Living Dove
09-02-2005, 02:25 AM
"Saving Joaquin"
Dedicated with love to Joaquin Phoenix
By Vivian Taube
Introduction
I began to write this poetry in mid-April of 2005, shortly after learning that Joaquin Phoenix, after much “to-do” by me—and others, like his mother, Arlyn Phoenix, no doubt—entered rehab a few weeks before. I have yet to finish typing about 30 pages, long-hand, which will turn out to be much more, given the many inserts and verses written tiny in the margins. This is, at the time of this “update,” June 18, 2005, about a third of the long poem, I presume. I’ve yet to see all Joaq’s movies, which will make for an even longer one, probably! Bon apetit!
Trying to get Keanu Reeves
into sobriety
has been for me
to be
like chipping away at Gibraltar with an iron file,
as I wrote elsewhere, recently.
But since Joaquin Phoenix entered rehab, recently—
“because” of me?—
my sobriety date being
November 15, 1993,
the day they signed River Phoenix’s autopsy, “ironically”—
I wonder—
will Keanu “follow” him—and me—eventually?
I’m so proud of Joaquin.
He’s like a “brother” to me,
considering I “married” River, spiritually, November 15th, last year,
after “figuring it out,” finally, about him and me,
after over ten years.
But now when I see
footage of Keanu battling his “demons”—
100 Smiths, only some of them CG—
in the second “Matrix” movie,
shot only a month following
Jennifer Syme—
the mother of their baby,
Ava, stillborn 1999 on Christmas Eve—
died in DUI, after coming
from Marilyn Manson’s mansion in LA—
her mother, Maria St. John—
what a great name!—
never did win her “wrongful death” lawsuit against him,
after he denied charges, publicly.
And she was right, wasn’t she?
Yes, she was, as Jennifer got the cocaine from him, you see.
I feel Ava’s spirit,
“as usual” with me,
saying that Keanu’s her father—
the only surviving member of that small family—
but I have faith he will one day “follow” Joaquin—
and me—
hopefully—
into sobriety, “because of” River’s OD.
I can feel the love she and the baby
had for him, too, actually.
I have seen “Mulholland Drive,” too, David Lunch’s filthy movie,
dedicated to Jennifer, post-humously—
and it seems like “wishful thinking,”
on his part, since the girl in the movie
ends up in a car accident in LA—
and she escapes, doesn’t she—
with amnesia, only!
Didn’t he OD
while being in the second “Bill and Ted” movie?
Didn’t he end up being
hospitalized, saying he
had an arm infection—
though he lied, didn’t he?
Didn’t he
get arrested for a DUI, half a year
before River OD’ed?
And didn’t he “lose his spleen,”
according to the “Hardball” directors’ commentary,
because he turned off the headlights on his motorcycle
in Topanga Canyon in the 80s?
He was intoxicated, surely.
Doesn’t he have a genetic propensity to OD,
because his and his sister Kim’s father, Sam Reeves
abandoned the family
when they were babies,
and didn’t Sam just get released last year
after spending 10 years in prison for drugs, everybody?
And Keanu doesn’t want to see
him, though he sounds remorseful and seems
to love him and Kim—
is he in sobriety?
He should be.
Why should I care,
when these people don’t care about me much, it seems.
But Sam has chronic diabetes,
and Keanu “shuts out” that side of the family,
including a grandmother from Hawaii!
His mother Patricia remarried
three times—
each time divorcing—
so I can see why Keanu would be
bitter all these years—
however 10 years is a long time to spend in prison,
so, I have compassion for Sam Reeves, actually,
and that side of the family, obviously.
I originally called this poetry,
“Chipping Away at Gibraltar,”
but “Saving Joaquin”
sounds “much better” to me!
Why have I been the only one in sobriety,
due to River’s OD, seemingly,
until Joaquin?
My “intuition” tells me it’s because Johnny D.
is in the mob and needs to leave—
a belief that is “held against me,” repeatedly,
to say the least—
but I feel “brave,” for some reason, naturally, or supernaturally,
as the case may be!
I can think of many people needing to be in sobriety—
not just me—
like John Phoenix,
River’s and Joaquin’s father—
and Johnny D.—
and everybody
on “My Own Private Idaho,” incidentally—
and Christian Slater—
and the Afflecks—
Casey finally married Summer Phoenix—
a year she
gave birth to Indiana August Affleck in Amsterdam, where Casey was filming,
“Ocean’s Twelve,”
and he promised to marry her—
three months after she got pregnant—
didn’t he?
He did, actually.
Indiana was conceived
about the time I met David Viaforo,
a “River lookalike,” at Deer Park Monastery,
whom I “ruled out, due his being only 23—
River OD’ed at 23,
isn’t that an “irony?”
but he—
and the monastery—
rejected me, anyway, everybody.
My therapist Soonja Kim agrees with me
that Joaquin could be a “role model” for everybody
associated with or related to River—
and I agree.
He was the one who called emergency
the night River OD’ed
outside the Viper Room, where Johnny D.
had him taken to die, basically,
between Samantha Mathis and Joaquin,
with his sister Rain Phoenix
at his side, the entire time he lay on the sidewalk, convulsing,
after taking
a speedball of heroin and cocaine,
and throwing up, having been given Valium in the men’s room,
where he was taken to “clean up”—
and his shirt and jacket were taken off, everybody—
it was the combination of the three
that killed him, ultimately,
in a relatively minute quantity.
