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. Well, 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 interjected 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 competent 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 leave me and find someone else who will do what
she wants. She won't guarantee 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 problem 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
selfconscious 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 birth control
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 chronicling 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
nervous 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 whimpering 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 hypoccracy 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 turnout to be quite nasty. The
left-right sensation reminds me of an SD course on FH. It was in the
guest group. Toni was leading. It started as a trance of some sort I
think. But slowly for me it became the sensation of my body increasing
in size. It was as though I was growing from a single cell to birth
size. In the fantasy that was with the sensation I had a diaper on and
eventually filled a whole house with my legs and arms sticking out the
windows and doors. Then everything burst, and I continued to
grow. Don't remember how it ended. Its like when a feeling of suddenly
being pressed down goes away. It seemed as though it would go on
forever. Constantly growing and filling the universe. Michael has a
new definition of monogamy. I'm monogamous with Connie every Saturday
night. Simone wants to see him but he keeps waffling. Saturday is his
monogamy night. I don't want to talk, she says, I want to fuck. Talk
is cheap. How about next Tuesday morning between 11 and 12 noon, he
suggests. Well, she says, that's my birthday. If you want to fuck all
day, or take me to Plum Island, then ok, she says, other wise forget
it! He thinks he's getting a fever, ill, thinking about being with
Ginny and Connie and Simone. He wants to suck her breasts and if not
that tonight, then not till next Tuesday. Michael is afraid to ask all
his roommates about taking Senoi. The fifth is very annoyed with extra
cat hair. He hasn't asked this one about taking the cat yet. Stu has
told Simone he hates her. He won't see her if she moves in, but said
maybe he would modify that position. He thinks she should try her new
assertiveness on me. Don't fuck up your dates with me, he says. Do it
with Richard. He's not going to call her here. You will always have to
call me, he says. Somehow Simone gets started on a story about
nuns. It seems her grandmother always told her that bad Catholic kids
had to walk under the dresses of nuns. The grandmother would threaten
Simone with sending her to a Catholic school and making her walk under
the nuns dresses. She believed this till she was in junior high
school. The sexual implications of this completely escaped her till
then.

Tuesday, March 10, 1981

Reading an article about why normal cells become cancer cells. Makes
me think back to an old common fantasy of mine. Immortality. Often I
would have anxieties about dying. From this would come the fantasy of
an immortality drug being invented. In the fantasy I am about 50+
years old when its done. It is questionable that it will work for me
but I try it anyway. I don't want to die. Sometimes another fantasy
about certain physical things about myself that I pretend are
indicators that I will live forever. Once I broke a bone in my right
hand. The finger next to the little finger. The joint part was
broken. The one next to the joint connecting that finger to the
hand. The doctor took an xray. He said I had the bones of a 12 or 13
year old person, but in fact I was about 24 or 25 at the time. My
mother gave birth to me at a very early age. She had even then what
was called an immature uterus. From this I conjecture that my body has
some special quality that will enable me to live longer. But behind
all this seems to be something else. Don't know exactly what. Maybe
just a normal fear of dying. Maybe just a reaction to not really
feeling alive. Maybe a reaction to not really living my life as best I
could. There are many things like this that cause me to imagine myself
special in some way. They always seem to follow feelings of insecurity
and inferiority. Like the body reacting to disease. The mind tries to
react to damaging information or ideas. This is not quite what I
mean. But a constant searching for explanations about things, but
outside myself, or for things to make me feel better even when I
don't. Simone had an interesting revelation last night. I can't blame
you for it, she says. She can't blame me for her inability to let go
sexually and have an orgasm with me. She has never talked like this
before. It was the first time she has spoken so directly about the
problem being inside herself. Resistance, she called it. She described
it as a thing that was so obviously inside and a part of herself. It
happened as she was about to have an orgasm. She turned away from me
and said it was time to go to sleep. At first it seemed like a little
game, but even then there was something different about it. She was
very tired last night. She hoped I wouldn't try to seduce her. She
said nothing. Went along with everything. I wanted to fuck. She gave
some silly reasons for no. She had a tampax in her. I'll tell it to
move over, to make a game of it. A very good orgasm for me. She is
able to enjoy it a little more after awhile. She spoke about it more
this morning. Feelings about being rejected by me. I tell her it will
happen if she spends all her time talking about and trying to get me
to reject her. Who wants to live with that all the time. Why be with
someone who lives in constant fear of rejection. Then she wonders
about overcoming all the social conditioning that has made her that
way. Is it worth it? Better she should be with someone else if she
doesn't want to try. That's not for me. Its like a fight inside, she
says. Exactly the same for me. Almost a constant fight. She wants it
to be over quick. I make jokes about the two-weekend cure. But it will
be a hard and long fight. Lots of energy was used to make her the way
she is. It will take a lot to undo everything. An interesting little
story when Roberta visited. Something to do with long hair and fat. It
seems she has always worn her hair long and tried to stay thin. It had
to do with being beautiful. She never thought she would cut her long
hair. But with me she has felt loved and that it didn't really
matter. The same with her weight. Roberta overhears this and says she
has always thought the same. As for me, I always am conscious of my
stomach sticking out and what people will think of me for that. So a
lot of energy goes into keeping the stomach flat and controlling my
breathing. This will give the impression of my being in better
physical condition than is really the case. And so, I imagine, a
better image with the women. I have just had this idea about my
notes. Why not get a group of other people interested in the same
thing. Compile writing from many people into a magazine like format
and market that. Readers could vote on who they want to have write
more, or in the next issue. And of course, I imagine, immediately,
that my writing will be the best and most often voted for. These
little conversations in my head are interesting. Now I'm having one in
my head about having little conversations in my head. I remember
reading something once about the borders and limits of consciousness,
and what could be thought about. Is there such a thing? I make a
mental image in my mind of some arbitrarily shaped place or thing, and
then immediately break through the boundary at any place. Its the same
with thought. I can think of something not thought of before and then
go beyond that thought. It is easy to carry any thought some distance
more. Yesterday I had a feeling of being light in a way such that if I
had pushed a little harder it would have been possible to float
away. Today I had this idea about videotaping some of the group
interactions that occur here. More specifically, the way we talk about
try to do something about difficulties between us. Images of me trying
to say something in front of the camera.

Monday, March 16, 1981

I am not sure of what is going on. Earlier today everything seemed
very uninteresting, dull, gray, unhappy, anxiety inducing. I could not
move. It has been a very hard few days for trying to write. I feel
attacked, like running away. From everything, but it is impossible. I
don't want to be here. Simone can move out if she wants. But that is
gone now. She thought of it herself in the last two days. She says she
started to pack some of her boxes, after unpacking them. It is strange
to be so overwhelmed with feeling that I can't write even in a
straightforward way about what happened. Some things seem to be very
clear. But at crucial points it seems as though I moved very far away
from the situation and had to make something of voices in the
distance. But it was my attention that way far away. Some primitive
thing inside me was taking over and barking back at the attacker. It
happened this way, as best I recollect. Simone and I were in bed. It
was Friday night of last week, only three days ago. A few days before
I had said something about how I was missing some of my women
friends. It was working. The last few days had been very busy. Simone
got very nervous about this. Saying something about how things seemed
to be going very good with us and now this. As though there was
something wrong about me wanting to see these other women. She had, as
was usual for her, been seeing Michael, Jeff, Stu, and recently,
Ron. My best judgement of this is that it was not the same for
me. Most of the time it is quite ok for her to do this. Sometimes she
tells me only on the day she will be with someone, and then feels
guilty for it. But it seldom bothers me. I can use the opportunity to
work. Why is it, I ask myself over and over again, that these feelings
on my part are, for her, nothing more than a weird philosophy, FH
dogma, crazy ideas. How is it that of all the times we have spoken of
such things, that she can't see my behavior as being motivated from
feeling? Is it because . Who knows. Who cares. I feel overwhelmed by
resentment. There is no reason for this to happen. I resent all the
men fawning over her. I resent all the women I like being so offended
when I'm sexually straightforward with them. I resent everything. I
just going to withdraw and fuck them! They won't get a chance to know
what I am like, how I am as a person. Too bad for them. Who needs
anybody anyway. It doesn't bother me. Lotti has been sitting here
reading my notes. She likes it very much, thinks it to be a good
foundation, but its like a sketch that needs to be painted in. I
resent having to be so dishonest about getting fucked. Not a single
man I know has called her a sexist pig for saying what she wants. It
feels like more resentment from me. Its just overwhelming me. A
constant gritting of my teeth. Why do I have to present a totally
distorted picture of myself to be accepted? Yesterday Simone says to
Dana that I am a ëbasically monogamous person'. What the fuck is that?
Its a person who follows their religious orders and ignores their
feelings when it comes to their sexual behavior. I know it. It
happened to me for years. All that time in church or trying to be
faithful. It was the same. Giving one impression, but foaming at the
groin inside. Always denying myself, denying my feelings and
needs. Its what made me such a moralistic, arrogant, self-righteous
asshole. If I couldn't have what they had then I could have what it
seemed they wanted to have. Anything to be superior than they
were. Who were they? I don't know. But somehow this buzzing energy
that comes from these internal impulses to get what you need got
distorted into running marathons, being a social hero and draft
resister, a person who seemed to be doing a lot of things for others,
and other strange things. Somehow a little of this feeling is gone out
of me. It feels a bit like crying. A lump in my throat. Wet eyes. Why
do I have to fight back against things so much? These last two days
with Simone, and withdrawing. Certainly I can say its not as bad as it
has been. There was a time in high school where I didn't talk to my
sister for what seems like a year or more. Not till after she wrote me
about being pregnant and about to be married. With Adele it was also
very bad. It was this feeling of resentment about not being
understood. It came over me like a dark cloud. I became insensitive to
her pleading and not wanting me to be this way. Only once do I
remember overcoming this with Adele. I broke down and cried about
it. I had to say I didn't want this to go on. That I wanted things to
work out between us. I wanted to try to make things better. Only
once. The other times were like resisting a spanking from my
mother. Nothing was going to move me. Now I am able to use this to
some extent. It worked the other day with Simone. Carol, Lotti, and I
were sitting at the dinner table. Simone was on the phone. Carol and I
wanted her to get off so we could go to the movies. Watch this, I tell
them. With just the right cadence, tone of voice, positioning in the
room, I walk by her and say, I'm going to work. At just that moment
she raises her voice and says she gas to get off the phone now. The
other two, in the kitchen, burst into laughter. So I carry it a little
more and put my coat on, and walk to the door. By this time she is off
and running to me. So we leave a little later for the movies. These
last two days, though, it has gotten a bit rough for me. Last night
she spoke to Carol about the place she is thinking of moving into. One
thing I remember very well. It seems they have this house rule about
no close relationships between the people living there. It isn't good
for the atmosphere and one's relationship with the others, or so it
seems they believe. Carol was quite perturbed about this. Why an
arbitrary rule about having a relationship with someone you live with,
she asks. Simone also thinks it is pretty stupid. How can you have
better relationships by restricting relationships? I ask her about
this the next day and she agrees with what I heard. But I notice its
as though I am trying to make some point. This is hardly the thing to
attempt with someone in a situation where they are not rational. But I
do have this thing about wasting my time trying. Always trying to get
someone to see some obscure principle or point. Dana keeps asking her
about how she can possibly be confused about my sexual
inclinations. She continues to imagine that ëRichard is a basically
monogamous person'. Sigh. This fight is not over. Its like the
cats. It will rear its ugly head again soon in some other form. I will
be put in a position where I feel attacked and have to defend
myself. Or its possible to overcome this. One thing I have thought of
trying is to just go ahead. It is mostly talk on my part. And
certainly I fall into this abstract, intellectual way of talking about
this, and many other subjects. Talking with Lotti about fathers. It
seems her father left when she was 3 years old. I am talking about
some quality in me that seems to attract Jewish women. It seems to me
that a typical Jewish father is rather liberal with his daughters. He
allows them a lot of freedom. Everything they do is ok. The mother is
just the opposite. The father supports the positive side of them
trying to get everything they can. And I wonder if its not some
quality like this that they see in me. Maybe its wishful thinking. But
on the other hand both Adele and Simone have said things of this sort
to me. That they like freedom from their relationship with me. Simone
is on the phone with Jonathan trying to explain her relationship with
Joe. She doesn't have sex with him. I have sex with just one person,
she says. Dana comes in to tell me he has almost choked on his drink
when hearing this. Of course, what she really means is only one person
at a time! Dana is so excited about it that he must tell Lotti as soon
as she comes in from having her cigarette. This resentful feeling of
earlier this evening has almost faded. Long time talking with Lotti. I
say a lot of things about it. Some of it seems insightful to her and
me. But it is all suspect. I like her too. Some of it is part of an
unconscious desire for her. Not so unconscious. She would have a
difficult time with me. It seems I can't get away from this projection
problem. I say she will have a hard time with me. More like I use this
as a rationalization to explain why she doesn't have more to do with
me. I can't stand being rejected so it is necessary to have some
explanation that makes it her problem. Dana tells me about the guy he
worked for today. He walked around all day in his bathrobe while Dana
painted things in his house. From time to time the bathrobe would open
up and there would be the guy's prick. It seems the thing almost ended
up in his rear. And Dana could not tell the guy to fuck off
directly. I can see him waffling in his attempts to tell this man he
wasn't sexually interested. Old Joe was not one to give up. I suspect
he will be back and trying to get something going with Dana.

Wednesday, March 18, 1981

I was going to write about how it seems a cold is coming on. There is
this dirty feeling at the back, inside, and under my nose. The
passages at first seem clearer than normal. I can feel the air moving
through them. But soon they start to feel very dry. Then they go the
opposite direction ñ a flood. And the cold is on! A lot of stress this
last week. Last night was Simone's birthday. Before that two days of
fighting. Before that was the Suzanne incident. I learned something
about myself from it. It started with a comment about her
behavior. How she often seems to indirectly get the attention of
people around her. Or I mean tries to get this attention. With me its
just putting a sample of my writing under their nose and asking them
to read and comment. But she went around apologizing about if it was
ok to sing. All the while it seemed to me she wanted to have people
stop what was going on and listen to her. So my opinion, casually
given to Dana in another conversation, got back to her. One week ago
this evening she is here and calls me in the office. She seems a bit
irritated and says she has something to speak with me about. There is
something in her voice that immediately puts me on the defensive so I
try to get her to talk right then. She wants to wait till another time
when I'm there. So for nearly an hour she tries to rake me over the
coals for having this opinion of her. And furthermore having no
respect for her privacy. Privacy to me means that someone will not
disturb me if I'm reading. It hasn't anything to do with being in the
bathroom, without clothes, or even fucking. Simone and I usually leave
the door open. There was more but it puts me in this position of being
attacked. My whole body is starting to shake with it. Its not so hard
to talk back, but the tone in her voice is very aggressive. Its like a
parent telling a kid to do something through gritted teeth. Simone and
Lotti notice how distraught I am. Everything inside me is becoming
tense. My face feels hot and flushed. Its like the tension of the
final moments before some big competition, like a race. It finally
gets ended after it seems she has run out of steam and energy. I
thought to myself, how much longer do I have to fight this off? The
next day finds me stewing and plotting the coming return match. I
fully expect her to start a fight again. The next night presents a
total surprise. She is aware of being a little crazy lately, and says
not to pay much attention to her behavior. There was more, but for me,
half an hour later, it was very depressing. I found myself completely
tensed for a fight. And nothing happened. How to say this. I was
disappointed. I looked forward to the fight part. It was further
depressing to realize that I wished her ill. My expectation was to be
able to fight back and squash her completely. I wanted to see her done
in. It was not a pleasant thing to realize this about myself. I always
want to see myself as a good person who is forever being attacked by
the crazies in one's life. Life is a constant struggle against such
people. They are always out to get me or do me in some way. The
example I always fume about is standing in line at a post office while
the clerks slowly go about their business with a practiced crawl and
stall. It reminds me of my stepfather. At the end of each day he would
come home and tell us the latest stories. They would always involve
him and his work and how he spent the entire day overcoming the stupid
mistakes of his bosses and sometimes his fellow workers. It was like a
family institution. Sometimes I have the feeling that this same
quality is buried somewhere inside me. He was always able to hold the
attention of his friends with these and hunting stories. Another part
of this was that he tried to keep all the attention all the time. It
seems he had this uncanny ability to move the story in such a way that
everyone else could only make little contributions. He seemed to know
when someone else was trying to put their two cents in. I remember
lots of stories from him, but not much from the people around us. He
always liked to make the most of his expert marksmanship. Often he
would use only one bullet on a hunting trip. Seldom did he go out and
not get something. Often he would shoot something for one or two of
the others on that particular hunting trip. The exact way in which he
stalked and shot the animal would be the highlight of every
story. Often to be told over and over again with emphasis on different
parts, or combined with other stories of the same type. There would be
one shot hunting trips, neck shot hunting trips, elk hunting trips,
carry it out on your back hunting trips, and so on and so on over and
over again. Bantam Books, from New York, called me today. I sent the
notes to someone there. They liked them. Very interesting, she
said. She will pass it on to two people who are regular
editors. Normally one would feel quite good that a publisher calls you
about your writing. In the beginning it made me very excited. But as
the day wore on it seemed as though something was undermining this
feeling. A sense of dread. Failure. Depression. These keys are very
heavy. I have made a good jump to get over a wall, but didn't quite
make it. Donna read some of it last night before the party and was
very positive. She asked me, do all men think like this? I don't know
that they think exactly like this, but probably similar. She didn't
know of any men who had written like this, an inner journey, or
something like that, she called it. Simone wants me to stop writing
and go to sleep. I am disappointed with myself. This fear of not being
able to write well has gotten hold of me. It seems like this is what
happens at this very moment. I think about some of the things written
in the last two months and fear this won't measure up. What if I make
it the best I can and then fail? Failure won't be so bad if its not
the best I can do. David found it hard to put down but says there
seems to be no center. To him this means no goal or objective. What is
my goal in doing this? To use it as a way of seeing myself and
surroundings better. To make discoveries about myself and people. Are
those the same things? To express myself in what seems to be a good
way for me. At this moment I find myself thinking about writing enough
to fill this page. What silly ideas pop into people's heads. I have
been thinking about this woman who attracts me. Her name is Nina. She
is subletting Linda's apartment. I want her but feel very anxious
about an approach. She seems the skittish type. Who knows. My excuse
for not trying more? She gets a copy of my notes. I've invited her to
the Saturday's party. Only a couple lines more on this page. What a
funny obligation not to waste paper is what I feel a nonsense
sentence.

