How Kennedys Die

I had a wild night last night. A vision while I was watching The Deer Hunter, and then this morning, I began channeling. I've gone completely over the cliff.

First, I'm just sitting there sipping TW's fave wine, Frascati: Fontana Candida. Anna Magniani introduced him to it. Online translator says this means "Fountain Candida." Can't seem to quite handle the second word, but if you've studied languages, you can intuit a meaning! Just searched their website and found this:

"The Wine Grapes for this popular light wine were gathered between the middle of September and the end of October, then taken immediately to the cellars and vinified by the white wine method with gentle pressing. Frascati is actually a blended combination of grapes, Malvasia and Trebbiano, and has been around since about 4 BC. The dry, clean taste of Fontana Candida Frascati makes it an easy wine to enjoy by itself or with a variety of meals."

Wasn't that the year Jesus was born? Hello?!? Is everyone getting it yet?

Anyway, all of a sudden a theater curtain, like in a scene from Moulin Rouge (but smaller scale), opens, and there's Jack Kennedy, smiling. He's ebullient, feels no pain. He starts thanking me, for Christ's sake! What the fu. . . ? I hadn't seen him since my mother took me to hear him speak in Louisville, when I was in grade school. I like to think I shook his hand afterward, but I honestly think that any memory of that is enhanced wishful thinking.

We set the record for length of applause for a Kennedy speech that night (according to the Louisville Courier-Journal, incidentally bought with money stolen by Robert Worth Bingham from Mary Lily Kenan Flagler Bingham when he drugged his wife into adding a codicil to her will giving him $5 million. (What is it with these damn codicils?) Mary Lily promptly died, and he began accumulating his media empire. I wish Tommy Kenan had answered my question when I asked him about the exhumation and autopsy he ordered in the mid-'80s. He refused to tell me. (What is it with these autopsies and coroner's reports? 60 Minutes did a segment on this exact question about Mary Lily in the late '80s. Two bestsellers hit the stores on it then. David Leon Chandler wrote them.)

Every five or ten years, when I think of it, I give a single clap. My entire life, it has been my goal to be the last one clapping at the longest-clapped Kennedy address, although maybe other audiences clapped longer, later. Wouldn't surprise me. I guess Jack appreciated it.

Then Jackie approaches from behind him, drapes her arm on his shoulder and smiles at me. I'm destroyed. This, finally, is real. I met Jackie. I stood at her side when Truman insulted her. Waves of destruction wash through me. I sob. My fucking denture falls out. All the goddamn dead Presidents line up behind Jack and Jackie. I tell them thanks, but I can't handle it. I get their point. Go away.

Everyone leaves, the curtain closes. Christopher Walken is going bat-shit crazy on my TV. (Ask me later for the dish Gavin Lambert gave Tennessee Williams and me on Natalie Wood's actual circumstances of death.)

The curtain appears again and opens. John-John has joined his parents and is waving a small American flag. I'm sobbing, sobbing. My denture falls out again. I give up, place it on the coffee table. I'll need to use adhesive if I'm going to watch movies in the future. Or past. Where am I? Jack and Jackie vanish. John-John is adult. He's gorgeous, so vital. He grows sad, and clasping his hands together, he begins slowly shaking his head side-to-side. His eyes are downcast. He looks up.

"It wasn't an accident," he says while looking directly into my eyes. He seems tired. Too tired. "It was the Republicans. The bad ones. They rigged the plane. I should have listened." We spend a few moments as he psychically shares the future he would have had. He and the curtain de-materialize. I sit in shock. My denture is drying.

So what do you do when a "vision" of a Kennedy reveals the truth about his death? "One at a time!" I shout, and then roll a belly-laugh. I have no feeling that Jack has any intention of commenting on his own death. Thank God. I guess he's OK with how that story has played. But what do I do? I've met several of the Kennedys—in 1981. I hardly know them. I sleep on it. I awake. I have to express it. To hold it in, afraid of criticism, would kill me. I'll write an email and then post it to my blog. I'm crazy. So what? I'm a creative writer. It's allowed.

Don't even ask me what happened this morning when imagining how I might post an imaginary discussion between Jesus and me, and as I get into it, Jesus' voice morphs into the absolute voice of Tennessee Williams.

I'm no longer overwhelmed.

UPDATE 1/16/09 4:16 p.m. EST: JFK Airport Terminal 8 has just been evacuated. This from TV Fox News (just tuned in to get some laughs, but this isn't funny.) I trust they weren't lying. I can't find confirmation on the internet. I hope I don't.

4:22: Fox News just reported it again on TV, saying they don't know why Terminal 8 (They add American Airlines) was evacuated. Their video is of outside looking toward the terminal. Shows nothing unusual. Still no mention on internet or CNN (I have 2 TVs.) This seems somehow nuts to me, but then Fox has been caught manufacturing news before. But not this. I hope.

4:28: CNN New Briefs makes no mention of this problem at JFK. Are they that far behind?. CrAzY!!!

4:30: NBC on internet reports the evacuation. Says it was an inadvertent security breach. Four people told me that NBC was compromised, engulfed into "The System" several days ago. Your guess is as good as mine.

I'm going back to watching CNN. I suspect this is only important news to people who prefer to be scared by nothing. Unmindful people breaching security by accident in airports is hardly news these days. Fox has gone back to lying about Obama. Yawn.