Johnny Depp finally
gave his controlling share
of the Viper Room to Anthony Fox’s daughter, Amanda, only 19,
last September, apparently,
since, near Christmas, 2001, Fox “disappeared mysteriously,”
after suing Depp for money—
having been his partner in the club—
I’d emailed Depp there spring,
after my “discovery,”
having read a tiny article in “People” magazine
about everything!
Wait—
let me call the LAPD—
one more time and have them ask me
who River was and what The Viper Room is,
when I mention Johnny D.
“Pardon” me—
but I am having trouble feeling
compassion for the pirate,
as per Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings
I mentioned in previous poetry—
23 volumes of “Phoenix Rising,”
I wrote for River, last spring—
during which time his spirit “bid” me
to “live on” for him, as he stood beneath a shade tree
On the family ranch in Micanopy—
to which I agreed—
and this lifted the worst of my depression, suicidally—
I later “discovered” that Indiana was being
born then, everybody!
But we’re all human--
well, some of us are, still, like you and me.
This is beginning to be scary—
is Johnny D. going to kill me, too, eventually—
or will he “learn the lesson” of River’s OD—
and also get into sobriety?
My sobriety is not just “due” to River’s OD,
but the fact they finally let his mother, Arlyn Phoenix,
see the body, after two weeks,
at the Gainesville Airport,
near the family ranch in Micanopy, though she’d
gone to LA for the autopsy.
I even went to where they let her stay then,
and the view from there—
Thomas, a cross street—
was spectacular of the city!
And traffic was clear
all the way down routes five and ten,
on a Saturday night,
and it never is for me—
How did River's spirit do that, everybody?
What is more, though, is the fact that November 15th
is also the Founder’s Day at the Stift Klosterneuburg,
a monastery to the Virgin Mary,
outside Vienna, Austria, near where I started drinking,
on my last visit there with my parents at age 12, in 1973—
legend has it the Margrav Leopold III has a vision of Her, where he
found his wife Agnes’ wedding veil intact nine years
after it blew off her face—
and had the monastery built to Her, there, where it’s stood for nearly
900 years!
The entire town of Klosterneuburg, meaning
“New monastery town,” in German, basically,
“grew up” around it, and everyone comes out to party—
though they drink, too, “ironically,”
since it is wine country!
Leopold died on November 15th
in 1136, only a few months after completing the monastery,
one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen,
22 years in the building,
and he was later made a saint for his doings—
my grandmother, Leopoldina Janacek Taube,
was named for him, indirectly,
as many children were, at the turn of the century,
and her Name Day was also November 15th!
So, I feel like the spirits “convened” to save me,
that day, in 1993—
and I seem to be the only one with that story, “amazingly!”
It took me years to discover everything about my sobriety—
I keep a daily diary,
since my nervous breakdown in the 80s,
and that’s helped me
“divine” the day, exactly!
For a while there, I thought my sobriety
date was November 14, 1993,
since that was the date of my last drink,
a mimosa, at a B&B at Rehoboth Beach,
Delaware, where I used to party
at gay bars, naturally.
I was on the eve
of “temp” assignment as a secretary
for the federal government in DC—
I forget which agency—
during the Persian Gulf War recession, actually—
and I heard Al Gore’s voice inside me,
as I was walking after brunch on the beach,
say, “This is a problem,” meaning drinking,
and I quit, after 20 years!
I’d already stopped smoking,
the previous year,
of my own volition, actually,
after nearly as many years.
But, your first day without a drink or a drug is your first in sobriety,
And I had to change mine to November 15th,
feeling “cheated” a day, never knowing
all it means, historically,
or that the angels came to “save” me,
as I feel they may now be “saving” Joaquin!
So, at the risk of sounding “unnerving,”
I will writee this poetry here.
River, without you, I’m not going on—
and I’m never without you, either!
I’d been back at Plum Village on retreat—
where I got rejected from residency—
due to “difficulties”—
namely an age-old case of PTSD—
and the fact I got sick and had jetlag after traveling
30 hours from California to the south of France, only
to spend a sleepless night, staying
in a cabin with no running water or heat,
before being moved to a room at Middle Hamlet,
which was nicer, but my roommate Eliza was “grumpy.”
Not to mention the fact I “was smitten with” a River lookalike, only 23
at Deer Park Monastery,
the previous year,
which led primarily
to my rejection from most of the winter retreat and residency—
or so a senior nun told me—
“confirming” my beliefs—
I’d “ruled him out,” because he was only 23—
and I’m in my 40s!
This was about a month after Indiana had been conceived, exactly—
around September 27th, 2003,
which was also, “coincidentally,”
Amma’s 50th birthday, and I’d asked her personally
if I could live in India and get the health care I like, that year—
only not to go, out of “irrational anger” I’ve had for her for years,
because of my PTSD—
and Yolanda King was giving a keynote speech!
Maybe,
in the great scheme of things,
I needed to know Depp gave his controlling
share of The Viper Room to Amanda Fox, and he’s
not in sobriety—
nor has he married
Vanessa Paradis,
who has borne him two children out of wedlock, already—
yet I read that they didn’t “want” to, recently!
Actually, I have never read a word she
says, it seems—
Does he do all the talking?
How does she feel?
And Rain Phoenix, finally,
after nearly 11 years,
spoke to Laurie Parker, producer of “My Own Private Idaho,”
about River, on DVD—
and I’m “proud” of her, frankly,
but she didn’t mention the drugs cast and crew did to do the sex scenes.
