Monday, January 19, 1981

Having a brand new fancy typewriter does not help. I have been here
over a week and haven't written anything. Not that a lot hasn't
happened. Today I confronted Bill about his talking about me to Simone
but not directly to me. This is not worth writing about. Walking to
the post office for the wail. Returning and feeling completely
disconnected from everything. Having ideas about how I want things to
come out but don't see how to do it. Lonely feelings. Nobody I can
trust really . Only Simone and Linda give me a feeling of not being
alone. They are away most of the time. I'm very stuck going to the
post office for the mail every day. It feels as though I mUst do it. I
have to do it. I think about how to change things so something else
happens.

I sleep until noon today. Not that I'm depressed, because I get up
right after waking and masturbating. A phone call goes
unanswered. Somehow I can't capture the mood that made it possible for
me to write so much on FH. A phone call from Linda last night. It
makes me feel good to hear she misses me and looks forward to seeing
me again. She tells me the story of how she was here the night I
called Dana. They were in bed together. She jumped out and ran to the
kitchen to listen on the extension. She felt a bit guilty. It was not
possible for her to do anything with Dana after that incident. She
wrote me a letter but it didn't get there in time. She wanted me to
hear about it from her before Dana told me the story. He already
has. The way he describes her is how Simone described him when I was
away. Simone calls to tell me of her plans for the week and that she
realized why she likes me so much. Its because she enjoys being with
me. Simple. A few days ago she tells me of this idea she has to make
things go faster. Why not a little newsletter describing all the
things that are going on with us and the people we know. I remind her
that this is an idea of mine from about 4 weeks ago. She thinks it
might isolate us even more. Its true but it will also cause people to
be very interested in whats going on. Those who are really interested
in living with us will understand. We had a talk with Dana the other
day about some recent problems, like his using the apartment to
refinish some of his old furniture. The smell gets into everything. It
is resolved by having him move things down to the Hampshire Place
office. Its also more room. The other things was comfort. Last Tuesday
night the dream group met here. It was too cold for Simone. She wanted
to raise the temperature. Dana wanted to keep it down to save
money. My concern was that everyone should be comfortable. We don't
have to suffer like a bunch of Pilgrims during our life. Better to
spend a little more money to be comfortable. He argues that she is not
really here and so doesn't have much say in the matter. I say that is
irrelevant. He sleeps with her, has an emotional relationship with
her, and this is a minor factor - that she does not technically live
here. I am eating chocolate again. The result of this was Simone's
saying that people talking to each other about what's going on is very
important. That this is a good basis for building a healthy
community, which she and I both want. We try to talk about more
important things with other people that we know. Suddenly I feel a
little bit better.

A whole page.

Another letter from Genie Berman today. She wrote to me almost exactly
one year ago, also from Japan. She still thinks fondly of me and my
jokes. Maybe, she says, I will visit sometime soon. She goes to Italy
in the next few months. I wrote her a mushy love letter last
year. Something more sedate and rational this time. A date with Caryn
Schwartz yesterday. She called to cancel. My mistake. I pushed a
little too hard. She was obviously quite stirred up by our
conversation of a few days ago. My intuition, she said, tells me not
to do it. She has some connection with a TORI like group. Her friends
are in it so she goes, but does not like what goes on. It sounds very
chaotic. chicken bones allover the place she says. A rather withdrawn,
authoritarian, older man is the leader. We talk a lot about FH. Maybe
she will go sometime. She has sent Gertrude some information about
Intentional Education for the school. In the beginning, a difficult
time with Simone last night. It was almost one. I go to bed. She gets
here and wants me to go to her place. I say no. It is late, I'm tired,
not feeling well, don't want to ride there, go to bed, sleep, get up,
get on the subway, ride back to Cambridge. She protests and complains,
but stays. She is withdrawn at first, but we start talking. She is
under a lot of pressure. Its from work, Carol, having her other place
still, Michael, her parents this week, after a visit. She goes away to
California with Carol in two weeks. After a while it gets a little
better. She doesn't want any clam juice from me tonight. Well, maybe
... But we are too tired. Some more rambling talk, some games, fooling
around, and soon we both feel quite good. And so just go to sleep.

I think some more about the CAMBRIDGE CHRONICLES. What if we wrote
several pages with something about all the people we know, what's
going on with them at this time, make a mailing list and send it. What
would happen? I could send it to everyone on my Cambridge list, and
put together a list from Simone and my own directory. Vell, almost
two pages! This is getting exciting. But I now wonder about if I
should type everything single space. Certainly for a
newsletter. Difficult getting going today. So many things to do and
lots of uncertainty about which way to go. Edwin, while talking with
him yesterday, tells me my biggest problem is settling on one or two
things to do then putting lots of effort into it. Instead I try to do
everything of interest to me and can't do any of them very well, at
least not to my satisfaction. He's right. And now I think of doing
even more. Perhaps a new full time job, and the seminars Joe has been
helping me with. Dinner with Ron and Ellen a few days ago. Simone
thinks we may have freaked them out talking about our various
relationships. But they were interested, and it was more interesting
than other things we talked about.

Somehow horses came up and I was reminded of all my adventures as a
youth. Raising Suzie from a colt, Star, who we got rid of only when my
stepfather broke some of his ribs one day when the horse went crazy,
and others. I think lately of trying to write about my
childhood. Memories of lots of seminal incidents, or so they seem. Or
some things I don't remember, but my mother and grandmother tell me
of.

The end of the 2nd page.

Maybe I should go visit my grandparents in Florida. They can tell me a
lot about my early years. I have heard lots of stories already. Record
it or maybe even videotape the event. I begin to feel a bit teary
eyed. Dana and I speak a little about our childhoods. He did not like
having so many brothers and sisters. It was not a good time for
him. My mind flashes over many incidents of extreme feeling from when
I was a little boy. Visiting friends of my father. He talks about my
being so withdrawn, and how my sister gets along much better, and
quicker. The earliest memories I have of living in a trailer, West of
Cody, looking out the window, having the measles.

A vague memory of a communal bathing place with males and females
together. But I think this must be a creation of mine. I can't imagine
that such a thing really happened in Cody, Wyoming, sometime around
1950. Saturday, twwO days ago, Porter Square shopping center, a
bookstore. I see Sandy Margolin. First time in years. I feel a little
excited. Should I say anything, or pretend not to. Then I glance to
the side and see some books by Jerzy Kosinski. Spend a little time
looking at the covers. Finally the nerve. Do you read that sort of
thing, I comment about the book she is holding. Hello she says, long
time no see. Last she had heard of me was that I'm in some religious
group. Funny how rumors get turned upside down. I mean how rumors are
reality turned upside down. No, it was a free sexuality group. But its
a lot different now. At first I thought she was referring to the
Mormon Church, from which I had been excommunicated in 1973. Not
that. We talk about Jessie, David, and what she is doing. Living on
Eustis Street, divorced from David, shared custody, a new
boyfriend. Had been working as an editor. We say nothing about
Cheyenne or Adele. I speculate about how much of this will get back to
her. Briefly talk about how I may write this book about myself, but
having problems getting started. She has to go.
 
Tuesday, January 20, 1981

A sinking feeling, desperate, on my way to the post office. Will I
ever get out of this rut? Will I keep churning my wheels and getting
nowhere? A feeling that time is going too fast for, of being left
behind again. I think of how to change the situation. Last night late
to bed. Simone and I talk about her moving in. She talks about "our"
room. I want my own room. She wants to share one. A
struggle. Tensions. She argues that we will have to share a room only
temporarily, until we get a bigger place. I think she has just made up
this rationalization. She knows its true, but in the beginning denies
it. She spent some time in a bar with Tom Howard last night. He didn't
want her to call and tell me they were there. He thought I would come
over, as its nearby. He wanted to be alone with her. He is still
thinking about an affair, also divorce. Debbie is too boring for
him. But he needs a stable, reliable person like her. He bet Simone $5
that I would come to the bar. She Won. Later she, Dana, and I are
talking about this and other things. They plan to give these courses,
but the ad is wrong, and their mailing list is not ready. I get
frustrated and push on them to do something. Perhaps frustration with
my own inability to get IIDving on some things. Another dream about
airplanes last night. Also about a horse we had in Wyoming. I walk to
the train station with Simone and tell her my idea about common
ownership of some property, like a house. She is negative. Her last
experience with such a group living situation did not work out so
well. Too many big ideas and not enough attention to little
details. She's right, but I keep leaping ahead to what might be. Last
night's bed conversation turns for just a moment to sleeping with
other people in our common house. It gets a little tense. I mention
Dana. He's not sleeping with me now, she says. He can't manage it when
I'm there. Better to let this one pass, and not push on it.

Two days in a row of writing something! I am getting all excited about
the seminar and have asked Joe to help me develop the written
material. He agrees, while speaking to him in Harvard Square.

Thursday, January 22, 1981

Last night a surprise from Dana. He suggests we have an Sd evening. He
has been reading my notes from when I was first on FH. It seems he has
been doing that every time I see him, for the last 3 days. At one time
he told Simone they were boring. She tells me he enjoys talking
together but it is more comfortable when she is there. We spoke for
some time about being in love, just the two of us. Me and Dana. It was
the most real conversation I have ever had with just him. Mostly its
about the weather, furniture, this or that trivial thing. He seems
quite interested in the SD. That it is a very powerful thing for
discovering ones weaknesses and strengths. I tell him how a weakness
disappears the moment you show it. How difficult it is to be open to
people, to love them. I can't recapture the mood. This is a completely
intellectual description of it. Why do I write? This is something I
asked myself two days ago. For one, to become a better write, second,
to get another picture of myself. Third is something like research. To
discover some new ideas and pictures of life. But also to solve some
practical problems in life. Like how to write every day about what's
going on. How to be more steady in the things I do. How to enjoy what
I do. Writing has become very enjoyable these last few days. Its a
real thrill to be able to pour this stuff out in some way. Not that it
satisfies me, but when I think about the times past when trying to
keep a diary and how naive the writing was ... Maybe I will try to dig
some of that up.

I also have the idea to put some other things, like pictures, poems,
drawings, in the book about me - if it ever comes to that. otto's
green lady. Maybe in color. Some of the drawings by Regi. Donald
Faugno has just called from Sturbridge. I did not go today because of
not feeling well and having so much work to do. It made me a little
nervous. The job interview yesterday was interesting, but not enough
to give up more than 40 hours a week for $25,000 a year. The
interviewer suggested some other fringe benefits but I don't think
so. In any case, I will go visit the school tomorrow and have a closer
look at things. A teaching job still interests me, and there are other
possibilities. My body starts to fail me in some more little ways. I
think again about doing some exercise. It is like everything else, a
lot of momentum to just keep doing the things I am doing now. Its so
difficult to just make a phone call to get it started. So I have just
called about where to get mats for exercising on. They may be too
expensive for now. Today I will look for some smaller and cheaper
versions. Temporary. Also, to get a tape recorder for playing
music. And some Canned Heat music. I found that to have the best
tempo. I am having trouble getting to the events of last
night. Jealousy. To put it in a word. It started with a phone call
from Linda. She was on the other line. I could tell right away from
her voice that something was up. She switched back to the other line
and seemed to drag it out. Dana noticed it also. Then I switched back
to Linda. Until that time she was not feeling well and was going to
just stay here. Then she decided to go stay with Michael, as she had
originally planned. Before leaving she jokingly said maybe the four of
us should do something together. Me, her, Michael, and Linda. Have
dinner, and then later sleep together. She suggested that Linda would
be just perfect for Michael because they have a similar "problem". I
begin to feel jealous. But very mild. It comes and goes in waves. One
moment desperation. The next its ok. Abandonment. A sinking
feeling. Out of control. She starts to get a distant edge to her voice
and behavior. Her contact with me becomes stiffer. Less eye
contact. Even a goodbye kiss is more formal. I go to the office. ,C'he
calls me. Something is up. She has to confront me about the telephone
incident. Points out to me that I kept her waiting once when she
called long distance. And another thing that escapes me now. The
feeling is back. I try some tricks to keep her on the phone and away
from Michael. He doesn't want to speak to me. It reminds me of the
tricks with Regi on FR. whenever she slept with another man I would
try all sorts of things to disrupt it or get the attention of
everyone, or just do most anything to fight off the feelings of panic
and tension. Sometimes I would attack thEm with a pillow, try to force
myself between them. All sorts of confusion and time consuming
ploys. Anything to drag out the moment she would be totally involved
with "him". Here its a little different. Everyone tries to arrange the
situation so those feelings don't come up. Its called an open relationship. 
But in fact it is closed to the sort of feelings that are created by the
situation. What one doesn't know won't make you jealous. Michael seems
to be putting himself more into the competition for her. He wants to
arrange more time with her. I will have to Work harder. She says he
knows exactly what to do to get more of her. I think she uses the
ambiguous situation of her moving in with me as a means to get him to
come after her. She still has her doubts about me. Even while saying
that I am afraid to get close to her. She still believes it is
necessary to decide absolutely on one of us. That once married she
will suddenly not have the same feelings about the other. And of
course I am still not convinced of her proclamations of undying love
for me. She has doubts, every day, just like me. The only problem is
her idea that she must decide on one of us eventually. She was having
a difficult time on the phone last night. My tricks were getting to
her. I noticed that the way she tried to get distance from me had more
than one quality. One thing would fail as I chip away at her, and so
she tries a different tack. But still some subtle difference that is
difficult to put in words. A definite feeling. The feeling was that
this person is trying to avoid contact with me, I know it. It was an
unmistakable sensation, but done in several different ways. Its so
IMPOSSIBLE to describe this! Very Frustrating. To be able to do this
would be like solving an existential puzzle, a life paradox. It eludes
me. A mirage. I look in the wrong place? Where to look? I sit here
pondering this like a mathematics puzzle. But it holds my attention
quite unlike any math problem I've ever done. Am I the mirage? Is she
the mirage? Not the person, but rather the feelings evoked. Maybe the
place to look is reality. Haw trite. But I think if there really were
more people and we had a group living situation then..... But I
imagine that everyone will really be dedicated to doing something
about their difficulties. From experience I know this isn't so. Its
true of me. I avoid these difficulties by being stubborn, and show
that stubbornness is one of my difficulties. Most people will make
excuses to avoid their feelings. Even Simone, who is one of the best
people I have found here, will do this when it comes to
jealousy. Others insist they are not comfortable and so it your fault,
and leave. They can't stand the way they feel. "That's not what I want
to do at this point in my life." But why do I suddenly get so tense
and angry when someone says this? Its the same for me. I don't want to
confront myself now either. When I get so mad at someone being closed
up. NO. Forget that. what do I mean? I see someone being really
stupid, saying something like its not for me now. Suddenly, without
any conscious effort, I get enraged. They don't want to have any
contact with me. I can't stand this. On the surface they may be
perfectly calm. The explanation may be perfectly calm. But I am
boiling. It almost overwhelms me. I stay calm. Try to think of a
clever reply. But mostly being so mad jumbles everything around and I
can't make any sense. I take it as a personal rejection. I don't
understand on an emotional level that it is someone else's problem. It
has nothing to do with me. I think of the many times people have had
this sort of reaction to me. Of course it felt like I was being
personally rejected. They were rejecting me, in a sense. But
sometimes I am so crazy, or push to hard, that it is the most sensible
thing to do. This is always so uncomfortable. I have a warm feeling in
my face. Almost like feeling a bit ashamed of myself. It often happens
when I think of times my behavior turned people off to me. It is
usually obvious afterward what I did wrong. How I shouldn't have said
this, or how I pushed to hard on something. How to avoid this rejection 
inducing behavior? It obviously needs to be avoided at the
moment it happens. A stupidly obvious statement. Well, it is almost
2pm and I am feeling quite satisfied about the amount I have
written. Like a communist quota system. A silly thing, I suppose, but
not bad when I think about how blocked the last week has been. The
second hand on the clock sweeps around and seems to go faster, then
slower. But it seems really to be getting slower. Maybe it is just
me. The body is not working right the last few weeks. Yesterday I had
the impression of cancer. Not in one place, but pervasive. Something
feels wrong. Not enough exercise. Not enough regularity. Not enough of
the right foods. I feel the need to push myself but not to the point
where life is uncomfortable. I have done that too many times in the
past. Try to push in a direction where things are enjoyable. Finished.