Thursday, March 19, 1981

I have been trying to think about my confused thinking. Some things I
notice are that even though its confusing lots of practical things get
done. The confusion doesn't seem to interfere with getting up,
laundry, work, and similar things. What started me on this was David's
criticism of not being what he called centered. Or, as best as I can
figure, having some sort of goal or objective in life. Or having the
ability to get what you want. There was a time when I wanted to be a
scientist. My plan was to go to MIT, study physics, gets a PhD, and
from this be able to determine all things. So much for that. I got
there only to discover that things needing to be talked about or have
something done about, weren't getting done. My impression of such
places was that everything would get considered. It turned out that an
even smaller number of things were thought/talked about. Maybe they
thought about a lot more. This was never very clear to me. Here I go
trying to improve my writing while writing. I often keep track of how
many times I use the pronoun I. I try to write, or I find myself
censoring the number of times I use it in sentences. I find that this
interferes with how well I can write. Not in the sense of, backspace,
delete, start over, backspace, delete again. Does it matter?
Anyway. While growing up I always had the feeling that something was
not being talked about. Not many things. But just something. Maybe
there were many things. But when you are standing in a supermarket
line its the person being cashiered who seems to be slowing things
down. That is, only one person. Even though there may be many people
in the line. Maybe there were many things to talk about. But I would
have settled, at least initially, for talking about one of the
untalked about things. It continued. As an adult there were many
things on my mind. Today there are many things on my mind. At this
moment. How to get them all out? So I am confused about a goal, maybe
a purpose in life. Is it possible for human beings to know? They have
thought the purpose to be many things in the past. I just don't feel
it. Once I thought it was to be good and get to heaven. I really
believed that. I tried very hard to do it. It was easy to give the
impression of being good. But inside I knew all the things that went
on before, my ideas and thoughts, were still the same. I still cursed
under my breath, thought evil of others, had sexual fantasies, and so
on. This outside peace never settled inside me. In fact, a lot of
energy went into giving this peaceful appearance. I remember myself as
being quite adept at this. Some number of people from my childhood
thought so also. But the truth was otherwise. So I am very suspicious
of those who tell me they have a goal and purpose in life. Often a
little investigation shows it to be no more than the disguised goals
of their parents or social group. And this is my impression of
David. He does a lot of things. Its well organized. There seems to be
some sort of purpose or guiding idea at work. But the feeling I get
from the person does not correspond. It is easy to poke and find
resistance. I don't mean in a provocative way. I mean while trying to
find out what he means I notice he resists the challenge to his
ideas. The usual defense to such things is that, well, that's how you
feel. So it becomes impossible to challenge the idea because he
accepts it without challenge. I have done, and do the same. My old
religious ideas presented me a similar problem once. It was with a
high school friend. He went to a different church. I don't remember
exactly what brought it up. But one day I must have asked him
something like why don't you come to my church sometime and see how
its the right one. But he was able to immediately challenge me in a
way that made me feel very threatened and insecure. This burning
sensation that I can remember still, even though I forget exactly what
we talked about. He would have none of it. I didn't understand. But he
probably challenged me in the same way. Why don't you come to my
church for the same reason, he might have replied. He was a much
brighter student than me. Did much better on everything. As a freshman
in high school he won the local county math contest. He beat out all
the seniors. Took first place I always envied him. It never came up
again. We never talked about it. It was a separate part of our
lives. Had we talked about it the problems would have destroyed our
relationship. We couldn't talk about it. It would have changed
everything about us. We would have been constantly coming up against
our resistance to different ideas, resistance in the form powerful
feelings that would come up. This happens to Simone and I when we talk
about sex. Usually it starts with her feelings threatened when I say
something about it. A sort of rage overwhelms her. My defense to this
is the same sort of rage. That something I've said is being
challenged. This is a difficult thing. To try to understand something
that automatically takes me over. I'm trying to see through it. It
gets very confusing. The fingers are stuck. No words for it. She can
talk about it in a much more natural way. Last night she talked about
how she wanted to develop her new relationship, Steve. I don't want to
bring him her the first time, she says. She had planned to meet him
there. Maybe we will just go out for a drink. I want to have a free
night where there is no pressure. Where I can stay with him or not,
depending on how it feels, she says. It doesn't happen this way for
me. It does not come out so naturally in my conversation. It is not
something I've done much of. She has fucked with a lot more people,
and approached a lot more. Its easier for a woman. There I go with a
defense. So what if they turn me down. My friend Ron gets accepted by
about half the women he asks. Of course he is usually careful about
his selection. He is much better at presenting the right sort of
image. The one that promises the zipless fuck. Who said that? But I
seem to be excusing myself again. I'm no less horny than either of
them, or any other person. Doing something about it gets excused to
death. Later in the day. Something has been on my mind most of the
afternoon. It started when Simone asked me for some gas and parking
money. She must see the dentist. I notice a bit of irritation. She has
been going to work for me these last few days, but no time, she
says. Then this fantasy about supporting my own royal family. Her. It
occurs to me that this irritation has another source. She gets a call
from Steve the photographer who wants to speak with her. I'd thought
she'd be working some this afternoon. Its irritates me still more that
she might have been with him. But then this idea did come to me as a
paranoid fantasy. Its happened before. Once on FH Reggie left the room
with another man. I was sure they went to fuck. But that was not
possible. She was a guest and he was a regular member of the
group. But it made no difference. The biggest real problem here is
that these paranoid fantasies keep cropping up inside me. Even if it
were true ñ so what! But then the internal preoccupation with this is
what's really important for me. It takes over my whole body. Walking
along the street, my body, but the mind is in another world. The body
is just left to run on a simple program. Go to the store. Go to the
post office. Go toÖ Do this. The tensions and experiences from this
other world seep and flow down into the body. Soon it is caught up in
the fantasy. And then I wake up. Sometimes realizing that I've
forgotten something I meant to do. Sometimes I've gone past the place
I was going to. I have been thinking about three kinds of writing. The
first is just a straightforward recollection of what happened. Only
one thing really happened. Atoms and molecules were in only one place
at any given time. From different positions or consciousnesses things
may seem to be different. But only one thing actually
happened. Writing about it as exactly as one can is the first kind of
this writing. The second kind of writing is the expression of thoughts
and feelings. In this mode time, place, and matter can be distorted in
all sorts of ways. In this mode things can go backwards. In this way
things can happen that would never really happen in reality. And a
third kind of writing is some combination of these two, but with the
whole picture in mind from the beginning of the writing to the end. It
seems to me that I can do the first two and only seldom, the last
type. This little bit of writing about writing is of this sort. I
thought about the whole thing before writing it down. I had the idea
to demonstrate something before I started. But on the other hand I
don't know that this has happened. I got into this fight with Simone
today. Not in reality, but in my head. It had to do with Beth and
Nina, two women I am interested in. Beth is Simone's friend. The
fantasy is about starting something with Beth and then having to
handle Simone's difficulty with this. But at this moment it is only my
imagined difficulty. I get paranoid that she would call Beth and
indirectly tell her not to have anything to do with me. Or that she
would be direct, no. Not direct. I do not imagine her as being
direct. It is impossible, difficult for me to imagine her as being
direct in this situation. Then that I will have to point out her
hypocritical behavior. She will resist, and our old fight will start
again. A funny thing. The paranoia goes away a bit after writing it
down. As though it has literally flowed out of my fingers and into the
typewriter. Perhaps it waits to be picked up by the next typist! I
have the impression of being able to do this, and then the idea that
if I can manage to say even more exactly what I mean, then even more
of this feeling will get out of me. I have noticed this many times
while writing. Maybe I could even build a type of therapy around
it. What for a course title? Can't think of anything. Stuck. Staring
at the keyboard. Reading parts of this over. A fantasy about teaching
a writing course. I walk into the classroom. A terminal connected to a
large screen tv is in the room. I sit at the keyboard. Type the day,
date, page number as is my usual custom. Then begin to write about
teaching my first writing class. This is my first writing class. I
don't know exactly how to begin. But I had the idea of sitting down
here and having you see everything written as it comes out of me. I
would imagine you took this course because you enjoy my writing and
believe you can get something for yourself if you write like this. Its
true, you can. But the question is, how does he do it? Have you asked
yourself that? Try it. How does he do it? Good. Next, I don't know. I
have just got stuck. Let me think for a moment. Yes, the people in
this class. Some of you will get written about. There are some
attractive women in this class. From time to time you will read
something here about my thoughts about them. Perhaps something will
happen between me and one of them and it will also appear here. But
one thing that will definitely appear here is things that I notice
about the people in this class. For example, the very laid-back guy in
the 1960's hippie outfit over there. You will get some of my
attention. And the gorgeous woman sitting at the back of the class
with the absolutely beautiful face and body. You will get more of my
attention than will be written about here. Some other things to write
about. At just this moment Dana has interrupted my writing
class. Normally in this class such things will not happen. But on the
other hand, one of the things that could happen is little staged
events, designed to evoke some feelings or ideas in you people. But
its only an idea. It might not happen. But then again it might. You
never know. This class will be for several things. One is to be able
to write a lot. It doesn't matter about the quality. Most of you will
never be as good as me. But it is a start to get you thinking and
writing about all sorts of things. The other is to challenge
yourself. This will help you to develop your writing and your
life. And this is the most important thing. Gradually you will be able
to write more and more about yourself. It will get more and more
exact. You will know more and more about yourself. For a moment I
thought there was an evolving theme here, but its evaporated. Anyway,
this class is for writing. And now you must begin. Its getting close
to the time for me to stop. One of those real world realities will
soon be here. Lotti is going to do some typing for Dana. We can't both
use the typewriter at the same time. I will go back to the office and
work. All you imaginary people will have to fend for yourselves. And
that is the end of the first, and today's class. Goodbye. Yesterday I
was afraid of not being able to write anything decent again. But the
anxiety has gone away somewhat. This is not such a bad few pages. It
seemed stiff and disconnected and influenced by the call from
Bantam. But that seems to be going away. I will have to ask some
others what they think. Everyone tells me it flows well. Often It
feels like walking over the edge of a piece of jagged glass. Other
times it is like molasses. At this moment it even flows for me. This
whole page in only a few minutes. I got very excited about this whole
writing class idea. I could hardly keep up with the ideas. Now if only
I could write so quickly about the swamps I get stuck in!

Tuesday, March 24, 1981

I couldn't tell him he was eating the wrong place. His prick was in my
mouth and it wouldn't come out. It was the position of his body. I
tried to move him but then it became a game. He started to jostle
me. Then I bit his prick. That did it. So I was able to tell him. But
he did want to know why I bit him. So goes Simone's latest adventure
and overnight stay with Stu. He was very antsy it seems. Simone
demonstrates how he was grabbing, touching, pushing her. It was very
aggressive if her impersonation was accurate. At first I was a little
jealous. But as a picture of it began to form in my mind it made me
horny. It was quite another story when I told her about what Linda and
I were going to do. Linda wants to fuck me again. She had to get an
early train to NYC. We would meet at South Station, get on the train,
and do it in the washroom. I would get off at Route 128 and take the
next train back to Boston. But she got to the station to late. Simone
stayed up till about three that morning. It occurred to me later that
it was intentional on her part. So I would be too tired to get up for
meeting Linda. This writing of the last few days is not going so
well. In my head the story is perfectly clear. I have been nervous the
last few days about doing something with the writing. A feeling of
some new insight. About myself or Simone, I don't know for sure. But
first I noticed sort of new development in her fight against my having
other relationships. Now she is seeing it as sort of a competition
about who can have the most lovers. Well, it is really no contest. She
is much better able to do this. You win. Sunday night was very
hard. Suzanne was on her way out the door. It was about midnight. She
was going alone. I wouldn't let her. Dana didn't want to do it so I
walked her home. But before leaving Simone says, anything to get
another woman. And just before this, I'm going to win in the end. It
was the tone of voice that Dana and I noticed. We talked about it
today. He thought it meant a lot more than she said. How did he say
it, I wonder what's behind that? I don't even remember what set it
off. Yes, I do. I had gone to the office. She was in my room with
Joe. They were making out. I came in to get my coat. Joe turns away
and can't face me. Simone sits up, grabs her toes and feets, smiles
broadly and beings to rock back and forth. I accuse him of doing
immoral things with my wife. Also point out the guilty look on
Simone's face. Later she told me how nice it was with him. She could
easily ignore his fat body, bald face, and joking manner. They all
disappeared when he became very sensual. Joe tells her how I'm not
good enough for her, that he notices how happy I am being with her,
and why don't you come stay with me on Thursday. Just now Simone comes
home, and I have got off the subject. Which was about the three phases
I have noticed in her difficulty with me having other
relationships. It is currently that we have a competition to see who
can get the most lovers. But I said that already. At least she is
beginning to see it a little more realistically. It is competition,
but not with me. Its probably a deeper form of competition that she is
aware of. Namely, to get as much for herself as she can. And this is
exactly what she accuses, and I do mean accuses, me of. But that's not
now I have forgotten what to say next! So it seems like
competition. She and Dana have just left for their dream group. The
other Dana, who visited with us, and then her, has also just left. She
has not seen him in some time. She thinks him very handsome, but he
has a lot of belief systems, she says. He plays the piano very
well. We were at the office. He played. I left. Then he tells Simone
all the gossip. That he is getting a vasectomy next week. He has
always wanted to sleep with her, he says. But was afraid to. He was a
born again Christian for eight years. That stopped him. Now, or rather
in two or three weeks, he wants to sleep with her, but no sex. He
doesn't want to get involved too deeply. She tells me and the other
Dana about the song he wrote for her. Its very romantic in parts, and
then comes the refrain, I fuck the shit out of you, but only in my
filthy dreams. She likes that part very much. They make a date for
about three weeks from now. He doesn't seem bothered that its right
here in my room, with me here. But later he will probably tell her
more about what he was feeling. I give him a copy of my book and
notes. This sets me to thinking about why its so hard for me to
attract women. She and Dana do much better at this than me. But on the
other hand, Dana spent some hours last night telling me how he doesn't
like the way things are going. Maybe its not good to be so blunt and
straight forward, unless its with a woman like Simone. With her it
goes just fine. She likes me even more for it. Donna commented on my
notes after reading everything up to March 10. This time it came out
quite a bit different. She says I never talk about love, and that
everyone seems like an object. My reaction is to say its true, but I
hadn't thought about it. Its something like breathing for me, I tell
her. It is something that everyone needs, and everything people do is
to get love. She thinks that people have relationships, or do things
for other reasons. Nope! I think not. Love is a thing inside us just
like breathing. Maybe you want to run a race, but the breathing part
is not something you have to think about. Maybe you want to run a
race, by why you do it is not something you have to think about. We
talked about it some more, but love seems to be the sick feeling you
get about someone from time to time. The feeling makes you constantly
long for and think about them. You constantly worry about their being
with someone else, or what they might be doing. Simone told me she
loved me at breakfast Monday morning. I told her I knew this. How, she
asks. Because of the way you cut the banana into little pieces and
arranged them all around the edge of my bowl of cereal, I tell her. I
put extra bran in it, she says. That's still another reason why I know
you love me. You don't have to say you love someone, or have them tell
you. You don't have to tell your lungs to breath, and you lungs don't
have to tell you they will breath. Its an easy thing to feel. I know
she loves me when she does so much for me. It is only necessary for me
to ask her for something. When she resists it is clear how much or
little she loves me at that moment. On the other hand, I could make a
false test of her love, and ask her to do something when it is not
possible for her to do it. Then it is only the problem of my feeling
insecure about her loving me. Donna seems to have the idea that love
is something you talk about, think about, write poems about, but avoid
relationships where it will be tested for real. Its when you want to
be with people and do things for and with them. All this nonsense
written and said about love but with no real contact between
people. What am I trying to prove here? I seem to be a bit perturbed
about her problems with love. What else about life. Its when the
things in daily life get taken care of with ease. When one doesn't
feel put upon, resistant, or obliged to do something. When its an easy
thing to fit in. For me its when I help Simone to do things that will
help her develop herself and her relationships and abilities. And she
in turn wants to do lots of things for me. It would never work one
way. But on the other hand it is not really that I am expecting
anything of her, but rather that she is stimulated in a very natural
and positive way. I keep falling back to my own inadequacy in
attracting people the way Simone does. It is not possible to put all
the blame to her being a woman. Dana has no such problem. He does have
the problem of developing deep relationships. But that has nothing to
do with his being able to start so many. It still comes down to
something about me. I imagine myself in the middle, for an SD, to try
and find the way into myself for an answer. Pacing around. Covering my
face with my hands. Not being able to look at anyone. Ashamed to
reveal myself. I try to get off the track by thinking about times I've
attracted more women than other men. Back to the subject. Simone tells
me I am starting to look like a derelict again. Sometimes when looking
in a mirror, or window, I try to arrange the angle of my face so that
certain parts, like the eyes, will be dark, and maybe evil? A handsome
face, but very stern and cold do you think? An odd thought about the
end of that line. What word to place last do the end of the line isn't
so blank. So after cold goes the word do, rather than going to the
next line. How the fuck am I ever going to develop anything of any
importance about the world when I get caught up in such small things?
Such trivial, stupid, who knows what, such things. I speak to
Jeannette on the phone last night. We talk about what's going on here,
what she's doing. How about dinner Wednesday night, she asks. We could
go to your place, out, or come here? Why not there, since I haven't
seen your new place I say. I want to cook her some chicken with Tamari
sauce, the way she did some times before. It never came out right for
me. Maybe it was the Tefflon pan she used. I really want to see her,
desire her, and so find myself carefully presenting myself and trying
to be open to her in a way I have found her responsive to. She slept
with me some number of times after I had done this. I don't know
exactly how to describe it, but it works. She did ask me to stay. This
was last summer. She has not had much to do with me for some
time. Maybe things are over with her and Vinnie. I am overwhelmed by
sexual fantasies of her after we hang up. Later I masturbate myself to
sleep and again in the morning, with fantasies about her. Fucking her
from behind, biting her on the back and legs, grabbing her all over
with my hands and squeezing. Playing a rough gorilla with
her. Watching my prick go in and out of her cunt. Its making me horny
again. Its not a definite date. The next day I notice anxiety about
telling Simone about it. Anticipating an explosion, and then pressure
not to do it. Maybe she will cancel her date with Michael, I imagine,
just to prevent me from seeing Jeannette. But this is only me making
my own trap. Such a thing shouldn't stop me even if it happens. Lotti
has just called from the office about doing some work. It is so much
fun to do things with her. She is very proper and prudish. It is easy
to make jokes and funny things with her. I enjoy it a lot with
her. Just now I am reminded of something Simone said. It was about
fucking with Judy or Lotti, anyone but Linda. But she knows they can't
really do anything with me, so it's a safe thing for her to say. I
suspect if anything happened that they would become the same as
Linda. But maybe this is just a sort of vengeful thing for me to be
saying. Why do I have to get stuck with this so often? Always these
little resentments about not having things work out in my favor, or
they come up when she gets what she wants. Maybe starting out this
days writing with the story about Simone was another example of the
same thing. Was it too provocative? Was it a cutting thing for me to
write about? On the other hand it did cause me a lot of thought. This
sort of thing evokes this constant questioning of why Simone has so
much difficulty with my developing relationships. But then just now I
think maybe it is a defense of my own. That is, I use it as a way to
say that I would have more, if only she wasn't putting so many
roadblocks in my way. She is able to fill the air with intense
feeling. Her I'll win in the end remark stopped both me and Dana in
our tracks. She was out of sight in another room when she said it. But
I see myself continuing to make Simone somewhat of a
scapegoat. Anything to avoid looking at my own deficiencies. The
second way that Simone explained my wanting other relationships was
that it was an ideological thing from FH. I only did it because that's
the way things were done. My natural inclination was to be
monogamous. And then I realize that many of our discussions on the
subject would be interrupted by people calling to make sleeping dates,
or otherwise, with her. Is this another example of hyperbolic text in
the pursuit of resentment material? Grit my teeth and suck in my
breath about doing this so often. Why am I persisting in making this
woman such a problem for me? Constantly feeling like I have to fight
off something. Is this what Michael couldn't stand? Is this what made
a thousand affairs so short? Maybe there is something that tries to
push down what comes out in her. Lately its been possible to defend
against these attacks by turning what she says around and using her
own behavior as an example of what she means. Perhaps its this that's
caused her to develop this new defense, competition, as an explanation
of what's going on. I have just been leafing through my writing for
the last two plus months. There is a not-right feeling about it. That
some quality is missing from it. Not, it seems to me, the leaving out
of anything crucial, but something I can't put my finger on. It always
seems so stiff and frozen. I get impatient for progress, or some sign
of it. There have been several times these last few days when I have
shut myself off. It always follows a feeling of rage. On Sunday it
happened. The morning. We got up. Simone said something that set it
off. I'm going to the office, says me. Gets dressed. Goes to the
kitchen and starts doing the dishes. The rage subsides. I realize that
it was about to control me again. I don't go to the office. We make
plans to go to Bryant's for brunch. Suzanne and Dana will go with
us. We walk. Its pleasant enough. Totally superficial. We have
something to eat and leave. The walk was the best part. Last Friday
Simone and I go to New Haven for a wedding. HEr friend Loris. She is 3
months pregnant. Its in a Catholic church. We talk during the whole
thing, make jokes. There is this neat box from which the priest takes
a cup. It has two sets of doors. They open and close in a very
interesting way. I speculate how the cup is full of sperm from the
priests. Then to the reception. We learn that Loris's best friend, and
someone Simone knows, killed herself the day before. She jumped from
the same building Loris's mother jumped from just about one year
ago. The dead woman left a jealous, nasty letter to Loris. Simone and
I both have the feeling that this is not a good thing for them to
do. He is 22 and she 25. But she has this confident tone in her voice
when she says, nothing ever seemed more right to me. But the shaking
head, and downcast eyes, as she says this, do not convince. But who am
I to say. She may be strong enough, and he also, to overcome their
difficulties. They keep us in the dark about this side of their
relationship. We stayed the night with Simone's parents. A number of
things happened where I saw very clearly, as did she, how she does
things they do. Changing subjects when talking about something
emotionally charged. Her father not signalling when making turns. The
way they keep animals. Her father always being late. It reminded me of
growing up in my own family. Most of this growing up seemed to be
absurd. It seemed that something was very wrong with my family. That
most other families seemed to be much better. We gave Loris some baby
clothes. I was reminded of Cheyenne and the first year and a half I
knew her. I wrote many little things about her development. They are
on 3 by 5 cards. The idea of writing them as a set of notes occurred
to me. I told someone the story of Cheyenne and the orange sling. It
went around your neck and under one arm. I resembled a deflated
bicycle tire. One section had an accordion type fold in it. This could
be opened and the child would fit in it. She came to know this orange
seat very well. At some point she would become very excited when I put
it on. She knew it meant a ride. It never mattered how short the
ride. The excitement was still the same. Then, a few minutes later, it
was possible for her to be just as excited again, if I went to go out
again.