River and Keanu even turned tricks, possibly--
not to offend anybody--
in the streets on Portland, Oregon, where they were picking up potential johns, “learning the ropes,” so to speak,
some place called “Vaseline Alley—”
I got this from John Glatt’s biography—
leading indirectly to River’s OD,
outside the Viper Room, after 2 years—
and that’s well documented, actually.
I did research, obviously.
And, it turns out that Keanu Reeves
played bass in a band called Becky,
which played at the Viper Room
as did Dogstar before it, presumably.
Keanu was still playing
in the band, when I emailed it via the lead
guitarist Paulie Kosta, saying
not to play at the Viper Room, anymore,
and all about my sobriety date being November 15, 1993
and what it means, historically—
and it did stop playing
there, after that, “amazingly,”—
the “webmaster” deleted all I wrote over hours and days,
at its BB,
insulting me, saying I was “obnoxious and damaging,”
when I put that Johnny D. is in the mob and needs to leave.
Keanu had left the band, already,
by then, saying he
“can’t tour and record” with it, “suddenly,”—
little wonder why, since a judge
was trying to shut down the Viper Room—
as was Arlyn Phoenix,
River’s and Joaquin’s mother, undoubtedly.
Maybe I needed,
too, to see
“Ocean’s Twelve,” which I did, recently, on DVD,
months after its theater release,
which “hypes” drinking, smoking, gambling, and stealing
on a grand scale as “cool,” though they know about River on that movie,
obviously!
But isn’t it “funny”
that Julia Roberts pretends to be somebody,
who pretends to be her, in reality—
pregnant, as she was then, but married!
And a pretty detective, played by Catherine Zeta-Jones,
gets drunks at the very end,
with Brad Pitt, on her on-screen lover, cursing.
And she’s a mother, more than once, isn’t she?
I saw it twice, just to get all the “nuances,” and I got “excited,”
when I saw the scenes set in Amsterdam,
because that’s where Indiana was born, last year!
I get “excited” when I think
of all the good River’s spirit and I can do, everybody—
but will anybody give me “credit,” even—
or will they simply “marginalize” me, as I’ve always been—
and be mean?--
I’m “lucky” if people are “nice” to me, even—
and I’m in sobriety, “due to” River’s OD—
seemingly the only one, until recently!—
hold it against me
that I have PTSD?
Curse and hang up on me—
as certain people
have, regarding this story—
including River’s agent, Iris Burton,
on Mother’s Day, twice, last year—
I doubt he’d want me
to write that, since she
has cancer, and I actually
have pity—
and even considered making
it up to her this year,
when the LAPD was being
so “evasive,” about Becky
“banning” me
from its website over Johnny D.’s being in the mob, everybody!
But, I was “too scared” to call her again,
after what happened, last year, actually—
though she could have told me
about Joaquin’s entering rehab, recently!
Didn’t Leonardo DiCaprio “make fun” of people “like” me,
who’d want to know more about River’s OD,
in an article in the 90s
in “The New York Times Magazine,”
lying, saying he
saw River in a Halloween
mask that evening at a party
River never went to, according to anything else you read—
Leo was interviewed while he was “busy,” being
in “The Basketball Diaries,”
out partying in New York City—
and later, he was in “Total Eclipse,” too—
both of which River had wanted to be in, actually.
Didn’t Leo “copy” River with his favorite charity,
environmentalism, with his own foundation, on-line, where he fraudulently advertised a “date” for charity he
and Gale Anne Hurd were to host together in the summer of 2003, only
to “back out” at the last minute, as he was “busy,” working
on “The Aviator,” with Martin Scorsese, leaving
his mother Irmelin DiCaprio “holding the bag,” so to speak,
as a member of the board for Reef Check—and she
brought her mother home to Germany that evening,
rather than face the VIP party
after the MacGillivray Freeman premiere
in IMAX of “Coral Reef Adventure” without him at Universal City!
And didn’t Steven Spielberg’s production company
with Jeffrey Katzenberg, Dreamworks, “steal” my story,
when it produced a teen movie,
“Win a Date with Tad Hamilton,” later that year,
based loosely on an email I sent Steven
about Leonardo not showing?
I saw it, though “normally”
I wouldn’t see such a thing—
as the lead looks like Leo and advertised a date for charity
on-line at his website, as Leo did, in reality!
I suspect Jeffrey, incidentally,
since he has teens, doesn’t he?
And it wasn’t that kind of date, either, everybody!
That night of the fundraiser, Amma was in LA, too, actually,
and after I got darshan at the hotel I began to menstruate early!
I wouldn’t have gone to either
Leo’s or Amma’s events in LA that year
had it not been for the synchronicity
and premonition dreams
I began to have of him,
when Mom got breast cancer and underwent treatment
about that time that year!
According to a documentary
made by local survivors here,
“Rachel’s Daughters,” 90 percent of breast cancer is due to the environment—
and the cancer rate is very high here—
especially that sort, apparently!
And I don’t even have health insurance and haven’t for years,
since the last time I applied, my case was botched,
and I haven’t applied elsewhere, yet, actually!
And didn't Prince William write his dissertation
at St. Andrews University on coral reefs?
What a case of “synchronicity.”
He could “take over” for Leo at UCLA’s Reef Check, couldn’t he?
But I never hear back when I write him and Harry
via his father's office at the palace, "naturally."
Did Leo agree to co-host the benefit “because of” Wills’ writing?