Sunday, January 25, 1981

Its getting hard to write again. The other day I was thinking, Hey,
what if I become a famous writer, and someone is reading this in the
far future? ~What would I say to such a person? You stupid shit!
Forget it and go do something. But I have these what-if,
in-the-future-dreams, often. Why? Always hoping something I want will
come about. Today I was thinking how everything seems to be going
well. My relationships are holding together. It looks like more people
will be living here. Linda wants to live here if she decides to leave
art school. But its not solid. Everyone is still subject to being
nudged by too much feeling and going off by themselves. Only Simone
seems determined enough about what she wants to put up with present
and probable future difficulties. Can I say my believing there will be
future difficulties cause them to be created? So I get excited about
the present and fail to see the situation as it really is, and then
expect the worst of the future. Simone has just read these notes. She
freaks out at the possibility of Linda living with us. She wants to
"confront that asshole about hanging up the telephone on me". It is
only her jealousy. She becomes loud and vicious. Incredible
tension. She is afraid of being abandoned, rejected. She has no
distance to the feeling. She lets it eat her alive. Its gets a little
calmer. Dana likes the idea that she thinks enough of us to want to
live with us. He thinks it quite complimentary. But I have a very
nervous feeling. She continues to be confrontational. Accuses me of
being incapable of having an intimate couple relationship. I remind
her of others who reject her and how it is related to smothering. By
her. My face feels very warm. MMy hands are quite cold. Shaking a
little bit allover. Feeling hyper. I hide the scissors in my room. She
has picked up weapons and thrown things at me before. Dana says he
wants to leave and go to the movie. Tell me about it later, he says.
We convince him to stay. He is a part of this. I play a joke about
going to the movies with Dana. Leaving Simone here alone with
Linda. She says I am afraid to go and leave her with Linda. I go to my
room and write this. She can call me if she wants. It seems Linda is
here. I continue to type. She can get me if necessary. It seems I get
a little more nervous. Didn't I say that already? But now I wonder
what's going on in there? I hear just a little bit of someone talking.
How can I keep my mind on another topic? Can't. Do I hear them talking
or not? Now I hear something. Not clear. But something. Everything is
washed away. Not a thing else comes up for me. I leave the two
combatants to battle it out. What if this happens every time someone
new moves in with us? How would it go with Judy Levy? Jeannette
Tremblay? Michael Jaro? Simone always asks me what it would be like if
Michael moved in. Wouldn't you feel jealous, she asks. Yes, but it
wouldn't be so bad that I would start thinking of reasons why not to
or why he should leave. ~What is this warm feeling in my face? Its
like a constant feeling of being Embarrassed. But not really. Its also
fear. I can hear more talking. It seems to be a bit louder. I open the
door and listen. Linda is getting the better of the situation. She
understands there may be problems, but she hasn't decided to move in,
its only speculation. We will have to wait and see, she says. Should I
decide to move in, then I'll have to spend time to get to know you
better, she says. But now I want to spend what little time left today
with Richard. I'd like to spend some time just with you Simone, but
not now. Another time. She comes to me in my room. I tell her she won
this one. The score is now tied one to one. She has forgotten about
the last interaction she had with Simone. She is very sassy with me. I
see another, more assertive, self-knowledgeable, side of her. She
wants to fuck and takes my clothes off. We are under the
covers. Simone enters, I'll see you later this evening, she says, and
slams the door. It amuses me. Linda thinks it rude. In the beginning
its difficult to get an erection. The tension from the situation is
still in me. We talk while fucking. Then I come into her from
behind. It is one of the best times we have had together. It seems as
though I have gotten over a hurdle and something, once bound up inside
me, has come unstuck. Linda says she has learned a lot from her
relationship with me. Today I learned a lot about her. But she jumps
up right away and is gone. She takes some of my FR notes to read. I
will go to visit her next weekend. Simone will be on her way to
California.
 
Sunday, January 25, 1981

On the one hand I imagine myself orchestrating the whole
situation. That I am in command, and know exactly what to do next. But
mostly things are just developing. I have an idea about what things
might be like, then make little experiments to see if it can be
created. But the situation could reverse very rapidly. Its happened to
me before. Sometimes I imagine that, like Otto, I've found my Claudia,
Teresa, and Eva. But there isn't so much difference between me and
them as there is between Otto and the others. Mostly it is my
imagination that I'm like him or capable of what he's done. On the
other hand things have not fallen apart. Simone probably will survive
this incident. Dana tells me her interrupting was from trying to
figure out what sort of "Richard Gardner trick" I'd try at a time like
this. She almost pulled it off but the door slamming gave her away. I
was only amused. Now she will probably think of trying something like
this. Maybe I will come over and she will be in bed with another
man. Like a poker game. But we learn a lot of important things with
every new hand we play. She could make a date with me and then cancel
at the last moment. Or maybe start introducing me to a lot of her
other men friends. Or change her behavior so Michael is more
comfortable and wants to spend more time with her. Maybe go away on
that vacation he suggested to her just recently. Or maybe just make
lots more dates with other men. The next chapter should be
exciting. Don't you think so? In the beginning it was a heated
argument with lots of emotions coming out. In time it settled
down. The world did not end. We have experienced a new threshold of
ourselves, and learned that it is not so bad. I may have to face this
situation again, but once done it really feels behind me.

Monday, January 26, 1981

No, its not really behind me. A day of arguing inside my head. Walking
along, head down, feet scraping, having fights with Simone, countering
every argument she tries against me. Catching myself wrapped up in
it. Cursing at myself for falling into this old pattern. When, I ask,
will it be possible to just live and enjoy myself. And not have to
fight against everything. She blackmails me and threatens to go to
another man. What is the clever argument she uses? She threatens to
leave me before I get a chance to leave her. I am inclined to say go
ahead. But she can leave any time she wants. Nothing holds her back
but herself.

Tuesday, January 27, 1981

More arguing in bed with Simone last night. The same old stuff. Who's
ahead of who. Who did what, when, and where, to whom. It goes on and
on. What is it about? I can never remember. Nothing of importance. But
I had to do something to end the rather nasty circle of blame and
counter-blame we were in. At first I just told her to go home, get out
of here. Then I pushed her a little. She resisted, not wanting to
really go. Then I just decide to turn my back and be quiet. To stop
fighting with her and say nothing. She goes on. I tell her to shutup
and go to sleep. Then the whole mood changes. She starts to cry and
tell me how love is more important to her than what goes on now. I
surrender also, turn to hold her and talk. She says that wanting to be
loved, and her fear of rejection has created a lot of difficulties for
her. And there was more, but the mood was totally different. We were
not strugg ling against each other. The voice and words were softer
and more genuine. It was much better than lying there, on our backs,
staring at the ceiling, feeling tense, hitting back at each other with
past nasties, accusations, meanness, and all the other things that
people say to the other when they hate, and want to come out ahead,
and feel superior, and self-righteous. Its still in me. Today, more
fights inside Icy head. It carries me away. A life filled with
imaginary fights, and imaginary victories, and tension, and no real
resolution. I get knocked off my feet so easily by these past
events. Not enough satisfaction now? Not enough security now? I give
in to this mood and feel like crying. A lump in my throat, and a dam
at my eyes stops it. Suddenly I am thinking about otto and the time he
was on TV with Eva and the moderator bit her finger. I saw it in Der
Speigel about two and one-half years ago. Rudiger and Virginia were staying with me
at Hampshire Place. He was very sick and Virginia and I did all the
work. I am a bit paralyzed at the moment. So much work to do, and so
many projects I want to get going. I've just talked with Simone on the
phone. Something is still between us. I could feel it jump up from
time to time as we spoke. A little thing would set me off or something
I say upsets her. It gets a little tense. Mostly we drop it. There is
a new sort of defensiveness about her attitude toward me. A little
cooler. A little more matter of fact. A little more definite. A little
sharper. A feeling that she is putting a subtle form of distance
between us. She still sees it as my having hurt her. With no
indication of her understanding that it was just something that I
wanted. It is only a game, a trick,· played on her. It was not
something real. We didn't really want to do what we did. It was only
to get at her. I point out how Michael is showing more interest in
her. That she is threatening to leave me before I have a chance to
reject her. She hasn't done that for some time. Her stern voice warns
me of other consequences if I continue on the same track. You don't
understand yet, do you, she says. But it is perfectly clear. She
doesn't want to have it any other way. She wants things arranged so it
won't happen again. At just this moment I feel a shifting in my
attitude toward her. One of not really caring what she thinks. A
willingness to take my chances. A strange thing. At the moment it
doesn't matter if she stays or goes away. A new feeling about her. A
small, insecure, petty, nasty, conniving baby. Willing to throw away
anything to avoid those feelings. I will be brutal and give her
another chance to chuck it! Then it is a question of should I plan
something or just let it happen? But not I start to soften a bit. Why
do it anyway? I just don't want to live like this, to have to think
every moment about who might be bothered by what I do. Then I imagine
we are living together, and she doesn't want Linda there. A plot to
find another place, with Linda, and then move. They would not know
anything till the day it was to happen. People are so easy to
deceive. Only by revealing everything can one avoid being
deceived. Last night she told me the story of Renee and Gary. They are
or have berm, under the impression that I am related to the Gardners
of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. I have told them about the
private quarters in the Museum that are available to members of the
family. Also, that someday Simone and I would go there with them. A
few days ago they went looking for the private quarters and asked
several people there about me. Nobody knew anything. The workers there
said the person who said these things must be psychotic. Renee came to
Simone yesterday with some very bad nEWS. It was that I had deceived
her about my relationship to the Museum. She told Renee the truth
today. Renee was pissed and said it made her look like a fool. She was
a fool. Its so easy. I noticed a flushed, hot feeling in my face. I
get it when something makes me mad and then I hold back. Its like
holding down something that wants to explode. My hands are quite cold
in comparison. Sunday evening I was having fearful fantasies about
Simone. That she would attack me. It would happen very suddenly. I
kept looking over my shoulder for her. One thing that has not really
come out in the open, but something she keeps hinting at, and never
saying directly. Namely, she doesn't want IT to happen again. She has
not asked me straight out. Should I be brutal and say I won't stop it
from happening again, or lie and say, or waffle, about its happening
again? I'm sure the possibility will present itself again. What should
I do? See if its ok to enjoy myself? I don't know haw to say this. Its
getting to be like a well thought out plan that will go awry on the
first step. No, even thinking of the plan is the first wrong
step. Very strange how my face is so hot. Haw do I tell the difference
from fantasies that arise naturally, spontaneously, and those that I
willfully create? The latter are not nearly so interesting as the
former. Reading about John O'Hara yesterday. If I become a famous and
rich writer will I also gets lots of sex? I certainly find it pushing
me on, trying to write better. But this fantasy is different from
others about being famous and getting lots of women. Its more
realistic. Or so it seems to me. How so, the reader asks. I don't know
exactly, but probably women would get fixated on me as a character,
and not because of something like money. Does that make sense? How do
ideas like this get into people in the first place?

Wednesday, January 28, 1981

Feeling fragile - the opposite of feeling groovy. I have been nervous
much of the day. There is still something in the air with me and
Simone. We talk about something that has happened and she thinks some
sort of resolution or solution has come from this. But the problem
with Linda is still there. Its as though she is hoping I will change
somehow. That the pressure and threats of leaving will bring me
around. Stu has asked her to marry him again. He won't see her again
if she continues to live with me. I've said I don't need someone who
would leave me to be with him. It seems like a little joke. I watch
the clock. Its not plugged in but the second hand seems to jump
ahead. Time being thrown away, wasted. Last night a two hour, 11:30 to
1:30am, conversation with Susan Parker. Someone who knows Joe. We
talked about couple relationships and FH. I asked her about coming
over with a bag of potato chips. Fine, she said, if you had asked an
hour ago. She must be at work by 7 or so. But I spoke with her this
evening and we have a date for next Tuesday, February 3. She said how
about tomorrow, but I'll be out of town. A sinking feeling when she
says she can't see me till then. I am churning and spinning my
emotional wheels again.

I am jealous of Joe who was at her house, for a meeting. Nietzsche:
The consequences of our actions take hold of us, quite indifferent to
our claim that meanwhile we have improved. The results of our behavior
ruin our lives, and doesn't care about our saying that we have grown a
lot. what faces he might be making at today's human potential
movement. And when will I realize my potential? When will I be more
positive about myself and when will my self be more I? That Nietzsche
writes so good. So many interesting ideas, such good paragraphs. And I
struggle to describe my own condition. Incredibly hungry
today. Again. What can I point to today as a gain, again? When was
the last time?

Thursday, January 29, 1981

Mush. Everything feels like mush today. Can't tell one thing from
another. Thinking about lots of things but can't remember much. Last
night with Dana and Simone. We sit on his bed and talk for an hour or
so. He and I were talking alone. About the tension between Simone and
lover Sundays events. It made me nervous and hungry the whole day. An
uneventful day teaching in Sturbridge. Boring bus ride there. Boring
bus ride back. Simone is at Donna's for her dream group. Michael has
decided to join. She will not say what her plans for the evening
are. Who will she stay with? I sense a bit of getting even in her
voice. Anyway, remoteness. Her last day at work. A visit to the doctor
about vaginal bleeding. Its stopped. At first she doesn't want to talk
about something I ask her, I've got to get back to the group, she
says. Then she starts about the visit to the doctor and her therapist
and goes on at some length. Maybe I will try to make another date for
tonight. Call Judy but no answer. The dream group was talking about me
when I called. Last night was two or more hours with Simone. She also
notices the tension between us. She still wants it her way. Tells me
how she is better than Linda, has been more reliable, how fucked up
she was to have had an emotional breakdown last spring. Tells me the
whole story of how she fell in love with me. It goes back and
forth. Fighting and loving. Talking and arguing. At one point she
shouts at me, Michael is a better lover! But none of these things seem
to bother me like they did on Sunday. I don't feel caught up, wrapped
in knots. I can only tell her that I can't agree to any sort of
limitations on my relationship with Linda, or anyone else. She cries a
lot. I comfort her. In the beginning we were both horny. She was very
dry. She noticed how closed she felt. It got better. We were fucking
but she was not wet at all.

Saturday, January 31, 1981

I don't want to leave you, but I have to, says Simone one tear filled
night. Tears and thoughts of leaving. The story of this week. And
catastrophe. Simone fainted getting out of her car while going to the
dentist. Blood pressure much too low, and still constipated. She wants
me to talk to her dentist. She is half an hour late meeting Ellen and
me in Harvard Square. We get worried. I imagine she may have fainted
again and decide to go ask the police if such an incident has been
reported. But, no, I meet her at the bank entrance. Later that night
she is an hour late to her house for a party. Again I, and Dana, am
worried. Later, five of us are lying on her bed. Me, Simone, Dana,
Lois, and Carol. Some idle conversation leads to me saying something
about her health. That I also have second thoughts about living with
her. Do I want to be a nursemaid to someone who will be dead of
multiple causes by age 35. She gets extremely offended. Enraged, she
accuses me of always criticizing her. Jumps up and goes to run
downstairs. Then, another surprise from Dana. He says the same,
telling her that fainting on the street and being late is not good for
her or us. I feel better it is out. We talk about it and she comes to
lie beside me once more. All this was yesterday. I have to stop and
think to write this. It doesn't pour out of me anymore. I sit here
thinking over the day, what has happened, how I felt, and its all a
jumble. A sense of panic today about ever being able to make anything
of my life other than a series of events mat might one day come to be
seen as historically interesting. Perhaps to someone reading about me,
or someone trying to write about me. The great pretender. Fantasies
about being a great writer. I can't write in a month what some do in a
day. It preoccupies me the greater part of some days. Last night
reading about someone else's life, a good writer, one who tells a
good, well organized story. But it is about trying to make some sense
of all the things he has done in his life, and the people he
identifies with. How so many of them decided not to have children, or
only one or two. He has one and thinks about the one he might have had
but for an abortion. I have had this twice. But what is this feeling I
have about what he says. That his life was different from IIDSt of the
people around him, but my impression is that he has the same regrets
and sadness, but only because he didn't manage to change the rest of
the world a little more. Giving up his own life at times to save the
rest of the world. My attitude has been the same, for much of my life,
when thinking about it. Trying to do some good, and one disaster and
catastrophe after another creeps up and grabs me. They start out like
little things. Not so important that it has to get in the way of the
good deeds I'm doing. But it gets bigger with time. Once started it
has never gone away. Then it starts to influence the important
work. Time after time. Always these personal things do it. Why isn't
it possible to create a more stable personal situation?