Thursday, March 26, 1981

I have just returned from the office. It is 1:30am in the
morning. Something inside me was very paranoid. I kept looking around
as though someone was in the room with me, and behind my back. It was
impossible not to turn around and look at the door for less than a few
moments. Simone called me from Michael's. He went upstairs to do
something, meditate. He talked a lot of not marrying her
again. Yesterday he figured out why he is not going to marry her. He
will do it in his next life. Furthermore, he will be the woman. She
almost left twice to come home. It was 1am. She must get some sleep as
she is substitute teaching at the Harrington School, has a Brookline
School after school class, and her group later in the evening. Called
San Francisco about 11 to speak to Jud. He was out. Eve answered. I
must say that the whole conversation from her end sounded a bit
pre-recorded. It seemed as though she was reading from a menu of stock
questions. The jargon was everywhere. The theories was everywhere. The
wearies was very wary. Where E the marry very leery Larry. All these
ideas about how things should be done and not so much just letting
things happen and see what comes of it and then change something to
see how to make it better things happening. An odd sensation of
talking to a priest. The phone conversation was like a ritual.. It
seems Jud started writing every day, but wasn't able to really
continue it. Not enough discipline. To myself I sort of say, well, I
won't have to worry about competing with him. He won't be yapping at
my heels. Time shows me to be the better man! But this sort of
satisfaction is short-lived. I feel better only because someone else
is not doing so well. Always this sense of relief when someone
fails. I put myself in the position of having to compete, and then
worry about not winning, instead of doing something with myself. This
funny tightening sensation in my head. Like a towel being twisted and
wrung out. Makes my head seem as though it is being turned to the
left. Simone left to be with Michael sometime after 9 this
evening. Shortly before I got a little tense and nervous. Then a
burning sensation in my face. It spread to the front of my
body. Almost like the front being painted or having a hot sun shine on
me. The sensation was more intense in the arms and hands. A feeling of
wanting to take something and destroy or squeeze it. A sort of excited
feeling when you expect a bear to jump out from the bushes, but you
don't know exactly when, or which bush. There was some possibility
that Jeannette might invite me over for supper this evening. I did
call Nina, who I sent a copy of my notes. She found them very
revealing. She is still a Mormon. Seems she converted about 3 years
ago in NYC. We have made a date for tomorrow evening. I tell her how
she is very attractive to me. That I want to sleep with her. She
doesn't know about this, but she would like to see me. Lotti turned me
down earlier this evening. At first she didn't take me seriously. Then
it was that I asked only as a matter of convenience. If someone else
was available, that I would have taken them. But that doesn't go
either. It seems she gives each of these ideas up by herself. I don't
have to challenge them. Finally it is that she can't do it now. At
first there was a bit of panic in me about he asking. Then it turned
to the burning sensation. From time to time a sense of rage and hatred
would errupt from inside me. But go down very quickly. A sensation of
being inside a box. I am expanding, filling more and more of the
box. Everything is getting tight. I can't see or feel what's going
on. Its just like this emotionally. Everything starts to get vague. I
can't figure out what's happening. From time to time it gets serious,
then funny. I get insulted for a moment and tell her she will never be
as good as Simone for this very reason, namely, resisting like
this. She is always fighting with John's resistance. She expect
something of him that she is also incapable of. But its not much more
than a bunch of sour grapes for me. I have this same version of my own
problems. I just manage to find people who are more inept, stubborn,
stupid, resistant, and crazy than me. Called Bryant about 10pm. It
seems my notes, and me, were the main topic of conversation at the
Tuesday night dream group. I learn that this is often so. Wow! I must
really be hot shit. They all like my writing very much. They don't
know of anything like it. At least not any contemporaries, and nothing
so revealing from a man. Simone often mentions Anias Nin to me as
being somewhat similar. They talked about having me change the names
in it before any publication. It seems they think some people might
sue me. Michael says he will if anything with his name gets into
print. Welcome to the new age of openness and honesty! Simone thinks
Jeff would be especially enraged about what's written about him. That
he might even do something destructive to me or my business. I think
this is true to some extent, and will probably do this. It could all
be types on a computer and then word substitution automatically
done. So anyway, Bryant this evening. She had not read the notes. The
others had read some or most of them. She did not want to take a copy
because she didn't think it would be ok with me. It was of course, but
she seems a bit paranoid about me. She wanted to have a copy, but has
now decided she doesn't want to read them. She excused herself by
saying that she was in the middle of something and that she would call
me to talk sometime. Simone is very sceptical of this explanation. Ha!
she says. So I have been enjoying myself all day with the idea that
they spend all this time talking about me. The best part was about
monogamy. Bryant thinks Simone has more than one relationship as a way
of avoiding being close to any one person. Withdrawn, reclusive,
tight-assed, uptight, closed Bryant thinks that open, honest,
friendly, direct, sensual, loving, attentive Simone is avoiding close
relationships! This is exactly the source of all the energy that makes
her so admired, envied, and liked by all her friends. It, this
following her feelings in sexual and emotional matters, is what they
are jealous of and would like to have for themselves. I can't believe
that Simone has fallen for this ridiculous line from Bryant. Bryant
who was led on by a 55 year old married man who kept telling her he
would leave his wife. Bryant who spends almost all her time with a man
who is even more superficial, closed, and withdrawn. He recoiled from
an embrace by Simone when he and Bryant came to the Saturday night
party. This shit for brains asshole tells Simone to throw away the
best thing she has, her ability to get love, and what for ñ because
she needs to be alone, to get rid of me. It reminds her of all the
underhanded little fantasies I have about doing people in, of ruining
them. Simone is the way she is because of her experience. Her
experience is that she seldom resists her feelings about anyone,
especially men. It makes her whole world and view so much broader than
the tight little rooms any of her friends live in. From all this
experience she has learned how to make me, or anyone, much
happier. She knows a lot about how to make everyday life good for
herself and the people around her. They on the other hand, are forever
withdrawing and not having the chance to experience and learn
things. It seems she learns something big about herself everyday. Her
friends come to her with the same old problems, over and over. They
alternate between being completely withdrawn and asking her for
help. I seldom see them offer, or even be capable, of helping
Simone. An odd impression in my head just now. Its of the lost little
girl in Simone. Counter to what I have just written, but also
there. This is the side she shows mostly to me. She tells them, the
people at the dream group, that I've sent a copy of my notes to her
new beau. But later she confesses that its only her fantasy. She does
this to me often to get the sympathy and support of the people around
her. It's the reason they always tell her to leave me. He'll only hurt
you some day, they say. He will leave you for one of those other
women. She confesses that what she wants is someone who will be
faithful to her, someone that she can depend on, but at the same time
who will allow her to have whatever relationships with other men she
wants. It comes out exactly that directly. And then, when I am unable
to make as much happen as her, I think, why not give it up, spend the
time getting money for a group leader. Things will be much better when
someone is here. But its also an excuse for not following what I
want. I suddenly feel sort of silly sitting here scratching my head,
trying to figure out what to write next. Why am I doing this. But I
also notice that writing all these things down makes me feel a little
better. The fingers are really flying now. It feels like a very real
form of catharsis. Some of these unpleasant feelings actually go away
while I write these very words. I am alive. What an odd sensation. It
drifts around like a cork in a large turbulent sea. In and out of
awareness. Sometimes good and then bad. Chaotic and then
organized. Clear and then fuzzy. Scratching my head. Simone says I'm
getting bald. I rationalize and tell her how my father and grandfather
have exactly the same hairline. But their hair is even thinner than
mine. The shape of the hairline is called a Widow's Peak, I think. Its
getting too long. Soon a haircut. I have done some art work in the
last few days. A picture of a pig. One day this image of a pig kept
coming up. And that I wanted to draw one. I thought about mounting
some of the pictures drawn while on FH. The green lady of Otto's is my
favorite. Business has been very good. Some old bills start to go
away. A call today about an order that will be for more than
$1000. Type Judy's resume tomorrow. Time to go beddie-bye.

Sunday, March 29, 1981

It feels as though my writing career is about over. I find myself
making excuses about not writing. Saying to myself, do you have
anything to say? I have been thinking of ways to make it better. For
example, paragraphs, as a first way to better organize material. But
it only comes out that way in my head. Sitting here writing shows the
folly of that idea. So then I thought, why not just begin each new
subject by indenting as in a paragraph. It doesn't have to be
organized as a real paragraph, I think to myself. It will help me to
better organize, no, the real intent is to listen to what some people
say about my writing, and write a particular, familiar way. Bob Rimmer
has sent me another letter with advice and criticism. I show the
letter to some others and they agree. He doesn't know what I do for a
living or where I am sexually. Does it matter what I do for a living?
Does anyone, including myself, know where I am sexually. The first is
easy to answer. I have a business which automates and sells special
purpose mailing lists. Sexually I want to have more experience. This
is difficult now because of my couple relationship. To be honest with
other women amounts to making them afraid. To be dishonest means too
much emotional bookkeeping. Who did what, to who, and when. Then being
careful that nobody knows what really happened so as not to hurt their
feelings. Simone and I fuck a lot. She sleeps with a couple of other
men sometimes, and I sometimes, but not as often sleep with someone
else. I want to do away with all this fear and bookkeeping about who
is sleeping with who. It does not seem possible that we will ever be
able to enjoy ourselves with this hanging overhead. It doesn't seem
possible to really love and care about other people if you can't be
open to them in this way. It seems like such a simple idea. Just to be
free of the fear of doing something. I'm not that way
myself. Yesterday I noticed something about this in myself. The
situation is that I will be with Simone, but it has happened lots of
times with other women, and I will see someone who is attractive to
me. The next impulse is to try and look at them in a way that doesn't
seem obvious to the woman I'm with. That is, to almost pretend to be
looking at someone else so she will not be jealous of my looking at
another. I noticed the funny my head moves and tries to pretend
something else is being looked at. A very self-conscious feeling. A
little bit of anxiety and stiffness. Its as though I freeze up a
bit. It worries me what she will think of my looking at another
woman. Its seldom a natural and free thing for me. I try to hide what
I'm doing from her. I worry what she will think. It then changes my
behavior. How will it be possible to live with people and express
myself freely when I can't even look at other women without anxiety?
It has been a big thing the last few days. I had a date Thursday
night. With Nina. We went for a long walk. At first she said that she
had left a note at my door about how she didn't want to see me this
evening. We took Linda's dog for a walk. Then she asks about going to
Harvard Square. Ok, I says. And so we go. Through Harvard Square, down
Brattle Street. Do you know what's just ahead, I ask her. No, she
replies. The local Mormon Church. She is very surprised. We walk to
the front door. A young woman with a baby goes inside. Its Thursday
night, or Relief Society, as I remember. It has a strange magnetic
pull on me. A little anxiety. Fear of being sucked into it again. She
hesitates at the door, almost as though she does want to go in. She
converted several years ago in NYC. It has a strong attraction for
her. The sense of community and a feeling of belonging to something
are what she wants. She has an odd feeling about Mormon men. That they
are very held back, if I understand correctly. We talk about it for
some hours over hot chocolate. She is slow to order it as her Mormon
conditioning is still quite strong. It is against the doctrine. The
caffeine. She has the idea that nothing will ever come of a
relationship with me. Its clear from what I've said about my
expectations of her. But she enjoys the evening anyway. She has a hard
time making friends. My advice to her is to get out more and be a
friend, in order to get some. She enjoys the way, or appreciates the
way I reveal myself in the notes. This is also the kind of
relationship she wants ñ open and honest. But it is so that she
rejects me for being exactly that way. What is it about this sort of
behavior. She wants people to pay attention to her, open up to her,
approach her, but I have done this in some way that is wrong for
her. How is it that everyone wants contact on the one hand, but is
always rejecting it, not always, but most often. Everyone wants to be
accepted and approached, but only by the ìrightî people. Not you
though, you're not the right ONE! How do I point such a thing out to
people? I have done it often enough myself. Always this fear of making
a wrong choice. But mixed up with trying to see what is going on here
is resentment about being rejected. So part of this understanding is
to make something wrong with what she has done. What could I do to be
the right one for her. It seems obvious. Hide my real feelings. Fake a
romantic interest in her and maybe reveal something about myself after
she is in love with me. She seems the sort to be completely taken in
by this approach. Even though what she wants is openness and
honesty. Most people couldn't stand complete honesty from those around
them. We all seem to turn our heads aside at a multitude of little,
but common sins. I do it myself. Just little things that are
destructive to another persons life and ability to make contact with
others. Things they do that are counter to making their relationships
better. Its one oclock in the morning. Simone has to get up before
eight to go to an interview.

Tuesday, March 31, 1981

Yesterday I had one of my best ideas. It is to have an art show at
Gallery East. The art making up the show would come from the times we
are together with other people and just doing things. Often in the
evening we will just sit around together and do something, such as
painting, drawing, collages, different things with clay, materials,
and so on. Anything produced in this situation would be in the
show. Duane, who runs the gallery, likes the idea very much. So does
everyone else. Simone says she likes the idea but her enthusiasm seems
wrinkled with resistance, that is it seems somewhat influenced by envy
or jealousy. Its hard to put a finger on it. Otherwise yesterday was
not such a good day. I couldn't get up. Extremely tired. Not really
depressed but unable to get going. Walking to the office and
remembering how Simone has often said she hates Reagan and even once
wanted me to kill him. Two hours later I hear the news about the
attempted assassination. A lot of distress and anxiety. He's the
President even if I don't like all that he does. Feeling anxiety about
nuclear war the last two or three days. Fantasies about what would
happen to me if I were in various places around Boston if a bomb were
dropped. Sometimes its about being blinded, crushed under a building,
blown away by the blast, melting, wondering where Simone was, if she
survived, how I could find her. Difficulty getting going on my various
personal projects. But I do notice that something is different about
what I work on by myself and things done with other people. The art
show

Monday, April 13, 1981

I have been inspired by another writer, a woman, from another
time. She writes of her life and surroundings during the Civil War. It
seems to be writing in my own style. Or is it that I imagine this to
be so? Stuck. The last two weeks ñ stuck! Lots of gossip and events to
write about. Stuck with the fright of life. The emotional situation
with myself and Simone and caused me to be paralized. At least in the
writing. I have been keeping the first word of what to write, when it,
the urge, strikes again. Panic. A feeling of panic. About
everything. Writing being the latest to cause panic. It seems to be
another thing I have started up, blazed away at, then died without a
whimper. The thing about it is that it seemed to help me make some
progress. I feel so guilty about all the things that could have been
written about this last two weeks. It seems I try to mimic Mrs
Chestnut's style. But I am not her. Maybe its best to go back to what
I did before. But there is a new feeling I have about writing. The
gossip and small stuff does not interest me so much anymore. There is
something new in the air. I can't quite make it out yet. Its like when
trying to learn something. At one point it seems you have the thing
mastered. But little things keep going wrong when you try it. It gets
so bad you want to quit. It seems nothing good will ever come of
trying again. But finally you master it and go to the end for the
first time.

I have been sitting on the wrong chair. The other was too low and
hard. This makes it lots easier and faster. But now what to say about
anything. Poor Mary Chestnut and not having IBM Selectric to do her
writing with. But even with just writing a little bit by hand, for
over 20 years, each day, her book comes out to over 800 pages. It has
made me quite excited to read about her writing. I have called the
Cambridge Public Library and asked them to put me on a reserve list
for this book of hers, and an autobiography. My fantasies about
someone reading this a hundred years from now start to come up. Shall
I talk to whoever you are? What do you think of something addressed to
you, but written 100 years ago? The writer is long since gone. But I
know that with Mary Chestnut's writing, what few snatches I've seen,
it gives me the feeling of being there, of being inside her head. The
things she writes of are so human and common. Can you say the same for
this? What is your name? Are you male or female? What an interesting
idea it is for me to try and conjur you up, 100 years before you
exist. Quite a feat, don't you think? And is the world you live in
much like mine? I mean the human world, without all the names and
faces that identify it in time, the emotional world, where people are
just the same as today. But maybe they have learned more and are
different. Much of the world does not have Mary's few of slaves. What
slaves have you managed to free in the world, and in yourself? Enough
talking to you. Time to get back to myself. But it is hard to
resist. More defense. Its like not writing has been for me the last
two weeks. Now I write about what? Its still me. That came out of
me. It was there. Why not let it come out. It frustrates me. On the
other hand this page ends. I have been trying this silly thing with
paragraphs. Do I ever say more than one sentence about anything? It
was just a matter of hitting the tab. And there it was. A new
paragraph. I'll try it again.

Now I must start off on something completely new. Not completely
new. But about another idea. An idea that builds on previous
paragraphs, or, if the last paragraph, a summary of all the previous
paragraphs.

Do I have a new idea yet? Maybe it should be written like
conversation. I will just use this as a way of talking to
myself. Surely there is more than one of me in here. Mary says she
writes, in response to someone's asking, ìWhy do you write in your
diary at all, if, as you say, you have to contradict every day what
you wrote yesterday?î, ìBecause I tell the tale as it is told to me. I
write current rumor. I do not vouch for anything.î This is something I
wish I'd said. She goes on to say, ìI write daily for my own
distractions. These memoirs pour servir may some future day afford
dates, facts, and prove useful to more important people than I amÖIt
is hard, in such a hurry as things are in, to separate wheat from
chaff.î And so it is for me. And I am envious of her way with words
again.

Things have turned around with the art show. Simone is now very
enthusiastic about it. Dana has even said he will participate. At
first Simone was hesitant about the idea. She thought I would try to
connect art and sexuality. Perish the thought! What a silly idea, that
there is any connection between art and sexuality. Where does she
dream up such ideas? Tsk, tsk. Then her complaint was that I would try
to control how everything was to be. She has come up with some ideas
of her own and some from other people. She was anxious to get the work
of her friends in the show. It seemed as though she wanted to use it
as a means of gaining favor with these friends. I have started with
some publicity today. Called several papers. Simone got some people in
the psychology/psychiatry world interested, having spoken to them
about the idea at a recent conference where she presented. I have had
the idea to contact FH about the idea, but then it always comes with
some anxiety about how they will gobble up the idea and I will
disappear. Anyway, we are working on it and others are
interested. Perhaps we will even be able to take it to NYC. My
imagination races ahead of me again, and I've had the idea to visit
Linda, and try to arrange something. Neither happened this last
weekend, although that was the plan. So much for my plans. This has
been a problem recently. A feeling of spinning my wheels. Lots of
things going on and lots of motion. But no progress. I continue to
feel stuck. Shit, forgot the new paragraph.

Last night was a big thing here. Simone and Ken slept together, here,
in her bed. Dana in his bed, and me in mine. There was a bit of
tension at first. We were doing some drawing. Me, Simone, Dana, Tom
Howard, Edwin, when he arrived. He did not participate at first, but
later joined in. Stu had promised to kill and disown him if he sleeps
overnight with Simone. He wants Ken and Simone to come to his house,
talk about the whole thing, and for Simone to spend the night with
him. Ken does not like this idea. Simone stalls for sometime before
going to bed. She finally comes to kiss me goodnight and says she will
be going to sleep right away. And that she wouldn't be doing this if
it weren't for me. She wanted to make an agreement about not having
anyone sleep over with either of us, but I would agree to it, and this
is the result. I tell her that its not really my fault, the devil made
you do it, I says. She had thought I was going to be gone for 5 or 6
days. Monday night, and the rest of the week, were to be spent with
Michael. She only told me about Monday, but confessed about staying
with him the whole week only today. But he has called to cancel their
date for tonight. I want to fuck him, she says. What he mouth she has
acquired since knowing me! I want the big O, she says. That's an
orgasm, which she has not been able to have with me. She had fantasies
of a fantastic sexual affair with Ken, like what she had with Dave
Ring. But that is not destined to be right away. The fact of them
being here caused much of the excitement of a new relationship to be
squashed. But it didn't go so bad. For me there was a combination of
jealousy and horniness. I could hear them in the next room. At one
point she got up and was rumaging around for something. Birth control
devices, I says to myself. And she was going right to sleep. She could
find her diaphram. It was right there in her suitcase. She says I hid
it. Not so. She probably did not want to find it. But she could have
used condoms. She always had those around. She could have gotten one
from me. She tells me she wanted to be with me, and told Ken so. But
they had a good time talking. About me he said how his opinion was one
way from what Stu told him, but now its quite different. He thought me
to be a very big and crude person, not too smart, and other not so
nice things. Simone has the idea that he is a very together person. It
will go away in time, and if he continues to come around here. She had
a similar opinion of me at the beginning of our relationship. Soon she
got a more accurate picture.

Simone and Stu are having the same problem. An acute attack of
jealousy. For Simone the problem seems to be Linda. For Stu the
problem seems to be Ken, me, and Dana. Its not any of us
really. Simone has been putting the screws to me so I won't do
anything to make her feel insecure. She was continually telling me not
to go to NYC to visit Linda. She has to constantly search for other
explanations about why I do these things, and in the same breath out
comes her urges about other men, like Ken and Michael. In her most
lucid moments she will just admit wanting to fuck, wanting their
attention, wanting to talk about things with them. This contradictory
behavior will sometime cause her difficulties. For me, hypocritical
behavior always gets me to thinking and rationalizing about the thing,
and this always paralizes me a bit. I think to myself, soon a
confession will be in order. But it often never comes. The time never
seems just right, or another convenient distraction pops up. In
Simones case, she always changes the subject. Her mother is just like
this. That is another story again. The dog at her parents house is not
kept in the basement all the time. They have just completely
recarpeted the whole upstairs. The dog pisses on everything and chews
everything. It seems they should get rid of the dog and the cats. They
are not taken care of.

I am not satisfied with this. It seems to degenerate to the old style
and small minded gossip of two weeks ago. Its not really about
me. Always I am distracted by someone else's influence on me and what
is the meaning of this little thing and how has that little thing
caused me some problem here or there. How to get around these things?
It's a distraction from doing something about feeling stuck. It leads
me to believe that is the cause of my being stuck. Not so.

Simone and Dana have just returned from teaching their Tufts dream
course. I am a little bit anxious about them coming in and reading my
notes. It seems more so than in the past. I noticed something about
those two yesterday. Simone wanted to do some work in the kitchen
where it was quiet and she could eat something. Dana comes in and
starts to do something, plus make noise. This disturbs Simone who
speaks to him in a harsh voice. It makes me uncomfortable as he does
not stop immediately and its obvious she holds back about criticizing
him a second time. But what should I do? It makes me feel tense. Its
obvious that I could say something. Not about the noise, but about
their communication with each other. Dana is insensitive and Simone
does not really reply to this. I see it, feel it, notice it, but do
nothing. The tension in me says to do something. But I don't. I have
an opinion. But it is badly formed. The words do not come out quick
and sharp. I am too slow and the best moment passes. Then I say it is
too late. The tension has paralized me.

Wednesday, April 15, 1981

The Space Shuttle landed yesterday. Bonnie called me to say they had
just come down. I can never resist telling everyone that I worked on
the Space Shuttle Project at one time. It was for 2 years, 1974ñ1975,
maybe a little more. It was during a very hard time in my relationship
with Adele. I was also trying to get visitation rights through the
courts. It still excites me, space travel. I remember some of the
problems from when I was growing up. One was how to get enough fuel in
the rocket so it could escape Earth's pull. The typical picture would
show a rocket that would hold 10 gallons of fuel, but it was
calculated to take 20 gallons to escape the pull of gravity. They
solved the problem by use of rockets with stages. A big rocket would
push a smaller rocket. They also worried about the space suits for the
astronauts. It didn't seem possible, at the time, to be able to build
something small enough, light enough, and comfortable enough, from
current materials. So they invented new ones. At Intermetrics they
were developing software for the onboard computers. The programs were
always too big, and always ran too slow. But obviously they have
solved that problem.

My stepfather always said it would not be possible to get to the
moon. It was some sort of religious idea he had. Men were destined to
be trapped inside the moon's orbit, like fish in a bowl. There was
even a science fiction story about just such a thing.

Coming back from New Haven on Sunday I was reminded of another story
about my stepfather. We stopped at a gas station to get gas, check the
oil, water, etc. My hands got dirty. I went to the restroom to
wash. My stepfather owned a gas station when I was in my
teens. Sometimes I would have to clean the restrooms. He would tell
stories about the women's room and what a mess it was. I never saw any
such thing, but he was a convincing storyteller. It seems that women
would somehow whip off the bloody sanitary napkins, splattering the
walls inside the restroom, and generally making it look like a
slaughter house and garbage dump. His stories always made the most
vivid pictures in my mind, but none of this was ever available for me
to see. More than 20 years later the image of this happening is still
there. And so is the idea that it might have really happened. On the
one hand it is a very preposterous thing from what I know now, but
then was a very impressionable time for me. And he was a fantastic
teller of tales. I could not tell what was so and what
wasn't. Thinking about it, I realize how the same is true of me. I
can't resist telling some story or other if it smells like a believer
is in the room. Even my newsletter used to have phony items written in
it. Even now I hesitate about saying exactly what is going on in some
situation. It always occurs to me to say something else. To tell it
just a little bit different. I get such a pleasure leading someone
down the wrong path, and then to have them realize it, or say
something that knocks them back to reality. I like it when its
possible to keep someone just on the edge of believing and
doubting. It is like a great challenge. And other times I like to be
deadly accurate.