Probably—
I remember William saying
How Leo will like being
“king of Hollywood” better than he
will being King of England!
Well, we’ll see.
I am "reluctant" to write of him and Harry here,
since they never get back to me,
and miss their mother,
who loved them very deeply--
not me--
but William could “take a lead” from me,
since he and Harry
seemed to, five years ago, when I sent them both copies
of Cherry Tree Lane, the first year
the limited edition “came out”—
I self-published, actually, after having been
told how “like” Harry Potter it was,
since J. K. Rowlings tried 26 publishers,
before finding the right one—
and I didn’t have the patience or courage, actually.
And I was “delighted” and “gratified” that William seemed
“influenced” by me
when he held his first press conference later that year,
saying how he and Harry were angry
that their beloved mother Diana was being
betrayed and exploited in the press, for having
had borderline personality disorder, a condition similar to mine, PTSD—
this time from Patrick Jephson, her former secretary—
and Wills used words similar to my poetry I sent him and Harry earlier that year—
but he didn’t mention his father’s betrayal of her,
as I had in my poetry—
as he was standing right beside William as he was speaking!
I have a copyright on that from the Library of Congress, dated July, 2000, if you don’t believe me.
Actually, I forget his exact wording—
but I remember the feeling he was “copying” me!
This “makes some sense,” since I was born only
13 days after Diana was, on July 14,
1961, and we’re “alike,” astrologically, apparently!
And when Lauren Bush lied to the press during
her uncle’s “selection” as US president later that year,
I “freaked!”
This “spurred” “irrational anger” for me, I’d rather not go into here.
But if William does anything for UCLA, I won’t be
the “catalyst” there, unless you count this poetry,
because when I write them of anything, no one gets back to me!
In one “premonition dream” of Leo I had in 2003,
we met under a sapling
at an event for the environment, shaking
hands and “getting along”—
didn’t the wildfires of Southern California occur later that year—
when his website “bid” people to buy saplings at Tree People—
which I did, actually—
and had my parents and brother buy me for Christmas, that year.
And last year,
Mom didn’t let me
come visit at Christmas again, after she
underwent major back surgery
on her 79th birthday, December 3rd, and spent a month in the
hospital with Dad visiting—
but not me.
She didn't get me anything, and neither did he!
I’d moved into a B&B in Inverness,
near where I used to live at Muir Beach,
after my landlady kicked me
out on Halloween, ironically,
after I called a mediator to help me
negotiate a fair deal, after she gave me
60 days’ notice verbally
for the month of November, ironically,
as she was renting
the house to a guest conductor from the symphony—
for that month, only!
I then moved in with a “friend,” Micheline,
married to a famous doctor, Alex Caldwell—
and she kicked me out Thanksgiving, for calling
her doctor about her prescription lying
everywhere!
Wasn’t it was the same drug, clonazepam, ironically,
that I read Jennifer Syme had in her system, partly,
when she died in a DUI, after coming
from Marilyn Manson’s mansion
the night after a party?
But the LAPD found cocaine in her vehicle, too—
a Jeep Keanu Reeves bought her,
along with a house, when she was pregnant with the baby!
On Thanksgiving, I was staying at a B&B
at Stinson Beach,
the Redwoods Haus, where the proprietor’s husband, John,
“ironically,”
inferred my late beloved Uncle Felix Taube and his wife, Melida
sold drugs illegally
in Bogota, Colombia, where they both lived until he
died on a sudden heart attack—
on a tour of Cairo, Egypt,
on October 29, 1996,
after her arm was broken,
while some children were playing
and a ball knocked her down,
just the day before, I believe!
ii
But this poetry was supposed to be about Joaquin--
and where is he?
At the risk of sounding
“obsessed”—
as I frequently
do about River and “company,”
I feel like we’re “on a train,” he and I, spiritually—
and I get “happy,”
believe it or not,
thinking of the good “we” could do everybody!
Not to mention the 23 volumes of poetry
I wrote last spring for him—
during which time he “bid” me
to “live on” for him, spiritually,
as he stood under a shade tree
on the family ranch in Micanopy—
to which I agreed—
and this lifted the
worst of my depression, suicidally—
during the time Indiana August Affleck was being
born in Amsterdam, as Casey
was filming that movie!
Actually, I wanted to type up “Phoenix Rising,”
for Indiana’s first birthday this year—
though he can’t yet read, probably,
and the subject matter is a bit “adult” for him, actually—
but this considerably
shorter piece of poetry
“takes precedence” for me, since it’s right here,
and “Phoenix Rising” is in a cabinet behind rows of boxes I’ve yet to unpack, having just moved here three month ago, and I doubt I ever will, actually!
But back to our story—
cast and crew of “Ocean’s Twelve” went to Dampkring
in Amsterdam, a strip club, apparently,
where dancers took money
with something
other than their hands,
or so Matt Damon and George Clooney
“bragged” to the media at the time of release—
for a magazine cover story!
This was the sort of behavior
that led to Casey’s older brother Ben breaking
up his second engagement to Jennifer Lopez,
that time costing her a million dollars, reportedly.
He’d taken Christian Slater to a strip club
in Vancouver, after which his then-wife, Ryan Haddon—
who is divorcing him, last I read—
slashed his face at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas,
where John Entwistle died in bed with another woman,
on the eve of The Who’s reunion tour, the previous year,
I believe—
of a heart attack “brought on” by cocaine, apparently--
that hotel and casino should be
shut down, too, permanently.
