Marilyn's Diary

My Uncle Herman was very artistic. He loved to sing and play his guitar. Our whole family was very musical. Aunt Lily was concert quality on the harp. And of course Grandpa sucked on the organ. But music was not enough for Uncle Herman.

He loved to write and put his feelings down on paper. Of course he had a lot of feelings coursing through his body. After all his body was made of 1,652 different pieces from various people from the old country. So he had a lot to express.

He would go out to coffeehouses and read his poetry. He became great friends with some of the Beat poets and the Beat generation generally. Allen Ginsberg loved him or at least tried to every time he saw him. Neal Cassidy borrowed his motorcycle and sent over left over tabs of LSD that Ken Kersey had lying around the bus. Uncle Herman was right in the middle of the movement.

But all that didn't manner when he came home and sneaked up to my room after Aunt Lily went to sleep. Then I became the Beat poet. Or more like the Beat the Meat poet. I would take him in my hand and slowly move it up and down gradually increasing the tempo until......errrr.....it was poetry.