Simone has asked me not to give out anymore of my notes unless I
change the names of everyone. She is still afraid of what Jeff or Stu
might do to me if they learn what I have written. I'm beginning to
think so more and more. I wish I had the benefit of 100 years later,
like Mary Chestnut and her Civil War diary. It would make it possible
to write even more freely. Why not, with everyone dead for so
long. Another possibility would be to just hide this from
everyone. But it is hard for me to resist showing my latest writing to
someone.

More gossip about Jeff and Carol and their affair. It seems that they
have both confided in Simone that they are not really interested in
the other. They plan to end it as soon as someone better comes
along. This I can only snicker and smirk at. They got together because
of their lonliness and horniness. They both described how the deficits
of the other person became irrelevant when they felt this way. Jeff
does not like fat women, and Carol does not feel attracted to Jeff
because of what she knows about his sexual difficulties. But they get
to where they realize their real deep down feelings, and suddenly none
of that matters. They just want someone. As soon as their intellect,
or better judgment, gets control again, they reject the other
person. But only a few years ago I can remember myself holding back
with someone, and at the time thinking, is this person the right one?
These two seem to have the same problem. Does everyone have the same
problem? Even Simone has the same old second thoughts about me. I ask
myself, what can be done about this? Maybe nothing, and just let them
go on doing the same thing to themselves. Tell them how I see the
situation? Have Simone tell them? She's the one who knows it best. She
heard it directly from both of them. Just letting it go on seems like
the best possible way to ruin them both. To say the truth would be
devastating to both of them. Why do I have such mixed feelings about
this? It seems so obvious how this should be done. But on the other
hand there is some anxiety and rationalizing going on. Am I so afraid
of the consequences of speaking my mind? On the other hand I have
these fantasies about being a nightclub performer and telling all
these little stories as part of a routine. Leaving out the names of
course. There I am, up on the stage. Casually dressed, relaxed,
microphone in hand. You wanna hear a funny story I heard today, this
guy asks the audience. And without waiting for a reply, he tells
it. Its about letting some things about me out, but on stage, so I
still have a little distance from those who listen.

Last night, while taking a shower, I thought of Linda. She has been
having a hard time in NYC. She wants me to call her more often. It
makes her feel better to have someone like me in her life. Then this
thought progressed and included Simone. It got a little tense. Somehow
thinking about Linda always results in Simone being dragged in. Then
it becomes confrontational. I have a fight with Simone. Every time
Linda comes up in a conversation something happens to Simone. A very
primitive thing takes over. She becomes hostile in voice and
movement. Sharp in tone. She speaks more quickly and with
nastiness. So, to go back to my fantasy, I confront her behavior. I
can't let it go by this time, like usual. I point out how her
acceptance of Linda is different from other people. That it shows what
she is really like. Someone who is no imagined threat to her is
acceptable. But not someone who causes her real feelings to come
up. She has a choice, I say, to confront this thing in her and give it
up, or leave. I don't want someone who is this way. Its the best
reason I would have for really rejecting her. She doesn't have to
imagine my doing so. For this I will really reject her. I don't want
to spend the rest of my life with this tension. It is not
necessary. We don't need it. I can do without her if she continues
with this. Later, when I'm in bed, and can't sleep, the fantasy
continues. I am in bed with Linda. But suddenly there is Simone again!
Linda gets up and hides behind the door. Simone takes scissors and
goes to stab her. I stop it. There are only two possibilities
now. Either I report this to the police, or she must move out within
24 hours. Then I make it 2 hours, then 1 hour. A struggle over what to
do. Talk to the police about how long I can wait to report the
incident, second thoughts about how long Simone gets to move out. I
move her furniture out into the street. And all the time fighting with
her about Linda's presence. She overflows with little tricks and
what's wrong with Linda, what's wrong with me, how its only my fear of
being close to her, etc., etc., etc. All the old things she has
said. Recently she has in fact dropped all these old complaints and
come up with new ones. But the fantasy is a composite of all the old,
but real fights. And then I become more conscious of what is going on
inside me and ask, why am I having this fantasy? Is it really a
submerged wish to be rid of her? Certainly to be rid of that part of
her. An urge to do her in? My own desire to get some sort of
resolution to a constantly existing, but pushed down thing? It always
seems to be present in some form. Maybe not immediately there, but
like a very low-level tension that one feels, but whose source is not
evident. I don't know for sure. I just know something is there and it
keeps coming up in this way. With these rather murderous
fantasies. Sometimes it comes out in reality. I find myself censoring
what I say and do so as not to offend Simone with it. But that
sucks. I don't want to have to walk around on eggs all the time. I had
brought up the subject of Linda visiting with us for a few days at the
beginning of May. Suddenly people visiting with us is not so simple as
it is when its someone Simone knows. It has to be talked about. We
have to make some rules about it. Its no longer a straightforward and
social thing that we will do because we like people. And she never
sees what she is doing. It constantly places me on the verge of
threatening to find another place for myself so I don't have to put up
with this nonsense. She continues to create good reasons for me to
reject her. Its impossible for me to write more about this. I will
have to do something.

April 17, 1981

I was thinking today about how to write a story of recent news. A
short story about today. There would be an introductory paragraph to
set the tone. Then would follow some other number of paragraphs about
individual events. Finally, a concluding paragraph with a conclusion
or moral-of-this-story ending. But a funny thing happened
instead. Near the Orson Welles, on Mass Av, I am crossing a little
side street. A teenaged-looking guy, with a beatup old car, is about
to turn onto Mass Av. Suddenly a violent fantasy starts. He whips out
a gun and points it at me. Making threats about walking so slow in
front of his car. I knock it out of his hand with a quick movement of
the mailbag I'm carrying, grab his arm and pull him out the window of
the car. His passenger gets out, tells me they are police, and points
his gun at me. I grab the first one around the neck, and stick the gun
in his ribs, using him as a shield. Police cars converge from every
direction. I won't let go of this guy till the other one gives up his
gun. The police get him to do so and then I do the same. Suddenly the
second guy grabs a policeman's gun and starts to shoot me. I do the
same and shoot the gun out of his hand. The other police take their
guns out. A few quick shots and the guns fly from their hands. I have
a portable radio and call for help. Suddenly, overhead, Cobra
gunships, filled with special forces men. They rescue me and tell the
police to forget everything they saw. So much for my nice neat
arrangement of the days events. The start of my organizing my writing
gets blown away. I haven't had too many violent fantasies of this sort
the last few days. Most of them have been about confrontations with
Simone. She continues her coersive efforts to come between me and any
relationship with Linda. The usual fantasy involves me getting fed up
with her harping about it, exploding, and telling her to give it up or
get out. She saw Michael today. He has lost weight. Probably from the
stress of trying to avoid is feelings about her. He had an enormous
hard-on when she got there. No agreement, she says. I'm not going to
marry you till you are past childbearing age, he says. And so it
goes. Simone has the feeling that they will be getting back
together. This is the first time she has had a positive feeling like
this, or at least expressed it so positively. For a moment there is a
flash of anxiety for me. It goes away. The possibilities are that we
will work things out together, or they will go off by themselves and
slowly run down to ruin. This comes at the same time I am having these
increasing strong confrontation fantasies about her. Some of them of
turned to irrelevant fights. That is, about something at the time,
mostly about the moments feeling, but never anything I can clearly
remember.

A talk with Lotti about her mother getting old and not having anyplace
to live. Her fear of having to take care of her. She has the idea that
somehow a community will spring up to take care of her in her old
age. But thinking concretely she realizes that it is not so easy. It
is difficult, and getting more so, to have a have a relationship with
me and Simone. She has noticed this thing about Simone. That Simone
treats her in sort of a sickly sweet way. Condescending, like a
constant patient and therapist relationship. Lotti has the feeling
that Simone would have no interest in her if it was not for my
relationship with her. She listened to our fight the other night and
got sick, vomited, from it. This was on top of the things going on
with John. But our fight caused everything to come up,
literally. Simone is starting to have a difficult time with Lotti as
she gets emotionally closer to me. I took care of her when she was
sick. Went to the store to get her some ginger ale. Stayed by her side
while she vomited. Stayed up and talked with her afterwards. I am
going to have to talk with Sten to get some perspective on things
again. The tension is making me crazy again. Lotti and I talked about
how we can make a community to take care of us. It needs love. Nothing
works without this. I realize how Simone tries to destroy things when
someone has this feeling for me. She is always trying to end the
feeling or anything, between Linda and me. Just the opposite is what's
needed. When she tries to put an end to anyone's love she destroys the
very community she wants to create. Linda cares for me a lot. I am the
longest relationship she has ever had. It is a secure port in an
almost constant storm for her. She seriously thinks about living with
us. She is willing to try and overcome the problem of jealousy. She
knows it will be hard, but wants to try. This feeling she has for me
is very good for her. It's a sort of security she hasn't had
before. It has put an end to a lot of the running away from
relationships that she has done in the past. She sometimes sleeps with
others but doesn't have the same feeling with them as with me. I have
waited out her numerous rejections of me. She understands more about
how its important not to give up. And it makes me feel good also. Not
her being away in NYC so much. But that she thinks of me often and
wants to spend time with me when she is here. The possibility of
living with me has caused her to change all her plans about staying in
NYC to study art. She will now try to get a place at Boston
University. She wants to stay here for a few days in May. Simone has
gone crazy over the idea. But just a few moments ago she asks if
someone she hasn't seen since high school can stay for the night. Of
course, I say. There is no reason for him not to stay here. Although I
am a little wary of 'crazy' Mike as she calls him. Supposedly he once
set himself on fire. He was dressed in a business suit. Is he a dope
dealer, I ask. Not anymore, she replies, or at least I don't think
so. Even though I notice a tendency to make up reasons for his not
staying here, and a twinge of jealousy, it is ok. I have got to
overcome this thing in me also. This expecting more of other people
than I do of myself.

Friday, May 1, 1981

My stepfather died today. Carl, my half-brother called me about
9pm. He died in Salt Lake City. Cancer of the brain. I spoke with my
mother the previous Sunday. She told me there was not much hope for
him. He was 64. I first knew him when he was about 31. My mother just
moved to Cody. That's where she met him.

I did not feel much at first. Carl's call was quite unexpected. He
seemed like his usual self. Casual and a bit joking. He was never the
serious type. We spoke for a few minutes. Then he told me. Simone says
he called the house first and spoke to her for about 15 minutes. He
said he thought she was sweet. The funeral will be next Tuesday. So we
spoke about business and family for a few more moments. His wife, he
calls her the smart one, is very interested to meet me.

We had no contact since 1974. I visited with Cody for a short time in
November of that year. I walked from Ken's house, or was it the
airport, to his gas station on the main street in town. He was there,
doing something on a car, and recognized me right away. It had been
ten years since we had seen each other. And now, seven years later, he
has died.

I think about it again, just like after Carl and I talked, and the
same lump comes to my throat, the same tears to my eyes. For the first
time in my life, an important part of my growing up, is gone. I did
not think of him often in the 17 years since leaving home. Now, for
some time, I will often think back to those years, and the ways he
influenced how I am today. An odd physical sensation comes over me at
this moment. Bending me back to the past and its reliving. A flood of
sensations of some memorable and stark moments. Something is lacking
in my attempts at poetry. Better to just stick with the facts. He was
like a poet. More like an old time bard. Always telling stories of
everyday life and great adventures, all in one sitting. Mixing and
weaving them into a hypnotic blanket that he would throw over all
those in his reach. Was it really that way? Yes. He could really hold
an audience spellbound. There were his friends and cronies and
buddies. They all liked the same things. They all had the same sort of
lives. They all liked the same sort of fun. He could retell and
recreate the best moments as well as any of them.

So, there in the office, I began to think about what I knew of him,
the things I remember about growing up with him. At first it was just
a little tightness in my throat. A little dampness in my eyes. And
thinking, wondering, just like I did when growing up, did he love me,
did I love him? It always seemed uncertain, not a well answered
question to me. There was never the same feeling as with my
mother. The good and bad feelings about her were always more
clear. She was also more definite with me.

He was not well educated. He grew up during the depression. It was in
Missouri, I think. This lack of education caused him some
difficulties. But there is one story he told me as a proud memory. In
one of the early grades he attended the teacher had everyone cut out
the sillouette of a car from paper. The name of each student was
placed on their car. The cars were then placed around the edge of the
classroom to indicate who was the best student. An informative bit of
competition. It would always be perfectly clear who was best and
worst. He would describe how his car would often be the first. He
would tell this story with great pride, but also to compensate for not
having gone to school for many years. He compensated quite well in
other ways. I did not know anyone more skilled in doing real,
practical things, than him. While growing up he must have built the
equivalent of three houses. It seems he was able to do everything
necessary to build a complete house. All but digging a hole for a
basement and pouring the foundation. But he could have done it. He
bought everything and put it together. To me, as a child growing up,
it always seemed that everything came out perfectly. And, indeed, the
houses we lived in were not so bad. Life was always a struggle to
improve our economic situation. Some of the houses had problems. The
one near the airport was too close to the ground. There were sometimes
problems with water getting in. Another house, the first one we lived
in after moving to Cody from the ranch, didn't have an indoor
toilet. I remember a little private celebration I had the last day we
used this outhouse. It seems I made some sort of little speech to the
last time. I have a memory of holding up some kind of commemorative
flag and then letting it fall. Anyway, he built an addition to that
house, and a brand new bathroom. I remember having fantasies about a
snake coming out of the toilet or tub and not being able to kill
it. It seems I may also have read some sort of science fiction story
about such a thing.

And life on the farm! It was no Dick and Jane picnic. It was
incredibly hard work. This is something he could outdo anyone at. I
hardly ever remember him except for working or telling stories. Or
just doing something. I don't remember him ever being depressed. He
may have been. He probably had it sometimes. But it never seemed to
show. Only once on the farm do I remember him not working. It was from
an accident. He had caught his foot in a machine. The ankle was
broken, or badly injured in some way. He was hospitalized for a short
time. Then he worked on crutches, with a bolt in his foot to hold it
together. It only slowed him a little, for awhile. Then back to
work. How to work. The most important thing I ever learned from
him. There is no substitute for it. Work, any kind of work, where I
have a feeling of accomplishing something, still, always makes me feel
good. It must have been a source of enormous pleasure for him. I don't
know anyone who worked harder. Only my mother came close.

It was late in the Fall. I must have been 11 or 12. It was a cold
day. Cloudy. Some sort of snow and rain was falling. A good day to
stay inside. Stay warm and comfortable, I says to myself. But he had
some other idea. Time to dig up the root vegetables and pack them in
sand, says he. Complain, grumble, curse, foot dragging, and general
piddling around, as he used to call it. So with considerable rancor, I
help with the work. Why couldn't we have done this sooner, I says. Who
care what the answer was. I don't remember now. We didn't do it
earlier, so it has to be done now. The plants won't wait. They will
freeze if its cold enough. The weather and the plants don't care if it
could have been done earlier. And so we do it. It was what had to be
done. All the things of this sort, the things that had to be done to
guarantee that life would go on, always got done. I often resented
having to do all this work. It seemed that I was being picked-on by
him. Chalk it up to youthful paranoia. What does it matter. I learned
how to work. Nobody has ever called me lazy. Not a bad thing to learn
from anyone. But its something I got from him. The telling of stories
is another. I can't do it in quite the same way. I think writing is a
better way of doing this for me. But there is something very
satisfying about getting the attention of others in this way. It is so
unnecessary a thing. You don't need to tell or listen to stories to
live. But work and stories seemed to be his whole life. I can't deny
that I have some pleasure for myself when telling a story. It's a
great pleasure to lead them along. Having them on the edge of their
seats. Having them almost begging for more. Perhaps going off on some
other little subject for just a moment, teasing them with little
asides and irrelevant things, and then, suddenly, back to the story
and a spectacular conclusion that has them rolling in the aisles or
nodding their heads with understanding of some important idea.

On the one hand I was always very conscious of him being my
stepfather. But I did not have a real father. Not in the way he was my
father. He was there. My real father was far away. It seemed he
avoided being my real father. It seemed he always gave more attention
to his real sons. I remember the candybar incident. He came home one
day with two. This is all there were, he said. I will give them to the
two little ones. That's not fair, I says. Why don't you divide them in
half, and give a half to each of us? But he had a reason why not. I
was not able to convince him. I don't remember what it was. I can't
believe, in thinking about it now, that it was a good reason. But now,
thinking about this incident, its really one of the worst. And can it
have been so bad if this is the worst thing I can say about him? He
didn't share a candybar with me and my sister? Lots of people could
wish things had been this good for them.

One of my favorite things was to go in trips with him. Several times I
went to the thriving metropolis of Billings, Montana. We took pigs, as
I remember, to a place where they were auctioned. Loading the truck,
driving for several hours, over the Wyoming plains and around the
mountains. The auction house was an enormous building. I would be free
to wander around. Secret pleasure hiding away and watching people
coming and going and talking and them not being able to see me.

Thursday, May 7, 1981

Simone has gone down the street to meet with a new friend. She met him
last week while waiting to see if she would be on jury duty. He was
there for the third time and hoping to get out of it. They went to
lunch. He is very romantic. Bought her flowers, sang songs to her
while they had lunch. He is an actor, plays the saxophone, and is a
condominium developer. A nice Jewish man. The sort her mother would be
proud of. She met another man at the court. He was an assistant
district attorney. He's going to be in Washington for two weeks. A
postcard from him says he thinks of her and can't concentrate on his
work. And what does this do to me? Sometimes it makes me feel a little
bit jealous. Mostly I try to make fun of the whole thing. It does not
seem to be working. It becomes very serious. She says something sharp
back to me and I get overwhelmed with rage. Not often. But enough to
make my treatment of these situations suspect. For me it is possible
to see how these things might come out and make things bad for her as
she tries to develop other relationships. I notice that its not always
a tight ship for me. It leaks a bit. Some little things get
through. How to catch myself doing these convoluted things. They are
backwards from what is best. I need to work more to put her at ease,
and to make the situation better for the other person. Its getting a
bit abstract. Shit. I don't want this tension from other
relationships. How do I want it to go? I don't want to feel trapped or
panicked when another chance comes along. I want to be free to change
things to fit circumstances. Somehow it is still trapped inside me. I
can't get it out. I don't really see it. More of this bullshit.

It is getting more and more difficult to write. On the one hand the
pace of things here is moving a little faster. We are at least
chaotically confronted with more of our inability to live together in
peace. The war in us is coming out. The desire to dominate and win is
becoming more obvious. We both try to control the social flow of
things. She is more skilled. But it is like guiding by the numbers. I
am more crude and threatening to people. I always blunder into and
introduce forbidden things. Like to night with the joke about Lotti
possibly being pregnant. It is obvious that most people got it. They
pretended to ignore it. It's the same with most charged items that
come up. But I don't really see how to guide these things. Sometimes I
ask myself, what would Otto do? I can sometimes mimic what he seems to
be doing but it doesn't ever lead, only rarely, to the sort of
resolution he achieves with people. But I feel the need to continue to
try. It is almost so hard sometimes that I wish myself back at FH so I
can fall down. It is not something I can do here.

She comes back to tell me about how he has asked her to sleep with him
tonight. What are you thinking, he says. About how you would look, all
wet, in the shower, she answers. Fucking is the most beautiful thing
people can do together, he says. He's a smoker. The first crack in his
seemingly impenatriable armor. He won't give it up for her. It is all
downhill from here! Its no contest. Unless, of course, he is only
playing a Richard Gardner trick on her. He drinks coffee with two
sugars, eats meat, and drinks a case of coke every week. He is sure of
his relationship with her and knows they will sleep together within
the week. Hm, what to make of this, and her playing hard-to-get. He
likes this even more, and gets an erection at just the thought of
it. He has started out on a good note. Saying how she is going to know
she's in a relationship with him. Exactly my line. Not bad. This is a
man who shows real promise. Character, fortitude, integrity,
straightforward, and a bit aggressive. So she thinks. Still not able
to recognize it. What will become of the new three mousketeers? Stay
tuned! She stands behind me reading this and rubbing my tummy. Kissing
my neck. Every now and then stopping to read what I've just
written. Putting the tongue in my ear. Rubbing my crotch. Well, this
has lightened up considerably from the academia of the last page. She
has booze on her breath. Snookie, Richie, she whispers, in that soft
way of hers, Tell me a story, she implores, as the little girl in her
starts to come out.

