A book on Jean Genet

Greg Giovanni – when I first met Greg it was on the porch of the squat on 49^th and Baltimore avenue. The house we affectionatly called Hell Squat. I would say there was a party going on, but the place was always in a state of party so the fact that there were people everywhere drinking and getting high and stupid was nothing unique to that night. He was there with a few friends of his and we got to talking. I think he must have wanted to fuck me. No, I’m sure he was hoping to fuck me, the little queer…But what he said was that he was putting on a bit of underground theater and he needed someone to play Saint Francis of Asissi and didn’t I look just exactly the part with my short cropped hair and my brooding countenance. Our rendevous on the porch began a friendship that has lasted till today and a professional relationship that lasted about 5 years or so.

Greg is brilliant. He has written many plays and is a bit of a legend in the Philly theater scene for his work. He is a gnome of a man, filled with a short man’s energy. There is a bit of a sense that he is always on the stage in the way he presents himself. I chalk this up to being an aquarius. It has never been easy to pry the character away from the soft meat underneath pulsing away with raw and messy emotions. His distinctive nasal laugh gives him away at bars. He likes to play games.

Greg is an addict. He has been trying to manage his relationship to crack for a few years now. It doesn’t help that he lives a few blocks away from government subsidised hi-rise. He points that out to me as we drive by it on our way to Bubs. I pick him up from the house in Germantown where he is renting an apartment. It is a beautiful house with a porch in the front and the back and a spacious backyard. The double front door opens to a cool shaded interior that has the almost musty smell of valhalla and home. It is coforting to be there. The neighborhood is quiet and relaxing. I can feel the atoms of my body calm down as we sit on the porch with the cat and talk about what has been going on in our lives over the years we’ve not seen eachother. When we head up to his room to check out pictures of Paradox on his laptop I am struck at how much he reminds me of Carl in so many ways. Their space is practically identical. The books, the games, the ashtrays filled with cigarettes, the clothes strewn about. It is not just the setting, however, that I find so facinatingly similar. The two are alike in their sensibilities and their manner. It is beyond me to be able to describe just how. I will have to see them together to be able to have that comparison made clear.

Greg and I have a lovely afternoon together. We drive back to Bub’s and have lunch and then drop Mom off at work. Greg wants to visit a Russian strip mall and buy pear soda from the russian supermarket. He loves the soda bottles from Russia. Then I drive him into town and drop him off at the theater where he is performing in a play he describes as terrible. He is a creepy piano teacher. It is the reason he has grown a big bushy mustache and shaved the middle of his head so that he looks, as he describes it, like a stadium. He understands when I turn down his offer to see the show.

I drive to Randall’s house, but he is not picking up his phone. Nebish doesn’t have a phone and so there is no way for me to get in touch with him. I do find some good parking though. I make the decision to try and find a place to hang out in the neighborhood instead of going to a strip club, an option that is always close to the fore of my conciousness. Eventually Rand gets home and we walk down to Krista’s house where I anticipate Nebish may be staying. On the way I take pictures of the neighborhood. Hanging around with Randall makes me feel very artistic. It reminds me of my artistic sensibilities and helps me to believe in their value.

Nebish is at Krista’s and the three of us hang out while we watch some episodes from the sixth season of Oz. I wish I could live in two places at once.