by S. Francis Berman a Blew Karma Publication copyright. 2005 
The Dreams of Harry Martini
Chapter One Suddenly Suicide
“They jumped off the roof to solitude!” Allen Ginsberg, Howl
He thought himself so thoroughly
wicked;no one would ever offer him redemption.
He stood upon the 10th floor ledge of the infamous,
Chelsea Hotel, appearing vague and bleary.
The moon shadows of late autumn’s night skyline obscured his thick face and torso.
His eyes were intense and petrified as he mumbled under his breath.
The man attempted and failed at keeping his balance. Pigeon's obstructed his narrow walkway. When his feet tried to shoo them away he looked like a drunk on a high wire as he clutched the brick wall behind him his hands, legs, feet,drawn out in a straight line; likea bungee cord.
He peered downward, into what seemed like an unfathomable chasm.
The neon lights of the Hotel Chelsea sign, seen above its striped awning,
The hubbub of people and traffic on west 23rd Street below seemed unconcerned.
And he felt alone,about to perform the most inconceivable of human acts.
"So, it's finally come to this...
I thought it might. Damn it.
I never thought I'd have the guts.
That's right; it took lots guts to get up here.
So high up now. I hate heights, always have...
So scary; this suicide thing
gives me the creepy shivers.
Suicide, ah, there's the rub!
They’ll pity me, and say;'Ah, the poor bastard.'
But not one of them knows. I've
studied the nut;then suddenly suicides sweet voice beckons
this sovereign gun-slave,delivers my fate and destiny.
I'm about to find out what's behind curtain number one my friend,
and I just bet all my goddamn swag that it ain't a new Hummer."
He took the plunge, and screamed in exhilaration,
hurled outward by gusts of cold autumn wind.
His body descended like a new born
bird on its maiden voyage, fumbling fluttering arms
outstretched.
“I’m flying man,flying!Never felt so alive...
Every cut and parcel of me is alive”
As he passed the hotel windows on the floors below, inside
he could see those absorbed with their lives, unaware of
his dilemma.
Inside the first window was Norton, burlesque impresario
and sex addict, strapped in a cage with two exquisite
dominatrices brandishing whips.
Window two: painting her body stood Suzie, a young crazed painter in love with
Chelsea Hotel Manager, Stanley Bard. Chelsea Fiction Stories Online
Window three:Hiroya, eccentric Asian performance
artist, was putting on his wedding gown with wings. He was readying himself for
his daily Kabuki like performances in the hotel lobby.
The man continued to fall and he rapidly passed window four; in it
Hawk, the Swedish mystical painter was intently working on a canvas.
Window five: Ted & Jim, canine and human masters of the
ancient Chinese healing arts, practicing Chi Gong.
Window six: A small girl notices him; she is hunkered
on the back of a sofa peering out the window, her mother and father
with heads and backs turned toward a flickering
TV. He waved to the child and she waved back.
Then he crashed through the Chelsea Hotel awning.
On the pavement now with pools of blood oozing out
from his lifeless frame, on the brick face of the hotel, a
National Writers Honor Society plaque of former famous residents
Amused him; Dylan Thomas, Arthur C Clark, Mark Twain.
The lobby doors swung into the damaged awning torn from the fall and
hanging from the hotel. Distraught people poured out from the lobby onto 23rd Street.
“It’s the living that knock death
Prick your needles, insert your tubes in my muddled flesh, try to
invade my tranquility, but I’ll be gone.
You see, sometimes the end is only the beginning."The Prince of Comedy Chelsea HotelChelsea Fiction TrailerIn the Chelsea Hotel discarded dreams, are like, over
ripened fruit, Bohemian grapes of wrath..
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