Now a new subject. Bonnie, her therapist, thinks we play sadistic
games. What they are who knows. Now she slowly gives me some old
news. Bonnie wants me to separate from her. And why? Who knows. She
has very little to go on. Her own failed relationships? What has she
seen in other failed relationships? How can she really know about
successful relationships when there are so few available. What we know
about them is usually hidden. The best thing about our own is how so
many things come out of it. Every day has some new volcanic eruption
of long hidden tensions, repressed desires, hidden and self-thwarted
longings. From this we can learn more than what we see from
others. And always the crank and crackpot analysis, so little basis in
reality. The things that get talked about being only the scum on the
surface of a large swamp. The iceberg is no good. Its more a
swamp. Teeming with life and fantastic things that everyone is capable
of, but held down by this thin layer of scum. Even for me, there is an
entire world of things that never see the light of day, except maybe
in my writing or ideas. And the ideas don't get such a good treatment
in real life. The art show being one of them. It seems to be
staggering along. Last week we were going to do some art on Thursday
night. Just now another chink in the singer's armor. She has told him
about meeting the ADA. Are you going to date him, he asks, in a
slightly defeated, deflated tone of voice. Or at least that's how I
imagine he is going to sound. The ADA is more of a threat to him than
me. He might be thinking something along these lines: well, if she has
gotten interested in me so quickly, then maybe it is a sign that they
are on the way downhill in their relationship, and I only have to wait
here at the bottom of the playground slide. Into my arms she will
slide. But the ADA, on the other hand, is also at the starting gate,
just like me. So he's the one to watch. She wouldn't really be going
out to see me this evening if things were going so well between
them. This open relationship nonsense never works anyway. Its going to
be one of the other of us in the end. And I think my chances are
better than the ADA's. He's only got his career. I've got my boyish
good looks, I'm Jewish, a very good amateur actor, a saxophone player,
a darn good singer, romantic, and many other things that women go
crazy over. This one's a little bold and outspoken, a little bit too
upfront about sexuality, but that probably means she really likes it
and wants to fuck all the time. But I can handle this. If only there
was something I could do about that fucking ADA. At least he's going
to be out of town for two weeks. That gives me somewhat of a
headstart. He will never be able to make up the difference. That
turkey she's with has still got her tied down. I've got plenty of time
to work on things. No lawyer type for the state can take off all the
time I can to do things with her. This guy she's with is a total
nothing turd. He's not romantic. He's sexually boring. He doesn't do
as many interesting things as I do. He won't even take her out to a
nightclub like I do. This guy is definitely on the way out. Any woman
with gumption and a half-decent man would not be out carousing this
time of night, just down the street from where she lives, and the man
knows about it. Nah! It doesn't add up. She's going to leave him. I
know it. And I'm just the one for her after its over.

I notice that a lot of the tension has left my body. My face no longer
has the feeling of a sunburn. The warm feeling is going away. How does
this work so often for me? I only have to write what comes out even
and smooth. The part in me that fits it goes away. At the beginning of
these pages I wrote in stops and starts. It was difficult to go more
than one sentence without stopping to think of what's next. At the
moment everything is coming out just fine. At the beginning of each
sentence I have the feeling of falling. But halfway thorugh the next
sentence begins to come into my head. For a moment I thought this
would be the last. But I can amble on for some time like this. It
doesn't matter what I say. The feeling of falling continues. What will
come out next I don't know. But on the other hand its beginning to get
a little silly. Time to go on to something else.

Back to the situation with me, Simone, and Linda. She came a day early
last week. It was very hard for her in NYC. She is not enjoying the
apprenticeship with the guy who does restorations. She wanted to come
a day early and spend some time with me and have us sleep together
Thursday night. Simone was bullshit about this. An endless stream of
criticisms of Linda. Everything that anyone, including Linda, ever did
wrong, gets dumped on Linda. She does not like it. Everybody gets
called about it. Everybody gets to here whats wrong with me and
Linda. Everybody tells her to leave me. They don't understand why she
won't do it. She keeps coming into my room and trying to read this. I
don't let her. Go back to work, I say. When they won't let you see it,
they really want you to, she replies. The mood here has been like an
earthquake, tornado, and hurricane, all at once. There is rage and
counter-rage. Fight and counter-fight. We tear at each other. Tomorrow
we will go to see this therapist we saw last week. It was my idea. It
seems that some sort of neutral third party needs to hear what's going
on. More about all this tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 13, 1981

Today is an important day for Simone. Sarah Wright, from the Real
Paper, is coming to interview her about the Center for Creative Dream
Exploration. A short time ago I had this fantasy of being at my
typewriter and discovered by her. What are you doing, she casually
asks. Oh, I'm just doing a little writing, I casually respond. And
from this she goes on to read some of it ñ and I get discovered and
published in the Real Paper! Then on to even greater fame and fortune.

I talked to my mother on the telephone last Sunday. It was Mother's
Day. Simone has this thing about holidays. She responds like Pavlov's
dog. You have to send something to your mother, she says. There is
pressure for me to do this also. She even says she will order some
flowers for my mother the same time she sends some to hers. She
expects me to do these things. She gets nervous, anxious, feels guilty
when she doesn't send something to somebody on various holidays and
birthdays. I, on the other hand, have never done this. She is
constantly disappointed in me in this way. It was a big topic of
discussion last time we went to see this therapist. It was the second
time. I was last the first. A lot of it was about how she wants me to
be the way she wants me to be. It seems I seldom live up to all the
traditional expectations she has of me. And I become more resistant
than necessary when she wants something of me. Often they are not such
difficult things to do. But they become enormous to me. All but
impossible to do.

I have another idea for the art show. It was to take my typewriter to
the opening and write about what was happening. I would just have it
there at the gallery. Poised with paper and fingers. As a page got
finished it would be taped up as my own exhibit. Simone became excited
when I told her of this idea. Richard! She says, I don't want you
writing about sex! She got a bit paranoid. My idea was only to write
about what was happening there. If someone had sex then I might write
about it. Otherwise I would only write about the art show itself. She
was relieved to hear this.

Simone has noticed something interesting. Its about our other
relationships. It seems that anyone she or I had an intimate, sexual
relationship with before we met, has managed to stay with us. New
people, on the other hand, have gone away after seeing her or I one or
two times. It is as though they have enough good experience with
either of us to help them overcome the uncomfortable feelings they
have about ëbreaking' into our relationship. Some of the men have had
sex with her once or twice, then they disappear. I never get that far
with women. They hold back more in that way. They seem to have more to
lose. Or maybe they are more aware of the emotional difficulties they
may encounter and so don't get so involved. Men, as usual, seem to
have no idea about the emotional difficulties they will have. They
say, oh, I can handle it. No problem. But it soon gets to be just
that. Some of the women I've met since Simone have kept somewhat of an
emotional relationship. But I can feel the distance.

Sunday, May 24, 1981

The art show opens today. It's a little after 2pm and only 4 people
have stopped by so far. Two of them were people visiting Duane at the
gallery. I had the fantasy of lots of people being here. A big
crowd. They would watch me write about the show. Dana and a viewer are
watching me. They are talking about the dream groups. My intention was
to write about the idea for this show, a short history, something
about all the little things that happened, how it developed. I had
this idea about ten days ago. The idea to sit here and write during
the show. I thought it would be easier. At the moment I'm feeling a
bit stiff. Its not coming out like I wanted. I told Simone about the
idea. Richard! she says, I don't want you writing about sex. Ok, I
says, but if anyone has sex there then I'm going to write about
it. Otherwise, it will just be about the show. History and what's
happening, what I think is interesting. I had the basic idea about two
months ago. I told Simone how it would be nice to do something with
the art we would do with other people. We were both a bit tired of the
party scene. It was getting boring. What could we do to make things
more interesting? And how could we do something about he lack of
initiative, spontaneity, doing things, that always pervades a
party. The lights are turned down, the music up, the people turned on
with alcohol and drugs. Then they try to communicate. It doesn't
work. Everyone is passive, an observer. Sometimes you meet an
interesting person, but the form never changes, or gets better. One
never gets anywhere with a relationship with the people there. Maybe
you go home and sleep with someone, but that doesn't satisfy the need
for feeling close to people. For feeling the way Simone and I feel
about doing things together. At this moment Roberta is sitting here
telling me how she likes everything so much. She feels connected to
the art since she knows most of the people who did things. A different
feeling from being in other galleries. Its because she knows the
people. Next time do it in Cambridge she says. She didn't wear a dress
because I'm wearing farm jeans, or so Simone thinks. Someone over to
my right and behind me is doing pushups. He did 38. I will show them
about the leaping pushups I do. That will impress them. Not very many
people here today, or at least not right now. We made some mistakes in
publicity. It didn't get into most of the papers. I called some to see
if they got the announcement in time. Some said yes, but they didn't
make it. The press release should have been sent out earlier. Another
mistake was having it this weekend. We are competing with a lot of
other events. Its Memorial Day weekend, the Cambridge River Festival
is today, there's a big parade in town, etc. We made a mistake on our
postcard. Several things were left out. The gallery being open by
appointment, for one. Two well-dressed people have just come in. It
looks like a mother and son. Some young boys are here talking with
Duane about body building, or some kind of body training.

It is almost 4pm. Not many people, many 20 or so. A bit
disappointing. Simone wonders if we will get back the $700 we have
invested. I am not too worried. It will not make me feel so good if
nobody comes to the art work tonight. A friend of Simone's has just
come here from Connecticut. She and Simone went to high school
together. Edwin is giving me headlines for writing. I tell him its a
report and I have to meet a deadline. Two more people have come in. A
man and a woman. The man talks to Duane and the woman looks at the
exhibit. Jonathan has finished taking slide photos of the exhibit. He
gives the film to me for developing. Ho hum. Gina comes back with the
baby, Aurora. She gets lots of attention. People are more enthusiastic
about the baby coming in than anything here. I just had the fantasy
that hardly anyone will come tonight. It sort of reminded me of
arranging lectures for Otmar and Brooke. I would work my tail off and
nobody would show up.

Originally the title of the show was going to be Art is life/Life is
art. That title got into one newspaper. Carol Wit came up with the
idea of Social Artworks. I modified it to Social Art Works. Simone
says a bunch of us were sitting around trying to think of a better
name. They didn't like mine. So we thought about it and that's the one
we decided on.

It is after 9pm. Only one person here for the participatory part. We
started to put down a large paper circle. The inside diameter is about
15 feet. The outside diameter is 20 feet. Barbara, who came to the
opening, and knows Lotti, helped me tape down about half the circle. I
told her to stop. It doesn't look like anyone is coming. It occurs to
me that people have stayed away because of the participatory aspect of
the exhibit. Sometimes people stay away from our house because they
feel threatened. Maybe they imagine they will be forced to do
something. I used to get this same feeling on FH.

Simone and Carol are walking around and putting prices on the Social
Art Works. $25 is the maximum they will allow. People come and go in a
casual manner, but not really doing anything. Idle chatter. Simone
likes another one of my titles. Roberta said she found all my work
very interesting and didn't expect so much of me. She found them to
have a lot of expression and diverse. Olga, Simone's friend from New
Haven, visited for a few minutes. She hurt her hand. It happened at a
Cowboy bar. It seems she was thrown from the bull. Its not broken,
just badly sprained. It is starting to turn various green and gray
colors. Her ass is also turning colors from the same event, being
thrown. She took Simone into the bathroom and showed her the whole
thing. Simone continues to hear lots of new gossip about each person
who visits us. Simone wants me to write about her stepfather's
neurotic dog, but somehow it does not fit into my trying to write
about the art show. Her mother called here a little earlier. Daniel
was on the phone when I picked it up. He talked to me because Simone
told him to. Oh well, she is trying to train him to be civilized. So
far it is a complete failure.

SOCIAL ART WORKS

This is an exhibition of art works created in social situations. These
ìsocial art worksî were created by some 20 Boston artists, musicians,
and writers in group situations, as contrasted with the usual
situation, where an artist works in isolation. The visual projects
include paintings, sculpture, collage, photography, and drawings. The
exhibit will also feature group created poetry, music, and
drawing. Some exhibits will involve participation by attenders.

There are two kinds of ìartî here. On the right side of the gallery is
art done in a more conventional way, that is, the artist working in
isolation. Those on the left side of the gallery were done in groups
of 3 or more people. An obvious difference is in the amount of time
taken to make some of the things here. The works done in groups were
all done in 1 to 3 hours. That's the usual amount of time we would
spend doing art. The evenings also included dinner, sometimes just
talking, watching television. Not everyone in the group would
participate. We would try to have a relaxed atmosphere. Each ìartistî
would have a chance to decide what they wanted to do and with what
kinds of materials.

Friday, May 29, 1981

I have this nervous, shaking feeling all over. Its not noticeable, but
I difinitely feel it. Lots of things happening. Linda has been here
this weekend. She came on the train. Arrived about 1am this
morning. She and Simone were in the office together this afternoon for
a few minutes. Linda had to leave for work at 5. The radio was playing
some sort of jazz. Simone says, who put on that horrible music? Its
the sort she likes to listen to. But suddenly, because Linda had put
it on, it was horrible. She knows I don't listen to that sort of
music.

Stu called a few moments ago. He wanted Simone. I told him she was at
Michael's. Simone tells me she will be staying with Michael tonight. I
thought she would be with Stu. I tell him this. He says he expects to
be with her tonight. And Simone has told me Joe offered to take us out
to dinner tonight. He just calls and says that is not right. Hmm! Is
Simone playing a Simone Alter game with me? Joe will call me back when
he gets the story.

Lottie called a few minutes ago about working for me tomorrow. She has
done an enormous amount of work in the last two days. Linda wanted to
work for me. She is even faster than Lotti. I told Lotti how fast she
was. This caused her to say she would stay and work on something till
it was done. She types about 200 names an hour. Linda can do 300 or
more. She has gritted her teeth and done it because she was afraid
Linda might end up getting all the work. She even says how Linda's
prescense has caused all sorts of havoc for her. She feels beaten or
wounded, or something like that. Its competition. She doesn't see it
that way. Its just that she needs money for the rent. Sure, that's all
it is Lotti!

Jeff called earlier to say how much he liked Simone's new flyer for
her courses. I had to add that it was me who did the layout and
typing. It was also my idea to have them cut up the Real Paper article
and include it in their mailing. Simone says its just my jealousy or
something, coming out.

I called Gina at Gallery East today. Simone told me how she came up to
her last night and started telling her about life with Duane and Al at
the gallery. Simone gave me a ride there and didn't want to leave. At
one point I just said I wanted to go work with Duane on the mailing
list for awhile. She stood there looking despondent and sad. Gina and
Duane were standing in the doorway watching us. They had seen us kiss
and razzed us about it. I went to do something with Duane and Gina
went to Simone. You have this look on your face just like I felt two
weeks ago when I was going to leave Duane, she says to Simone. It
turns out they have relationships with other people and it causes the
same sort of problems as with Simone and I. So the call was to suggest
that the four of us talk about things like this together. She didn't
think Duane would be interested but would tell him of my idea.

We had our fourth visit with Eric yesterday. We met in a different
office. We were almost half an hour late. He kept us 10 minutes longer
than scheduled. I told him of my idea to video tape our sessions with
him. It would be a good way to see ourselves. I thought it would also
be a good way for other people to learn about how to talk about
certain things. We talk about things that are often very difficult for
other people. It might be helpful for them to learn how we start with
such things. He will ask about using the equipment for next time. I
also suggested having Linda join us sometime. Simone exploded. She
wants to keep everything between just the two of us. Linda found the
idea acceptable.

A busy time on the telephone at just this moment. I called Lisa, who
came to the art show last Sunday. We flirted with each other. She
likes me. There was a lot of competition between her and Simone at the
dinner table. Later, after the meal, she went to the bathroom to
change her clothes. It was taking her a long time. I went to see what
the problem was. She had vomited. The whole thing upset her. She got a
bit nasty. It looks like this fuck is going to cost you $700, she
says. That's what it has cost me to finance the whole show. She is
already having paranoid fantasies that Lisa and I will get sexually
involved. Simone calls me on the phone while I'm speaking to Lisa. She
will see me this evening, but is wondering what is going on with me
and Simone and the people at the table. She had the impression that
Simone was being nasty towards her. There was competition for the
attention of everyone at the table. A moment later Roberta calls from
the airport. I tell her Simone is at Michael's.

Simone tells me she and Michael are in bed. He is pissed that all
those men, Joe and Stu, called while she was there. Stu is really
pissed that she is staying with Michael tonight. Then Joe calls her to
find out about dinner. She had the idea that he would be paying for us
this evening. Not so, he says. Maybe another time when he feels
richer.

Joe called to say how much he liked the art show. He thought it was
going to be a really amateur event, but was pleasantly surprised. He
and Ann liked Simone's work the best. It makes him like her even more,
he says, and wants to sleep with her tonight. I won't take no for an
answer, he exclaims. Maybe next week sometime, she tells me.

I have been reading Mary Chestnut's Civil War Diary. Her writing
efforts remind me of my own. Everything, from the very commonest
things in life, to the life and death of her new country, are written
about in such an interesting manner. She called her writing her notes,
just like I do. They begin February 18, 1861. There is something about
her style better than mine. I always am trying to be so literary and
eloquent. Always trying to spell everything correct. Always trying to
say everything just right. She just puts things down. Every little
thing even if it is wrong in the grammar or syntax. The result is more
interesting reading. It seems to me that I ignore the interesting
story sometimes and try to be a writer. Better I should just stick to
writing an interesting story. I like the way she sometimes spells
words wrong and makes funny little verbal tricks. I do the same. She
spells words just plain wrong also. One amusing thing is the indirect
references to her and other people's sexual behavior. She always just
brushes up against it. Perhaps I need to read still more to be sure
about this. A good feeling from having just written 2 pages.

An interesting event with Jeannette a few days ago. It seems she
needed someone to babysit in an emergency for her. She called and
asked me. Ok, I says, but I've only got an hour or so. Its the two
children living in the house where she has a rent free apartment. Its
in exchange for the apartment. So the mother and children are
there. Some guy comes by and takes the mother our for the
evening. Later, Vinny who may or may not be the Vinny I've heard
about, comes in. He is very nervous and anxious. Pacing around like a
caged tiger. Jeannette returns. I tell her how beautiful she
looks. The situation is a bit tense, but why is not completely clear
to me. I talk with Vinny as he gives me a ride home. He tells me about
how they are in the middle of a passion filled affair. Next day I get
a telephone call. Its from someplace like a bar. Music and chatter in
the background. But there's nobody talking to me after I say hello. So
I give it a try and attempt to get whoever it is to talk. Come on, I
say sweetly and softly, you can talk to me. Don't be shy, I says. Its
Vinny. He wants to lay something on me. I'm going to beat you up if
you have anything more to do with Jeannette. Now that's now exactly
how he said it during the 45 minutes we talked, but that's the
impression I got. I try to get him to say everything he wants to say
about breaking my legs and twisting my body. He wants to protect
Jeannette from me. She is a very weak woman and I am very clever. You
might try to talk her into living on one of those European sex farms
he says. That's not my philosophy, he says. I decide not to remind him
about the gonorrhea she got from him. And maybe one of those
pregnancies she had aborted. He wants to tell me about her terribly
family life and how its made her susceptible to all sorts of crazy
ideas, including mine. You are very slick and smooth, he says, and god
knows what you will try and talk her into.

And all the while I can feel the fear in my body. There is some in him
also. It must be difficult for him as he doesn't really know that much
about me, and what I might be able to do. But his honor is at
stake. He tries to control the rage and hatred he must feel. He tries
to be smooth and cool about the whole thing. He has some very astute
criticisms about me. He seems to have noticed many little things about
me in only the little time we were together. He notices all the little
social conventions and rules that I do not observe. They are very
important and necessary for him. He seems to think I didn't talk or
socialize with him while he gave me a ride home. Its not true. What I
didn't do was acknowledge all the things he wanted me to verify about
his relationship with Jeannette. He wanted me to recognize that she
was his.

Simone has just returned from a visit to Michael. She tells me that
Michael says I changed his recommendation for her so that it doesn't
make sense. I tell her its not so and have her call him back after
reading it. He wants to know why I didn't change it. Let me talk to
him, I tell her. He doesn't want to. Its not important, he says. She
reminds him that you don't have to talk to him if you don't want
to. He is a fortunate lad, to have someone protect him from the likes
of me!

Tuesday, June 2, 1981

I am a nervous wreck today. In Harvard Square I saw the man who tried
to pick Simone's pocketbook yesterday. We were on a bus coming back
from her dentist appointment. He was sitting behind us. She noticed
something. Thought it was the window flopping back and forth. It was a
hand. She was excited. Wanted to move. We went to the front of the
bus. He got out after a few minutes. Today he got out of a car by the
bank. He seemed reluctant after he saw me. Sat in the car. He was a
passenger. Got out and went to the bank, same as mine. I followed. He
got in line and I started to fill out some forms on a table. Two or
three people lined up behind him. I got in line. He finished and
left. I followed a few minutes later. I walked toward Mass Av. He was
in the car again. A passenger. I noticed the license number as they
went past. On the other side of the street he leaned out the car
window and looked back just as I was writing the license down. What to
do? He was black, about 5' 6î, 120 pounds, beard and mustache, but not
full, wearing blue sneakers with a half white circle, a tan-brown
shirt with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans with fancy white
stitching on the back pockets, license number 881-AHS,
Massachusetts. Should I call the police about it? He obviously noticed
that I recognized him. Something to think about.

Other things have been making me nervous today. The last few days with
Linda and Simone. Its difficult. I know something happened but the
right words fail me at this moment. The situation has definitely
evolved. Last time Simone was hysterical. This time I would describe
her as sharp and caustic and venomous. She has a better handle on her
aggressive behavior. But Linda, on the other hand, says she feels like
punching Simone. I suspect that Simone has also some of these
murderous thoughts. But she does not express the so directly. Linda is
starting to withdraw from the competition. I can feel it. She starts
to waiver in her determination to see me and spend time with
me. Simone has had two setbacks. Last night Stu and Michael both said
they would be moving in with other women. She got desparate from
this. Lets get married, she says to me. Nina calls about the ad for
the artstudio space in Linda's apartment. Oh Richard, she cooes, its
for you. You've been calling everyone on your list again haven't you,
she says.

Friday, June 12, 1981

I can't get this movie off my mind. Raiders of the Lost Ark. Saw it
last week. Its an adventure film. It has everything ever put into any
of the films like this, or so it seems. I have this desparate longing
to be transformed into just such a situation. A constant stream of
fantasies about wanting to be this character who overcomes every
adversity. Someone who always wins in the end, even after endless
setbacks and failures. Always winning by pluck and wits. He uses a
whip. The hero. Old fantasies about knowing how to use one of those,
and other exotic weapons. I wonder why these things sweep me away. The
movie was totally absorbing. Simone says I was yelling and clapping
and doing all sorts of things. I only recollect a little of it. She
was as much influenced by me.