I call Linda in NYC about visiting this weekend. She is very distant
and under the surface quite disappointed in me. You should have called
me earlier in the week, she says. Someone else is coming to visit
me. And so my relationship with her takes a turn for the worse. All
from not making an earlier phone call. I call Judy, but she is now
more distant. Doesn't think I'll be interested in a party with people
from her work place. I'll call you back, she says. But I don't feel
its true. But things are much better with Simone. In spite of half the
people at last nights party saying she should leave me. Some odd
behavior by people there last night. A strange friend of George
Ferrar's didn't want to leave at three this morning. Three of the men
who were just leaving escorted him away. He wouldn't go when Simone
asked him. George was a bit fixated, and maybe jealous about the short
blurb written about me in the latest issue of the Whole Earth
Times. He mentioned it some three times that evening. I have just
wondered if the mood was from what Simone has been telling everyone
about the situation of last Sunday. Dana was in a pickle. He wanted to
go home with Ann. She was a bit cool to the idea, but he kept
trying. Finally Lois came around and stuck herself between the two of
them. It seemed as though he was guarding Dana. If I can't have you
tonight, then nobody gets you! This would effectively put an end to
Dana trying to get Ann, and at the same time lead him to resent
Lois. She talked to me for some time, left for the bathroom, and never
returned. I have some difficulty engaging in natural conversation with
her. She seemns always on the defensi ve. I spoke about how it seems
others are able to deceive her about their real intentions, but not
me. Its as though she doesn't want to see anything from me as being
direct and straightforward. She seems quite content to indulge her
romantic fantasies wvi th Dana, and know nothing about what's really
going on with him, or not to face any of these things. It is doubtful
she will ever talk with him about her guard duty of last night. But
I'm not going to be able to fool her, no siree. Do I sense a little
bit of resentment in my words at not being able to win her over?
Surely not from me! She needs someone not so adventuresome, who
doesn't try too much. But Dana is getting to be less and less that
sort of person. He talks more and more openly about himself. From time
to time he inserts some new piece of information in a fairly uniform
type of conversation that we have. Lately a lot of talk about sex and
howv he wants to try more things. He met Kathy for the first time
yesterday. I liked her look, he says. She may be looking for someone
new shortly. An interesting observation about Simone from the last
week. It has to do with her behavior with me when we are in bed. She
always likes to suck on my prick. Not once so far this week. She
kissed me there once this afternoon after we fucked. But that's
it. Such a thing hasn't happened before. Its because I'm still upset
with you, she says. She has also spent more days with Michael this
week than normal. She can't get over it. Linda is like some
disembodied person for her. I heard the story about that woman, as
Carol described her this afternoon. Simone and Linda have said the
same thing about leaving me. I don't want to but I have to. Her
(Simone) therapist asks her why she has to make a decision now. Why is
everything so black and white. Linda at least treats Simone as a
person with some dimensions. She admits that its possible for her to
have a real loving relationship with me. Not so with Simone. She wants
to see everything about it as a bad joke or trick on her. All this
while Michael and I are in her car and she talks about the two men she
loves! But it is not possible for me to have such a situation. But
maybe I get resentful again. Tell me, dear reader, do you notice this
also? By the way, what interesting things have you done for yourself
today? Or have you only had thoughts of such things? Only fantasies?
Do you want to live with a group of people, to be free of jealousy,
free of fear, free of being rejected, fear of not being loved? What
are you doing about it? Are you the sort of person that other people
want to be with? Do you make their life interesting and satisfying?
Why not? what crazy things did you do today that caused someone to run
away? Selfish? Asked for more than you can give? Well, I'd want to get
away from you to. Forget to call and say hello? Well, I wouldn't want
to see you either. Pushed somebody to hard to accept more than they
are able? Well, I'd think you were an asshole to.

Sunday, February l, 1981

Resistance. I make up little things to distract me. Read the
newspaper. Look for something to eat in the kitchen. Why am I
resisting calling people about the party next Saturday? I have an
interesting idea. Introduce some of the people I have known for many
years and say something about them. It could be quite amusing. But I
avoid making the calls that will bring people here. I begin to feel
the difficulty of communicating with people. something. Its like many
times in the past. There is something I want to do, but have enormous
resistance to getting going. I anticipate how uncomfortable it will be
talking with some people, and that stops me from calling anyone. So
why not just call those that are easiest? I think ahead to how hard it
will be to have something to do with people at the party. One side of
me says to just stop calling people. Let those who I've called not
come, or get here and then go home. A crazy idea. Last night, just
before falling off to sleep, two voices were calling my name. They
were like elves with very strange voices. They kept calling my name. I
am also putting off doing certain work. REsisting lots of things that
would make things better for me. More money. Get a bigger place. But I
don't do the things needed to bring it about. Reading about the war in
El Salvador. Having science fiction like fantasies of having an alien
ally with enormous power capable of stopping all the fighting. I am
their earth representative. I threaten to make demonstrations of the
enormous power available, if they don't stop fighting. There I am in
the corridors of power negotiating with followers of the
adversaries. This is an old fantasy of mine. Stopping crime, wars,
fights, trouble anywhere with my all powerful friends from the
stars. More fantasies about Judy. She has promised to call me back
twice this week and didn't. Why not send her an
its-all-over-between-us letter, and a copy of my notes, and a message
about how she can get future issues by subscription. Something like
that. It always comes out better in my fantasies. Everything comes out
better in my fantasies. But then in those fantasies I do more to bring
them about than I put into real life. I am mostly fearless, always
clever, ever able to do the next best thing to cause something to
happen in my favor. But then I never have to worry about pesky other
realities. Everybody does my orders perfectly. I always know exactly
what everyone should do. For example, in my fantasy about Judy, she is
quite taken with my letter, really nothing more than an ingenious ploy
to get her attention, and falls in love with me. And wants to be with
me more. And so it works out just fine for me and her. But really she
has all these other things pulling at her and I'm not attractive
enough to push them out of her life. So I think of more clever
ideas. This has happened in the past. Once when she did not want to
have anything to do with me, and was quite disturbed about my wanting
to sleep with her, I managed to reverse the situation by sending her a
poem something like this: Roses are red, Violets are blue, Even if you
won't, I still love you! And things have improved since. She told me
last week of having thought of sleeping with me - mostly when I was in
Europe. So maybe I should go away again? I will call her right now and
invite her to next week's party.

Tuesday, February 3, 1981

It seems like a depression. Difficult to get up. Slow to fall
asleep. I lie in bed resisting getting started. Thinking about all the
work that must be done. Spending the time on sexual fantasies. Reading
Nietzsche's Beyond Good And Evil. It seems to be about what's wrong
with philosophers of the past and what philosophy might be like, or
how it might approach things in the future. Nothing's
happening. Boring. Lotti asks me for some advice about her
relationships last night. Seems the men involved are always saying she
wants to much from them. She's smothering them. I tell her it is a
common complaint from men about women. Try some other relationships,
spend some time with me and the people I live with. I tell her she has
too many expectations of them and they can't stand the pressure. Judy
called me last night to help her move some furniture. Then she wants
to have lunch. I suspect it is more like a bribe. She knows I like her
and will do most anything to get her attention. Its true. She only has
to ask. Unfortunately, she doesn't ask enough. But recently I have
noticed something very interesting about her behavior. The first thing
is a certain quality in her voice. It is much softer and more
open. The second thing is what she tells me about her other
relationships. Namely, the difficulties. Her doubts about continuing
the way it is with steven. Almost like a panic about having to make a
choice about going somewhere with him if he leaves the area. And at
times that she wants to end it. Myself I feel a little like a piece of
cheese being used by a cat to bait a mouse. Not that she does this
consciously, but I am certainly not above using one of my
relationships as a lever to improve or move another. But on the other
hand, one good one makes me more secure in trying to start
another. She could be doing this also. But it is so slow. I want to
blame her for this. But I look at myself and see all the
mistakes. Each one has slowed or crippled progress. So I help her move
this chair. We get it from Michael's house. He won't help her. He
doesn't want to go into her house. Anybody but Steven can help her
pick it up - but not him! She is very aggressive today. Pulling my hat
over my eyes. Keeping it away from me. Not watching how she is
driving. Talking loud and in spurts. She wants to fight. Its good she
doesn't have much experience being aggressive. Lots of problems with
the job as its ending in a few months. Doesn't know what's going to
happen to her relationship with Steven. He may just go away. She
really wants to fight with him to see if he can take it. Will he run
away? Will he turn tail and become a wimp? Will it freak him out? will
he still want her after its over? stay tuned. I suggest rewriting her
resume. I volunteer to help. But I've got to be off for downtown and
my luncheon date with Susan. She's interested in my notes and me after
a two hour conversation about FH and related things. It doesn't
go. She thinks I perceive things too differently from her. Oh well. A
bit of rejection. Some chocolate. A chocolate-chip cookie. Suddenly
everything is much better. Evening. More calls for next Saturday's
party. I have called many people. A lot who I would normally pass over
because of anxieties. A question. Do I manage to call them because the
anxiety is being held down, or because the problem is being overcome?
Is it being done from feeling or from compulsion and/or an idea of
what should be done? Am I guided by desire or craziness? How do
people manage to convince themselves something is happening in their
life when they live alone? Stuck again. I think about writing
something then see it as propaganda, dogma, a personal party line, my
own ideas, with no connection to the facts. How to say
this. Nonsense. Most of what I say. Its hard to separate the real
feeling from the past echo still reverberating around inside me. Its
mostly stuff that just spills out, like a garbage can being tipped
over. And the shit inside! Sometimes a valuable thing gets thrown
out. But who would notice or even want to look? The Garbage Can School
of Personal Development. Get rid of all your garbage. Two consecutive
weekends. $500.

Saturday, February 7, 1981

Depression again. I don't want to get up. Curl up. Suck my
thumb. Masturbate. Afraid of being seen by Dana. Not really. An old
anxiety. Something from a long time ago. Finally I'm up but still
feeling in a daze. Go to work. The post office and bank. Lots of money
in the mail today. I feel better about that. Some bills will get
paid. I hang around the office but don't get anything done. Judy
calls. She will be here at 3 for me to help with her new resume. And
so we work on that. She has lots of resistance to my suggestions
about how to do it. I take a break, make a sandwich, and she reads my
most recent notes. Those just before today. She makes the most
positive analysis of anyone who has read them. They cover the present,
sometimes digress to the past and how it influences the present, and
ideas for the future, she says. It has lots of interesting, creative
metaphors. There are lessons every now and then. Interesting insights
about you and the world. Some good generalizations. But the lessons
and conclusions are not preachy or propaganda. There is stream of
consciousness and also monitoring of events. It is something where you
really want to turn the next page to learn what happens next, she
says. One also learns little things about life. I am very pleased at
what she says. If you say anything more positive about it, I'll ask
you to marry me, I say to her. She thinks it would be of interest to
people of all ages. But she also suggests that her view may be clouded
by knowing me. Why not give it to someone you know to read, I
suggest. At first I think maybe it should be presented as a novel,
fiction. But no, just as someone's memoirs. She will do this for
me. We go back to her resume. My heart is not in it. I wrestle her to
the bed. Bite her back, spank her, grab her by the neck, growl like a
bear, and then lie beside her. She spanks and pounds me. We hold each
other and talk. I like her a lot and want her. I feel neurotic and
fucked up when around you, she says. Its hard for me to let go. But
she likes holding me. It is very pleasant. How far I get with her
surprises me. It goes very easy. Its much farther than ever
before. Maybe next time we will do more, I say. Time to go. She asks
me why I push so hard to develop my relationships . She does not mean
this in a negative way, but that I keep trying no matter what, and
others don't. Perhaps I need it more. It seems like a very necessary
thing to be healthy. But I learned something very important from this
time with her. That's its possible to develop my relationship more
with someone by paying attention to how comfortable things are. Other
times I would have pushed on her and not realized it until too
late. This time I was aware and sensitive to what was possible with
her. She knows about her resistance. We talked about her relationship
with Steven and how she often wished someone were there to say you are
doing this and you are doing that. It can be done when people live
together and talk to each other and do things together. And pay
attention to each other. Dana, Simone, and I do this. Just then she
calls from LA and says how she misses us here. I have missed her a lot
this last week. I've never been so aware of how important contact with
women is as this last week. Most everything has not gone well for
me. Depressions, not getting up, tired, and being something or other.

Sunday, February 8, 1981

It is the next day and its all forgotten. We had a big party last
night. 60-70 people came. As many as 30+ at one time. A beautiful
redhead named Suzanne, who played the harp and did psychic
readings. She was very lively. Kissed me as she left. Deborah's old
roommate. She gets invited again! She was interested in FH for a
while. She read some of my notes. Peter was the first to
arrive. Mostly no, all men for the first 45 minutes. Suzanne was the
first woman. The next big surprise was Liebe. Absolutely gorgeous. I
would have tried to start something with her if she'd stayed
longer. She definitely gets invited again! I could not believe the
difference from when I last saw her. Then it was as a
hippie/artist/farmer. Now she is somewhat like a chic New York fashion
model. And so stylishly dressed. Dana's sister came with a woman,
Kathy, who I would have swooned allover, if only she hadn't kept
retreating from me. She was very beautiful and soft looking. I was
having fantasies of getting a normal job, dressing normally, and
asking her to marry me and have children. The idea just overwhelmed
me. She reminds me of Joan Hale. The first woman I fell in love with
after leaving Cody. She worked in the bookkeeping department of a
Washington DC department store. I became ga-ga over her. But she
wanted someone more normal. Or at least someone who looked more
normal. For awhile I managed to change my appearance to try and
attract her. It was a very uncomfortable thing to do. I wanted to do
whatever was necessary to get her, but it was all such an act, or so
it felt to me. I was not comfortable doing it. I failed anyway. I
think of her sometimes. A woman like Kathy hypnotizes me into that
time. And Jeannette, another surprise. She and Gina came dressed as
runk pockers. Dressed to kill. Some almost didn't recognize them. She
is not living with Vinnie. A few days ago she seemed quite
satisfied. But she's like that. She'll end a situation of that sort
very quickly for one reason or another. She said to me, you were
right. But I'm not sure exactly what she meant. Was it about things
changing back and forth, or did I say something about what I thought
would happen with her and Vinnie? A phone call from someone who left
their sweater here last night. No matter, but she came, kissed me, was
her usual affectionate self, stayed for awhile, and left. For parts
unknown, or to be a bad girl like her old days? Or to abuse herself. I
don't know what it is with her at times. Such a lot of life energy,
and so much of it goes to self-destructive behavior. I really don't
know what to do when I hear about these things from her. She seems
totally honest about it to me, but as though she is a helpless victim
of it, like it is being done outside her control. I worry that she
will get herself pregnant again. I have the urge to be very protective
of her but helpless myself. What can be done? Who but her can do it?
She is very good at resisting any efforts from me. Sometimes I think
maybe that pushes her the wrong way even more. She reminds me of my
sister. Complete self-confidence, but in reality like a baby at the
controls of an airplane. Who wants to fly with that? And why am I so
attracted so much to someone like this? Could it be so I am always the
one who is in control at the times things are bad for her? No, that's
not quite it.