Vivian Taube
Northern California
Spring, 2005
Dedicated with love to Joaquin Phoenix
By Vivian Taube
Introduction
I began to write this poetry in mid-April of 2005, shortly after learning that Joaquin Phoenix, after much “to-do” by me—and others, like his mother, Arlyn Phoenix, no doubt—entered rehab a few weeks before. I have yet to finish typing about 30 pages, long-hand, which will turn out to be much more, given the many inserts and verses written tiny in the margins. This is, at the time of this “update,” June 18, 2005, about a third of the long poem, I presume. I’ve yet to see all Joaq’s movies, which will make for an even longer one, probably! Bon apetit!
Trying to get Keanu Reeves
into sobriety
has been for me
to be
like chipping away at Gibraltar with an iron file,
as I wrote elsewhere, recently.
But since Joaquin Phoenix entered rehab, recently—
“because” of me?—
my sobriety date being
November 15, 1993,
the day they signed River Phoenix’s autopsy, “ironically”—
I wonder—
will Keanu “follow” him—and me—eventually?
I’m so proud of Joaquin.
He’s like a “brother” to me,
considering I “married” River, spiritually, November 15th, last year,
after “figuring it out,” finally, about him and me,
after over ten years.
But now when I see
footage of Keanu battling his “demons”—
100 Smiths, only some of them CG—
in the second “Matrix” movie,
shot only a month following
Jennifer Syme—
the mother of their baby,
Ava, stillborn 1999 on Christmas Eve—
died in DUI, after coming
from Marilyn Manson’s mansion in LA—
her mother, Maria St. John—
what a great name!—
never did win her “wrongful death” lawsuit against him,
after he denied charges, publicly.
And she was right, wasn’t she?
Yes, she was, as Jennifer got the cocaine from him, you see.
I feel Ava’s spirit,
“as usual” with me,
saying that Keanu’s her father—
the only surviving member of that small family—
but I have faith he will one day “follow” Joaquin—
and me—
hopefully—
into sobriety, “because of” River’s OD.
I can feel the love she and the baby
had for him, too, actually.
I have seen “Mulholland Drive,” too, David Lunch’s filthy movie,
dedicated to Jennifer, post-humously—
and it seems like “wishful thinking,”
on his part, since the girl in the movie
ends up in a car accident in LA—
and she escapes, doesn’t she—
with amnesia, only!
Didn’t he OD
while being in the second “Bill and Ted” movie?
Didn’t he end up being
hospitalized, saying he
had an arm infection—
though he lied, didn’t he?
Didn’t he
get arrested for a DUI, half a year
before River OD’ed?
And didn’t he “lose his spleen,”
according to the “Hardball” directors’ commentary,
because he turned off the headlights on his motorcycle
in Topanga Canyon in the 80s?
He was intoxicated, surely.
Doesn’t he have a genetic propensity to OD,
because his and his sister Kim’s father, Sam Reeves
abandoned the family
when they were babies,
and didn’t Sam just get released last year
after spending 10 years in prison for drugs, everybody?
And Keanu doesn’t want to see
him, though he sounds remorseful and seems
to love him and Kim—
is he in sobriety?
He should be.
Why should I care,
when these people don’t care about me much, it seems.
But Sam has chronic diabetes,
and Keanu “shuts out” that side of the family,
including a grandmother from Hawaii!
His mother Patricia remarried
three times—
each time divorcing—
so I can see why Keanu would be
bitter all these years—
however 10 years is a long time to spend in prison,
so, I have compassion for Sam Reeves, actually,
and that side of the family, obviously.
I originally called this poetry,
“Chipping Away at Gibraltar,”
but “Saving Joaquin”
sounds “much better” to me!
Why have I been the only one in sobriety,
due to River’s OD, seemingly,
until Joaquin?
My “intuition” tells me it’s because Johnny D.
is in the mob and needs to leave—
a belief that is “held against me,” repeatedly,
to say the least—
but I feel “brave,” for some reason, naturally, or supernaturally,
as the case may be!
I can think of many people needing to be in sobriety—
not just me—
like John Phoenix,
River’s and Joaquin’s father—
and Johnny D.—
and everybody
on “My Own Private Idaho,” incidentally—
and Christian Slater—
and the Afflecks—
Casey finally married Summer Phoenix—
a year she
gave birth to Indiana August Affleck in Amsterdam, where Casey was filming,
“Ocean’s Twelve,”
and he promised to marry her—
three months after she got pregnant—
didn’t he?
He did, actually.
Indiana was conceived
about the time I met David Viaforo,
a “River lookalike,” at Deer Park Monastery,
whom I “ruled out, due his being only 23—
River OD’ed at 23,
isn’t that an “irony?”
but he—
and the monastery—
rejected me, anyway, everybody.
My therapist Soonja Kim agrees with me
that Joaquin could be a “role model” for everybody
associated with or related to River—
and I agree.
He was the one who called emergency
the night River OD’ed
outside the Viper Room, where Johnny D.
had him taken to die, basically,
between Samantha Mathis and Joaquin,
with his sister Rain Phoenix
at his side, the entire time he lay on the sidewalk, convulsing,
after taking
a speedball of heroin and cocaine,
and throwing up, having been given Valium in the men’s room,
where he was taken to “clean up”—
and his shirt and jacket were taken off, everybody—
it was the combination of the three
that killed him, ultimately,
in a relatively minute quantity.
