I still can't remember

 I still can’t remember

the name of the man who entrapped, beat, burnt and trafficked me to the other side of hell.

He said his name was Lloyd Tough Chandler but after 40 years I finally plucked up the courage to google that name.

According to google, Lloyd Tough Chandler was an itinerant preacher in the southern united states who brought solace and musical comfort to isolated communities during the depression.

I have read some statements by his family that he was a great composer of gospel songs, but all they had left was a wooden trunk of his possessions .

He sang a song, “O,Death” which came to him in a vision.

There was an address in Toronto for Lloyd T. Chandler, but even the memories triggered by the sight of that name caused me to pull away in terror like a frightened mare.

I never heard him once sing a note or say a prayer and he most certainly didn’t look like the gaunt and haunted figure of the preacher.  He looked more like a cross between Charles Bukowski, Ridley Scott and Mussolini (and that’s being kind)

Peter Pan and Wendy must have sent him.

He caught me in a hypnotist’s wave.

 

yes I was taken to that island 

that's My jacket you bitch

 that’s My jacket you bitch

she was introduced to me as ‘Wendy’ by Max, who was always keen on avoiding my mother for some reason.

she had that wiggly ornament around her neck 

Max said, “show her how it works, Wendy,” and she held it up and wiggled it a bit and I saw a flash of light.

she wrote my name in her little black book, I don’t know why but she was really keen to know how old I was and when my birthday was

I think she wrote that down too

also where I was going to go to college when I left school

why she was so interested I didn’t know but for some reason she seemed thrilled about where

that’s the only time I met ‘Wendy’

she looked the same as ms maxwell but her hair was a lighter colour

Max went to NY

he was learning to play the guitar it was a blue fender stratocaster

has anyone noticed that google has spelling issues?

so I saw Epstein across the road from the L.S.C.D. front entrance standing next to the cemetery fence; just once, briefly

I had an amazing teacher at L.S.C.D. All the tutors were hip, shui and cool.  The old school ones were skilled and trained in their disciplines and guest speakers also.

Down the stairs from the main entrance  was ’the dungeon’, a small room across from the showers and opposite Studio 1 where the jazz classes were held.  Jokingly called the dungeon, the main switchboard resided on the wall at the left as you came in.  There was a bench like a pilates machine and other equipment I didn’t really take any notice as I was asked nicely to lie on the bench.

There was an ice blonde, who looked like Anderson Cooper and his cousin, Andrew hairy face.

Rod, the blonde, was snappy and impatient as he adjusted something at the switchboard.

“I can’t get the damn thing to work….” he was muttering….

They measured me. whole body length with extensive discussion about the correct placement of the tape measure

when you are at a school for professional dancers you don’t expect privacy