So I can be superior with a fallen woman? I danced, or tried with her,
for a little while. Certainly I envy the way she moves herself. A long
phone conversation with Linda. I tell her about the party and what
happened with different people. How I am feeling jealous of Dana and
that he has more success, by numbers, with women. He is more able to
attract them to him in the short term. I tell Linda about my feeling
of confidence about the women I like now. Her, Simone, Judy,
Jeannette, Liebe. And how everything could turn to shit in two
days. At the moment I feel positive about all of them. And they are
positive about me. Its like an emotional roller-coaster. But I don't
want it to continue like this. How to get things more stable?
Certainly if we all lived together. But now its a problem to get close
to them when they just know of the others. Dana is making some sort of
moves with Carol. Lois seems to be responding to this by giving more
of her attention to Joe. Speculation. I find myself with an odd
feeling. One moment talking with people, seeming to have some
connection. The next walking down to the other side of the party and
feeling like I'm in some sort of twilight zone. Completely
disconnected. Lots of people making long drawn out thanks yous for
inviting them to this lovely party. Big smiles, grins. Something
artificial about it. Fake. It makes me a bit uncomfortable when people
carry on at such lengths. I get the feeling its not genuine, that its
forced. Its better with those who just put on their coats and say
goodbye. Or like Jeannette, hug and kiss me, and then say
goodbye. Sten shows up and returns my notes. He wants to read the
second half. He says its very good. That its a good way for me to come
out with myself. His advice is to just write for myself. To not let
the idea of getting published influence what I write in any way. I am
pleased to hear this, but lately worry about exactly this happening. I
sit here and write this and say to myself - there is a fight going on
inside me to try to continue to write just for myself, and to not let
it be influenced by my fame and fortune fantasies. Karyn comes just
after Ron, about l in the morning. Its an odd feeling with her. Would
she stay if asked? Do I really want to ask? It goes back and
forth. She seems to linger. My imagination? But this Kathy keeps
coming back into my head. Sexual fantasies. Fucking with her. She is
several months pregnant. From behind. The suburbs. I almost can't
believe this. Its like a flood. Washing over me. Trying to consciously
think of other things. But it comes back. Out of my control. Images of
total passion. Always fucking. We are delerious. But I recognize
this. Anyone really out of my reach can generate these fantasies. with 
Simone I don't have it. I have her. With Linda I have the fantasies
a little, but don't have her as much as Simone. After yesterday with
Judy I notice a drop in the intensity of my fantasies about her. For
awhile there was something with the redhead Suzanne, but she seems
totally fixated on things like dreams, fairy tales, and psychic
phenomenon. Maybe it is paranoia but it seems she avoids me. More
paranoia that she kissed Dana with more affection when she left? It
seemed a little stiffer and forced with me. Could I be jealous? Over a
gorgeous woman with fantastic red hair and a very nice body? Dana asks
to read the notes. So he gets the first twO Sunday pages. Its my
birthday. 36. Two times 36 is 72. Is my life half over? I don't want
to face it. But everyone in your family lives to be much older, you
say. That means you really have more time. Don't worry about it you
say? Why a feeling of panic? Why do I always think time is running
out. It happened the same even 10 years ago. Ten years before that I
was waiting to be older so I could really do something with my
life. Here I am, and wishing it was twenty years ago, but knowing what
I know today. So why don't I know what I'll know in another 10 years?
Sometimes I think, yes, you know what you will know in ten years
now. The real problem is that you are not doing as much as you can
imagine, or as much as you want. So the answer to that is to just do
all those things in your imagination. Don't be so afraid. What, after
all, do you really have to *****. I can never remember, is it lose, or
is it loose? You know what I mean. It feels like I will break down and
cry. It comes a little ways out and then fades. This woman keeps
jumping back into my mind. Its like in the movies. Her face suddenly
fills the entire screen. She does not look directly at me. Always a
little down, or to one side. I tell her how beautiful she is. How
attracted I am to her. But she has another idea of what she wants in a
man and withdraws from me. At one point she moves around behind the
kitchen table, which is already pushed nearly against the wall. She
seems to pick up another cigarette each time I approach her. She is
uncomfortable from my attention. I imagine what sort of man she would
like. There is one like that here. He is reasonably well dressed. Very
normal. Also very dull and boring. But that' s only to me. She would
want someone with those qualities. But probably not just this
one. Dana asks me about Ann and Elizabeth. He found them both very
seductive, especially Elizabeth, who is the older. He thought that
Ann, especially, was on the prowl. Very sexual, like an animal. Last
time I saw her she was very subdued, squashed. Maybe she's trying to
let some of this out. She was certainly more lively this evening. Dana
comments on my notes. Interesting, he says. I found it interesting
what you perceived about the evening. Where did that comment about me
trying to start something with Carol come from? Out of nowhere. Or so
he says! But I notice just a touch of his not liking what's been
written. He is not explicit, but there is the impression that he
doesn't want it to be seen that way. An awkward moment with Carol. We
are talking about writing, creativity, thinking about writing for
publication. Then on to more personal things like what's happening
with me and Simone and Michael coming over for breakfast tomorrow. She
wonders about the problems. There are some parts to it. One is that
Simone feels no contradiction or problem being with me and
Michael. She likes us both. It makes sense. She feels good. But when
she and Linda are with me it is something else. If not, then she will
manage to create something. She knows enough about her past to
suddenly discover enough wrong with her in the present. She mentions
how some people can make a decision to not have this be a problem. To
me this is nothing more than a temporary fake, or resisting what is
really going on, what the person is really feeling. She says that what
I see as fake seems real to her. But this is odd as we have not really
talked about any specific examples, and surely there are times when
she has the impression that someone is faking their feelings or state
of mind. At that point the air became a little thick and she said we
will have to talk about all this another time. But all the time very
mellow, laid back, very cool, big smile, especially just before she
says anything to counter what I've just said. The body stays in
exactly the same position. The appearance does not correspond to the
impression I have of what's going on inside of her. She takes her
judgmental, angry, and other feelings, puts them in an emotional
blender .... and out comes mush. Have him call me tonight, if he wants,
and if he, uh, well, doesn't, then uh, life will go on. So says
Suzanne, the redhead, who has just called for Dana. That slick bastard
has done it again! He's caught another one. Jealous again. She called
to invite him to a performance in Harvard Square at 3 this
afternoon. He has just taken Carol home. So much for my chances with
the redhead. She will get hers soon enough. Him and his fairy tale
books, 19th century furniture, and smooth line. Shit on him. Good
thing he's not here. At the moment a good fight would be just the
thing. I notice myself getting very agitated and shaking a bit. I just
have the idea to send a copy of these notes to everyone who attended
the party. But it also seems the idea comes a little bit from wanting
to put the screws to this Suzanne for rejecting me. But maybe I will
do it anyway. Its not all from that. This is something I've noticed a
lot about myself. Someone will reject me, I'll get mad at them or
something. The next thing you know I have just thought of a very
clever thing to do that will cause them some trouble. I never have
this sort of idea to directly fuck them over, but at first my
motivation is for some other reason, not related to them. Just this
thing with Suzanne as an example. She rejects, indirectly certainly,
me for Dana, and then I have this idea to send out my notes to
everyone. And of course I know she will be troubled by the hints I
have so innocently interj ected about trying. to start anything with
Dana. But if I don't get what I want, then she is definitely not going
to get what she wants. Certainly not if I can prevent it. Then I
think, who else to write about, who else can I give a hard time by
sending these notes?

Tuesday, February 10, 1981

So many things in the last few days - where to start? Just talked to
Sten about his going back to FH. On the surface he seems quite
cool. But there must be some kind of fight going on. Some internal
pressure. Thursday is the day. Maybe and maybe not. I was assaulted by
Deanna last night. Fortunately my size and strength were sufficient to
overcome her intensity. She still claims to be owed money. The police
came. I don't feel competant to handle violence. The animal in me
really came out. Had she been a little more vicious I might have done
more than get her out of my way. She threw water in my face and
refused to let me leave the office. The police told her to file a
court complaint. I was shaking and extremely agitated by it. Almost 24
hours later I am still shaking a bit from it. Hopefully it is
over. Yesterday started as a very good day. At the beginning Linda
called, about 7 in the morning. We meet at the Harvard Square bus
station and take the subway to her place. Our original intent was to
have breakfast. So we wait at her place for someone to show up with
paints. No show. The subway to South Station. Inside she suddenly is
startled by something, says, oh, I forgot something. Stops at a
newsstand for a book of matches. She wants coffee and something to eat
from the deli. You have to have a muffin or something, she insists. I
almost ask her if she is my mother. No, I don't want anything, I
say. Yes, you've got to have something she insists. Ok, one of those
pastries. Come into the train with me, she insists again. Put her
stuff on the seat, go to the space between two cars. She turns around,
back to me and says don't look. She's doing something. Lights a
match. It goes out. Another. Turns around and presents me with a
pastry and a candle ~ a surprise birthday cake. She sings happy
birthday! And then its goodbye. This is a new typeface. These two
balls came in the mail yesterday. Certainly is smaller. ~~~~~Here's
the other one. Didn't have it on right the first time. Seems to be a
little difference. Now the question of the one being in the right
place - llllll, and now the lllllll. They are both the same. But there
is no real exclamation mark! I have to type it with a period,
backspace, and the a single quote. What a bother! The two type balls
have to be cleaned. Walking to the post office yesterday with a
nagging sensation of having forgotten something. Then it turned to the
idea of am I doing enough. Is there anything I'm leaving out, not
thinking about. I have this feeling of so many things to write about,
but can't discipline myself to do. And not only that but I feel a very
strong urge to do so lately. I have been getting some interesting
impressions or pictures. Its like a picture where you make a single
brushstroke and it doesn't mean much. But in time, with many strokes,
a picture begins to appear. It is not clear what the picture is yet,
but only the sensation of one appearing. Lots of things happening
often leads me to new ideas and explanations. New directions, new
things to try. Simone has been feeling this with all the people who
are in love with her. Why can't only one person love me, she asks. You
must become an emotional fascist and stop them from loving you, I
say. Tell then to stop having these feelings. Only one person should
have them. But it doesn't work that way. Who wants to have these
feelings controlled by another person? Mark, who still works at the
Quarterway, calls and asks if she has cane back to me, or left, as he
wants her to. I think he is in love with her also. Dana also is
getting a little agitated by the situation. An outburst at her for
saying he has more than a simple friendship with her. But its
obviously more than that. With all the sexual things they do together,
the intimate times we all spend together, clearly indicate he has more
of a relationship with her and any of the women he sleeps with. Simone
tells me an interesting fact about Dana - that he has not had, until
very recently, a relationship with an unmarried, or unattached woman!
They have all been with someone else. This makes it emotionally safer
for him. And if he succeeds in pulling her away from who he is with,
then it clearly indicates how attached the woman is to him. Simone is
making more of her veiled hints at monogamy, having children, the
value of having one good relationship versus many casual affairs, like
Dana, she frequently adds. And Dana has botched another
relationship. The redhead invited him over yesterday. She all but
raped him. Jumped in his lap, sung him love songs. She wants to fuck
him, but is not, as she thinks she is, able to be direct about
it. There I go again, a little bit of resentment creeping in. Perhaps
its not evident in the Words just written, but I notice it, just a
little in myself. Anyway, she is probably too much for him. He prefers
less intense, more subdued women like Lois or Carol. He can be the one
to dominate. Simone and I are having sexual difficulties. Its ok at
the beginning, but she soon gets very dry. The last two times have
made my prick almost raw. It smarts a little. She has a burning
sensation also. There is this impression I have of her faking lots of
little things, pushing to hard, tightening up at unexpected times. I
can't feel connected to her. It gets better sometimes when I just stop
everything and tell her what's going on. I find myself unconsciously
fucking rut preoccupied with something else in my head. This morning I
ask her and she is thinking about how big Joe's prick must be. She
notices a change in Michael's behavior. He is more open with her
, more loving. But at the same time says that there can't be any
sexual activity between them. God knows why, but that's what he says.

He has asked her to cancel the birthday surprise party for me next
Saturday and go out with him instead. Aha! Forcing her to make
decisions. Last night she admits to wanting to do this. She is
struggling over it. She has cane up with the idea to try and get
Cheyenne to my party. Or even Otto! Or my mother. A thought just
now. That Michael's idea for no sex with her now might be turned
around by him if they go back together. He mentioned indirectly such a
thing just recently to her. I don't remember exactly haw, but he still
has the wish to do it. I talk with Sten about all these things and it
agrees that things are heating up. Some violence will be next he
thinks. Not overtly, but Michael's asking Simone to cancel my party is
more the sort he means. It is a though Simone is feeling tossed between
to poles and has to make a decision to stick with one of
them. Sometimes I get this feeling, but it never lasts for long. A
violent fantasy on the subway. A young black guy starts smoking next
to me. A shotgun blast puts an end to his face - and the
cigarette. Another new customer for my business while stopping at TERC
in Harvard Square. I begin to feel myself go out of control with all
the events of these days. Like being whirled around by a tornado. A
feeling of no place, no solid place to put my feet. As though anything
could happen. Yesterday I felt very good. Thinking about my various
relationships, and that something may develop from them. Sunday
afternoon with Judy. I gave in to the way she wants to do her
resume. We didn't wrestle on the bed. Only a short chance to be a
little perverse. I like to feel through a woman's pants or dress to
the edge of her underwear. Then to slip a finger just under the edge
of the underwear and run the finger all the way around her leg. Very
gently, to tickle her just a little. From this I can tell how far I
have to go. It's a very horny game for me. She let me do it several
times in the hallway. I try to be sensitive to the places that cause
the most sensation or excitement. Just now the impression that this
writing is being done to fill paper. The typewriter is turned on and
off. On and off, to decide if even to write this. Turn it off and go
do something else. Later. A thought about writing more about last
Saturday nights party. Or continue with today.

Wednesday, February 11, 1981

Simone has just asked me for a pen. What color, I say. I don't care!
It is not a pleasant tone of voice. For the second night she has been
struggling with me. tonight it is about whether or not people, other
than her, will sleep here, the place where both of us will be living,
or at the other person's place. She talks with Michael about it
now. She talks with everyone about it. Trying to raise support for her
position. Last night we fought, but first about whether we would share
the same bedroom. It was the same. I want my own room. She wants to
have it with me. Its a fight that's happened at least 3 times
before. But its getting close to her moving here. I tell her that
restrictions on my relationships with other people are not
possible. It is possible that someone I'm very close to may want to
live with us. She already has me and Dana. But she says Dana tells her
he Won't sleep with her when I'm here. This is his problem. In the
end she may have to leae me and find someone else who will do what
she wants. She won't gurantee how she'll act if anything happens in
front of her. Last night in a bar in Brookline, five of us, me,
Simone, Dana, Donna, and Carol, talked about it. Donna said she
couldn't do anything like this. She leaves alone most of the time. She
has a boyfriend on the West Coast. She's the sort who prefers a little
distance. Carol wanted to talk about Disneyland, San Diego, and the
rest of her recent trip to california. She did not like the
seriousness of the talk. She also felt left out and that the spotlight
was being taken away from her. But people are more inclined to join in
an interesting conversation rather than superficial chatter. There is
a lot of tension between us. She stills talks to Michael on the
phone. I don't know how to be more straightforward with her. These
little rules of hers are only to prevent situations where her own
difficulties come out. She knows she wants exactly the same for
herself. She wants a deeper relationship with Dana, and has probably
thought of Michael living with us. It is probably only their
difficulties that prevent it. If they could do it I'm sure she would
be quite agreeable. None of the others want this though. Jeff told her
today that he wouldn't sleep with her again if she moved in here. She
uses every little angle and trick to try and dislodge me from my
position. She is talking with Michael about marriage right this very
moment. Trying to cover all the bases, just in case things don't Work
out here. They won't for just this reason. Imagining that something
might go wrong soon leads to the first tiny clue that, indeed,
something is going wrong. Maybe the first clue is not even in the
right direction, but it is a clue! It can be interpreted in the right
direction. Now they are arguing about who left who and under what
circumstances. Should I endure the pain now, get out of it and start
again, she asks him. Dana doesn't want her to marry Michael because of
his fucked up parts, again, I'm am overhearing more of their phone
conversation. You started going out with Linda one week after we broke
up, she throws at him. will you sleep with me when Richard's here?
(more overhearing) But I have my own things. Compulsion
today. Touching my fingers. It sounds strange, but is an old habit.
Michael says he's sleeping with two other women now, and Simone makes
three, and that's too much to handle. I can't seem to escape it. Its
time to try something else to get out of this rut. You know sex and
love have been the same for me ever since I've gone out with
Skip. More Simone there. I can't keep my ears off the
conversation. Michael, you know we have the best sex together. You
don't want to cane inside me because you don't want to totally let
go. I don't have great orgasm with Richard. I do with you. It turns
out that I have the best orgasms with Linda. Do you remember the first
night that I met you and said that I wanted to fuck you? You have the
same problwm that we all have Michael. Its hard for you to feel
loved. If you cant feel loved by me then you Won't feel loved by
anybody. Its my own fear. I don't know if Richard's going to hurt
me. You're saying no sex, because I can't handle it. Why am I getting
sexually excited right now, he asks her. Its stupid all these people
rejecting each other because they are afraid of being rejected. I go
to Simone while she is on the phone and kiss her many times, very
loudly. Michael says he Won't see her for a week. I go back and kiss
her some more. Now Michael Won't see you for two weeks, I say. And
then a third time. Not for three weeks, you Won't see her, I say. I
close the door. She is trying to rescue her relationship with
him. Best to let than dig up their graves and really see what's there
A compulsive day. My fingers. Touching the four fingers with the
thumb. Both hands at the same time. Mathematical patterns. Touch than
in one direction, then the other. Thumb on index finger, move it and
touch the middle, and so on. Other patterns. Start with the little
finger and go the other way. Do it one direction twice, then the other
direction twice. Reverse it. Reverse a combination of both these
patterns. And so on with great and increasing complexity until I have
lost count, or my thoughts take me away fran it. My stepfather used to
mimic me when he saw me do this. It went on for awhile. Then I stopped
doing it so overtly or often. Don't remember when it started. Maybe
about 14 or 15. It stopped after some months. Still do it, but very
carefully, when nobody is around. Today, for instance. This thing with
Simone. It causes lots of anxiety. I get nervous. Have some fights in
my head about it. Start this finger touching thing. catch
myself. Scrapping my feet also. I touch the toe and heel with every
step. Always trying to touch the same number of times with both
feet. Its a compulsion to try and make it the same number of times
with both feet if I miss. Grandmother always told me to stop dragging
my feet. It usually went with the head bent down, looking at the
ground in front of me as I walked along. What did I fret about then? I
was only a little boy. What do little boys fret about? Would there be
any friends around to play with? Would I get an ice cream bar that
night? WOuld I be able to watch something on TV? Or was I having
fights with someone then? Did I fight with her about what I could or
couldn't do? I can't remember. For same ten years it has been fighting
with one woman or another. Or murderous fantasies about offing
someone. Sexual fantasies about some of the girls I liked. Or what
life would be like when I finally got out of there and away from
home. I remember running and shooting games in the dark. I never
wanted it to end. Someone always called me home. It was total
catharsis. Yelling and screaming and killing. Nothing was held
back. It went on to exhaustion. But then it went on still more. In the
third grade we played a running game. In the beginning one person was
it in the middle of a big field. All the others were on one side of
the field. The object was to run to the other side without getting
caught or tagged by the person who was it. You were on that person's
side when he tagged you. Then everyone had to run again, to the other,
original, side. It went on till the people who were it had tagged
everyone. I played with the older kids, up to high school. Sometimes I
would be the last one caught. I was only 8 or 9. It made me like a
wild animal. I put the fear of death in me to keep going. It was
unbelievably exciting. The twisting and turning and dodging needed to
escape. Every sense became magnified. Balance and coordination were
not normal. Sometimes I would have the feeling of tearing myself apart
to move in a way that would allow me to escape being caught. This
image of the playing field and their relationship to the school
buildings is a vivid image in my mind. The tricks and fakes to get
away from a chaser gave me the chance to be creative. I would always
come up with some new move. In second grade I managed to keep a ball
away from all the other boys in my class. They took turns chasing
me. I wasn't caught. Finally I threw the ball away. It was clear they
wouldn't catch me. But then I ask, is this the way it really happened,
or only my desire rusting away at memories. There are some parts of it
I know to be imagination. But what parts? Simone asks if I really
wrote down her conversation with Michael. Now she reads it and makes
corrections to what I have written. Carol didn't go to Disneyland or
San Diego. Jeff said he wouldn't sleep with me here, Amory Street, not
that he wouldn't ever sleep with again. Maybe those are the only
corrections? She just reads now.

