Singing in the Rain (For Tom Neal) by Tosh Berman

 

Singing in the Rain (For Tom Neal) by Tosh Berman

You've Got a Million-Dollar Talent Son, But a Ten-Cent Brain by Tosh Berman

 

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Tosh's Journal: September 17

TOSH’S JOURNAL

September 17

I barely exist. Well, perhaps to you, I barely exist, but for me, I am the star of my own world. I just don’t have the resources to make a proper appearance or become the person you think I should be. I’m a songwriter as well as a writer.  I don’t have a record deal nor a relationship with a publisher. Still, I can create something, make something that can be admired if you allow me that pleasure. I have the tendency, or some say the talent to choose the wrong type of woman. The ones that make me purr are usually married and married to powerful men. I want a taste of that power by being with their women. To taste what they have eaten, even though it’s a by-product of their ability, their position, it is still a high for me to get close to it. There is something in my DNA that makes me want to throw a punch before thinking it through. I don’t consider myself a vicious man, but once I taste their blood, it is like wine to my senses. I once read that there are no accidents or coincidences, that every gesture or thought is pre-planned. If I was meant to be productive, successful, and I guess happy, then it would happen.

I have been told that “You’ve got a million-dollar talent son, but a ten-cent brain.” The problem is that I need attention before anything else. I can’t stand being ignored or not to be the focus of attention. It’s always a shock to me when people don’t respond to me right away. Everything I do or see is an extension of me. I take a walk down Waverly Drive, and I know the architecture, the road signs, and even the trees as objects that should have a relationship with me. I find it odd that a thing can exist without me thinking about that thing. As I try to finish my memoir “I Am Not Ashamed,” I find myself in a deep sea of doubt, and that, to be honest with you, leave me scared. I wrote a song called “Angel of Death,” which confronts my fear of not being around. “Can you truthfully say/With your dying breath/That you’re ready to meet/The Angel of Death.”

My taste for married women came from the feeling that I’m alive and here at the moment. I don’t like to think about the next day or even the next minute. When you get to it, I want to be famous and admired - and the love or lust from a married woman brings that intensity in life. My girlfriend’s husband, Franchot, threw a punch at me the other night, he missed, and I broke his cheekbone. It felt good to do that.

On the other hand, I won the battle, but I may have lost the war. It felt right at that moment, but now people are beginning to doubt me or even worse, not caring at all. There is only so much pain to go around, and I can’t be seen as the pain giver, because people will be tired of me. And then what? “Just a deck of cards and a jug of wine/And a woman’s lies make a life like mine/Oh the day we met, I went astray/I started rolling down that lost highway.” - Tosh Berman

The Evening Series : VOL 5 (For Tom Neal)

I do love the pitter-patter of the rain tonight.  When there is a scent of moisture in the air, that is the time when I'm happy.  The dead bodies that lay throughout this house seem to me like it was from another time or even place.  What has been done has been done, and I can't cry over spilled milk.   I open the owner of this home's laptop and start writing in it.  I presume the authorities will read this in due time.  I may either check myself out or just leave the premise. 

Back to the rain.  Ever since I was a boy, I seem to feel great comfort in the storm.   The more it raged, and destroy, the more happiness came to my heart.   Even the leaks over my bed brought a sense of adventure to my life.   When I walk through an urban area, I often see a homeless person in a cardboard shelter, but you know that they are getting soaked.  I know what it's like to be wet and in a bed or sleeping area.   As a kid, I never wanted to fully wake-up, so the rain pitter-patter on my bed till it got soaked.  I just stayed in bed and counted the raindrops hitting my forehead. For some odd reason, I never got sick.   While walking I like looking at the wet streets reflecting the lights -it's like they are dancing on the pavement.   The sound of the rain is a beautiful piece of music.  Like millions of others, I feel like Gene Kelly in "Singing in the Rain."  I just want to dance till not only soaked but dead.   The end of time, the end of everything -it's blissful to be at that point. 

In a few days, there will be a new sheriff in the main house.  They're going to clean up Dodge and other towns.   Sadly, I won't be around much anymore.   Neither a lot of people.  No pun intended on the folks who lived in this home.   One thing I have notice is that it just takes only one incident to change everything.  You can plan.  Or you don't plan.  Still, just by having the stars set in a specific position can change one's presence, and I guess future as well.   One lesson I have learned is always to lock your door at night.  Even the most friendliest neighborhoods can have a tragedy take place.  It's always shocking.  I'm glad it's me that brought the news and not someone else.  

Well, I should mozy on.  It's getting late.  Don't want to bore the fans out there.  My hair is still wet from the rain.  Before I leave, I'll go to the bathroom and comb my hair into a sweet pompadour and then go into the night. 

- Tosh Berman

September 17, 2014

September 17, 2014

I barely exist.  Well, perhaps to you I barely exist, but for me, I am the star of my own world. I just don’t have the resources to make a proper appearance, or become the person you think I should be. I’m a songwriter as well as a writer, and yet, I don’t have a record deal nor a relationship with a publisher.  Still, I can create something, make something that can be admired if you allow me that pleasure. I have the tendency, or some say the talent to choose the wrong type of woman.  The one’s that make me purr, are usually married, and married to powerful men.  I guess I want a taste of that power by being with their women.   To taste what they have tasted, even though it’s a by-product of their power, their position, it is still a high for me to get close to it.  There is something in my DNA, that makes me want to throw a punch before thinking it through.  I don’t consider myself a vicious man, but once I taste their blood, it is like wine to my senses.  I once read that there are no accidents or coincidences, that every gesture or thought is pre-planned.  If I was meant to be rich, successful, and I guess happy, then it would happen.

I have been told that “You’ve got a million-dollar talent son, but a ten-cent brain.” The problem is that I need the attention before anything else. I can’t stand being ignored, or not to be the focus of attention.  It’s always a shock to me, when people don’t respond to me right away.  Everything I do or see is an extension of me.  I take a walk down Waverly Drive, and I see the architecture, the road signs, and even the trees as objects that should have a relationship with me. I find it odd that a thing can exist without me thinking about that thing.  As I try to finish my memoir “I Am Not Ashamed, ” I find myself in a deep sea of doubt, and that, to be honest with you, leave me scared.  I wrote a song called “Angel of Death, ” which confronts my fear of not being around.  “Can you truthfully say/With your dying breath/That you’re ready to meet/The Angel of Death. ”

My taste for married women came from the feeling that I’m alive and here at the moment. I don’t like to think about the next day, or even the next minute. When you get to it, I just want to be famous and admired - and the love or lust from a married woman brings that intensity in life.  My girlfriend’s husband Franchot, threw a punch at me the other night, he missed, and I broke his cheek bone.  It felt good to do that.  On the other hand, I won the battle, but I may have lost the war.  It felt right at that moment, but now people are beginning to doubt me or even worse, not caring at all.  There is only so much pain to go around, and I can’t be seen as the pain giver, because people will be tired of me.  And then what?  “Just a deck of cards and a jug of wine/And a woman’s lies makes a life like mine/Oh the day we met, I went astray/I started rolling down that lost highway. ”