canal in Holland.
Yesterday I learned a black woman will be the next Bond. I had faith this would be the case. Victoria’s secretary is a black woman in – my book – that will now be book. I own some fame in regards to the Bond Legend. Bloefield is back in Bond 25. There is a scene at the College of Heraldry. This means an extensive genealogy has been done. I went looking for the e-mail where in I tell him I am authoring a Bond book. I found it, along with the degrading, insulting, and evil message from my newphew, Cian O’Connor, who figured out my daughter was getting my e-mails, too. He tried to get Heather and my newborn grandson of the O’Brian Camp so he could capture his father’s bloodline – completely – and be the only Presco wearig The Worthy Pants in the Presco Family. This was the evil game played by…….
Victor Presco. Mark Presco. Cian Presco. a.k,a, as Ciean O’Brian have been involved in this Sick Game of Presco Musical Chairs that is the most godawful Sanity Hearing of the all. Of course, I am not allowed to play because I am a certififed lunatic. I get SSI because I can not longer cope. The truth is Greg Presco died in in February of 1967 when he was twenty years of age. when he came back to life, he tried to form bonds with his family again, ad failed. He did form bonds with two of his friends mothers. Wanda Harkins had three sons I became close friends with.
In 1992 I entered therapy in order to try to repair my bond with Christine. She felt I abandoned her when I didn’t take her with me to New York. I told her it would not be safe for her hitchhiking with me. I believe I told her;
“They would kill me to get to you!”
Christine was sixteen. She was fifteen when Keith came t visit her on Midvale. Tim was fourteen when he asked me to be his guide when he took LSD for the first time. He had found out my cousin Randy and his good friend, Tyler Blake were going to take it. Tim, Vicki, and her friend, Pip, were going to take it. They got LSD from Shannon’s father. I agreed. Was it a big mistake? There was only one adult in my family. I took care of everybody. Christine admired me as an artist – ad loved me – too much! Rosemary was jealous. My mother got to Cian and Shamus, and warned them about me. You can read this between the lines of Cian’s rude divorce me from the family message. My therapist fired e because I would not do a simple genealogy. Then, I got into therapy. My hypnotherapist heard the truth…………..The Prescos are a Crime Family! Cian and Shamus don’t want to hear this, because it makes me a Real Player. I was always a threat to spill the beans. I was the Family Scapegoat. I was also The Real Family Talent.
I played chess for Keith’s life at the Saint George Hotel that turned out to be Max’s favorite hotel. Max was the real deal. He was a real Wise Guy who had come to live with us I the large Victorian on 13th. A member of the Brotherhood of Eternal Love rented this infamous house and invited The Loading Zone to come live with us. When Tim O’Connor was sixteen, he learned where I was living, and showed up. He got close with Max who had a pencil-thin mustache. The first time I beheld him, my angel said;
“This is a very dangerous man. He has killed people. Be careful!
Italian Catholics have been dealing with the Mafia and Costa Nostra for a very long time. The O’Brian brand of Catholic Therapy is not applicable. Labeling the ‘The Only Insane One’ does not work. Besides, it’s boring! Here is my public message to O’Connor.
Tim, you are a writer, too. I would like to collaborate with you on a screenplay. I would also like you to contribute to my autobiography that was titled ‘Capturing Beauty, but is o called ‘Bonds With Angels’. You may not know that it is a mystery how the Mafia came to be LSD manufacturers and dealers. I would like four small chapters from you.
- Go into some detail about your bond with Christine. Were you lovers?
- Give me details about Rosemary and your father.
- Give me the history of 13th. Street and your relationship with Max and Ketih.
- Give me some history of your residency in Venice
You and Peter Shapiro played music at my wedding reception. My wife was married to Thomas Pynchon whose book ‘Inherent Vice’ was made into a bad movie. Quinten Terantino has made a movie centered around the Manson family. He made a famous movie ‘Reservoir Dogs’. We fit with these. We are not fiction. We not only believed the world could be changed through better chemistry, we were on the Front Line. Our story is – worth something! You look like Doc in Pynchon’s movie.