Dana has gone out for the evening. He doesn't tell Simone or me as he
doesn't want it written about in these notes. Then an idea! Why not
call some of the possibilities and say is Dana still there? This will
tell me who it is or who it isn't. Simone has to correct me on some
other points about Michael. He says he will see her 3 times next
week. You have some weird perceptions, she says. He didn't say he
wouldn't see me for three weeks. In fact he said he would marry me if
things continued to go so well for us. Aha! Exactly my prediction of
some weeks ago. I remind her of this. She has to modify it
further. No, he said he was open to the possibility, not to marrying
me. He wants to know if he can trust me. Can she tolerate not having
sex with me, Michael asks? That would make you a lot more acceptable
to me. Simone tells me a clue about Dana. He says something about
walking down to the office with her if she wants to go there. That
means it must be the redhead! She's the only one in that
direction. But now the question is, who called who? He mentioned
having a date with her tomorrow. Just now Simone says Michael asked
her to come over this evening, but you have to sleep on the couch, he
says. No thanks she says. Why not go out this Friday, Simone asks. No,
you weren't clear about what you wanted and I've asked someone else,
he says. Michael tells her he will see her at least once a month
forever, regardless of who she is with or married to. Just now another
idea. That rascal Dana, its about him. I think that if it were
arranged so

Friday the 13th, February 1981

I wake up this morning and Simone says to me, I wish I didn't love you. Last night she said we could sleep in the same room whenever guests, like her friend Luca from Italy, are staying here. Her little mind is still at work trying to get what she wants. You haven't given up, I say to her. There is a twinge of anxiety about continuing to fight against this. What a drag. She accuses me of trying to find things wrong with Michael. He finally confessed to having people over to her house, after denying it twice. I have the same suspicion about her car. The front door has a new dent. The registration has been taken out of its envelope and something done with it. As though the car had been in an accident and someone had to present this information, either to another driver or the police. But on the other hand he keeps asking her to trust him no matter what. I have the paranoid idea that a court summons will appear for her some day because the car was involved in an accident. She thinks its only my jealousy. I think you doesn't pay enough attention to what's going on. Have I seen it right? At the moment I am not aware of jealousy. On the one hand I certainly say good riddance if she goes back to him. It won't get any better. They are both swimming in poison. He won't really expose himself, and she doesn't want to see what it means. They are like little emotional time bombs. Each of these un-admitted and unseen traps. I get furious at myself when the opportunity to really show myself passes. Next time, I think to myself. But the same happens again and again. A vulnerable feeling, jealousy, rejection, fear, pops up in me and the opportunity to say how I feel is there, but .. and then the chance is past. The feeling subsides. The situation changes. The opportunity is lost. Enough of this. I just can't say it right. Everything comes out of me so contrived. I have to stop and think of each sentence. What is it today? Its a little bit about the lack of money even though I've just deposited almost $1300 in a new personal account. Joe could make over $3000 today and I kick myself about not doing the work to get my seminar ready. Fantasies about buying a blender, one of those tooth irrigating machines, and a washing machine. Imagining the house we will live in one day. A dream about Adele and Cheyenne last night. Its a birthday party for me. We are trying to arrange some chairs around a table. There aren't enough. Its very crowded. There are ropes or strings hanging down from the ceiling. Don't remember any more. Yesterday was my last day at Sturbridge. The first bus back went by without stopping. A second bus rerouted to get me. No seats. I have to stand. It makes me a little self-conscious. There appears to be a seat next to someone. For a moment I wonder if its a child covered by a coat to keep warm. I get warm and remove my coat. Then ask the person next to that seat if I can sit there. Its only a coat and a bag. Standing was uncomfortable. But it was a struggle for me to ask about the place. It seems so stupid. I might have ended up standing all the way to Boston. But some sort of strange fear of speaking up made me stand there for some amount of time. All the while struggling inside myself about asking for this seat. It seems crazy to have been so anxious about such a simple situation. It seemed as though everyone was staring at me. Why not just stand there and pretend nothing is going on. They'll stop and then I can do something. But no, it doesn't work that way. I want to sit down. Something is poking me in the ass. Its uncomfortable. So I use some sort of what seems like a trick to get the seat. Taking off my coat, putting it on the overhead rack. Somehow I believe this will make asking about the seat ok. There is some peculiar quality about what I've done that is familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. First, it isn't possible for me to ask directly. Its possible, but something, a feeling inside me prevents it. And second is that I fake some other behavior, something that I believe other will see ask ok, to get to what I want. A very simple thing, a seat! But why so complicated? It feels stupid even to write about it. But I see this sort of thing so often in myself. Why do it? Searching my memory evokes this same feeling from any time in my past. I've always done it. And always been very conscious of doing it, but at the same time powerless to stop it. I sit here thinking about it but am stuck as to its meaning. Its one of those things that will go to the back of the mind. Sometimes it will come out directly and I'll think about it. Maybe the answer will suddenly jump out of wherever all the facts have been hiding.

Sunday, February 15, 1981

There is something going on. My asshole has tightened up again. Sometimes there is a little blood in my shit. Simone thinks its just a hemorrhoid. Maybe, but those, for me, always come from tension. Once, several years ago, when Adele and I were going to meet in Harvard Square, and several days before it was to happen, the most enormous hemorrhoid suddenly developed. It was almost like a balloon. But the day after the meeting it was gone! Its painful. I can't seem to get it to relax. Not even tightening up and relaxing helps. My mother called yesterday. Happy birthday, she says. Things are going well for her. But my sister has presented a problem. She is not letting her children visit their grandmother this summer. She's done so for the last 8 years. Not the right atmosphere, or something like that she says. Simone has just called from Inman Square. She, Daniel, and Joe are having a pizza. She invites me to join them. Later. Joe and I go to the office. Something I've just realized: people that Simone and I know are fucking with each other more than Simone and I. Lois with Dana and Joe. Joe with Roberta. Or not fucking. But she thinks about it as Gordon would be terribly hurt if she did something like that. She doesn't think he's the one as he is not financially secure. Simone thinks the same of me sometimes. Also, that I am 36 and almost 40. She thinks more of leaving me and going back to Michael, but he won't have her. Michael and I talked about her smothering quality. How she wants to totally consume and surround someone. She then says that any reluctance or resistance to this is a fear of getting close. Maybe, but if someone doesn't want then its stupid to push for it. I got real mad at him for the thing with bringing people over to the house. But then we talked for some time about Simone and problems dealing with her in the present. I told him he has a lot of dirty laundry that he hasn't cleaned and that the way he is dishonest with her is poisoning their relationship. He stays cool and rational all the time. I raise my voice and get flustered at his non-response. Later Simone tells me that he was livid. Only holding back his real feelings. She confessed to me last night. She tried to make me jealous by leading me to think that Phil, the man who helped her make my cake, wants to have an affair with her. The confession came after we were lying in bed and I noticed how one of her legs was very nervous and jumpy. With her this always means something, like a thing she hasn't told me is bothering her. Last night we went to Jean and Toni's Valentine's Day party. I took some polaroid pictures. Dana wouldn't let me have the one of him and Suzanne. It enraged me. I felt vulnerable and helpless. It was the sort of situation where I seriously considered responding completely out of proportion to the incident. It was like suddenly being dowsed with cold water, except the external physical feeling was one of great heat. My face was very flushed. I could not look at him directly. It was like something cold and hard had just grabbed and squeezed my heart. I was like times in my childhood when someone who is bigger takes my hat and then won't let me have it. Or maybe two people throw it back and forth and keep it away from me. It was exactly that feeling which came up. After it was over I spent some time thinking of an elaborate explanation of why he shouldn't do such a thing. For example, that it caused this in me and does not give me a good feeling about him. That we want to live together without doing these things to each other. And so on. But there is something wrong with this. Its like closing the barn door after the horse has escaped. Why didn't I see what he was doing? Why did I let myself fall into that state? What he did had little importance in relation to what it caused me to feel. And it was only evoked by some small part of the situation. Now it is possible for me to realize that he was only playing. That mood was present in his tone of voice. At the time I did not hear it. But my response went on for some house that evening and for a little while this morning. Until I realized what was being made of this. Namely, something from almost nothing. On the other hand I enjoy playing this sort of game with people. Usually I get called a trouble maker. But there is something very exciting about causing this sort of trouble. As a boy, in school, in Burlington Wyoming, some of the older kids would pay me money to shout things in public. Who knows what it was now, but they wanted it said. They paid me and I would yell it in the general direction of whoever they wanted to hear it. Mostly it was out the window of a bus. The culprits wanted to be able to get away from the scene quickly. Simone's old boss at Mass Mental took a poll of some 20 people to see how many wanted her to live with me. Two, Lois and Ann, voted for me. Lois knows me best of all those people. Ann hardly at all. Simone has started asking all her friends the same question. Almost all of them say she shouldn't. You will only be hurt in the long run, they say. It seems as though I'm writing more about other people or things outside myself. Me gets to be more and more like a greased bean. Lots of little things are going on, but I keep trying to see some pattern or make some sense of them. Lee, in his last letter about what I wrote while on FH this Christmas, says to tie it all together somehow. It can't be. Everything changes everyday. One conclusion can be turned upside down the next day or the next moment. It seems like something is clear, then I learn some new fact and don't know what is going on. It seems as though he says to build some sort of system out of all this that can be packaged and used by others. But the package is constantly bursting at the seems. It constantly changes shape and size. Sometimes I think about writing a moral or conclusion to everything that I've written, but then something else changes and I'm no closer. In a bookstore today I see a book about writing to develop one's self. Then I think about giving up on this whole venture. Its already been done. But reading some parts leads me to think that those people aren't really writing about what's going on inside themselves. I sit here struggling with myself to see if this is also a fault of mine. Is this really what I feel and think? Often its not, but from time to time I have the feeling of exactly hitting the bullseye. Often others who read what I write say the same. Sten has been particularly encouraging. He says it may be my form of the SD, in which case its not bad. He says its very good. Judy has recently told me how something written about my relationship with her explained it exactly. Enough praise. Why am I feeling so hot in my face? The stress from the last few days has caused some bug(s) to get the upper hand. I cough a bit and have a slightly sore throat. Ron and Ellen have broken up. Dana immediately took credit for it. But it may come as a surprise that people only use others as an excuse for ending a bad relationship. The new order often turns out to be only the lesser of two bad deals. And that reminds me, Simone has a new deal for me. You can have your own room if I can have my cats, she says. Still up to getting her way. But Dana does not wants cats either. What will her next ploy be? Why is my face so hot? It happens when I feel shame or am very self-conscious. Am I feeling this or a little sick? The rest of me feels fine. I have the sort of cough that indicates my mini-cold is going away. What was the pattern I noticed about my health the other day and can't remember now? My ears are also a bit hot. I don't feel nervous or agitated. Maybe something to do with the struggle to let out what is inside. I'm trying to put it to paper, but nothing stands out in my head. Simone is trying something with Michael to get him to move. Not from where he is, but emotionally. She wants to improve her chances with him should she decide to end things with me. First she will talk mostly about him and his work, agreeing with most everything he says. This goes on for about a month. Then she springs the trap after he has stepped in and exposed himself to her. Its not clear exactly how this will work but she makes a lot of plans of this sort. It never works out. Too many things happen before she gets to the end of the plan. Then a new plan has to be made. So it goes with all my planning and fantasies. A month ago I could never have anticipated the situation as it exists today. What can I say about one month from now? Probably far too optimistic. My fantasies make much faster progress than my facts. I am thinking, why not send a copy of these notes to Michael? It will certainly stir up the pot. Do I want to make more trouble? YES! You can't make muddy water without some mud. If there is anything to stir up then do it. That was not as clever as I'd intended it. Something about mud, clear water being deceptive, and what happens when one stirs up the bottom of the bucket. I'm chomping at the bit to stir something up with Dana and the redhead. They were here for awhile this morning but didn't have much to do with us. A very proper couple. Handsome and well dressed. Very polite. Would I like to know what's really going on! Dana keeps her away so nothing will happen to alter the romantic and mystical view she has of him. But I will look for the chance. Then zap. It seemed I had it for just a moment this morning. I could have made something of a short time when kissing with Simone. She came out of the bathroom and saw us for just a moment. Hesitated for just a moment, then turned and went to Dana's room. Or was this just my imagination? But for just a moment there was something in the air. Just now Dana comes in the door. I get a little seflconscious about writing this. Quick, hurry on to something else, another topic, like bats or computers. Its also time to get ready to go to that fancy French restaurant where Simone is taking me this evening. One can get there only with an appointment. Here I am all dressed up in this monkey suit and she still has left her place. Back to the keyboard. Thinking about writing for reading, or am I writing for writing? Often who will read this influences what I write. But Sten says to write only for myself. I think about it and write about it and it all gets confused. Don't know where I am. It was a lot easier writing on FH. I had no intention of letting anyone read my writing. That has changed drastically. There is the possibility of making this whole think into a book. Then I get all kinds of advice about how to do that. How to express this frustration about writing, but not that, about saying something of myself. LIke a problem in school. One thinks and thinks about it, gets frustrated, cries, gets mad, throws things, gives up or finds a solution. This thing is impossible. It goes on forever. Every solution leads to a better question. Every new question leads to more emotional rummaging around in the past, present, and future. Why not just stick to a presentation of what's happening as best I see it? Why this constant searching for resolution of my difficulties? Why not indeed. The moment the question is presented an answer appears. So who wants all these difficulties? One moment it looks like clear sailing, the next moment is in the middle of a tornado. Over and over again, the same predicament. I can't explain it. I try to explain it. I get frustrated. Then It seems I've written to much nonsense that this makes me feel like a fool and even more frustrated. Here I sit arguing with a piece of paper. It takes everything I throw at it. Makes no difference. Sense or nonsense, its all the same to the paper. It throws it right back at me. You said it, buddy. Not me. Is it possible that other people find themselves confronted with the same sort of nonsense inside their heads? Somehow I find it impossible. It makes me want to laugh. Could anyone else ever get themselves so caught up in such a mental mess, a self-made spiders web. Like a person who goes to relax in a hammock only to find themselves thrown to the ground or hopelessly tied up in a thousand strands of endless rope. And the best solution is to do nothing. Its not really there. There isn't anything here. Its all fabricated from a million little prune pits somewhere deep inside my brain, and all controlled by little pokes from the past, or fears from the future. In a way it feels as though I've just battled my way out of a hole. Dana comes by to ask if anything has been written about him and Suzanne. Yes, I say, but its still going on. You can have it when I leave. Its all in the notebook. This next part is interesting. I thought about writing it for writing first. Then I thought about writing it for reading. But I did think about just writing it first. Does that make a difference? Here it is: the sexual situation has been sporadic. Last night nothing. Night before was very good. The night before that was probably one of the best times I've had with Simone. In the beginning I was not horny. Hadn't been all day. That was Thursday. The bus ride to Sturbridge does it. So we are laying in bed. She wants me to feel her. Time to go to sleep, I say. No its not, she says. Finger me, she asks. No, maybe tomorrow. She begins to play with my prick. It soon becomes interested. The rest of me continues, however, in the same vein. Roll over and go to sleep, I say. She starts to breath harder. She starts to masturbate. The prick gets more and more interested. The rest of me goes out to lunch. And so this goes on for sometime. She is now very horny and won't take no for an answer. But she gets it anyway. Now she's on top of me. The rest of me decides to follow the prick. We turn over and I am on top of her. We fuck. She raises her legs and ass into the air. She is almost bent over double. Her legs are out to the side. I am inside her and moving up and down. We both feel connected. More so than many times in the past. She almost, or maybe has her first orgasm with me inside her. It is very good for me. I know exactly when an orgasm is the best. My prick stays enlarged after I come. It is not very hard, but is larger than normal. A difficult or forced orgasm causes my prick to shrivel up and feel uncomfortable. The rest of my body will have a nervous spasm now and then. Later we both realize it has been one of the best sexual times for us. I tell her about my plan to resist her advances the same way in the future. No you don't, she says, and whacks me one. So that's the story.