A rejection letter from Bantam Books. The editor thought it was
experimental fiction. Contact a university press, she advises. Simone
always tells me not to be discouraged. Anias Nin couldn't get
published for years, she reminds me. What you write is very
interesting but to avant garde, to advanced, too experimental. When
you are 70 you will be rich and famous, she always tells me. She has
read all of Nin's work but the last book. I read a little of one last
night and liked it. Simone thinks I write much like her but without
the romanticism. We were trying to think of who had become famous for
their diary writing before they became old or dead. Can't think of
anyone.

Last Saturday was Cheyenne's 9th birthday. I tried to call during the
day and evening, and Sunday. Monday Adele answered. I want to wish C a
happy birthday. She wants to know exactly what I will say. I tell her
about the time last year. How I wished her a happy birthday. She said
she wanted to see me. I told her to arrange it with her mother. I am
not to say anything about seeing her. The rest is ok. I am surprised
she lets me do that. C is very uncomfortable and nervous. She is very
hesitant about talking. It seems I have to draw everything out of
her. I tell Adele this. What do you expect, she says, of course she's
nervous. I see you are just as insensitive as always. This makes me
feel even more right about not letting you see her. You haven't
changed a bit. You should have known she would be very nervous. But
you didn't. I can't convince her to let me see Cheyenne. She is quite
convinced of my intentions to do her harm. She has become remarkably
like the sort of person she accuses me of being. Simone listens to the
conversation. Afterwards she says it gave her a tension headache. How
can she be so mean so long after its all over, she asks. She says
there is still lots of feelings about me in her voice. I was amazed
that it went on for 20 minutes. It's the most we have talked in 7
years. Adele sets me apart as a very special person when it comes to
hurting people. And again, like she accuses me of being insensitive,
she has become the same as far as things concerning me. I mean she has
a special way of hurting me also, and she uses it still. Her voice is
very controlled, as Simone noted about mine. But one can still feel
the rage, vengence, and fear in her. She is not direct about it, but
implies that I should be sending birthday presents to C. It is what
any 9 year old would expect, she tells me. I never gave anyone
presents all the time we were together. She is still trying to
transforms me. Or so it seems. I'm not saying anything will happen if
you do, but C is a normal child who likes presents on her birthday,
she tells me. But behind it is a threat that as long as I continue
this way I won't get to see Cheyenne. Perhaps she would see something
like this as a sign that I have changed. It is very difficult to
continue the conversation in a fashion that will make her want to
continue and at the same time not offend her. I try to note exactly
every response to everything I say. She finally ends it. I don't seem
to have done so badly. What to do next? I thought about sending a
present to C. What? Then I had the idea of sending her one of my art
works. 4th Grade Picasso is what I thought of first. Then Otto's Green
Lady. It occurs to me that part of my motivation may be to influence
Adele. The sending of the art. But in a way beyond just sending
something to C. Look here, such a present would say, I'm becoming a
bit of an artist. That's a bit of a change for me from the time we
were together, don't you think? In a way she is right. I still have to
be prodded somewhat. I can't get myself to do some very obvious
things. I could have done all this over a year ago. I could have done
it years ago. What could I have possibly lost by doing it? Nothing. I
am filled with regrets and what-ifs and little fantasies of how I
might have done some things differently. But none of this helps me
with now. I have had the idea, again, of sending her a copy of my
notes. It seems a way to reveal more of myself to her in a way not
possible when we were together. I go back and forth on doing it. Could
I possibly get more behind by doing it?

I wanted to say something about loosing ground there but can never
remember if it is lose or loose. What rule can help me remember this?
All these years and such a simple thing escapes me.

Some interesting observations about the people around. I seem to be
getting a lot of heavy criticism from various quarters. Joe, Michael,
and Roberta want Simone to leave. He will never change, they all say,
in exactly the same way. She goes to them with her difficulties with
me. They say, leave him. That simple they think. They give up on
themselves just as easily. Still looking for the perfect person. We
had supper at Roberta's the other night. She cornered herself with
Simone and spilled the beans about what's going on for her. She lives
in a household with very little communication. She notices that we,
me, Simone, and Dana, are always on top of each other. We communicate
a lot. We do lots of things together. She has an economic arrangement
with her roommates. She fucks with someone who lives elsewhere. It
seems they do it once or maybe twice a week. She is still interested
in Joe but is afraid to do anything about it. She never comes to me
with her criticisms. It's the same with Joe and Michael. Simone is
very easy on them. It keeps them in the same position. Namely, with
their same old problems. She should use the insight she has with Linda
to criticize them. They would improve, like they think she has, in a
short time. One couple Simone knows have stopped seeing her since we
have been together. Jean and Andy. We were there one evening for
supper. An odd character came in and made what seemed to be a business
transaction involving drugs. I mentioned what it seemed to be to
Andy. He denied it, but Simone and I both thought he lied. She didn't
say anything about it. They have avoided us since that time. I am
noticing this more and more. It would help a lot of people if they
were criticized for some things they do. Simone says she does
this. She calls it a different style. To me it seems to be completely
indirect and a way of avoiding saying what you really think. This way
the person will not be offended. But at the same time they are not
really made aware of how others see them. This is a crucial element
missing in the social life of people. They criticize, but almost
always behind the back of the person it is intended for. This kind of
criticism will dislodge a person who is stuck. It gets things
moving. But most people are afraid to do this for fear of the person
going away. Or that they in turn will get criticized back. I know it
stops me from saying a lot of what I would like to say.

Wednesday, June 17, 1981

A dream about Otto last night. I am on FH. Again, it is not clear, am
I about to leave, or have I just arrived. Inside a small shelter, the
door is open, sitting on a chair, tying my shoes. Otto walks by. I see
him. He seems me and stops. It is very exciting for me. There is
emotional confusion. My arms go up like those of a small child running
to a parent who is missed. The grownup in me is fighting this awkward
movement. It is a combination of child and adult running, stumbling to
greet him. We make contact. My arms go around him. There is something
like a flash, a jolt, I let go. My holding him is too tight. It is
still awkward for me. I notice all these things about myself right
there in the dream. He does everything right.

Simone has had some more ideas about my writing. First, though, she
has become very positive about it. She has told me that I am like many
other writers, ahead of my time, and unrecognized, maybe not till I am
much older. She thinks I should write more extensively on one
subject. She suggested my relationship with Adele be made into a
complete chapter, all by itself. Another idea was for both of us to
write things and alternate them. Still another was to produce some
sort of theater from the things I write about.

She went to Atlanta last weekend for her friend Robin's wedding. She
found herself noticing things and commenting about them in a manner
similar to me. She would then catch herself doing this and say, oh
shit, I am becoming just like Richard. But speaking out on what she
sees is a very good thing. She noticed a number of things about Robin
and Brian that led her to believe the marriage might only last a few
years. She had a lot of experience with Southern racism. Brian, it
seems, is a racist, homophobic, and may be an alcoholic. Robin runs
the show. Brian does what he is told. I can imagine that he is
smoldering inside, but never says anything. She asks when they last
had sex. He: 2 weeks, she: 3 weeks. One wants to make it look not so
bad, and the other to make it look worse. Robin wants Simone to go on
their honeymoon. This woman needs a security blanket. She is in the
middle of all her family and still needs more.

I have been thinking of all these things to write about and suddenly
they go away. More praise from a publisher, but its not up to
contemporary literary standards, I am told again. Jack borrowed a copy
and tells me he likes it quite a lot. He will be over in a few days to
tell me still more. He admires my courage to give my writing such wide
circulation. Shit, I sit here and suddenly everything has gone
away. What's been happening the last week or so? I started to read
some of Anias Nin's autobiography. It inspired me for a day or
two. Reading more of Mary Chestnut's diary did the same. Why is it
that women writers are inspiring me the most? Maybe they write the
most straightforward and honestly. MC certainly does for someone in
her time and place. I will turn this thing off and go read some of AN.

Friday, June 19, 1981

There is a small country in Africa whose economic support is based on
the processing of small animals as food. The small animal is something
like a mouse and a kangaroo rat, but a little larger. The animals are
raised in metal pans about 2 feet by 18 inches. The sides are about
4-6 inches high. They are very efficient animals. You put some food in
with them. They eat it and get bigger. There are no waste problems as
they grow very quickly. They are then slaughtered and packed in small
cans, like those used to pack sardines. For some reason I had one of
these cans around the house. Last night I got up feeling hungry. Still
half asleep I stumbled into the kitchen and found this can. A light
was on in another room. I couldn't see too well. Even if the light had
been on I wouldn't have been able to see very well. So I am opening
the can and out pops this little critter, still very much alive, and
onto the floor. It seems this happens in the processing. They can live
for long periods of time without food. It falls on the floor and I try
to step on it. A squeak indicates only partial success, and it escapes
into some hidden recess of the kitchen. You may wonder if it was ever
found. There is nothing to worry about as it was only a dream.

Watching television. First a movie about the cavalry and Indians. The
Glory Guys. Foolish general tries to take on the Indians without the
rest of the army. A dashing major and scout contest for the charms of
a beautiful woman. Next a movie about a ranching valley in
Montana. Reminds me of the place where I grew up. Farming and ranching
people. A family and what happens to them in everyday life.

Antsy all day. Been by myself. Wandered around, did some work. Had a
date with Lauren Berman. She called and changed it to next
Tuesday. Judy called me today. She said, I missed you. It was very
chugged. I felt a lot from it. It was as though she had to push it
out. It came out slow. She has been with a new job. She is not the
director of the place she's been working the last two years. Her
boyfriend Steven, leaves in a week or so for Puerto Rico. She will go
there for a short vacation. He's going to medical school. Its a sure
four years for him. She thinks about leaving and going with him. She
wonders if I will still see her after not having contact for so
long. She has been like many people I know who drown in a
relationship. She is testing to see if I will still be here for her. I
have such a longing for her. But nothing much will come of it. She
keeps her distance. May this is part of what excites me. It would not
be so intense without the fantasies I have of her. She is in bed. On
her tummy. Her ass is up in the air a bit. Legs apart. She is covered
just from her knees down. I walk into her apartment. The doors are
open. Up the stairs. Inside the door. Into her bedroom. She is a
little sleepy. She is facing the other way. I undress and get into bed
with her. Immediately I have an erection and come into her. An orgasm
almost immediately. She is very we and relaxed. She comes at the same
time. Its always this way with her. The same exact fantasy every
time. She knows the woman, Lauren, that I met at Roberta's party. We
talked for more than half an hour today. She promises and wants to see
me soon, before leaving for PR.

Simone, Jack, and I had supper at his favorite Chinese restaurant in
Central Square last night. He borrowed a copy of my notes several days
ago. I was interested to know his opinion of them. He was surprised at
my candidness and admired it. He found both parts of the notes easy to
read, except for the handwritten quality of the FH Chronicles. Later,
I suggest he write something and give it to me to read. He will think
about it, he says, but is a bit intimidated.

It is now several days later. Enormous difficulty writing. I have been
using the excuse of wanting to use the rest of this page. I thought
something would come to me soon. I have a bad feeling about leaving a
page so empty. Also, that the subject of my writing was also left
unfinished. Nothing came to me. I've read more of AN. It seems very
intellectual and dreamy to me. But interesting, nevertheless.

Some highlights. Simone has suggested to me that Joe was inspired to
do his latest writing as a result of me. She also thinks he would
never admit it. Roberta tells me she she has started a journal. I
asked if it was as a result of reading my notes. She admitted it
influenced her to do it. Simone has told me she thinks of going to
FH. A long ways from the day she fumed and raved and wanted to tear my
FH notes to pieces! She has done another complete turnaround. This
follows close on the heels of reversing her opinion of my notes. More
such reversals are sure to follow. Jeff was here a few nights ago and
actually touched on his sexual difficulties. He stayed here for the
night. He wanted to sleep with Simone but didn't have the nerve to ask
her. Joe is regularly asking her. She was aware of Jeff's presence. It
influenced her behavior the next morning when we fucked. Jeff had to
admit to being uncomfortable, but not to me. Still it is a big jump
for him to even be here when Simone and I sleep together. Of all the
people, other than Simone, he seems to have made the most personal
progress. Carol was here that same night. She wanted to sleep with
Jeff but seems to have gotten sick instead. She was probably initially
quite nervous about asking him. Then it got hold of her and she saw it
as a way out. Perhaps the fact that Simone and I have been going
running in the evening, that is, doing something about our physical
condition, also caused something in her. She has gained still more
weight.

This page does not seem so empty now. This will satisfy Simone a
little also. She has been trying to cajole me into writing a little
bit every day. She has become the official cheerleader of these notes.

Heard an interesting story about advertising. It seems there are some
10,000 people, all over the country, in all walks of life who work for
an advertising company on a part time basis. They have the job of
introducing new advertising slogans to the public. I heard the story
in connection with the phrase, Go for it! It seems this is an
important part of a beer companies advertising plan. So they have
these people us the slogan as often as they can in their daily
activities. I notice that it has recently become a part of the
vocabulary of several people in my circle. It probably produces some
unconscious but positive influence on people.

It is early in the morning. I am still mostly asleep. Simone is beside
me and talking. An eloquent little speech about herself and
difficulties she has in her relationship with me. It is
familiar. Never quite the same, but similar. She wants to be free of
these difficulties. Simone has just come in from visiting Ken. He
wanted to know 50 reasons why you love Richard and want to be with
him. He wrote them down and made notes on the reasons. So here are
some of those reasons, straight from Simone: 1) he is a supportive
person, 2) generous with his time, 3) tries to be honest, 4) he is
creative, 5) thoughtful, 6) outspoken, 7) handsome, 8) sexy, 9)
intelligent, 10) interesting, 11) willing to take risks, 12) caring,
13) avant garde, before his time, 14) generous with his money, 15)
talented, 16) lovable, 17) industrious and hard working, 18)
progressive, 19) good sense of humor, 20) willing to try, 21)
humanitarian, 22) loves Simone, 23) she loves him, 24) innovative, 24)
helps me out, 25) inspiration to others, 26)

Saturday, June 27, 1981

I have just had a fantasy from which an interesting insight has come.
It was with Beth, a friend of Simone's. She has been having physical
and emotional difficulties lately. Speaking to Simone the other day,
on the phone, she began to shout and scream that Simone should get out
of her relationship with me, that I am nothing but a male chauvinist
pig. A few moments ago I had a fantasy of the two of us being at a
restaurant. A neutral situation. Simone and Phil were also
there. Suddenly Beth takes a knife and attacks me. I defend against
it. Phil then comes to help her. I defend myself further. It was at
this moment I realized something. I have this sort of fantasy often
with different people. It is often after I have had some sort of bad
experience with them, or have heard indirectly that they have a
negative opinion of me. The fantasy starts with myself and the other
person in some sort of neutral situation. We begin to communicate or
do something. The other person, in the fantasy, becomes extremely
hostile, most often physically attacking me. My reaction, as one would
expect, is to defend myself. It is always very clear that I am
justified in doing so. It seems as though I use such a fantasy to make
the relationship between me and the other person more black and
white. They attack me in some way, proving that they are the evil or
bad one in the situation. I am better since my only reaction is to
defend myself. I feel a sort of moral indignation come over me when
one of these happens. Everyone can see that the other person is crazy
and there is nothing to what they have said about me. Their criticisms
are only the rantings of a crazy lunatic, not to be taken
seriously. It seems to be a way of deflecting criticism. Its a way of
making anything they have said about me seem wrong. A few minutes
later I have one in the same vein about Michael.

It took a phone call from a foreign land to wake me up this
morning. It was Sten calling from Germany. He has been leading the
Dieter Duhm group. He wants to know when the next edition of AA is
coming out. He wants to publish something about what he is doing. He
asks about the situation here. It seems the group, or Sten, is
thinking about moving to the US. He mentions they, or him, are anxious
about war and the problems with having enough oil. He has been leading
SD's and trance, and also taking people back to former lives. He may
return about the end of July.

Some hard criticism from Edwin yesterday. It started out with his
bringing up something from last November. It seems he wanted me to
participate in this group that was doing something similar to SD. It
was a form of psychodrama. It was marginally successful. The leader
was having problems with his marriage. Edwin would invite me every
week. Very few people attended. It eventually failed. He says, I
wanted you to help me. You failed, he says. Edwin thinks of me as a
very talented person, he is envious of my ability to do things, but
sees, in me, some blocks and difficulties that prevent me from making
progress towards creating a FH like environment. The first part, the
bringing up of this dead past, I can laugh at. He has had plenty of
opportunity to participate in what we try to do here. Mostly he
decides no to. Right now he is on his way to Essex to visit the
Rajneesh group. He has been going there every weekend. He even has a
pair of orange pants. He has written a will and named Rajneesh as a
benefactor. But he meant to leave yesterday afternoon. He is still
here. He wants me to participate in something he has swallowed and
resents it when I don't. His resistance may be partly because I
pointed out how he ignores many opportunities to do things with us. He
says Poona may be closing down. Rajneesh is supposedly in New Jersey,
and may be coming to visit the Essex Center. He will go there for a
week to help get the place ready. He does not like the way women seem
to be in charge of things there. I tell him its probably best since
women do not have so much experience being authoritarian. This will
help keep things from getting tense. He thinks this place is more
relaxed than the other centers. It could be because of new-ness. But I
have gotten off the track. His criticism of me is something like what
Simone said recently. She said, you want to be like Otto, but you
can't. You don't work on yourself like he does. You always try to push
aside what other people notice about you. She said this about a week
ago. But that on top of Edwin's view, made me depressed most of
yesterday.

I have just spoken to my mother. The pictures have not been found. She
will go go the shipping office tomorrow to ask again about them. I try
to make her feel guilty so she will be sure to do it. She feels bad
about it anyway. They are pictures that I have no copies of. A letter
from Cheyenne seems to have some mention of me. She does not remember
exactly what. Perhaps Cheyenne saying that she spoke to me around her
birthday. It seems as though I am on her mind.

Something I noticed about Simone's eloquent little speech of several
days ago. I was thinking of how a slave might say, my problem is that
I am not a good slave. The solution to my problems is to be a perfect
slave. Simone always seems to be criticizing herself for the same sort
of situation. She is a slave to her ideas about finding a perfect man,
becoming perfectly committed, having a perfect marriage, having a
perfect couple relationship. But never questioning these things. That
like slavery, these things might also be wrong. They just may be
rotten things for a person to try and do. But its a hard thing for a
person to see when they are completely wrapped up in their slavery. I
have seen this in myself with all my unrealistic expectations of
others, but not the same expectations of myself. Its in my impatience
with Simone and Linda over their jealousy difficulties. Someone is
always catching me being intellectual or ideological. I am trying to
weed those things out. How to separate the weeds from the grass?

Simone tells me Gene Hall was inspired by the Social Art Works, and
the visits he made to our house, and wrote some music about it. Last
night I went to hear him play at the Cambridge Food Coop Coffee
House. A small crowd. Daniel and I went to see a mindless movie,
Cannonball Run, in Boston. It was strange to be on the subway/bus. An
invasion of punkrockers. Everyone was so still and quiet. They all
looked straight ahead. An alienating feeling. I haven't been out on a
social night like that in a long time. I felt completely disconnected
from everyone and wanted to run home to the womb. Jeff was also
there. He and Gene came home with us for a visit.

Tuesday, June 30, 1981

Simone has written me another poem. She does this every now and then
when her emotional energy rises to a peak. She takes it and crafts a
little statement, poetic really, about the state of things for her. It
is addressed to Richard:

This morning early
   as I lay next to you
Outside there was a silent
   white dawn
and yet it was still night.
   Last nit I was singing as I
drove home
   I seemed to know
      What the moon knows
And this morning
   all my sap was mounting
      to that moon that 
         you gave me.
That by now had dissolved
   to make way for the
      sun that had risen.
The low music. There was no
   twig of me not
trembling with fear and joy
   I am a seed again
I am microbe in the swampy
   waters under the
      boardwalk in the island
And you broke my skin to carve
   I love you
in the deep swampy fears
   surrounding my
      heart

The poem is dated June 19, 1981. I don't remember when, but in the
last 3 weeks or so, she said something about how she often felt I
would give her the moon. So one day I did. Its hers now. She often
tells people about this. And another time, last summer, we were on
Plum Island. There is a boardwalk that wanders through swamp, low
hills, sand dunes, grass, etc. At one place a small river or stream
passes under the walk. The water was not moving, or so it seemed. But
crisscrossing it in random directions were these lines. We discovered
they were made by some small animal. One could take a stick and write
in the film covering everything.

I spoke to my mother the other day. About a package with some pictures
she was to send me. It seems they have been lost by the delivery
service. She has sent me things over the years, presents and so
forth. Nothing has ever arrived. Somehow she manages to fuck
up. Things are either badly wrapped or wrongly addressed. I gave her
very precise instructions before sending the pictures. Something went
wrong anyway. I have tried to make her feel guilty about it so she
will try to find them. They are pictures from the last 10 years or
so. Some of me, Adele, and Cheyenne. Carl has talked to her about what
I wrote of my stepfather. Carl did not believe I had such feelings
about him. My mother said how there was such poor communication in our
family when we were growing up. And and indirect comment about how
difficult it was for him, my stepfather, to like me, or do things with
me, when he liked such different things. I don't remember anything
like this ever being directly expressed. I don't even remember me
saying I didn't like the things he wanted to do. I only remember the
resistance I had to doing many things. Fishing was one of
them. Somehow it never did interest me. Completely boring. But he
would do it for hours. I liked the hunting where we were almost always
moving. But the times when I had to stay back in the camp were no
fun. Long rides in the farm truck were interesting for me. Carl has
not sent copies of it to his brother, sister, or mother. I have told
my mother to tell him to do this. Sometimes I feel that the most real
communication in the family is now taking place. And I feel bad that
it did not happen when we were children. It shows me how my present
difficulties go back to those times.