Johnny Depp finally
gave his controlling share
of the Viper Room to Anthony Fox’s daughter, Amanda, only 19,
last September, apparently,
since, near Christmas, 2001, Fox “disappeared mysteriously,”
after suing Depp for money—
having been his partner in the club—
I’d emailed Depp there spring,
after my “discovery,”
having read a tiny article in “People” magazine
about everything!
Wait—
let me call the LAPD—
one more time and have them ask me
who River was and what The Viper Room is,
when I mention Johnny D.
“Pardon” me—
but I am having trouble feeling
compassion for the pirate,
as per Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings
I mentioned in previous poetry—
23 volumes of “Phoenix Rising,”
I wrote for River, last spring—
during which time his spirit “bid” me
to “live on” for him, as he stood beneath a shade tree
On the family ranch in Micanopy—
to which I agreed—
and this lifted the worst of my depression, suicidally—
I later “discovered” that Indiana was being
born then, everybody!
But we’re all human--
well, some of us are, still, like you and me.
This is beginning to be scary—
is Johnny D. going to kill me, too, eventually—
or will he “learn the lesson” of River’s OD—
and also get into sobriety?
My sobriety is not just “due” to River’s OD,
but the fact they finally let his mother, Arlyn Phoenix,
see the body, after two weeks,
at the Gainesville Airport,
near the family ranch in Micanopy, though she’d
gone to LA for the autopsy.
I even went to where they let her stay then,
and the view from there—
Thomas, a cross street—
was spectacular of the city!
And traffic was clear
all the way down routes five and ten,
on a Saturday night,
and it never is for me—
How did River's spirit do that, everybody?
What is more, though, is the fact that November 15th
is also the Founder’s Day at the Stift Klosterneuburg,
a monastery to the Virgin Mary,
outside Vienna, Austria, near where I started drinking,
on my last visit there with my parents at age 12, in 1973—
legend has it the Margrav Leopold III has a vision of Her, where he
found his wife Agnes’ wedding veil intact nine years
after it blew off her face—
and had the monastery built to Her, there, where it’s stood for nearly
900 years!
The entire town of Klosterneuburg, meaning
“New monastery town,” in German, basically,
“grew up” around it, and everyone comes out to party—
though they drink, too, “ironically,”
since it is wine country!
Leopold died on November 15th
in 1136, only a few months after completing the monastery,
one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen,
22 years in the building,
and he was later made a saint for his doings—
my grandmother, Leopoldina Janacek Taube,
was named for him, indirectly,
as many children were, at the turn of the century,
and her Name Day was also November 15th!
So, I feel like the spirits “convened” to save me,
that day, in 1993—
and I seem to be the only one with that story, “amazingly!”
It took me years to discover everything about my sobriety—
I keep a daily diary,
since my nervous breakdown in the 80s,
and that’s helped me
“divine” the day, exactly!
For a while there, I thought my sobriety
date was November 14, 1993,
since that was the date of my last drink,
a mimosa, at a B&B at Rehoboth Beach,
Delaware, where I used to party
at gay bars, naturally.
I was on the eve
of “temp” assignment as a secretary
for the federal government in DC—
I forget which agency—
during the Persian Gulf War recession, actually—
and I heard Al Gore’s voice inside me,
as I was walking after brunch on the beach,
say, “This is a problem,” meaning drinking,
and I quit, after 20 years!
I’d already stopped smoking,
the previous year,
of my own volition, actually,
after nearly as many years.
But, your first day without a drink or a drug is your first in sobriety,
And I had to change mine to November 15th,
feeling “cheated” a day, never knowing
all it means, historically,
or that the angels came to “save” me,
as I feel they may now be “saving” Joaquin!
So, at the risk of sounding “unnerving,”
I will writee this poetry here.
River, without you, I’m not going on—
and I’m never without you, either!
I’d been back at Plum Village on retreat—
where I got rejected from residency—
due to “difficulties”—
namely an age-old case of PTSD—
and the fact I got sick and had jetlag after traveling
30 hours from California to the south of France, only
to spend a sleepless night, staying
in a cabin with no running water or heat,
before being moved to a room at Middle Hamlet,
which was nicer, but my roommate Eliza was “grumpy.”
Not to mention the fact I “was smitten with” a River lookalike, only 23
at Deer Park Monastery,
the previous year,
which led primarily
to my rejection from most of the winter retreat and residency—
or so a senior nun told me—
“confirming” my beliefs—
I’d “ruled him out,” because he was only 23—
and I’m in my 40s!
This was about a month after Indiana had been conceived, exactly—
around September 27th, 2003,
which was also, “coincidentally,”
Amma’s 50th birthday, and I’d asked her personally
if I could live in India and get the health care I like, that year—
only not to go, out of “irrational anger” I’ve had for her for years,
because of my PTSD—
and Yolanda King was giving a keynote speech!
Maybe,
in the great scheme of things,
I needed to know Depp gave his controlling
share of The Viper Room to Amanda Fox, and he’s
not in sobriety—
nor has he married
Vanessa Paradis,
who has borne him two children out of wedlock, already—
yet I read that they didn’t “want” to, recently!
Actually, I have never read a word she
says, it seems—
Does he do all the talking?
How does she feel?
And Rain Phoenix, finally,
after nearly 11 years,
spoke to Laurie Parker, producer of “My Own Private Idaho,”
about River, on DVD—
and I’m “proud” of her, frankly,
but she didn’t mention the drugs cast and crew did to do the sex scenes.