Monday, February 16, 1981

Two dreams last night about taking some pills for my cold. Its a real cold now, not just a sore throat and some coughing. Each dream was a question. Had I already taken one of the pills? Should I take another. Another kind of dream. About Lou, Sten's girlfriend from before FH. We were in a bedroom together. We got horny. She takes off some of her clothes. There are pimples all over her chest. She has almost no tits. We feel each other up a bit. The bedroom is off the corridor or hallway of an office. It seems to be Intermetrics, a place where I once worked. We are worried that people will see us going from room to room half naked. A second part of the dream has me with Brit. We are going to fuck but don't quite make it. More discussion about cats with Simone this morning. She asks Dana what he wants. Dana says he does not want to live with cats. He suggests we drown them. Sure, I say, a bag, a brick, a cat, and over the side of Harvard Bridge. She tries to con us. The are so friendly and sweet, she implores. Alchemy just loves to play with people. No deal. Now she wants a new couch. My recent influx of funds has set dollar signs to dancing in her eyes. But I am more inclined to get a blender, water purifier, or things like that. Maybe even a new washing machine. But a couch is not on my list. Some interesting changes in Dana's behavior. I talk about it with him over breakfast. He has become more withdrawn. Suzanne has become more uncertain of herself. Her movements are not as forceful and definite. She is a little more indefinite with eye contact, and her speech is also more uncertain. Last night it seemed as though she was going to stay the night. Then, suddenly, she was all anxious to be off. Simone thought it might have been because we were in the next room. Only the sliding doors separated us from them. Dana is going through some sort of struggle. Maybe living with her. Simone says it is my fantasy.

Wednesday, February 18, 1981

Its a beautiful Spring-like day, and we've had several of them recently. I'm walking along the street. A police siren. I turn to look. They go by. Its not a regular police car, but like an unmarked, or plainclothes car. Just hen a fantasy pops into my head. The police stop. They take their guns and order me to stop. I put my hands up but they shoot anyway. I'm hit! Suddenly Cheyenne is there beside me. She screams and grabs hold of me. The wound is not fatal. Suddenly the one who shot me starts to scream. His skin is starting to boil and erupt. The flesh shreds. Blood is everywhere. It becomes putrid. The entire body resembles an enormous rotting and stinking carcass. I warn the other officer the same will happen to him if he shoots. That's the end. I go on and think about writing this little fantasy. Maybe it would make the start of a good science fiction story. Then more ruminating about the problem of writing without writing for someone to read. These fantasies of having enormous success through this preoccupy me a lot lately. Simone and I did not sleep together last night. She tells me of getting sick and vomiting this morning. I wonder if it isn't because of that. She and I and Dana talk about for awhile in the afternoon. She had a long talk with Carol last night. Carol is complaining again about nobody cares about her. Especially that nobody cares about her the way people care about Simone. But she doesn't do the things that Simone does. She never goes out of her way to do anything for anyone. She then expects everyone to approach her. Simone tells her how she sees the situation. She is constantly putting me down to Simone and wonders how she could possibly see anything in me. But poor Carol never stops to look and see all the things I do for Simone. An unpleasant situation. It stays that way because Simone is never straightforward enough or forceful enough to really make her think about what she is doing. And so she goes on moaning about her sad fate, consuming gallons of ice cream, exercising like crazy, staying overweight, hiding in her room, and still wondering what's wrong. Simone asked me to fuck yesterday afternoon. Ok, I says after we talk about it. We undress. She starts complaining about something, don't remember what, starts to have second thoughts about it. This makes me mad. I decide to get dressed and go back to work. I have the feeling of having done this to get even with her for interrupting the mood. It was not easy to change it back to something more pleasant. But we talk before she and Dana leave for their dream group. Last night I dreamed of being an on-call 24-hour a day plumber, living on FH. There's a call. Its from one of the Kennedy family members. One that nobody knows about. He's 61 years old. Lives in a suburban type house. Some pipe or hose is plugged and he's not getting fuel for his furnace. Its very cold. Suddenly the scene switches to a World War II tank battle. Then back to the blocked fuel line. I find the problem. It is only necessary to shake some part of the mechanism holding the fuel line and everything is ok. Then it seems that Dana has something to do with the dream. A tall blond man. It seems like Dana but not quite. The end. I have though of a number of things to write about today. In my head it seems perfectly clear as to what its all about. The problem comes for me in transforming this mental picture to the rather dimensionally limited world of word and paper. But it is certainly good exercise to try this. So, the first thing has to do with something as simple as a phone call, and what I noticed of myself. It comes at the end. It seems as though I'm there, but suddenly there is something like spacing out. It is as though I mentally hangup before hanging up in fact. I have a strangely mechanical and out-of-touch feeling. As though I break contact before it is really broken. The end becomes like playing back an automatic message. And then I become aware of this out-of-touch sensation. Usually it happens right after hanging up from a phone call. What is the meaning of this? What great secret is hidden in this obscure bit of behavior? Who knows. Other things noticed today? It keeps flitting in and out of my mind. Not there and then a vague impression of it. Concentrate. Try to put my finger on this elusive thing. Shit. Its like a mental mirage. Its like dropping a piece of paper on a windy day. Reach down to pick it up and its off again. It is going on in exactly this moment. I sit here trying to reconstruct what was thought of so clearly earlier today. Is it a fault in my memory? Is there some reason why I don't want to remember this particular thing about myself? Curse, curse, curse. I sit here fuming and cursing to myself. It reminds me of when my motorscooter would get stuck or wouldn't start. I'd be there trying to get it going or unstuck, and from all appearances, not being particularly disturbed by it at all. My mother or others would comment how calm and matter of fact I seemed to be about the whole thing. When in reality, if they could have heard what was going through my head, they might have passed out from the intensity of what was coming out of that young fellow. This was in my more religious days. I'd managed to eliminate such things from the view of others, but the same old shit was still there in my head, rotting and smelling away. And I still have not managed to remember this very interesting thing from earlier today. I have been rather subdued the last few days because of a cold. Haven't even had much desire to fuck. Haven't been as pushy or hysterical as normal. Something to do with that. Finished Simone's laundry. An interesting thing happened when I put it in to wash. Lots of underwear, slips, dressed, and other female apparel. Slinky, slick stuff. Two older women would look my way every now and then. Suddenly an anxiety attack. Very self-conscious. A fear of being seen by these women doing another woman's laundry. Was it a fear of being a sissy? That they might think the things were mine? Something from long ago. I remember the feeling from when I was a boy. Afraid the other boys would see me and make something of it. My mother made me wear diapers when I was in the third or fourth grade. She was trying to get me to stop wetting my bed. Suffice it to say that having anyone else know this would have caused me considerable more anguish. It was a shaming thing in any case. Something I devoted considerable energy to. Always worrying that someone would find out about it. Having to change my behavior or conceal certain things. Then the anxiety continued over to when I was supposed to be working on school subjects. Everyone else seemed to be more into it than me. I had to spend all my time being certain that nobody discovered me wearing diapers. Every kid there probably had something of the same sort. All that energy tied up in worrying. So a similar thing came over me in that laundromat. It went away, but out crawls all that new dirty laundry. I have it today. I was thinking of an incident with Adele in 1971. She was thinking of leading a Youth Hostels group in Europe during August. I encouraged her to do so. But at the same time another woman was of considerable interest to me. Rina was her name. Beautiful red hair and a very nice body. She like me. So Adele says to me one day: do you want me to go to Europe so you can have an affair with Rina? No, I immediately says. That was a lie. It prevented me from really doing it. I felt so guilty. Went to visit her one evening with a friend. She was tired. Laid down on the couch beside me. Very short dress. Her ass was nearly in my lap. Nice crotch. Her underwear seemed not to be covering what normally would be out of sight. My friend couldn't see it from where he sat. It seems to have been available only to me. It was impossible to do anything. I was to wrapped up in what-ifs. Margaret was another woman who offered herself to me. She was a student in one of my computer programming courses. Beautiful red hair. No sexual experience. She asked me one day if she should get birthcontrol pills. Don't remember what I said about it, except that I ignored the real message. She had me over one evening. It got late. We talked about how we were seeing each other rather late. She had to be at work early. Some other couple talk. I am at the door to leave. She rubs up against me. I keep my hands in their pockets. She wants something. Did I know what she wanted? Thinking about it now I have to say yes. Thinking about my state of mind then now, or now thinking about my now state of mind then, or then thinking now then about my state of mindÖ. Well, a lot of things confused me then. On the other hand it was not unusual to resist all sorts of opportunities of that sort. Ignoring glances, smiles, looks, faces, and other messages, was very normal for me. But it took a lot of energy. A lot of will power. I am feeling a bit agitated at the moment. It has to do with Ellen, who has left Ron. She wants to have an affair with Simone. Lets just do without this jealousy problem and get a place together, she says. Well, so much for Dana's explanation of why they broke up. On the other hand one could say that she is just beginning to learn new things about herself. She has found two other men she is interested in. She votes no on Simone moving in with me. We can get a place together and have our cats, she says. But my agitation has to do with wanting credit for her new found insight, incomplete as it is. By credit I mean what really happened and what provoked it. One could say that my provocative leading of the evening caused her to think about, and finally do things she has been thinking about for some time. Its easy to see why she would leave Ron. He gives the impression that he is constantly worried about her leaving him. He seems to get nervous about little things that indicate lack of allegiance to him, or proposing my own hypothesis. Behind it is the desire to want to be the real, although not yet known to her, object of her casting him, and Dana, aside. I say to myself, this interest in Simone is just to get her away from me. I am the real power behind the thrown. Her real difficulties and desires lie with men. Simone is just a temporary landmark on the way to her real biological destination. It is entirely possible that a few more evenings of talking and being with people in that way will point it out to her. On the other hand she may not be capable of dealing with her deepest difficulties with men. This is beginning to sound more like a limerick than serious writing. Me thinks thou doest profess too much. Now Jeff is an interesting case. Simone has a date for tea with him this evening. It will take 3 or 4 dates to get him back in good shape, she says to me. Yes, I understand exactly. Its the same with some of my women friends. They have to be coddled and have their hands held. Tip-toe around and be very careful or back to first base. Simone, and Linda a little bit, are the only ones I don't have to be so careful with. Then Judy and Jeanette would be the next least vulnerable to offense. And all the other get lumped together. Long talk with Michael on the phone night before last. He was really mad at me about the using Simone's house incident. But he stayed cool and calm all the time we talked about it. A roommate later said he was fuming. Simone relayed the same to me from a conversation with him. Then the three of us are on the phone. She feels uncomfortable. I want to talk more about what really was said and meant, about the house, and about Michael talking to Daniel. It was a rousing good fight. A lot of things got talked about. Later Simone said it was a very good communication. At the time it went on however, she was trying to make me out to be jealous, or have some other nefarious intent. Maybe so, but the result was the three of us talking about very important things. About why she still hangs on to Michael, why she keeps her foot in the door, how she's worried about being left by me. And I just wanted to talk about things without sneaking around. It always makes me feel left out. Like a third party. I don't want to be excluded. And there are many things of importance to all of us. I even suggested that Michael consider living with us for awhile. He said he would think about it. He doesn't want to see Simone for 2 weeks. I say how this doesn't seem to be what he really wants, but is his way of avoiding all the feelings he has over the situation. He can't admit to it. Even when I tell him what a fantastic woman Simone is. She is far more open and honest than anyone else I know. She is very spontaneous and eager to do all sorts of things. She is never afraid to experience her sexuality. Compare this with most of the women you know, I tell him. They walk around and avoid looking you in the eye. Afraid to say what their sexual needs are. Always waiting for the man to take the first step. Simone beat me to the punch on our first date. I was going to ask her to take me home that night. I wish I could take you home with me tonight, she said. We were having soup in the Turtle Cafe. She had another sleep over date that night. And would leave for a vacation to Italy in another day. So nothing came of it. But she did ask me before I got to it. And I'll have to admit to having some anxiety about doing it. But I couldn't resist someone who would really look at me. I met her at a party, at Nora's, on May 10th. She was the only woman who really looked at me. I had the feeling she was really open to me. Very straightforward. I didn't feel as though I was being looked through. I had gone to the party with the idea of pretending to be something other than what I was. For example, that evening was my brain surgeon and researcher on the influence of art and music on brain development. It swept her off her feet. Or at least kept her interested long enough for me to get her name and phone number. She was impressed that I didn't need to write it down. Its a good trick. Tell me your number. I'll remember it, I reassure them. Later, however, I always write it down as over time these things do go away. 

Friday, February 10, 1981

A new idea for writing. During the day I make notes about different topics that occur to me. This way, even if I skip writing for a day, there will be no shortage of topics. This feeling is causing a little panic in me, namely, running out of things to write about. I got a new name and phone number for my little green box today. This is for 3 by 5 cards with the name, address, and phone number of many of the women I know. Her name is Nina. She is subletting Linda's apartment until June. Very attractive. She was a dancer in NYC. Not much like Linda. Too subdued. I find myself attracted to her anyway. Linda told her to be careful with me, that I might ask her to sleep with me, but I know lots of people and am very interesting. She would not find me boring. Then I think to myself, is this going to be worth the effort to start a relationship with her? She's not very outgoing. Linda is likely to work at odds to me if anything gets started. But on the other hand there is a very definite desire in me. Why should such a thing cause so many rationalizations to rise up in me? Some anxiety about what LInda will think. Some anxiety about having some common contact. I think about it, struggle inside, and get paralyzed. Forget it and go to something else. 

Saturday, February 21, 1981

Recent events make me feel as though I'm only scratching my surface, that what I have been writing is superficial. The image I get is of a large open pit mine. The deeper one digs the bigger the hole gets. I have just been talking with Dana about an interesting self discovery made today. Walking down the street. A big fight inside my head. But suddenly I notice something completely different about it. Something I can't remember happening before. There are two people in the fight. There is a setting and they are fighting about something, what I can't remember now, but its not that important. There was my true character fighting with my false character. The false me being who doesn't want to admit to difficulties and problems in life, and the true character who is some part of these difficulties and all the things others say about me. The false character is always arguing and resisting these things said about me by others. Every now and then someone else would pop in the conversation, like Simone or Linda. They would say something to support the real character part of me. Then they would step aside. And the battle would resume with the two main protagonists. This is something very new for me. The last two days make my difficulties very obvious to me. Trouble with work, writing, other interests, Linda, Simone, medical problems. The false me does not want to be beaten by the real me. But there is something irresistible about this true character. Something not so bad. I notice that he is not harsh, not strident, not aggressive, very reasonable. He managed to parry every thrust. But the results were not disastrous for me. I didn't really get defeated. I have trouble making the explanation less abstract. The other side of me is what? Who was that? It seems to be gone now. But the impression persists. How to say all this without being mystical or spaced out. I have the feeling of being held by someone larger and warmer than me. A very comfortable and knowledgable person. But the old resistance came back eventually and overwhelmed the other. Linda and Simone have been fighting back a lot this week. This feeling of resisting comes up in me a lot as a result. Every little criticism evokes a denial and an increase of this internal tension. Sometimes I manage to accept it. Mostly it causes a flood of feeling. This afternoon I found myself suddenly wrapped up in the stolen battery story. A long time ago. I was 10-12 years old. Don't remember exactly. A family lived up the street a ways from us. The father made me mad about something. He had an old battery sitting out in his yard. One day I took it. Hid it somewhere near my house. Later, maybe a few weeks, I took it to a scrap dealer for selling. Still later my mother asks me, did you take so-and-so's batter and sell it? Why no, I says. She doesn't believe me. A big fight. She yells and threatens. The more she does this the more I resist. Finally it comes to getting a spanking. But still I resist. No way will I admit to this. I did it, of course, but it is impossible for me to admit this. The memory is confusing about what happened next. Did I lock myself in the bathroom, or did she tell me to stay there until I confessed? A day or so later she asks about John. I talked in my sleep and must have said something about him and the battery. Or this is what I remember. This whole thing doesn't make sense or have a good connection. The other day Simone made some positive comments about my writing. That it is less a recollection of what happened during the day and more about me and my feelings. Flashbacks are used very well to tell the story. Anyway, she says its getting much better and more interesting. But I find this to be interfering with what I write. Each time I try to write a sensitive story about myself and some connected incident from the past. Every critic sways my tone. Again I have this feeling of some insite and lack of ability to express it. As though I'm tied and gaged and trying to yell out some message to a passerby to free me. An interesting mental image to just pop into my head. There I sit on a simple chair, hands bound behind me, feet tied to the chair, and a gag in my mouth. How to get somewhere? Hop up and down? Fall over to try and roll somewhere, and possibly risk injury in the process? Or maybe sit and think my way out of this imaginary bind? Is any problem I have any more real than the one of imagining myself tied up? And first of all, who tied me up? I mean the whole thing took place in my head! There I was, just like that ñ bang! No fantasy about being robbed or anything. There wasn't anybody else, but me, in this fantasy. I just imagined myself bound and gagged. Is that one g or two? So anyway, and now I can't remember what I was going to say. Shit, another interesting idea down the drain.

