P: Congratulations, Mr. Agliolio on being selected THE PUTZMEISTER Man of the Year. In the wake of Giacomo Casanova, Hugh Hefner & Wilt Chamberlain, you certainly have big shoes to fill.
What's in the air today of young Johnny Keats? asks Nino Agliolio of Middletown at the outset of each day, looking out from his second storey window or bounding outside and looking up and around at the old trees of Pike's Ravine in the hope that this particular day will produce something beautiful, some image, some idea, some personage that is supremely beautiful. 187 years of days since the passage of John Keats who was beautiful and, at the same time, tragic in himself, one with Nature, walking the English Lakes and Scottish Highlands with his knapsack over his shoulder, the silk lining that his betrothed Fanny Brawne sewed into his traveling cap scalding his head;spot of blood on his white sheet, standing bewildered in the middle of the room holding Blackwood Magazine's trashing of his poems, he went to Rome for his lungs, and languished in a room beside The Spanish Steps on which Nino Agliolio sits and watches young lovers and feels John Keats through the ancient mortar, attended by his faithful friend Joseph Severn, and died at the age of 26, and buried in The Protestant Cemetery with Fanny's last unopened letter on his great stilled breast.
P: Communitymindedness under dire straits may be that something beautiful today, the great tennis star Arthur Ashe dying of AIDS found the wherewithal to criticize sexually promiscuous athletes such as Wilt Chamberlain for reinforcing sexual stereotypes, recalling that, in his autobiography, Mr. Chamberlain claimed that he had sex with 20,000 women.
What's the difference between fucking the same person 20,000 times and, like Wilt Chamberlain, fucking 20,000 different persons once?
N.A.: Well. the wisest of us, given the opportunity, die for quite some time.
Penis as noose, cock-as-rope wound around some nondescript guy's neck, an everyman hung by the neck by his own cock--a drawing that the great Shel Silverstein gave to a cronie of the Playboy Mansion. Shel came and went from his Red Room til the day he died.
"O, gramps, you knew Shel Silverstein! Tell me about Shel Silverstein! I love Shel Silverstein!"
Chickens frying on sizzling grates attended by black men wearing white chef hats in a Sixth Avenue Manhattan window, Shel Silverstein & Nino Agliolio hustled up to Chicken Fried. Shel may have liked such a place because you carried your food yourself to your own table. No servers. Nor did he like banks and supermarkets.
"I'll take you to my personal banker, she works in an enclosed cubicle no one will see you, a heavy Italo-American woman married to an Arabian man."
Often the two friends sat at an outdoor table at the Caffe Sha-Sha on Hudson Street. Nino gestured toward the bank, transporting it right outside the caffe.
Shel hesitated but ultimately refused. When he arrived in a town, he cashed a check with a friend. He had good flush friends in major towns.
"I'll take you to the Banana Xpress over there on Carmine & Seventh, a cozy supermarket run by diligent, discreet---"
In addition to the Red Room, and a houseboat in Sausalito, and a house on Martha's Vineyard, Shel kept a railroad-type apartment in an attached house on Hudson Street, New York City, with a gray facade and white window trim upon whose doorstep in an unobtrusive corner Nino Agliolio laid a bouquet of flowers toward sundown of May 11, 1999, and a house on Jane Street in Key West, Florida, where, that morning, he had suffered a heart attack, as had Wilt Chamberlain, the impression is the two men had slept through their last night alone, upon awakening Shel grabbed his chest and attempted to breathe and then fell and, before hitting the ground, banged his beautiful head bald as a cue ball.
At Chicken Fried, eating their $6.95 fried chicken, this is what Shel Silverstein told Nino Agliolio. Shel spoke with a raspy voice, thick Chicago accent of open a's.
"I don't get all the hoopla--"
"What's that?"
Shel Silverstein said: "If you add up the orgasms an active male has throughout his entire lifetime, from first to last, do you know what it amounts to?"
"No."
"One weekend. That's it. An entire lifetime. One weekend."
What's in the air today of young Johnny Keats? asks Nino Agliolio of Middletown at the outset of each day, looking out from his second storey window or bounding outside and looking up and around at the old trees of Pike's Ravine in the hope that this particular day will produce something beautiful, some image, some idea, some personage that is supremely beautiful. 187 years of days since the passage of John Keats who was beautiful and, at the same time, tragic in himself, one with Nature, walking the English Lakes and Scottish Highlands with his knapsack over his shoulder, the silk lining that his betrothed Fanny Brawne sewed into his traveling cap scalding his head;spot of blood on his white sheet, standing bewildered in the middle of the room holding Blackwood Magazine's trashing of his poems, he went to Rome for his lungs, and languished in a room beside The Spanish Steps on which Nino Agliolio sits and watches young lovers and feels John Keats through the ancient mortar, attended by his faithful friend Joseph Severn, and died at the age of 26, and buried in The Protestant Cemetery with Fanny's last unopened letter on his great stilled breast.
P: Communitymindedness under dire straits may be that something beautiful today, the great tennis star Arthur Ashe dying of AIDS found the wherewithal to criticize sexually promiscuous athletes such as Wilt Chamberlain for reinforcing sexual stereotypes, recalling that, in his autobiography, Mr. Chamberlain claimed that he had sex with 20,000 women.
What's the difference between fucking the same person 20,000 times and, like Wilt Chamberlain, fucking 20,000 different persons once?
N.A.: Well. the wisest of us, given the opportunity, die for quite some time.
Penis as noose, cock-as-rope wound around some nondescript guy's neck, an everyman hung by the neck by his own cock--a drawing that the great Shel Silverstein gave to a cronie of the Playboy Mansion. Shel came and went from his Red Room til the day he died.
"O, gramps, you knew Shel Silverstein! Tell me about Shel Silverstein! I love Shel Silverstein!"
Chickens frying on sizzling grates attended by black men wearing white chef hats in a Sixth Avenue Manhattan window, Shel Silverstein & Nino Agliolio hustled up to Chicken Fried. Shel may have liked such a place because you carried your food yourself to your own table. No servers. Nor did he like banks and supermarkets.
"I'll take you to my personal banker, she works in an enclosed cubicle no one will see you, a heavy Italo-American woman married to an Arabian man."
Often the two friends sat at an outdoor table at the Caffe Sha-Sha on Hudson Street. Nino gestured toward the bank, transporting it right outside the caffe.
Shel hesitated but ultimately refused. When he arrived in a town, he cashed a check with a friend. He had good flush friends in major towns.
"I'll take you to the Banana Xpress over there on Carmine & Seventh, a cozy supermarket run by diligent, discreet---"
In addition to the Red Room, and a houseboat in Sausalito, and a house on Martha's Vineyard, Shel kept a railroad-type apartment in an attached house on Hudson Street, New York City, with a gray facade and white window trim upon whose doorstep in an unobtrusive corner Nino Agliolio laid a bouquet of flowers toward sundown of May 11, 1999, and a house on Jane Street in Key West, Florida, where, that morning, he had suffered a heart attack, as had Wilt Chamberlain, the impression is the two men had slept through their last night alone, upon awakening Shel grabbed his chest and attempted to breathe and then fell and, before hitting the ground, banged his beautiful head bald as a cue ball.
At Chicken Fried, eating their $6.95 fried chicken, this is what Shel Silverstein told Nino Agliolio. Shel spoke with a raspy voice, thick Chicago accent of open a's.
"I don't get all the hoopla--"
"What's that?"
Shel Silverstein said: "If you add up the orgasms an active male has throughout his entire lifetime, from first to last, do you know what it amounts to?"
"No."
"One weekend. That's it. An entire lifetime. One weekend."
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