Dr. Feelgood: Richard Prince Wants To Take Your Temperature . . .

[normanduke]

Smart you.

Children are monsters and bloodsuckers and if you care one whit about looking decent in middle age and beyond you'll forego children.

You can get the same kind of affection / distraction through pets and a cute small dog can also serve as a smart fashion accessory a-la Natalie Wood or several other stars of days goneby.

They do ( children, not dogs ) serve as one crucial trump card to women in the sense that they can make a man her slave for life financially and that is a very top quality card.

Children remind me of lethal midget spies and I loathe their screechy voices but enough about that. I am rivetted to know, though, which war Monsieur Caravaggio stopped today ?

What to say about Andy ? I guess the visually apparent as few, none really, got beyond the surface.

He was in his sunglasses phase then ( 1968 ) and his silver hair looked real to me, a dyed-in-the-wool hair conoisseur.
He was wearing a gorgeous shocking lime green split cowhide suede suit all of it cut in the style of jeans and a jeans jacket. Black tutleneck. Boots. He was with Viva ( she was a terrific and really good tempered ditz bag ) and Paul Morrisey.

I met him in an elevator and he invited me to dinner, drinks afterward at a friend's.
We spent the evening together ( no, not the night, lol ).
He said " Come to New York. I'll make a movie around you " which I though was total bull****, who knows? But he did give me his home phone number, and the Factory's and wrote some illegible words. I still have it. And a B&W photo of us all together seated at the table.

He was curiously parasitical and private. After we met, he spoke to no one else but me or through me as with an interpreter and there was a huge mob of people. This was a semi-official function.
He had pits all over his nose and that bothered me.
I thought, " These people are all on heroin. They will eat me alive."

Funny enough, I did move to New York then and also funny, I was leaving the day he was shot.
I remember hearing it on the radio in my Mustang somewhere around Chelsea.
The back seat was piled with my worldly goods and the passenger seat was occupied by Chimara, a blond Afghan hound.

Norman