Sunday, February 22, 1981

Another party last night. At Simone's house. 14 people showed up. We invited a lot more. Joe brought me over about 8:30. He got interested in Claire towards the end of the evening. About one in the morning he said goodbye, without looking at us, threw on his coat and left. Claire came into the front room and sat down with us. She and Joe had been in the kitchen. I asked her if she noticed anything about him just before he left. No, she said. I said that it was unusual for him to behave like that. Later I realized that his reaction was probably from having been rejected by Claire. He had probably asked to spend the night with her and she'd turned him down. George came about 9:30. He spent most of his time with Simone. She asked him if he was in love with her. Yes, he confessed. He also mentioned the article in the Whole Life Times to her three times, again! He seems to have some sort of fixation on me. I gave him some recent pages of my notes. Simone wondered if he would still like her after reading them. I said that if he didn't then he wasn't worth it. Jeff was there also. He managed to get himself in the conversation with Simone and George. He is still in love with Simone, but its harder for him to talk about it with others around. He had quite a time with her recently. It seems he took his pants down and showed her his dead penis. Look, he said, its completely dead. He can't get an erection with a woman. He paid $200 for two hours with a sex therapist, a two hour blow job, and he still didn't get hard. He is very depressed and feels that Simone is the only person he can really talk to. But he doesn't really try with many others. There were a few times on FH when it was difficult for me to get an erection, but never any other time. Simone tells me that I always seems to have an erection during the night. Sometimes she wakes up and likes to feel me. This morning it was especially true. I kept trying to wake her up but she had taken some pain killer for her tooth and it is also a sleeping pill. She finally woke up and we did something. Later she talked about how she has always had such wonderful orgasms with all the other men she's been with. Especially when she has been in love. Simone has just finished talking to Roberta on the phone. Gordon is with another woman today and she's feeling a little jealousy. This is a bit odd as she is avoiding anything more with Joe as she feels she must protect him (Gordon) from being rejected, or the threat of being rejected. Gordon can't seem to explain why he's with the other one except that she likes him a lot, and he doesn't see why he should disappoint her. So Roberta coyly tries to get Joe (and several other people) to have breakfast with her the next day.

MOnday, February 23, 1981

Suzanne called a little after two this morning. Someone was trying to break down her door and kill her. An exconvict, drunk, and living downstairs, didn't like her complaining about his playing loud disco music. The police came and rescued them before he managed to break either the front or back door in. So I says why not come over here tonight. She originally asked if Dana was with anyone as she thought he might be with Carol Davidson. A long story about the event. She is quite loud and I have to remind her to lower her voice several times. The whole incident reminds me of her telling about the sexual advances of her boss. The words say she doesn't like it or contribute to its happening. But her whole body and tone of voice says that something about her likes this attention and excitement. The killer story gives me the same impression, but more that she contributes to the rising up of violent feelings in a person like this. She denies it, of course. But one can detect an air of superiority in her when it comes to describing the kind of person it is and how he treated her when she confronted him about the loud noise. She is a great believer in good and bad spirits and psychic energy. She is going to call on all her psychic friends for energy and light. Best she should stop bothering mean and nasty characters. This is the third assault on her in as many years. Dana was feeling sick at Friday nights party. He and Suzanne left early. At one point I noticed how she clung to him and followed his every footstep. I said, don't trip over your umbilical cord on the way out. Next day he tells me the sick feeling is one of being smothered. Its beginning to overwhelm him. More and more things about this lovely redhead and coming out. And Dana, that lucky devil, is her new knight in shining armor! But something about me. Its getting to be as though my only life is chronicaling the lives of others. On the way to the party with Joe a feeling of doom, gloom, and depression suddenly overtook me. It was not till later that I connected it with an earlier incident. Sten is back from his three day trip to FH. He enjoyed it very much and didn't want to leave. He told me how Otto asked him to his room after the SD evening, and that Otto told him how he had developed a lot in the last year. This is what did me in. Otto didn't say as much to me. He didn't pay as much attention to me. Sten did better than me and so I get depressed. The next day it continued. Competition fantasies. In the beginning I am doing ok. Then things start to get out of my control. And this is in my fantasy! Where one would as least think me to be in control. But no. My cool gets blown. I get nervous and distressed. It happens to my body also. The fantasy spreads from an image in my head to my entire nervouse system. And soon I am pacing around, doing compulsive things, getting agitated. A realization about Dana and Suzanne. He has gone to visit his sister in the mental hospital. Suzanne went also. It seems that she dumps some new thing on him and he has to strike back. She is going to press on him till he can't stand it anymore, then poof, he will go away. Something about Simone: her voice has a different quality in it these last few days. She calls and I don't immediately recognize her. Or, a few minutes ago, she came in the door and said hello. I couldn't tell who it was for a moment. Yesterday she was in a bit of a wimpering mood. She often starts to yawn as a way of hiding a little crying. I point this out to her and she says that only her therapist is supposed to know that. It has been obvious to me for some time, but I never said anything about it till now. This happened with something right after I returned from Europe. We were sitting at the table eating and I started to mimic her eating a small piece of bread with two hands. She does it something like a small child who can't really hold something well with one hand. She asks me, why didn't you ever say anything about this before? Well, I says, there are lots of things to notice about anyone, and I've noticed lots of things about you. This one never really came up till now. And its the same with me. Sometimes I will become aware of some little thing I've been doing, in some cases all my life, and only then become aware of it. Like saying the same thing twice in the same sentence. I am a bit frustrated at the moment trying to hold so many things in my head at one time. Events of the last few days, things noticed about myself, and so forth. My ability to make sense of things is disintegrating. Definitely lightweight. So says Lee's latest response to a copy of my latest Cambridge notes. I die for just a moment. A horrible, failing, sinking feeling. Why so traumatic? Then I think, he's pissed at my last letter about his analysis of my Christmas FH notes. So for a moment I defend myself. But the feeling in my body persists. It can't be argued anyway. Why not read my old FH notes? Try to recapture the mood or method or whatever it is that makes them different. Obviously its FH, and I can't recreate it here. He's right. The weight is light. Continue to fight. Take a bigger bite. Keep revelation in sight. Try with all my might. I have fantasies about calling more of the women in my little green box and trying to start something with them. Fear or rejection. Then the idea to get a local contact to publish my book. More deviation from confronting myself. Things are so compartmentalized and people so separated from each other here. On FH everything seems to merge together, almost, and I hate to say it, organically. Socially organic development. You live, eat, work, fuck, play, sleep, and everything with the same people. No need to go somewhere else to get some of any of these things. Simone and I talked about bringing people together. Its so lightweight. So contrived. It has to be for some reason. This immediately puts limits on what will happen. Its ok to just put on blinders. No need to look at anything else. There is a jargon to simplify the already superficial conversation. The artificial boundaries will make sure that nothing will really happen. One gets the impression something is being done and that progress is being made. Everyone will participate and let out just so much. No more is necessary. Any more and the lid will be clamped on. But, again, I'm not really writing about me. Just complaining about some nonsense that is not more than a variation on myself. What am I doing sending copies of this to people? Bragging, trying to get credit?

Thursday, February 26, 1981

Judy reminded me of my days as an AAO maniac. I was visiting her the other day. Her dog Babe died. It was 9 years old. She sat in my lap. We cuddled. I began to feel very desirous of her. Not completely sexual. But one day last summer she broke down and cried about something that was going on with her. I felt very close to her. But beyond that there is still resistance. I wanted to know how it was that one could get closer to her. Was it me? Something I was doing? Carla visited me the other day and asked if I still thought those people were the answer to everything. This has set me off on some new thoughts about myself. Talking to Lotti the other evening about inspiring writers. Henry Miller, for instance, she says. But it seemed to me that such people mostly have inspiring ideas. Their personal lives do not correspond to what they say. They don't really live the way they imagine themselves to be. And this brought me to my own past. The time I was a draft resister. Carla was one of the people who really admired me. There were lots of others. But inside me it was not the same wonderful idea. Inside I was miserable. Lots of people were inspired by my example. They thought it was very noble. I think there must have been something very moralistic about it. But on the other hand I wanted to do some good for myself and others. I didn't want to be a soldier. I did refuse the simple way out. It was possible to have a job related exemption. Not doing this was a way of feeling superior. This is not sounding as good as I have imagined it just before writing it. Another example of my inability to match my self-expectations to what I can do. Earlier today I had a very clear idea about what to write. Reading it now I see that what I thought was nonsense or its being done very badly. I am caught in this crazy circle again of explaining what I mean and discovering that what I mean is not explainable. Its nonsense. It would be quite a thing if this state of mind were elucidatable. It continues to elude me. And everything else about false inspiration. Lotti related how she had read from Anais Nin about what Henry Miller was like in real life. She had to admit that his personal life did not match his spired ideals. One has to suspect ideas that can't be lived by their creator. It sets you to sailing in a false direction. One needs to find a true direction. I have followed enough of these other directions. The Mormon church, which is not to be singled out from all the others, MIT, Thoreau and his inspired life by Walden Pond (made simpler by sending his laundry home to his mom and sister), draft resistance, and more recently the AAO. Was I really such a maniac. Sandy, one of Adele's friends, thought it was a religious organization.

Friday, February 27, 1981

Walking down the street. Two fantasies. The first is on FH. I come back for a visit. I've been very successful. Well dressed, fancy shoes and a long green coat. Floppy hat and sunglasses. Otto invited me into his room. I pull out a machine gun and shoot him and the entire first bag. The second is here in Cambridge. I'm with Simone. I see someone beating up a small child. I yell at her to go for the police while I do something about the child. She hesitates. I return and hit her. Its to wake her up and get her going. I try to help again. She has to be beaten again. The end. Suddenly I become aware of this fantasy. Lots of low-level stress today. Some people for breakfast. Me, Simone, Gail, Lotti, Dana, and Suzanne. Pleasant enough but Suzanne has to relive her nightmare of some days ago. She is completely into it. Her voice and body resonate with the whole incident. A rising sense of something in me. This will be the last time I listen to the story. She stays in it by retelling it. The whole thing is disturbing. She is very good at projecting that quality. And does it as much as she says she wants to be rid of the whole thing. Do I say something this time or put an end to it when it starts again? Next time definitely. A funny thing just now. How to finish off the end of that last line. Should I start another line, or think of a good word that will fit? Writing to fill the page? Or filling the page with writing? Simone had a date with Jeff last night. It ended badly. She tried to lie to salvage the situation. Maybe Jeff should meet Judy, she says. Why don't we just forget about other people, she says. We have each other. I'll just concentrate on my relationship with you, Michael, and Dana. Well, thank you very much Simone! She is constantly making little digs at my difficulty in making progress with Judy. Its so easy for me to get a man to sleep with me, she taunts. You are jealous of my ability to do this, she says. Its true. She can do this more easily than me. But, as even Judy said, its much easier for a woman to do this. A man is looked on very suspiciously and as though he's on the make, by a woman. She realizes this and has never argued against it. But it has always been necessary for me to lie at the beginning of any relationship. Only when it gets more secure has it been possible to really say what's on my mind. Most of it would be to much for any of the women I've known. She knows she has to lie to Jeff. He could never stand to hear what she really things about him. On the other hand she really does like him. It makes her cry to retell the story. She will keep trying. And so will I. We both know its necessary to stay healthy. It keeps us awake and alive. The stimulation makes life interesting and in turn attracts still more people to us. Recently I've had the feeling again that it is possible to have a group of people to live with. I am still disturbed by Lee's criticism. It makes everything written seem distorted and crippled. Awkward and clumsy. Suzanne says my writing flows very smoothly.  But to me it seems like the jagged edge of broken glass. Like a fantasy I had often as a boy and adolescent. It started with an image of my arm. Then acid. The flesh would slowly be eaten away. Fumes and dissolved flesh float away. It began to resemble swiss cheese broken in two. The bone is all that remained. At some point I realized some connection with this fantasy and my life. It has not come about in some time. It seems it stopped around the time of the understanding of it. But exactly what I thought of it escapes me. 

Sunday, March 1, 1981

A lot of realizations come to me like this. But the summation of them all has not helped me much. Another one seems to be coming to me now, but its not clear yet. It has to do with the last few days. Yesterday David Wiggins called to say he had just come from FH. It stirred a lot up in me, as it always does, when someone comes from there. I have always had difficulties living with him. Especially when we were alone and trying to start a group after Otmar left at the end of 1977. But he seems to be less sad. His face is a little different. It doesn't seem possible that he could have lived there 16 months and not be changed. And the same for me. Its a completely other life there. Everything here is either superficial or deadly serious in comparison. Sometimes I think of going back. Not at the moment. Things are going very well for me at the moment. Business is very good. I feel lots of responsibility for the work and for the people working for me. Its a good feeling to take care of them in this way. It makes me want to work even harder so they will do even better from it. Simone has heaped praise on me for the handling of our relationship and how good she feels about me. At the same time there is some sort of undercurrent making me feel more restless, agitated, nervous, aggressive, and disturbed. But it seems easier somehow to see what is going on around me. Some arrogance the last few days. The Ellen/Ron/Simone triangle has dug up some more dirt. He had dinner with Simone last night. He revealed how Ellen had been a heroin addict at one time. That her current boyfriend is 65 years old. We also learned that he had an affair with Constance, Michael's current true love. And he learned that his therapist is sleeping with Ellen and separating. She seems to just want to have nothing to do with him. Ron says things were going so well. Not so, says Simone, and me. The contrary was obvious to both of us. He was not very well tuned. So he is going to off and get angry at his therapist. And ignore the real problem. Namely, himself, and his inability to take a hard look at what's going on. He remarked how everyone at the spiritual conference, which he'd attended earlier that day, along with Ellen, her friend, Michael, and Constance, and himself, seemed to be such hypocrites. This gave me something to gloat over for a few minutes. But invariably in such situations, something from deep inside me floats to the surface to remind me of my own behavior, and that the same affliction strikes me with the same devastating force. Blame someone else. Maybe admit to hypocracy in my head but not in public. And then struggling with the thing, like some kind of animal that one has to beat under the rug. One never seems to be able to quite kill it. It rests a moment and then sticks its ugly head in the way of something. Like a little demon inside me that won't let me forget it. One's conscience should look a little nicer, but this thing always seems to be quite nasty. It takes a lot of energy to keep it under the rug. Its like some crazy new material that no matter how you bend, distort, crumple, twist, or whatever, you do to it, always seems to jump back into its original shape. This conscience is like that. No matter how much energy I put into ignoring it or stomping on it, well the thing just seems to pop right back refreshed as ever. It won't go away. The other side of this seems to be when I get some sort of pleasure out of the misfortune of another person. I told you so. You finally got what you deserve for your stupid behavior. Or, eventually you will have to pay for this. And some more talk with Lotti about inspired writing. This time its Ann Rand. Anyone can solve all the world's problems in a book. Maybe her personal life is like what she writes, she counters. But to me it doesn't seem possible to rebuild yourself, or any part of the world, without other people. They have to join together. Simone tells me about the incredibly fat marriage counselor, who always seemed so very together, that she and Michael were seeing. She would comment on this to Michael, who would reply that Budda was also fat. But she was on the right track. Something was going on. He was just able to hide it. Lloyd, who borrowed some of my notes for reading the other day, always speaks to me in a way that indicates he admires and envies me for all the things I do. I get an uneasy sort of pleasure and feeling of pride from this. My immediate reaction is, oddly enough to want to counsel him further, be sort of guruish with him. To get him to admire me still more. But at the same time, to project a sort of false image of myself to him. I know its false. Its like an automatic reaction. It happens before I almost know it. I take the superior position. The position of one who knows so much more, and give him a sort of learner/student status. Its true he could learn some things from me but there is always this false aspect to it. Maybe false it not quite the right word. All of my ribs are a little sore. What have I done to cause this? I keep sitting here thinking about this false reaction. Also how I store up a list of wrongdoings, or so they seem, and say, soon I will start confessing them. But not now for some reason. There is always a current list. Some drop off the end and new ones get added to the top ñ every day it seems. I want to confess this and this and this. But much of it is so vague, just a guilty feeling. Anybody can write a solution to the world's problems. Or their own problems. And what is most inspired writing, but just that. Lloyd was with a gorgeous woman the other day. I just dropped in on him for a minute. He was nervous at the door. She was just that sort that wildly attracts me. Tall, blond, cool. Just the sort I never make any progress with. She will see right through me instantly. That I'm a jerk, just like Simone did. Dana will be the type for her. Tall, blond, cool. But it gets a try anyway. She may be crazy enough to try something. At least she gets invited to the next party. Will Lloyd give me her telephone number? Will he get paranoid? Dana has just returned. A moment of nervousness about if he will read this. It seems he does it to keep up to date on what's happening. Suzanne has found a place in Gloucester for $150/month. She is uncertain about taking it. I suggest he speak to her about us sharing the cost for the summer. It would be a nice vacation retreat. Sometimes its seems pretty trivial to write about such simple things. But this is what's always in the way of my trying to solve the problems of the whole world. Best to get these little things taken care of first.

