Paul Sharits (1943-1993)

Running around with criminals, hanging around the worst bars in Buffalo, causing trouble; like being a teenage juvenile delinquent again, like Denver in the late 50’s. (This summer my “dream” was to become a pimp—the 1^st artist pimp—“wow”!—wow—wow—wow—wow—wow—wow—wow.) Overworked, overscheduled, never saying no (especially to whatever sounded difficult and/or dangerous—remember being mugged in Harlem in the spring; could have been killed—why??).

                Now I feel myself again, after this quiet-alone-with-self past week of pain and introspection. The constant pain from my operation of 2 weeks ago reminds me of my-self as