River and Keanu even turned tricks, possibly--
not to offend anybody--
in the streets on Portland, Oregon, where they were picking up potential johns, “learning the ropes,” so to speak,
some place called “Vaseline Alley—”
I got this from John Glatt’s biography—
leading indirectly to River’s OD,
outside the Viper Room, after 2 years—
and that’s well documented, actually.
I did research, obviously.
And, it turns out that Keanu Reeves
played bass in a band called Becky,
which played at the Viper Room
as did Dogstar before it, presumably.
Keanu was still playing
in the band, when I emailed it via the lead
guitarist Paulie Kosta, saying
not to play at the Viper Room, anymore,
and all about my sobriety date being November 15, 1993
and what it means, historically—
and it did stop playing
there, after that, “amazingly,”—
the “webmaster” deleted all I wrote over hours and days,
at its BB,
insulting me, saying I was “obnoxious and damaging,”
when I put that Johnny D. is in the mob and needs to leave.
Keanu had left the band, already,
by then, saying he
“can’t tour and record” with it, “suddenly,”—
little wonder why, since a judge
was trying to shut down the Viper Room—
as was Arlyn Phoenix,
River’s and Joaquin’s mother, undoubtedly.
Maybe I needed,
too, to see
“Ocean’s Twelve,” which I did, recently, on DVD,
months after its theater release,
which “hypes” drinking, smoking, gambling, and stealing
on a grand scale as “cool,” though they know about River on that movie,
obviously!
But isn’t it “funny”
that Julia Roberts pretends to be somebody,
who pretends to be her, in reality—
pregnant, as she was then, but married!
And a pretty detective, played by Catherine Zeta-Jones,
gets drunks at the very end,
with Brad Pitt, on her on-screen lover, cursing.
And she’s a mother, more than once, isn’t she?
I saw it twice, just to get all the “nuances,” and I got “excited,”
when I saw the scenes set in Amsterdam,
because that’s where Indiana was born, last year!
I get “excited” when I think
of all the good River’s spirit and I can do, everybody—
but will anybody give me “credit,” even—
or will they simply “marginalize” me, as I’ve always been—
and be mean?--
I’m “lucky” if people are “nice” to me, even—
and I’m in sobriety, “due to” River’s OD—
seemingly the only one, until recently!—
hold it against me
that I have PTSD?
Curse and hang up on me—
as certain people
have, regarding this story—
including River’s agent, Iris Burton,
on Mother’s Day, twice, last year—
I doubt he’d want me
to write that, since she
has cancer, and I actually
have pity—
and even considered making
it up to her this year,
when the LAPD was being
so “evasive,” about Becky
“banning” me
from its website over Johnny D.’s being in the mob, everybody!
But, I was “too scared” to call her again,
after what happened, last year, actually—
though she could have told me
about Joaquin’s entering rehab, recently!
Didn’t Leonardo DiCaprio “make fun” of people “like” me,
who’d want to know more about River’s OD,
in an article in the 90s
in “The New York Times Magazine,”
lying, saying he
saw River in a Halloween
mask that evening at a party
River never went to, according to anything else you read—
Leo was interviewed while he was “busy,” being
in “The Basketball Diaries,”
out partying in New York City—
and later, he was in “Total Eclipse,” too—
both of which River had wanted to be in, actually.
Didn’t Leo “copy” River with his favorite charity,
environmentalism, with his own foundation, on-line, where he fraudulently advertised a “date” for charity he
and Gale Anne Hurd were to host together in the summer of 2003, only
to “back out” at the last minute, as he was “busy,” working
on “The Aviator,” with Martin Scorsese, leaving
his mother Irmelin DiCaprio “holding the bag,” so to speak,
as a member of the board for Reef Check—and she
brought her mother home to Germany that evening,
rather than face the VIP party
after the MacGillivray Freeman premiere
in IMAX of “Coral Reef Adventure” without him at Universal City!
And didn’t Steven Spielberg’s production company
with Jeffrey Katzenberg, Dreamworks, “steal” my story,
when it produced a teen movie,
“Win a Date with Tad Hamilton,” later that year,
based loosely on an email I sent Steven
about Leonardo not showing?
I saw it, though “normally”
I wouldn’t see such a thing—
as the lead looks like Leo and advertised a date for charity
on-line at his website, as Leo did, in reality!
I suspect Jeffrey, incidentally,
since he has teens, doesn’t he?
And it wasn’t that kind of date, either, everybody!
That night of the fundraiser, Amma was in LA, too, actually,
and after I got darshan at the hotel I began to menstruate early!
I wouldn’t have gone to either
Leo’s or Amma’s events in LA that year
had it not been for the synchronicity
and premonition dreams
I began to have of him,
when Mom got breast cancer and underwent treatment
about that time that year!
According to a documentary
made by local survivors here,
“Rachel’s Daughters,” 90 percent of breast cancer is due to the environment—
and the cancer rate is very high here—
especially that sort, apparently!
And I don’t even have health insurance and haven’t for years,
since the last time I applied, my case was botched,
and I haven’t applied elsewhere, yet, actually!
And didn't Prince William write his dissertation
at St. Andrews University on coral reefs?
What a case of “synchronicity.”
He could “take over” for Leo at UCLA’s Reef Check, couldn’t he?
But I never hear back when I write him and Harry
via his father's office at the palace, "naturally."
Did Leo agree to co-host the benefit “because of” Wills’ writing?
Probably—
I remember William saying
How Leo will like being
“king of Hollywood” better than he
will being King of England!
