There’s this vision:
My friend Doug Martin, who came to visit and stay in the Koan group last night, took me to a cafe to meet his most devoted accomplice, the Punk Madonna. That was her name, the cafe was in Westwood, diagonal from UCLA, not far from Wilshire Boulevard where Doug lived on the fifth floor of a high rise with his parents. She maybe had dirty blonde hair and was not tall, but that’s all a little dreamy. Pretty much all I remember is her name – the Punk Madonna. I may have fallen in love with her on the spot. It’s always been so easy to fall in love.
Doug had polio, lived mostly in an electric chair. Sometimes I was his attendant, even when drunk and stupid. Probably I was attending that afternoon. Doug once told me that when the family moved from Nebraska to LA – for his health – Irvine was nothing but orange groves and cows.
This beauty showed up through the web the other day. I can tell she would have loved Doug a lot. I’m gonna call her the Punk Madonna.
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