Simone has revealed herself to me in the last few days. Not that she
doesn't do this often. But this time it seems very different. She has
told me about some of her sexual fantasies, something she hasn't told
anyone else. It seems she likes to imagine very heavy people on her
when we fuck. And that she likes to imagine weighing them and each
time they get heavier. Its something like that. Nothing special. But
for her it is a big step to say that this is what goes on inside
her. Saturday night we went to a dinner party at Constance's
house. She is Michael's present girlfriend. He was very anxious about
our coming and making a scene. Nothing happened. Simone was very
nervous and noticed many things. She was a little hyper. She noticed
how Michael was wearing clothes that she had bought him. Later that
night she broke down and told me more new things about herself. How
she had faked a pregnancy for 5 months when she was with a man named
Phil. Suddenly I can't even remember the other thing. She was worried
that I would leave her if she told me. Now I remember. We went to see
our therapist the other day. One thing talked about was her
fainting. He wants here to see the resident doctor. I have maintained
from the beginning that her fainting was very directly related to her
emotional state. Whenever there is a lot of stress she faints
more. What she revealed was a history of faking fainting. It started
with Skip. She would do it to get his attention. It happened with
Michael. She would pretend to faint. She would even fall down stairs
and stay there will someone came to help her. There were a lot of
incidents related, but all with the same pattern. She would fake
fainting to get attention. The next day she had the biggest shit in a
long time. She has been shitting every day since then.

Monday, July 6, 1981

Another day with lots of impressions and events of emotional
significance, but no ability to form them into a coherent picture. I
ask myself, is it the swirling about it causes in me or is it so
chaotic that words haven't enough resolution to describe what goes on?
I try to toss a coin to decide what it is. The coin keeps coming down
on the side of chaos inside me and not the events. Just the writing of
this causes the random tides of chance to fall into a pattern. But how
to describe it?

We left late Friday afternoon to visit Simone's parents in New
Haven. It gets more and more familiar. Strange combinations of
food. Daniel laughs at his father. Simone talks to her mother about
odd things. I read and watch television. Sometimes doing things with
Daniel and his computer. But mostly withdrawn from the situation. What
can I do with this, I keep asking myself. A family that is kept
together only by the strength of the institutions around them and not
wanting to get into something even stranger. Daniel very withdrawn and
spending most of his time with the computer. He has asked indirectly
about coming to live with us or stay for more time. Simone gets into a
crazy argument with her stepfather about some furniture and will Dana
take it away from him. She is equally disturbed retelling the story
some number of times again that day. We give her aunt a ride from her
place to the parents place. We visit Loris. She is now 7 months
pregnant. She was three months pregnant when married. We went to the
wedding. Anyway, we go to visit her in a new apartment. She has the
look of someone who cries a lot. Its hormones, she says. Maybe, but
she has plenty to cry about. She is alone most of the day. They live
in a three family apartment. Her mother and father are dead. She has
one brother. Tony, her husband is younger, works as a cook
downtown. She wants Simone to move to New Haven and be with her. She
does not seem like the sort who will do well when she actually has to
take care of another human being. No experience, no help, no emotional
support. We invite her to visit, but what she really needs is 24 hour
a day support. It does not seem as though she will try to get what she
really needs, but at the same time indirectly expressing it to Simone,
by wanting her to be there.

Her face reminds me somewhat of Adele. And the situation. But I tried
to be with her as much as possible, or have lots of people be with
us. It was a difference in degree only. Adele saw it more, or so I
think, as being related to our not being really married. It would have
made a difference only for a little longer. The same difficulties
would have come up.

Thursday, July 9, 1981

Dear Wencke: I received your letter about the middle of June. There
were two problems with it, 1) the address was not quite right, always
address things to me in exactly this manner:

Richard Gardner
Box 134 Harvard Square
Cambridge MA 02238
USA

2) the letter did not have enough postage, so it was sent by
seamail. Otherwise, I will do all the things you want. First I will
need information about your performance work, descriptions, press
clippings, pictures, slides, and, if possible, a short 8mm film, with
sound, 5-10 minutes of some of your performance work. I would have
said videotape, but there is not enough of the right sort of equipment
in this country to convert video tapes to the American system. 8mm
film is more universal. Almost everyone has a projector. I will even
pay for making copies of the film. I will pay for copies of other
stuff you send, and the mailing of it to my contacts. There is
something I want to do before next Spring. Is it possible to have
someone come here for 6 weeks, starting September? I will pay the
plane fare, room and board, while they are here. Here is who I would
like to come: Bea, Katarina, or Kessey, in that order, with Bea being
my first choice. If this is possible then you, or Bernd, can call me
collect about it. My number is 617-667-6615. I will arrange some
things for whoever comes. Please give this information to Virginia:
Joe Schachter's address is 89 Inman Street, Cambridge MA 02139, his
telephone is 617-876-9011.

Something about other people here: David visited me shortly after
leaving FH. He stayed for a few weeks, and then disappeared. Duncan is
still living in the area, but with his mother. Edwin, who visited FH
for two months, lives upstairs from me. Bill Zwicker still lives in
the area but seldom has any contact with me. Paul Trapp still lives
around here but I haven't seen him for a year. I am living with two
other people, a man and a woman. I have a couple relationship with the
woman. And also with another woman who does not lives here. The four
of us have a lot of contact with emotional
development/psychology,groups. We are always planning and organizing
events. It is not easy. Someone from FH would help us a lot. I have
sent some things for you, Renate Mau, Virginia, and other, in a
package for Scholomo. I have sent it to an address in Vienna. For you
there is some information about performance activities and places,
also an address list of contacts developed over the last four years by
Brooke, Otmar, Virginia, and me. I have also done some writing about
myself and what goes on for me everyday. Some think it will make a
good book. I am trying to find a publisher. I have sent a copy of some
of it. It is in the stuff for Scholomo.

Tell Otto I think about, dream about him often. And Claudia also. Once
I dreamed that everyone on FH was trying prayer as a way to develop
themselves. It must have something to do with my having been a priest
once.

Write to me soon about all these things. You can call me and I will
pay for the telephone.

Love, Richard

Sunday, July 12, 1981

My aunt Rosemary called me the other day. It happened like this: I
sent a postcard to my grandparents after calling them and finding
their telephone disconnected. They had all their mail forwarded to
Rosemary. She called me after getting the card. She just wanted to
tell me they were ok and galavanting around the country, mostly the
East coast. My father called her today also. He wanted to know where
they were. She calls him a double-dipper. He is retired on a pension
and also works another job. Its something with delivery of
packages. His son is 23 and resembles Warren Beatty. He doesn't play
chess anymore. She likes my uncle Teddy better than my father or his
son. Her husband is thinking of going into some sort of computer
business for himself. She says maybe he can call me for advice. I tell
her that I'm not the best source of information on starting a
business. It barely works. I use it for other things, like financing
the art show. But it does give me some independence. She is, or will
be, 40 this year. I did not realize there was so little difference in
our ages. I remember waking up at night and seeing her without
clothes, at the doorway of her room. The same with my aunt Jean. I
remember these incidents and how my first sexual feelings were stirred
up. Or at least the first ones in my memory. Another time I played a
game of measuring parts of her body. We wrestled with each other. The
feeling was completely different for me. Completely different from
wrestling with boys. I was thinking about this difference today. About
how it feels when I touch Otto. It is not at all sexual. It is as
though some part of the tension in my body lets go. There is almost an
urge to cry. I can get something like this with Claudia, but not as
strong. With her there is something like a sexual shock. It is almost
electric. It created a lot of sexual tension in me. She came up behind
me once, put her leg between mine, and instantly aroused me. I did not
know who it was till I turned around. Other people had done this to me
but never with the same dramatic results. Anyway, Rosemary caused that
same sort of shock, as up to that point I'd only contact with other
boys. She has given up working as a Redskinnette. These are the
cheerleaders for the Washington Redskins football team. She did it for
many years. Now she just works for the Department of Agriculture. I
told her about the art show and my writing. I've sent her a few
pages. She must write or call me if she wants to read more.

Yesterday Simone, Jeff, and I went to Michael's 30th birthday
party. It was at a pond in Concord where people can swim nude. A small
beach area. Lots of woods. Only two other adults, and four children
were there. It must have been disappointing for him as he sent out
many announcements. One of the people bought his old car. The other
was someone he lived with 4 years ago. He thought I would not like his
recent attempt at writing. It was a well constructed combination of
poetry and prose about how he poses. How he is not really like the
impression/image he tries to project. It was very good, shows lots of
insight, of a theoretical nature. He didn't think I would like it. He
has a lot of fantasies about me. He thought I would act out or say
disruptive things at the recent Constance party. He thought I left
Roberta's party as soon as I saw that he and Constance were there. He
seems like a man whose theoretical and practical sides are completely
at odds with each other. On the one hand he wants Simone to leave me
as I am not the 'right' one for her. I am not capable of total
love. But he is going to move in with someone he is not in love
with. This contrasts with his obvious love for Simone. He constantly
fights against it. His inner self is always trying to do something
with her. His home-grown fears paralyze him in the same instant. And
then he calls me a hopeless idealist. Says that 'it' will never
work. But to have such opinions only shows that he is thinking more
about it. And then he is faced with the reality of nothing happening
when he is with Simone. At least nothing from me to stop anything he
might want to do. They went off into the woods to do some things. He
was most likely afraid I might show up and so did not go all the
way. A few days ago he and Simone were fooling around on my
bed. Again, he did not go all the way. On the other hand it is farther
than he has ever gone. He survived it. His anxieties about me suddenly
showing up did not materialize. It seems that he makes a little
progress.

Simone, on the other hand, is another story. It does not seem possible
to build an instrument capable of measuring the small amount of
progress she has made in this area. Michael, Jeff, and Stu, have all
made some progress in the last year. They will talk to me on the
phone, have visited, do things with Simone and I, and have even let us
know something about how they feel about it. But not Simone. She is
like a perfectly constructed device, designed to hold the same
position, regardless of external events. Nancy has been criticizing
her again. Pointing out how she does not want me to leave her, but she
wants to be in a position to leave me if the situation with Michael,
or anyone else, improves enough. And she would do it. But she doesn't
talk about it. She has refused any conversation about Linda. This
morning I related a dream with her, me, and LInda. It took place in
the great court at MIT. We were all naked. It was raining. We would
run around the sidewalks on the outside of the court. Simone told me
about a newspaper in Italy that was about all the things going on in
Cambridge. That's all I remember. But I noticed the way it changed her
breathing and speech. She started to breath faster, spoke in short,
sharp replies, almost angry grunts, to each part of the dream, as I
related it to her. She got noticeably stiffer. She would not talk
about any part of it. Another dream about someone from FH being
here. We moved the piano from the office to the apartment. The rest
escapes me.

Fights with Linda and Simone in the last week about how I am a sexual
libertine. Linda accuses me of only wanting her back for sex. That's
all you think about, she tells me. And Simone, always one to stomp on
me for wanting to fuck every woman I can get my hands on. But in fact
the situation in completely reversed. In the more than a year I've
known both of them, they have had half a dozen or so one night stands
each. This not counting other attempts. My own sexual experience has
been limited to just the two of them. I have not been able to get
anyone else. Just last week I failed twice. Lauren has rejected me for
being too direct. She likes to take things slower. Lisa has turned me
down because I have to much baggage. She wants someone who can be
available to her 2 or 3 nights a week, when she wants them. My baggage
seems to be that this is not possible for me. She has settled for a
number of occasional, but superficial relationships that will provide
her with needed sexual satisfaction. She believes that jealousy is a
perfectly natural thing, that it isn't something you can overcome. In
her situation, like that of most people, it won't be. Perhaps I am
just being in a sour grapes mood here. So many people have this
idea. That jealousy is a perfectly normal part of life. I often have
the urge to challenge them about other perfectly natural parts of
life, like being ashamed of ones body, even though nobody is born this
way. We are all trained to be. But it seems perfectly natural. Nobody
wants to be a slave, but for centuries, children and women were the
personal property of their father and husband. For centuries, people
have been the slaves of masters. These were all recognized as
perfectly natural at one time. Women not voting or owning
property. Women not having equal pay or other equal rights. All
perfectly natural. It is perfectly natural for everyone to find the
one perfect person in the world for them. But nobody ever
does. Everyone searches for the perfect one. The one capable of giving
perfect love, but always to an imperfect person, the searcher. So
everyone recognizes that they are not perfect, but continue, in spite
of this, to find that one perfect person. But it is always doomed to
failure. Without the searcher being perfect, they will never be able
to make a perfect search. Always they will make mistakes about
someone, thinking that person is the perfect one. In time the
imperfections will surface. But time has been wasted, and the search
must go on. There is nothing more important in life than this
search. What can other things mean without perfect love? No, one must
carefully pick onesway through all the dangerous characters, misfits,
imperfect possibilities, mistakes, and others who couldn't possibly be
the one. So much for ranting about being rejected.

Judy called me the other day. Back from her trip to Puerto Rico with
Steven. She had to work the next day. It was lonely for her to come
back to an empty apartment. He will be there for medical school. I
find myself longing for her, but hold this back. Mostly I talk about
the events of the last two weeks, about me, Simone, Linda, Michael,
and others. More fantasies about her. She always tells me of wanting
to spend time with me but seldom does. I tell her about Lauren. She
thought of Lauren as being one who would go slower, but did not say
anything of this to me as it seemed to her that maybe my approach was
right.

A dream about being a spy or someone in prison. I am suddenly
overwhelmed with a feeling of death. It paralizes me. I feel weak,
afraid, panic, breaking down. But it goes away. I am wearing a
bathrobe. The feeling nearly stops my heart and chokes me to death,
but softly.

A lot of thinking about the situation with Simone. It turns into
confrontative fantasies. To have things change. To do something about
her constant sabotage of efforts to make a group.

Wednesday, July 15, 1981

There is this thing I have noticed about myself. It comes after I have
done a lot of criticizing of someone. I notice myself getting very
engrossed and thoughtful in creating criticism of another. Then this
other thing begins to jump up all by itself. Namely, a tendency for
me, or something inside me, to find the same faults in
myself. Whatever it is that I can precisely point out in another, I
begin to become aware of in myself. Most important for me personally,
has been the difficulty with Adele and Cheyenne. For some time I have
resisted doing some simple things that might have significantly
contributed to improving the situation. But always I just think about
doing something. I build up a little momentum to doing something, only
to find something more immediately important in the way. I've been
going to send her those flowers for over a year. Since I got back from
FH.

Conversation overheard one evening while having dessert at Rosie's:
Hello, I haven't seen you for a long time (waitress from behind the
counter). I'm married (woman customer, dressed in camaflouged army
pants, makeup like a punk rocker). How is it, the waitressasks. I'm
getting a divorce. Its awful. Where are you living? I'm going to have
a baby. Who's the father? I'm moving to LA or maybe New York. And so
on and so on.

Some things noticed about myself: cold sore on my lip, a sign of
tension from something. Another sign is that I am slightly
constipated. I can feel some of the blood vessels around my asshole
are starting to swell. More tension. My left eye has been
watering. Lately there is a cold feeling when I blink. All this from
the recent tensions of living. I have noticed things building up for a
week or so.

Lotti called the other day. She did not want to speak with me. She
felt guilty about not contacting me about work. She has been doing
some writing and wants to read it for some people, but not me. She at
first wanted someone else to read it because she was too nervous. I
seem to be most everyone's scapegoat and projection figure of late.

Judy called for the first time since returning from her trip to Puerto
Rico. I have noticed that she is keeping her distance again. She pulls
back not just with what she says but also in the tone of her
voice. The waters are getting rough around here. It tends to scare
most people off to some degree. This is quite a change from several
weeks ago when she admitted a fear of being rejected by me and wanted
me to reassure her that it wouldn't happen. Its an old pattern with
her, of wanting to have contact with me when she's lonely, and
becoming distant when she feels better. Its typical of most people I
know.

Friday, July 24, 1981

Simone and I are walking to Central Square, down Prospect Street. We
are opposite the phone company. Its Don Saklad. I am carrying
something and use it to hide my face from him. The people inside the
phone company see me do this and break out laughing. They have
probably just been given a hard time by Don. He used to be after the
library. Now its the phone companies turn.

Linda stayed with me the last two nights. Wednesday and
Thursday. Wednesday night she found one of Simone's bras between the
sheets. Thursday night I found a pair of her underwear. Last week she
called me and gave me a story about her grandfather being very ill. It
was not true. Only another one of the stories she makes up to get her
way. The unexplainable things she will do to keep her in ones
thoughts!

Message left on my answering machine at the office: I just want to
blow you Richard. I can't explain how bad. I've called you before and
you gave me a bar to go to, but it still don't take the anxiety I have
for your penis. Please think this over. I'll promise you the best blow
job you ever had.

He sounded very lost, lonely, forlorn, sad. Someone said it sounded
like a woman and very upset. He's called me before. I don't know who
it is. Probably some sorry fat guy who is completely afraid of
women. He speaks very slowly. I have some fantasies about him coming
to the office with a fun and trying to force himself on me. Then I
fight back and disarm him, but not before being wounded.

Came across this article written about me, and printed in the
March/April edition of Whole Life Times:

Richard Gardner is a one-man, walking-talking network. He can spout
off zip codes and phone numbers of organizations all over the country
ñ and if memory should fail, he turns to his handy computer
terminal. He has collected what might well be the most extensive
listing of alternative groups available ñ an estimated 10,000
communities, health groups, publications, etc. (not to mention
considerable 'mainstream' listings).

Born on a farm in Wyoming, he describes himself as having 'grown up
resisting pressures to be conventional.' He was an early convicted
(and suspended-sentenced) draft resistor, and was also excommunicated
from the Mormon church.

In seeking alternatives to what he terms the 'hypocritical culture,'
he began carrying postcards in his shirt pocket, so as to fire off
requests for information to any group he might hear of. Brochures pour
into his Cambridge office, where he also runs a mailing list
maintenance business.

He has published his information in Alternative America (1977,
currently being revised) and in Resources, a periodic newsletter. Soon
his files and source documents will be available to drop-in visitors.

Richard is willing to answer any first request for information at no
charge. He once got a call from a man in Kansas who had a dispute with
his landlord; Richard was able to give him the name of a local tenant
pressure group.

He sells mailing lists on labels, in numerous subject categories, for
2 to 5 cents per address.

Contact Richard Gardner at Resources, #4 Hampshire Place, Cambridge,
MA 02138. (617) 876-2789.

I would say something about how embarrassing this whole thing reads to
me but I am never able to remember exactly how the word is spelled.

Simone drove Debbie home after her dream group. She called me at the
office, saying, I'm going to stay here at Debbie's for awhile, and
then I'll come home. It seemed a little odd at the time. Later she
confessed that she had been home all the time. She was talking to
Linda on the phone and didn't want me to interrupt them. She described
it as a very nice talk.

From out of my past, ten years or more, comes Stuart Silverstone. He
was in the architecture department at MIT. He had some connection with
Warren Brodey and others. Somehow he got connected with the AAO when
Otmar and Brooke were here in 1977. I don't remember seeing him at the
time, but he was around. He and his wife Diane, and their daughter,
Rebecca, eventually went to FH for three months. She had their second
child there. I remember how she was criticized for being so lazy and
acting like a queen. And finally they left because of difficulties
living in the group and giving up their couple relationship. They have
ended it now. I don't know for how long. Stuart lives with the Finders
group in Washington.

Sunday, July 26, 1981

I have just returned from the office. Apparently everyone here thought
I would be there for some time. It was a surprise to them. Dana and
Simone were together in Dana's bed. It was a familiar position. She
was ministering to his organ. I go to my room after asking, What's
going on here? A few minutes later Simone comes down and tells me Dana
got self-conscious so they stopped, always putting it in terms of his
being the one to end things. But from her nervous behavior it is
obvious that it is the same for her. I tell her how she acts like
someone who has to have my permission to do this. She protests and
makes it more obvious. Dana has not been as withdrawn from her in
recent days. The other night they were in bed for a short while. My
impression is that things are going better for him in his other
relationships. This makes it possible for him to try more things with
Simone. Polly has been spending a lot of time here. The other day she
suggested that she and I should have an affair and break things open
around here, or something to that effect. The next day, when Linda was
here for breakfast, we all talked about the problems of following ones
feelings and best interests in relationships. How does one keep a good
relationship, and is it possible, or necessary, to threaten or
endanger it with another, or others. Clearly it was not decided. She
is a very traditional person whose own attempts to perpetuate
tradition, marriage, family, monogamy, have failed. But she is well
trained. This is Dana's great fear. As I see it, she is bidding her
time, trying what she can to get him to come around, but never really
coming out directly with what she wants, or says she wants. She
probably also enjoys the benefits of not being tied down in the
traditional, normal (as Simone might say), way. She has even told
about an old boyfriend who has resumed contact with her. It may be a
ploy to be able to gently ease into a new relationship with him, and
Dana at the same time. She is no doubt at least thinking about it. She
has had the nerve to talk about it at some length with Dana. When she
asks me about what's going on around here I have to defer to Dana as
he is nervous about how much she knows. He's another one who likes to
ease into informing people about what he's up to.