Wednesday, March 4, 1981

Some unknown resistance to writing today, and the last two days. Feeling much better, though. Monday morning, early, walking to the office. A woman is coming towards me. About 50 feet away she steps into the street and goes past. I turn a moment later and she has walked back to the sidewalk. I tell Simone about this later. She says its because of my derelict, convict, dangerous look. Its that denim coat and candy corn hat, and several days of growth beard. Women would be afraid of someone who looks like you do. I know otherwise, she says. But someone just walking down the street doesn't. This reminds me of Vienna about 1969. She worked for the same project as me as a secretary. Very cute. I liked her. She complained about my clothes one day. The next week I bought a complete set of new clothes. It didn't help. She wanted to marry a wife-beater. Lately the same idea occurs to me. Simone talks about my not wanting to be a success. They seem to be related. My appearance and being a success. Certainly there has been plenty of chances to be a success. All the crazy projects I've been involved with haven't failed. Only my really taking advantage of one of more of them. With dress, and being attractive to women, I sometimes say, well, if you don't like me the way I am then that's too bad. This is a superficial explanation. I can't quite get the right words. On to something else. Simone had a Monday night date with Stu. She was with me till 11. She didn't want to go. We were having a very good time, just talking. She told me about my problems with success then. It turned out to be quite good. He was not pushy for the first time. Maybe it had something to do with his new girlfriend in Amherst, or his mother dying. He told her that is she moved in with me that he wouldn't see her anymore. But she pointed out that this was the case for all practical purposes. Laura, his boss, asked him to try and persuade Simone not to move in with me. She had a good time sexually. In the morning she went to see Michael. He told her to take a shower before she came into his room. This after learning she had spent the night with Stu. This also went well, until she was about to leave. He doesn't want her to move in till May 1st. Then the money fight starts. He does not want to let go of her. This move means the end of many of the little holds he has on her. They still have lots of things in common at her old place. Then the argument about not seeing her until March 23. It seems that Constance is monogamous and faithful and he doesn't want her to know that he's going out with Simone and a third woman. Simone then goes to Ellen's house where she has to take another shower! And we learn more about Ellen and her getting beaten up. She didn't tell the whole story. It seems someone in a car was driving by, tried to block her from her running, jumped out and then started to beat her up. Simone gives me the impression that we will learn still more about exactly what happened. Visited the dentist today. First time in over 2 years. Blood pressure is 115 over 66. Below normal, but that is supposed to be quite good. Blood pressure at the dentist's? The teeth were quite good too except for some plaque in a few places. My gums still appear to be receding. But its always looked like that. The hygienist suggested and gave me a soft brush. And some toothpaste to desensitize the area between gum and tooth. She was quite attractive. No overtly sexual fantasies about her but thinking ñ what is she thinking? Did she seem a little depressed? I've been thinking about women a lot these last few days. Judy, Roberta (Judy's friend), Bonnie, Karen, Eleanor, Colleen, and Linda. I want more contact with them. Then comes the struggle between work, fear of rejection, and how much trouble it will be. Too bad its not as easy for men as women. It was anxiety producing on FH to have a woman ask me to fuck, but it sure looks good from here. Sometimes about calling Lloyd for that woman Sybil's number. Went shopping. Forgot toilet paper again. I am cooking tonight. Simone has left directions. Some sort of Mexican food. Business is good. The weather has gotten cold again. What is this? Nothing but superficial chit-chat comes out. Very tired. Little sleep that last week it seems. Lots of things happening. Ellen was mad a Simone for telling Ron that his therapist was sleeping with her. It seems Ron was one of his few clients ñ at $50 per hour. He said he didn't want to see him again. The therapist, Marcus, calls Ellen and rakes her over the coals. He is also Ellen's therapist. Very unprofessional of him. Ellen says he doesn't want to see her again. And the same for that big mouth friend (Simone) of yours, he finishes. So Ellen blasts Simone for telling all. Ellen was sort of glad he ended it. He kept a lot of things from me, she says. I don't like to have secrets like that, she says. The night Ellen was attacked Saul was waiting for her. She sent him home and took the phone off the hook. Saul then goes to the open arms of Constance, Michael's true, monogamous, and faithful lover! Meantime, everybody has filled out and sent in their latest applications for weekend workshops on how to be more honest and open in ones relationships. Simone and I have a fine time with all this. She gets completely excited. Jumping around, hardly finishing one dirty little story before she has started the next. We laugh and shout over every little detail. We are like two naughty children who have discovered some very nasty things about the adult world. We also snicker and gloat about these things. The not so positive reaction to all these goings ons. It seems a little like an escape from our own problems. Not that it makes our go away, ubt that it puts them aside temporarily. But on the other hand it also makes them seem sort of irrelevant. They really aren't so bad compared to these people.

Monday, March 9, 1981

I'm an old cowhand
From the Rio Grande.
I won't get out of bed
Even if I'm dead.

I take out two pieces of paper. Feeling guilty about not writing for 5 days. Lots of thinking about it. Lots to write about. Lots of depression. Curled up in a ball on my bed. Simone comes in. What is it, she asks. Depression. Its your fear of success she says. Lots of reason for that. Over $500 in orders on Friday. So I'm immediately overcome with gloom. I won't get anymore. This is the last money we'll get in the mail. It turns out to be not true. But that's what I immediately start imagining. Immediately. Even before I have a chance to feel good about it. Immediately I think the worst. Positive comments about my writing. Fantasies about becoming a world famous writer. People flock to my spontaneous writing courses. Tv appearances. A whole new trend in self-development. Roberta tells me it makes her really feel things. Things that everybody experiences and feels. I've even made a list of things to write about. A head filled with thoughts. They all spring up at the same time. I don't know which one to start with. I get afraid the others will vanish. It seems as though I try to hold on to everything. Like someone with their arms full of small things. One falls to the floor. You try to pick it up and two more fall from your arms. But if this continues maybe one would have everything on the floor, and then it would be easier to pick them up one at a time? Maybe I don't really need to carry all those things around. It confuses me to keep track of all them. I suppose part of the reason is that I'm afraid there won't be anymore. It always feels like nothing more will happen to me. Sort of like a falling feeling where it seems as though any moment will be the one where I hit bottom. An emotional dead-end. Its like I can't dig any deeper into myself but more is there to be dug up. Like chipping away at something covered with a soft surface. Its easy to chip away the surface, but just under it is stainless steel. I can't get through that. One letter was from a person in a California group of several people who have a form of free-sexuality. He says my writing inspired him to try and do the same with his life. It made me feel good. He wants to trade notes. Simone read the letter and stopped when she got to the part about the sleeping schedule. Your not thinking of starting a group like that, I hope, she says. Who wants to create an egalitarian society where you have to sleep with someone? I don't know. At first all my objections about it come out. Who am I to say what they should do. It is interesting that, like FH, they have more women than men. Women seem to be better at these things everywhere. Two-thirds of the group leaders on FH are women. Two-thirds of the men at the bottom of the hierarchy is the norm for the groups, and FH. I can't imagine anyone telling Otto or Claudia who they have to sleep with on a given night. Although I do remember they talked about trying it as a way to discover more difficulties between people. It seems like the wrong way to go if one's goal is to feel good. Can good feelings be legislated between people? It seems to be better to try and get to everyone's true feelings at some moment. And you may not want to sleep with someone because of their behavior. Giovanni was always being rejected by the women because of his aggressiveness. It was a good way of getting him to change. The women didn't want to sleep with him if he stayed that way. Its ridiculous speculation on my part. But I can't help it. The FH model is so much more natural. There has to be something good about a spontaneous way of relating that results in people fucking an average of 3 or 4 times a day. It seems it would only be possible if you felt very good about your partner. How could you do it by a schedule. The best times for me meant fucking at least 3 times a day. But it was always a spontaneous thing. I remember the time in the computer room with Sabina. She came for a one hour course. We had a good time together. She started to seduce me as soon as we were finished with the course. I couldn't resist. It felt very good. Lock the door, she says. Turn out the light, she says. Do you have a rubber, she asks. Sure, I reply. Come here, she says. Ok, I says. So right there on the floor of the computer room, when I had no such intentions of my own, it happened. Not bad. Lots of times it went this way. I will have to ask him how things are during the day, and what the rate of sexual activity is. But it seems contrived. Like the idea of an egalitarian society. Only an idea. No relation to reality. I've seen any number of groups with this idea. The leaders secretly try to influence things while continuing to espouse the idea of egalitarianism. But everyone believes its a good idea and nobody points it out, or has the courage to point out, the contradictions in the everyday life. Who knows. It causes me to boil a little every time People start to talk about that idea. In fact they secretly believe they are better than others. I believe it about myself. I know who is better or not as good as me, and in what ways. But it seldom gets talked about. We all want to be equal. What it really means is that we don't want to be below anyone. We don't want things to be how we feel. I don't want things to be as bad as I feel sometimes. Shit, difficult to say anything about this without getting dogmatic. But I know these feelings of superiority and inferiority are in me. And I always try to avoid them by being equal. An impossible condition. I'm not the same height, weight, intelligence, ability, or anything else. But I want to be equal! I think its more that I don't want to be behind anybody. Who knows. But there is so much of this contrived behavior amongst people who want to be free. They enslave themselves as a way to being free. Total nonsense. Simone spent a day with an opening-the-heart workshop where people were forced by an arbitrary set of rules to do things that go against a more natural way of behaving, which it seems they all want to achieve. Why not just do it. Why a complicated set of rules to define what is proper behavior at any given time? Thoughtful sensitive people will pay attention to what they and others need. Those who aren't will reveal themselves. It will be obvious to everyone. I told her they seemed like new-age catholics. She said they had some connection with it. I mean it only as a joke because of their rigidity but it seems like it may be true. Dana and I spent some time talking about following ones feelings. Can compulsive behavior, continuing with something because of a rule really be following ones feelings? Sometimes I feel like a party theoretician when writing things like this. But the things are in me. I read some of my old writing and cringe a bit. In fact it was the last day I wrote something, the day I began to write my old notes from FH on the typewriter. They are all handwritten now. Today I had the idea that this might have contributed to my depression. I have a difficult time when thinking back to those days. What would Otto do in this situation, I often ask myself. A dream several nights ago about being back. Don't remember it now. Yesterday I went out the back door, onto the back porch, to shake a dustmop. Left the door open. Dana and Suzanne were sitting at the kitchen table. Its right next to the door. Dana says, there's a draft, or something like that. Not till a little bit later did it occur to me that this was a mistake on my part. I left the door wide open. He did not say it directly, but later I realized what was the meaning of his tone of voice. He meant to say I should have shut the door. I can now imagine that he and Suzanne exchanged some glances over this. It does not contribute to a good social situation when I make mistakes like this. Something else like this, but it escapes me now. In any case, all the time I make little failures like this. It makes me paranoid when people do similar things to me. And probably the same for him. We are running into some problems here because of the difference in trust between me and Simone, and Dana and the two of us. We say more to each other than Dana does to either of us. In the last few days he has been complaining, and mostly to her. But some of the things have been about me. He is not as afraid of her as he is of me. Simone thinks it may be that he is not as active as either of us and resents it. His time is spent reading and doing sometime work. He probably thinks about things a lot and gets paranoid. He imagines that he is doing more of a certain kinds of work, or more work in general. I think there is a lot more that he keeps to himself and just stews over. The letter writer from California was impressed by my total candor. Over this I can only chuckle a bit. From where my brain sits its not total candor. I know its not everything. Somethings make me too anxious to talk about. Some things are presently unexplainable. Somethings are hidden from me. And other things I can only scratch the surface of. Its not total candor. Its just trying to write the most insightfully that I can. But when reviewing earlier writing its obvious the present is less naive, more direct, more insightful, and less spacey. Don has come over to have dinner with me. He tells me the story of how he paid a friends phone bill. He calls the manager. The manager calls the main manager at home. The result was that his friend didn't get the phone reconnected. Don and his friend are well known to the telephone people. Now he talks about a company that imports tuna fish for Star Market. It must be nice, he says. What do you mean it, I ask. IT! he responds. Don has just farted. I tell him this document will become a main source of information about the temper of our times. He inhales deeply. This next sentence is by Don: harrumph, clearing the throat. semper ubi sub ubi. Always wear under where. Frank Perdu's latest pun: (he forgets). Don tells me an interesting idea about what to do if one has an idea in the middle of the night. Call Western Union and ask them to send you a telephone with the message. He reads the letter from California and starts to laugh. Can this really be true he says. It sounds like an advertisement. More laughter. You to can be healthier and so forth, he explains. Just use a balanced rotational sleeping schedule and in ten days or less your problem will be solved. This line can be sold to an advertising firm. He wants to ask the writer what kind of mattress he uses. What's the three month period of celibacy for, he asks. It seems to be arbitrary, but is probably an unconscious mechanism to keep sexual disease out of the group. On FH one has to go through a 6 weeks quarantine. That is the maximum time it takes to determine if one has syphilis. Other things can be found in less time. They don't mention anything about what venereal disease problems they have. I have read their magazine for some years and its always a bit vague and abstract about what's actually going on. Edwin has visited them and describes them as being like a group of MIT people, abstract and intellectual, who play lots of one-up, can you top this, make a pun of it, look how clever I am, games. But he tends to be jaded about everyone except Otto. He criticized my writing by pointing out the one letter from a publisher who said it wasn't their kind of book. He came down to visit last night on his own. He wanted to read some of my notes. Later he says how depressed he feels after reading all the things going on here in the last two months. I've only worked and stayed in my cave, he says. A call to Robert Rimmer. He likes my notes, read the whole thing. But I get filled with this overwhelming self-doubt. Its like standing on the edge of a razor. I can fall to either side. The slightest wind will push me to one side or the other. This doesn't sound right. At just this moment I have the feeling that my left and right hands have changed places. Typing is still possible but it feels just like that. Like something has been twisted and bent so everything is reversed 180 degrees. He doesn't know who would publish such a book, but suggests trying to find someone. I have this odd feeling of everything being reversed in my body from time to time. Like a rope being twisted. Now its in my eyes. Its completely different from upside down, or forward-backward. I wonder why it was Jud who responded to my notes. Why not someone else from the group? Edwin says he is the leader. Maybe someone got them and passed them on to him. Don't know. Want to. I tell Bob about my fantasy that these notes will be turned into a TV program like Dallas. Lots of peculiar fantasies lately. Getting some things ready to mail. What is it like to be a package in the mail? Dark, pressure, jostling. Who knows what next. Then I'm the package. Don't know where I am. Who are all these people? What's going on? Where am I going? Strange sensations of not having any connection to anything else. Short contact with the other packages, then they are gone forever. From my depression on Friday comes a fantasy about dying. What would other people feel? Would they miss me? Would they be sorry to not have known me better? Next was one about the children on FH. Its about their growing up and turning out badly. I imagine that heredity rules and they turn out to be like everyone else, and incapable of living on FH. Some of them turn