We were so young, Tim. We weren’t even adults and we are real Hobo and Beatniks. Don’t tell Mrs. Purvis her second born son is dead. She brought the across………….the pond.
To my nephew, Cian. I dropped out of the Catholic Sanity Hearing and Racket when I was eleven. I just dropped back in. I am going – TO WIN!
John Ambrose <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:40 AM
Hey Tim! Did we ever paint a house together? I recall you had a special paint-car. I told folks about your idea for the ‘Painter’s Ambulance Service’ that would roll up, change your fumed-blood, and hand you a cold one. Who else do you got to tell about stuck-tape in the hot sun. You only did that once. We are a special breed!
Keith, Bryan, and painted this appartment. Keith showed up on LSD. We stuck him in a walk-in closet with a little window to keep him out of our way. Six hours later we check in on him. The white paint looked like velvet. It glowed! It was perfect. He bragged about how this was a real paint job. We laughed! No folks will ever be crazier – in a good way!
I had a big breakthrough in my book. Found out I am kin to Bohemian monarchs. I have been working on a James Bond revival. I am kin to Ian Fleming. Here is my GOOD START! I might send my blog our to publishers-producers – a first.
I love this pic of you. Can I use it?
I was a member of Absolutely Bond for one day, then got banned by Barbel who titles himself the “Chief of Staff”. He said this was the “warning” he gave me. This is not a warning. It is an opinion as far as I was concerned, from some fellow member of the group. There were other titles. I had been informing fellow posters that I am kin to Ian Fleming via Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor, and Aileen Getty. I told my peers I am authoring a Bond book titled ‘Victoria Bond’. I informed Glidrose of this. Here is my educated response. It is a poetry lesson. In Skyfall, part of a Tennyson poem is quoted. Poems are turned into songs. It is not common knowledge Liz, and all the actors in OUR family tree, are kin to Ian Fleming. sometimes people TAKE your info and use it for their purposes – after they censor you. I own a registered newspaper. Royal Rosamond Presco. I take these things very seriously. I am not going away. I demand an explanation!
“Presco. While this is interesting, and all, it’s getting off topic.”
Dame Elizabeth ROSEMOND Taylor married Richard Burton, who Fleming wanted to play James in the first Bond movie. My kin almost married Bond writer, Kevin McClory, but, married movie producer, Todd, instead. Kevin and Todd died good friends. There are many famous actors in Liz’s family tree. She stole Eddie Fisher from actress Debbie Reynolds. Was Carrie ever considered for a Bond movie? Barbel, I suspect you are referring to my poetry lesson? Queen Victoria had two cousins who ruled Empires. Victoria wanted most of the known world to speak the English language over the German and Russian tongue. Poets and writers were considered emissaries of the Queen. To back these authors up. were the biggest battleships ever made. Churchill was an artist. Liz lived in Augustus John’s home. Her father and uncle had a gallery on Bond St. in London. The Fleming family has an art gallery. Liz married into the Getty, and Melon family, who own most of the word’s art. WHAT is James Bond fighting for? The Greeks and Romans held poetry contests. Then, there were physical contests. Beautiful women were – THE PRIZE! Roman conquered Britain. Britania – freed Britain. Movie producers and promoters want as many Hollywood names as possible – to make money! Liz and Ian dies not knowing they were going to be part of a Dynasty – that I put together! A hundred million earthlings are engrossed by their family tree. I am on topic! https://rosamondpress.com/2018/08/15/li … nection-2/
John Ambrose <email@example.com>
May 21, 2018 at 11:03 AM
Lara, I just put you with Harry and Meghan. I want you to be the first female James Bond. Rival authors with movie scripts have been sabotaging me. Did they get to you?