Well, we’ll see.
I am "reluctant" to write of him and Harry here,
since they never get back to me,
and miss their mother,
who loved them very deeply--
not me--
but William could “take a lead” from me,
since he and Harry
seemed to, five years ago, when I sent them both copies
of Cherry Tree Lane, the first year
the limited edition “came out”—
I self-published, actually, after having been
told how “like” Harry Potter it was,
since J. K. Rowlings tried 26 publishers,
before finding the right one—
and I didn’t have the patience or courage, actually.
And I was “delighted” and “gratified” that William seemed
“influenced” by me
when he held his first press conference later that year,
saying how he and Harry were angry
that their beloved mother Diana was being
betrayed and exploited in the press, for having
had borderline personality disorder, a condition similar to mine, PTSD—
this time from Patrick Jephson, her former secretary—
and Wills used words similar to my poetry I sent him and Harry earlier that year—
but he didn’t mention his father’s betrayal of her,
as I had in my poetry—
as he was standing right beside William as he was speaking!
I have a copyright on that from the Library of Congress, dated July, 2000, if you don’t believe me.
Actually, I forget his exact wording—
but I remember the feeling he was “copying” me!
This “makes some sense,” since I was born only
13 days after Diana was, on July 14,
1961, and we’re “alike,” astrologically, apparently!
And when Lauren Bush lied to the press during
her uncle’s “selection” as US president later that year,
I “freaked!”
This “spurred” “irrational anger” for me, I’d rather not go into here.
But if William does anything for UCLA, I won’t be
the “catalyst” there, unless you count this poetry,
because when I write them of anything, no one gets back to me!
In one “premonition dream” of Leo I had in 2003,
we met under a sapling
at an event for the environment, shaking
hands and “getting along”—
didn’t the wildfires of Southern California occur later that year—
when his website “bid” people to buy saplings at Tree People—
which I did, actually—
and had my parents and brother buy me for Christmas, that year.
And last year,
Mom didn’t let me
come visit at Christmas again, after she
underwent major back surgery
on her 79th birthday, December 3rd, and spent a month in the
hospital with Dad visiting—
but not me.
She didn't get me anything, and neither did he!
I’d moved into a B&B in Inverness,
near where I used to live at Muir Beach,
after my landlady kicked me
out on Halloween, ironically,
after I called a mediator to help me
negotiate a fair deal, after she gave me
60 days’ notice verbally
for the month of November, ironically,
as she was renting
the house to a guest conductor from the symphony—
for that month, only!
I then moved in with a “friend,” Micheline,
married to a famous doctor, Alex Caldwell—
and she kicked me out Thanksgiving, for calling
her doctor about her prescription lying
everywhere!
Wasn’t it was the same drug, clonazepam, ironically,
that I read Jennifer Syme had in her system, partly,
when she died in a DUI, after coming
from Marilyn Manson’s mansion
the night after a party?
But the LAPD found cocaine in her vehicle, too—
a Jeep Keanu Reeves bought her,
along with a house, when she was pregnant with the baby!
On Thanksgiving, I was staying at a B&B
at Stinson Beach,
the Redwoods Haus, where the proprietor’s husband, John,
“ironically,”
inferred my late beloved Uncle Felix Taube and his wife, Melida
sold drugs illegally
in Bogota, Colombia, where they both lived until he
died on a sudden heart attack—
on a tour of Cairo, Egypt,
on October 29, 1996,
after her arm was broken,
while some children were playing
and a ball knocked her down,
just the day before, I believe!
ii
But this poetry was supposed to be about Joaquin--
and where is he?
At the risk of sounding
“obsessed”—
as I frequently
do about River and “company,”
I feel like we’re “on a train,” he and I, spiritually—
and I get “happy,”
believe it or not,
thinking of the good “we” could do everybody!
Not to mention the 23 volumes of poetry
I wrote last spring for him—
during which time he “bid” me
to “live on” for him, spiritually,
as he stood under a shade tree
on the family ranch in Micanopy—
to which I agreed—
and this lifted the
worst of my depression, suicidally—
during the time Indiana August Affleck was being
born in Amsterdam, as Casey
was filming that movie!
Actually, I wanted to type up “Phoenix Rising,”
for Indiana’s first birthday this year—
though he can’t yet read, probably,
and the subject matter is a bit “adult” for him, actually—
but this considerably
shorter piece of poetry
“takes precedence” for me, since it’s right here,
and “Phoenix Rising” is in a cabinet behind rows of boxes I’ve yet to unpack, having just moved here three month ago, and I doubt I ever will, actually!
But back to our story—
cast and crew of “Ocean’s Twelve” went to Dampkring
in Amsterdam, a strip club, apparently,
where dancers took money
with something
other than their hands,
or so Matt Damon and George Clooney
“bragged” to the media at the time of release—
for a magazine cover story!
This was the sort of behavior
that led to Casey’s older brother Ben breaking
up his second engagement to Jennifer Lopez,
that time costing her a million dollars, reportedly.
He’d taken Christian Slater to a strip club
in Vancouver, after which his then-wife, Ryan Haddon—
who is divorcing him, last I read—
slashed his face at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas,
where John Entwistle died in bed with another woman,
on the eve of The Who’s reunion tour, the previous year,
I believe—
of a heart attack “brought on” by cocaine, apparently--
that hotel and casino should be
shut down, too, permanently.
Vivian Taube
Northern California
Spring, 2005