my cousin Neil

borrowed from Oh, snap- and Jocelyn M

thnx Jocelyn M- thnx-

Neil Nash stories are so intertwined with NYC it's hard to see clearly from so far away- in the west- where it's safe and quiet-

but when i was a new wave kid laying in my bed listening to the radio in ninth grade- Neil Nash would ride up state to visit Aunt Joe and uncle Neil - sleep in my room -on the pull out bed and tell me the most amazing stories of growing up in the city, all the bands i wish i could have seen- with him-the films- the adventures the lure, his attractiveness in strength, personality and looks- to a fourteen year old dork- were overwhelming-

we'd lay awake talking- and he'd tell me about this crazy film called Endless Summer- which he had seen as a kid- and how he'd wanted to be a beach bum- his parents had a junky old house in Amaganset, Long Island- where we all got kicked out of -the whole family was spending years fixing the place up- the rooms were filled with clam shells and wine bottles-

i think Neil said his old surf board is still there-

i have an inch long scar on my left eye lid from when he smashed Hugh's head into mine and of course mine had blown up in bloody fountains- whenever i look in the mirror, i can see and feel that moment and i smile-

then i remember the phone calls from Miami- from a street corner- from a bar- how Hugh and he needed back up- you have to get down here- they'd hijacked a van full of Mods and were driving to . . . who knows where-

playing pool at the Acorn pub with Tommy and Neil throwing down hundred dollar bills- deep into the night

the crazy Frenchy chasing us in a rental car with a knife just like the night before the cab driver had done while we stole a dingy and tried to stow-away on an ocean liner-

leading a filthy muddy grubbing gang of kids- eight of us lost in the woods-through the swamps to the highway to hitchhike home-but who would have picked this mob up- in Carmel,NY

sitting on the tailgate of a black truck with Stella, in front of the Ear Inn on wonderfully short September nights- driving my truck down 5 th ave- on the sidewalk for ten blocks- laughing-

watching Hugh just about die in the ocean with boulders and swell against the tide/ high dives

all the ska shows and Urban Blight shows and all the fights and parties- and our two apartments side by side on the sixth floor of the Mildred on 5th st

blowing the forest to pieces with shotguns and Eddy D -five maniacs in an ice covered world trying to kill squirrels to eat their hearts

calling me up to tell me about books and films and dreaming of having a Tattooed bikini put upon himself in hyper realism

i'm glad he told me all those stories about surfing- and i'm glad two years ago i took him out on dawn patrol with me

while i surfed we talked and he floated next to me- just his head rising and falling with the swell and the sun rising in front of us, there were waves so i got to really surf - but it wasn't like we were kids, though i was trying really hard anyway to show him that i could surf- and i did- and he floated next to me and really smiled

all the things i had heard of him and the things i had witnessed- his legend and life - all the things i can't remember - the regular moments of his life i never saw ended this morning at four am

Neil Nash died this morning- with the Buddhists and his wife- the kids playing

and me -so far away- so sorry-