Springfield Oregon 541 653-8923
I met Elmer ‘Big Bones’ Remmer when I was fifteen. He and his wife (or girlfriend) looked like Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, they both having white hair. They walked into our home on San Sebastian Avenue, our benefactor wanting to meet the children of their employee. Rosemary ( a made woman?) was working for Rucker hydraulics in Emmeryville and met Remmer in the Oaks or Menlo Club located in mob-owned town. She started editing porno movies for Remmer, then starred in them. Many nights Rosemary did not get home till after her four children were asleep. We would find a doggy bag from a restaurant in the fridge. Vicki sees her three older siblings as her real parents.Remmer was bigger then I thought. He is named along with Mickey Cohen and Frank Sinatra. He ran the Cal-Neva Lodge and took his case to the highest court in regards to his card rooms in Emeryville and San Francisco. It looks like Remmer was trying to make gambling legal in all of California which would put the Mob out of business in Nevada. However, Remmer was the Mob.
There was a brawl and arrest in LA involving the actress, Vicki Raaf. Here, Hollywod make-believe, meets real reality!
For the last month I have been considering my death due to my ongoing struggle with prostate cancer. My two dear friends, Marilyn Reed, and Amy Sargent, have been in my corner, sending me healings. I never met Amy in person. We met on Facebook. She is an incredible artist. Marilyn was my first girlfriend. We have been working on a important chapter in my autobiography titled ‘Sawtelle’. No family member has asked about my cancer. They don’t care. For this reason I have made Marilyn heir to the literary legacy I will one day leave behind. Amy is the heir to the artistic legacy.
Both these legacies were founded by two childhood friends that loved each other very much. All claims made, hence, are made by people who did not know Bill Arnold, and did much evil to exclude me and go around me in order to get to the riches and fame – they have come to believe they deserve! None of these pretenders are artists. None of these parasites are writers. How these ghouls qualify themselves, by disqualifying the real people, needs to be recorded and studied.
When I ran into Nancy Hamren at the dedication of Ken’s mural in Springfield, we were so happy to see other. Our eyes filled with sparkles of joy. But, there came sadness, because, when we would see each other as children, Bill was close by. Bill died in 1965. At twelve, the three of us formed a close bond. Bill was an artist and a writer who enjoined us to the literary drama he discovered at the Oakland library after his father retired from the Military. Bill was a Army Brat who lived in France and Korea. Having no friends, as yet, he adopted the characters that John Steinbeck and Jack London created. Born in Ohio he was determined to become a first rate Californian. ‘Of Mice and Men’ was our favorite story. Bill wanted to be Lennie even though he had and I.Q. of 180. He was six foot three. There were welts over his back. He took his shirt off on the playing field. There was a Hunchback lurking in my friend.
When I was sixteen, my mother gathered Christine, Mark, and myself for a family meeting. In tears she told us she was making porno films and prostituting herself for the Mob. She said she was afraid my brother and I would see one of her FAMOUS movies. We watched the movie East of Eden’ as if it were our Christmas movie. We got warm and cozy feelings when Cal took his brother to meet Mommy.
Christine Rosamond Benton’s ghost writers employed the movie ‘Mommy Dearest’ to give the reader an example of how abusive Rosemary was to this world famous artist, only! Our mother beat up Marilyn, and Christine. She had two chunks of her hair in her hands when I shoved her in a closet and said;
“If you come out of there, I’m going to kill you!”
The next day I left home to hitchhike to New York in the middle of winter. Before I became homeless, I said goodbye to my loving sister. I was seventeen. Christine said;
“Take me with you. Don’t leave me with the monster!”
I left my sister with the monster after telling her it would not be safe for her.
“Someone might try to rape you.”
In 1986, Bill’s sister asked me to come to Los Angeles to look at some things she inherited from her father. There was a box containing pamphlets on suicide. Vicky Arnold, who knew Nancy most of her life, asked me for the truth. Eight years later, I called Rosemary.
“You seduced Bill. This is why he killed himself on my eighteenth birthday. He had been in your womb, too. Did you intercept his letter to me?”
