Ken Zimmerman



For Ken, Who Saved My Life

For Ken, Who Saved My Life In the fall of 1977 I moved to New York City, having dropped out of college to become a hippie poet along with my buddies Tony and Bill. We were going to start a new magazine of American surrealism, which we already called New Honolulu...

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In conclusion, I might say that this funky and often tedious memoir work I’ve been busy with for who knows how long now— dredging through boxes of old journals mildewed and nearly illegible, photographs cracked and worn, blurred words and broken trinkets and solitary...

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Don’t Worry About It

One night, during my first year in San Francisco, summer of ‘79, my friend Bob leaned over to me, handed me a doob and said, “Brother Kenny, do you need a job?” The thought hadn’t really crossed my mind, but sure, why not? Back then I’d try almost anything. Next...

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Winning the Lottery

It’s nearly impossible for me to remember jokes. I guess I’m not the only one with that syndrome. But there’s one joke that sticks with me. It goes something like this: Dude is broke, his wife is sick, kids hungry, etc. Every night he kneels at the foot of the bed and prays, “God, won’t you let me win

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