There was a long silence.
“What do you want me to do, cut my throat?”
I have gone to Incest Survivors. Rosemary came on to me since I was sixteen. She told me she was the only woman who could sexually please my bother. I own zero tolerance for women who used the history of their sexual abuse to hurt others – and use others! Rosemary was also a violent drunk – on top of being insane! In spite of the handycaps we owned, Christine and I founded an Artistic Dynasty that includes some of the Kesey history. I will not be going my own way. I am including the following women in my autobiography.
Belle Burch, Alley Valkyrie, Gwendolyn Maeve, and Terra Williams! Welcome to the Labyrinth, girls, of which there is no escape! Can you hear her? It’s feeding time!
Rosemary Rosamond is still a candidate for Fair Rosamond, who was kept in a Labyrinth. I wanted Belle to pose for my painting of Fair Rosamond, so there could be a happy ending to my story. But, here come the spirit of Rosemary riding hard with her Valkyries! Now, it is spoiled – ruined! Now….there is now way out!
I believe Rosemary serviced Remmer’s high rollers at the Ritz and the California Hotel.
Here’s the painting Christine Rosamond Benton did in memory of Bill who drove the car Rosemary bought him on the tracks at midnight, turned off the lights, and waited for the train he knew was coming.
Thomas Hart Benton did lithographs and a painting for John Steinbeck’s ‘Grapes of Wrath’. This is huge! This puts a Literary Giant in the Benton Family Creative Tree. How could the three Rosamond biographers have missed this? Here’s a huge clue?
There is a art show going on right now about Benton’s relationship with Hollywood.
“He needs to just be banned. He has a history of cyber stalking and harrassing women both online and in person. I have been trying to ignore him but as you can see it is incredibly hard.
Born in Oakland, California to Roy Van Fleet and Elizabeth “Bessie” Catherine (née Gardner), Jo Van Fleet established herself as a notable dramatic actress on Broadway over several years, beginning in 1946 in Dorcas in A Winter’s Tale, and played Regan in King Lear opposite Louis Calhern in 1950.
Thomas Hart Benton and Hollywood,” a sprawling and revelatory exhibition of works by that famous Missouri artist, which opened at the Amon Carter Museum of American Art on Saturday, is a marriage made in art lovers’ heaven.
“He was an artist who was deeply engaged in trying to find ways to tell America’s stories,” said lead curator Austen Barron Bailly, the George Putnam curator of American Art at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Mass., one of the two museums partnering with the Carter to create this exhibition (Kansas City’s Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art is the third).
“When he was embarking on his career, movies were becoming the dominant form of storytelling in America,” said Bailly.
With that concept in mind, Bailly and her team, including Carter assistant curator Maggie Adler, put together an exhibition featuring about 100 of Benton’s works, among them 30 paintings and murals, numerous drawings and lithographs, and several posters and book illustrations.
They also collected clips of films from Benton’s era that are seen on video screens scattered throughout the exhibition to establish context. This is the collection’s third of four stops.
Benton’s unique style, which is so thoroughly surveyed in this exhibition, seems a perfect match for Hollywood. His works are truly “motion pictures” captured in frames.
Benton’s limber, curving figures roll and undulate across his canvases, suggesting movement despite being trapped in a static, two-dimensional space. His subjects feel as free of the rigid tyranny of bones as the bits of light and shadow we call “movie stars” are free of the constraints of being human.
His use of captivating colors (his distinctive yellows, oranges and blues are particularly interesting) can rival any Technicolor film effort. And, perhaps most significantly, he knew how to tell a story with a pen or brush.
“Benton developed a modern cinematic painting style to communicate epic narratives as memorably as the movies of his day,” Bailly said. “He wanted to capture the feel of motion pictures on canvas, the illusion of 3-D space, rhythmic motion and the glow of projected light.”
That final comment about light in Benton’s works was reinforced for Adler when it came time for the exhibition’s pictures to be hung at the Carter.