We have discovered what happened to Carol. She vanished two days
ago. She was in a motel with a black man she met recently. She seems
able to have relationships with this type but not others. It is partly
their very loose relaxed manner. And the other part is to rebel
against her parents. They would not approve of even Simone and I
sleeping together. It is her way of getting even with them. They went
to an all night sex club in Brockton. Why all the way down there,
Simone asks. Probably so she wouldn't meet anyone she knows. But they
arrived too late, and so the motel. Now she has some sort of
infection, but will go to the doctor tomorrow. But the best part is
yet to come. While talking about this new sexual binge of hers they
begin to talk about men being distant, unable to commit themselves to
a person, how they are afraid to be intimate. But Carol and Simone,
and most others I know, are just as likely, if they don't have anyone,
will go out to a bar to find someone to fuck them. And they won't have
the slightest interest in closeness, commitment, or intimacy. They
just want to fuck ñ exactly the crimes Simone, and other women, are
always accusing me of. There is no end to this amusement. Simone was
doing this with some half-dozen men when I first met her. At the
beginning some number of one-nighters came and went, so to speak. It
really isn't any different for women. They are just more likely to
resist that part of themselves. While men will be more likely to
resist their emotional selves. I find myself often jealous of Simone's
ability to get men to fuck with her. There are certainly lots of more
women I would fuck with. But it is difficult to even tell if they are
interested. They hide this part of themselves as well as men hide
their emotions. But none of this does me any good. Complaining about
my inability to attract women to living with us. I don't know that it
would be best to be straightforward about this. Linda has told me how
being straightforward with a man seems to scare them off. So she is
learning to consciously play the traditional female role. Why is it
that I get resentful and carried away with this sort of explanation?
Do I do it for the reader? No, it doesn't matter, because I find
myself doing it for nobody but myself. I've done it lots of times, and
I'm always the only one listening. This must be how people can drive
themselves crazy. Convince yourself of something, keep doing it, and
soon it will be so deeply ingrained, that no matter what you do, or
think, it is ok. I catch myself giving this little lectures inside
this head. They are all meant to explain and justify the doing of
something. Then I sometimes notice the little voice inside me that
pops up and says its wrong. So I have some number of fights to push
this guy down and out of sight. But since he is in my minds eye it is
literally impossible to really do away with him. Even doing away with
him would just be pretending. Which is to say that he is really still
there. And he pops up at the darndest times. No telling how he will
come out. Sometimes he has completely disguised himself. It seems I am
just feeling nervous or anxious or that some vague thing is
wrong. Nope! Its only him again. It is also called the conscience. It
makes me feel guilty. I don't want to feel guilty. A biologist has
said that telling the truth seems to be at the deepest part of our
biological selves. It seems that a lie will set off a whole set of
internal reactions that can superficially controlled, like not
blushing or blinking, but these deep internal things cause the release
and creation of a whole set of biological reactions. It is as though
the conscience has a biological organ somewhere in the brain. It makes
sense. A lie can never be good between people in the long run. It does
not seem that there could be any evolutionary advantage to be able to
successfully tell a lie. And why am I suddenly talking about telling
lies? Because I lie. Not in the sense of directly telling someone a
wrong thing, but more in the sense of not telling the truth. Often I
feel guilty for not saying something to someone when it needs to be
said. I will often notice that I have some impression or feeling about
a person, and it is immediately followed by tension. Tension from two
sources. The first is anxiety about saying the thing. The second is
from holding back the saying.

July 31, 1981

Dear Wencke:

I don't know exactly what happened on the phone the other day. We were
disconnected somehow. I have received a second letter from you about
your visit here next March. Yes, I will help you plan it. I will, from
time to time, send you information about things as I arrange them. Two
packages arrived here. One of them was broken open. Some of the
brochures must have fallen out. Such things should be more securely
wrapped, with fiberglass tape, to arrive here safely. Anyway, I will
use them to introduce you to people. Also, it will be necessary to
rewrite the article somewhat, if you want me to use it for
publicity. Is that your intention? I will only make simple spelling
and grammar corrections. Let me know if I should use this for
publicity. Stewart Silverstone, who Otmar and Brooke will remember,
visited me a few days ago. He lives in a group in the Washington DC
area. He says that last summer a rumor about Otmar taking all the
money and going to Argentina, cropped up in Washington. He has also
told me that someone connected a Reichian/orgonomic publication is
looking for someone to write about their experiences on FH. I will
tell you more when I get the details. He still seems positive about
the time he lives on FH and will most likely help arrange some things
in the Washington area. He no longer lives with his wife Diane, but
sees his children from time to time. Sten called his friend Connie
here a few days ago and said he would be returning about August 17. It
seems he has been leading Dieter Duhm's group and wants to move them
to the United States. Some place in Colorado, was mentioned. He is
always worried about a war breaking out, and running out of oil. He
has made contact with many groups while travelling around the US. I
will try to organize things with him. He will be going around the US
for a couple of months on his return. Last night I dreamed about FH
again. Two times, Bea was here in the first, and Toni and Theo and
Lutzi, in the 2nd. As for someone coming here in September, I would
like this very much, and a number of other people are interested
also. They have talked with both me and Sten and read many of the
things from FH. I have asked Sten to help lead some things but he has
been reluctant. Maybe when he gets back from leading Dieter's
group. But I would still like someone else, like Bea, whose travel and
living expenses I would pay, and perhaps more. Can you send me an
up-to-date list of all the groups? As for making an 8mm film of your
performances, it can be done this way: make a video tape of several
things you want to show. Play the tape on a television. Mount the
camera directly in front of the TV and shoot the film from that, or
project it onto a screen and shoot that. The only other alternative
available now is to send a European video recorder and TV. Then the
only thing to do would be to change the voltage from 220 to 110. Tell
Otto I miss him and think of him often.

Richard

P.S. ñ send me some pictures suitable for printing on a postcard, like
the enclosed, which I can use for a mass mailing for events, such as
workshops, speaking engagements, marathons, etc.

Jeanette came by to visit me last night. I had not heard from her
since the incident with Vinnie. She did not know exactly how far he
went with me. She says he is nothing to worry about. Maybe not, but I
don't want to have anything to do with someone who has to live by with
making even threats. It is not possible to say what he might to if
taken over by jealousy. I have told her to talk with him about it and
call me in a day or two. She is not satisfied with the relationship,
but it is the best she has had. They both talk about how constricting
it feels but are also unable to break out of the tight quarters they
have put themselves in. And when they do the circumstances of the
infidelity never get talked about. She wants to visit a friend in
California the last two weeks of August and has not told him. It seems
as though she tells me more about herself than any of the people she
has been with. But she obviously likes the idea of being able to break
out of this trap of limiting oneself to just one person. I think,
though, that she has mostly come around because she wants something
from me. I had the impression that she was struggling somewhat to
gloss over the last time we saw each other. It was very embarrassing
for her. Vinnie was like a caged tiger. I remember especially how he
did not like my saying how beautiful she looked that evening. I
refrained from doing so again last evening. Who knows, she may have
reported it to him. I think she is another of one those, like Dana and
Simone, who idolize me. They don't want to admit it, but they are
trapped by some quality they feel I possess, and that they lack. I am
not sure just what it is but have been aware of this feeling in other
people for some time. Its not so bad for me either. Its a good thing
to feel so well liked in that way. That people look up to me and
consider me to be somewhat of a model. It motivates me to do more
about myself. She wants a job. Some money. I have told her to call
back in a couple of days. We will talk about it then.

Michael was also over last night. He appeared as soon as Simone left
for the laundry. It seems Constance was waiting in the car with him
and did not want to face Simone. He stood only in our front hall, gave
him something, talked with Simone for a moment, as she had just
called, and left. He said little to me. I walked to the front of the
house to say hello. Simone has seen him today. It seems that he is
again mostly monogamous, but, from time to time, he may have to prove
his sexuality, and act out some negative qualities in himself, and
fuck with someone other than Constance. Simone, for instance, he gives
as an example. It seems he will give Constance an opportunity to get
over her jealousy as he expects to be able to invite Simone over when
he wants to. I have told Simone she should invite him to come over
here. This will give me a chance to deal with my jealousy. I do so
need such an opportunity! That Constance is such a lucky person. He
has been trying to push the cats onto Simone. He tells her to just
take them and ignore me. He is trying what he can to drive a wedge
between us. This guy is no fool when it comes to manipulating. She is
starting to use the pressure from him as additional arguments against
my not wanting them here. I have thought of what I might do to make
things v-e-r-y uncomfortable for him if he continues this. It will
make things very hot for him if I have to do anything. But I have
nothing to follow it up with so those plans will have to wait on a
contingency.

Simone has had one of her little diatribes against Linda. It followed
an ad on TV. The ad was for feminine napkins. Linda does not use
tampax, as does Simone. So she launches into a speech about how they
are the most terrible things that anyone could ever imagine
using. They are bulky and one always wondered as a teenager if the
boys could tell if you were wearing one, etc. And later some comments
about how she didn't want anyone sleeping on her sheets. After all,
those were her bloodstains. She tells me Michael used old sheets from
the time they were together when she visited him earlier this evening.

I am getting the impression that Michael is trying to unconsciously
imitate me. He has made a couple of offers for Simone to do some work
for him. He also seems to be trying to treat Constance, Simone, and
jealousy, in a manner similar to what is going on here. He is trying
to imitate Simone by starting his own business and teach courses at
schools. But I am most pleased by his ëmostly monogamous' speech for
Simone. Nothing flatters me more than having someone admit how well I
see through them. He even wants to get rid of the cats. He doesn't
want to live with them either! Such a warm feeling it gives me when
someone takes up one of my ideas. But, dear reader, I must confess, at
this point in my dialogue, that all is not as it seems. This was only
written, or maybe not, for all the nosey little know nots who might,
perchance, glance over these inadequate attempts to make the world
around me just a little bit more lucid.

And now a little break from this turgid prose, and some poetry from,
who do you suppose?

We sat across the table
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things
they might touch me
I said yes.

Food grew cold on the table
he said, burn your body
it is not clean and smells like sex
it rubs my mind sore
I said yes.

I love you, I said
that's very nice he said
I like to be loved
that makes me happy
Have you cut off your hands yet?

Written by, wouldn't you know it, the inimitable Simone, and her I've
got the worst situation you, or anybody else, ever imagined, but,
because I'm so fantastic, I can take anything anybody can dish out,
mind you not that I have to, but someone else is responsible for my
being in this position, blues!

This seems a little silly, ant time to move on to writing about
something more serious.

Wednesday, August 4, 1981

A boy was selling lemonade on the street yesterday. Once I did the
same thing, but with some friends. It was a very hot and still day in
Cody. Some men were working on repairing or replacing the surface of a
street. It was my idea. We made the lemonade and loaded it onto a
wagon. A little red wagon. I had them pull me. Why should we do that,
they asked. Because it was my idea. And I will be asking them to
buy. It was very successful. We divided up the money. The feeling of
bouncing along in that wagon and the anxiety about making the sale
comes back to me. The best part was managing to get them to pull me in
the wagon. I did something they couldn't do and so go that special
privilege. Even today, from time to time, I manage to get myself in a
special position. On the other hand, this is poor compensation for not
having things go my way the remaining times.

Nancie Jordan was here today to do some typing. I have noticed
something about her. It seems that on the phone, or outside, like in
Harvard Square yesterday, she is more able to speak with me. But once
here, at the house, where I live, she clams up. It is difficult to
even initiate any conversation with her. I thought that it might have
something to do with being in my bedroom. Maybe she is afraid to let
go of herself here. Maybe its just my fantasy.

There was a fire on the third floor of the building in which my office
is located. It started from a cigarette in the mattress of the guy who
lives here. He was not in at the time. He smokes, drinks, seems to
have some sort of lung disorder, and disturbs me. The other day I was
thinking about Cheyenne and how she will see my life someday. Will she
see it as a repeat of the economic struggle of my parents? Will it
seem any different from anyone else's life? Sometimes I see myself
coming to the same end as this unfortunate fellow. He doesn't seem to
have any family or friends. His only possessions are now locked up in
that burned apartment. The landlord won't let him in again. He wants
the guy to go to the VA hospital to do something about his health. He
resists. Not wanting to admit to a problem. He has them though. He
spends his nights sitting out on the sidewalk and trying to sleep. I
don't know what he does for a job. I am afraid of the same thing
happening to me when I'm older. Suppose my ability to get along with
people deteriorates? And I wonder, why this worrying about what my
daughter will think one day? Better to put that same energy into
making things better for myself.

Interesting revelation from Jack Trainor about Donna. It seems that at
one time when she lived with Brad he beat her. He was drinking heavily
at the same time. This happened when they were all living in New
Orleans. Simone and Dana knew nothing about this, even from their four
year relationship with her. Its so easy to hide things from
people. But I have noticed another side to this. Often a person will
avoid learning things like this. Especially with friends. Friends
learn to deceive each other and to ignore certain things about the
other person. It would put the relationship in danger. I thought of
this with Simone and Beth. Beth has always said that her relationship
with Phil was 'fine'. A few days ago she broke down and admitted it
was not so. Simone would always take it at face value. She never
questioned. Beth stayed dependent on her for comfort. But at the same
time she never was forced to do anything about her situation. If it
got too bad she could just go to Simone for a little comfort, then
right back to the same disastrous situation. Phil is not generous with
his money to her. It seems he gave a lot of money to a woman who left
him. He doesn't want the same thing to happen to him with Beth. He is
also pressing on her to become a great runner. He is resigned to not
becoming a great runner himself and so is living out his desire
thorugh her. She is having all sorts of psychosomatic
difficulties. They can't be real if she is running 10ñ15 miles a
day. Simone is completely straightforward about Linda. She has nothing
to gain by being nice and sweet and comforting. So she says exactly
what she thinks of her. She doesn't see any of her friends so clearly,
or does not want to. Just two days ago she came to the conclusion that
Michael is not really in love with Constance. That Constance is
nothing more than a stabilizing force in his life ñ something he feels
a desperate need for. He is like his father, who is a real
womanizer. He has even fucked with Simone, and unknown to Michael, who
seems to be, unknowingly and unconsciously, doing the same. He is also
like Tom, who married Debbie as an anchoring force, but who really
wants to be able to live, not just exist. I thought also of how its
the same for me. Exactly who do I pick for my friends. I thought of
Edwin and Bill, versus Victor and Arra. I am closer to the former, who
are not so professionally successful, and distant from the latter, who
are very successful.

Simone tells me that people are afraid of me. They get very nervous
around me and about the idea of talking with me. Simone is like a
buffer. I am reminded of the police and how they interrogate a
suspect. Two people do it. One is a tough guy and the other is very
nice. The tough one scares the suspect so badly that he flees into the
arms of the nice one and tells him everything. It doesn't matter who
plays which part. The result is what they want. Talk. I have had this
idea for getting people to talk directly to me. I thought of sending
copies of my notes to Beth, Michael, and some others. Nancie also, but
today, while she was here, I managed to get a copy to her, and some
things about FH. Its a bit frustrating to have so many people talking
about and not to me. They speak mainly to Simone. Most of them want
her to leave me. Why? Because of what she tells them about me. It is
all badmouthing. They don't understand how she could stay with someone
who is so bad. But she does. She does not communicate the positive
aspects about our relationship in a real way. She may say such things,
but her emphasis is always on how I am doing her in. This morning with
Nancie she has to cut away with how I am distant and won't fuck with
her. She says nothing about how she is a demanding, compulsive,
insensitive asshole. She is like a man. Most women would refuse to
fuck with a person who expects them to do it, and who are insensitive
at the same time. I have been in the same position myself. I think of
Adele, who after we broke up, would tell Bill that she was often horny
and wanted to fuck. But I was always demanding, expecting it of
her. And when we did I was often insensitive to her feelings. I made
it physically uncomfortable for her. That's not how I wanted it to be.

I have felt depressed for the last week. Yesterday I slept till
noon. Last week I got two packages, two letters, and a phone call from
Wencke, from FH. I was excited on the one hand, but felt depressed at
the same time. I talked to Nancie about this yesterday when we met in
the square. She was going to pick out dresses for the bridge's maids
for her wedding. They must be like parents for you, she said. Yes,
that's part of it. But I am also overwhelmed by inferiority
feelings. No matter who comes, they will be able to manage more
communication with people here, than I can. I will see myself as stiff
and held back. All my old experiences on FH will come rushing to the
surface again. Who ever it is will also tell me how they see me,
better than anyone here. I will not be able to escape myself. A fear
that everyone here will see what I am really like. Later, Nancie spoke
to Simone about the very interesting conversation we had.

Simone saw her therapist yesterday. She came home filled with new
ideas. One was that she has to stop listening to what people tell her
to do. She is still not listening to herself, especially on the
subject of leaving me. People are always telling her to do this. But
if she listens and does what others tell her, then things will still
be the same for her. An incident happened like this with Jack last
week. He stayed here for the weekend. One evening, late, I decided to
go to the office for awhile. Simone did not protest openly, but she
choked when said ok. She didn't want me to go. So I went, but came
back almost immediately. And what did I find on returning? She was
with Jack. He had been in bed when I left. She was on my bed with no
clothes. I go directly to my room. A moment later she comes in. Still
no clothes. She has done it again. She went to him for something. The
moment I return she is filled with fear of what I will think of the
situation and jumps up to return to me. Jack is left there by
himself. Its no wonder he has such problems with women. Laura came by
to see him for 5 minutes and to tell him she was with another man. He
was really pissed off at this. He won't say anything to Simone about
what she did, essentially the same thing. She used him for the moment,
and when I returned she dropped him. She was so overwhelmed with
thinking about how I might react that she abandoned doing something
for herself. She did what she thought someone else would want her to
do. She was completely childish after this. Baby-talk, flopping around
on the bed, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. But inside me
it was a storm. Its the sort of thing that must turn her stomach into
knots. She went through the same thing with Dana about a week ago. I
left for the office. She went to Dana. I returned unexpectedly. She
left him almost immediately to run to me, again, afraid of what I
might do, and abandoning her attempt to get something for herself, in
favor of placating me.

Saturday, August 8, 1981

Simone has come into my room and asked, what woman is in Dana's room?
It seems like such a funny question. I do not answer her right
away. She finally says, is it Polly? Yes it is. Carol Davidson left,
after staying overnight, and now Polly is here for tonight. Simone
commented about Carol leaving the purse with her diaphragm in the
bathroom. Simone has just now smashed a cup on the table. She is angry
that some cream, bought from a store only 10 minutes ago, is sour. The
pieces fly everywhere. She has been trying to make some special
dessert for me. She often does this as a way of getting me to do
things for her. Each week she makes a new resolution about being
independent from me, of not doing things for herself, to not do things
just to please a man. And every week it comes to something like this.

These last few days have produced a new situation. Simone and I slept
here on Thursday night, but both of us with someone else. She was with
Steve, her newest beau. And Linda came to see me. We did not fuck for
three days before this. She was getting tired of not getting her needs
met. So she finally decided to do something about it. She describes
him as the best ever. Sexually that is. Better than Ron, Dave Ring,
Michael, the 52nd Street Bridge, Ken, or anyone. She says it is
because he is such a wonderful person. He is an airline
steward. Travels often to LA, Hawaii, Japan, and other exotic
places. He called her today from LA or SF. He does something with John
Lilly and dolphins, exercises a lot, reads extensively, meditates, and
uses isolation tanks. He is very romantic. I have told her there is
always another side to such people. She attributes this to my being
jealous. Its true a bit, not much. Not enough to cloud how I see
it. He wants to get her away from me. But poor him if he manages it!
How sad it is to see someone trying to get something he can have,
wasting time and energy taking something from someone who doesn't have
anything to take away. So there we were, all together, for the first
time, in the same place. It wasn't all that bad. Only one thing. Steve
woke up about 2:30 in the morning from a nightmare. It seems an old
girlfriend, Linda, who is now living with a Michael, had something bad
happen to her. It was about the time that Linda and I went to bed. She
told me the next day that they could hear us fucking. She said it
annoyed her. How sad, again, that people who want to make life better
for themselves, and others, would be disturbed at others having some
pleasure! I didn't know how they could have heard anything till I
realized that the windows to our respective rooms were open. It was
early morning and no noise outside. That's how.

I am just now aware of how my criticisms of her and Steve sort of
control everything I am writing. But it is an enormous development to
be able to do such a thing. Most people will keep their so-called open
relationships a secret until discovered. They will let their fears of
what the other person might think or do completely run their life. The
people know something is going on. But its not talked about. Often it
comes out indirectly, with cutting comments and accusations. But this
is off the subject and getting theoretical. There are many good things
to say about what has gone on here. Linda, me, and Simone, didn't have
too much difficulty with the situation. There was no great
tension. Although it felt a bit uncomfortable and awkward when I came
upon Steve and Simone in her bed. They were just there together. She
still had her clothes on. He had just a shirt and shorts. The next
morning at 7am he wanted to leave as he was disturbed by the
vibrations from me, although I was still sound asleep. He commented on
all the doors being closed. But Simone closed her own last night with
quite a big noise. So a reasonably good time was had by all. I was
with Linda. Simone was with Steve. Dana was with Carol.

I have had another thought about why Simone may have enjoyed sex with
Steve so much. It was a combination of being with someone, for the
first time, that she finds very attractive, and he feels the same for
her, but that she had finally made a very big decision to really do
something for herself. Before it was often a thing to get back at me,
or just that she did not want to be alone while I was with someone
else. This time it was more for her than it has ever been. It made it
possible for her to be here while I was here with someone else. The
worst was that she was annoyed to hear us fucking. Even that must have
given the two of them something to think and talk about. She seems to
have relaxed in a very important way. Even some of the nasty things
she says and does are loosing their sting and vigor. She hasn't the
emotional strength to be venemous. I wonder is Steve will be able to
hold out. He may be a weak link with his ideas of taking her away from
me.

Polly has just had some sort of flap with Dana. She leaves. Dana goes
out for a run. On his return we learn that she is disturbed to hear he
slept with Carol D last night. It seems that she expected him to wait
for her return from a four day sailing trip. You three seem to be
going in a different direction from me, she says. Also, there has been
a lot of tension here the last month, she adds. But both Simone and I
notice that there is something tense about her manner when she first
came in the house. I don't think its really our fault. She wants Dana
to move in her direction. That is, to get a better job and be more
conventional. She is trying to get him to marry her. Simone says that
last week she asked her to help him get a better job. We don't know if
she will be back. Something else was up with her. Dana has taken a big
step for him. To be straightforward with the people he sleeps with. I
think maybe he tries to do something to keep up with Simone and me. He
must know that the other night was a big step for Simone, and a step
for me. I am sure he would like to have the same ability to push ahead
on developing himself. But then I think, what small steps compared to
how things can go on FH. But we are not there. We are on the edge of
the wilderness. Pioneers in America again. It remains to be seen if
its the beginning of something new, or the last desparate attempts at
reaching a new land. How melodramatic. Who would have thought me able?
I must laugh and smile to myself a bit.

Wednesday, August 12, 1981

Incredible resistance. The last few days. Resistance to sitting down
and doing something. Writing being one of them. I have the time
tonight. Simone and Dana are not here. Nobody to bother or disturb
me. Joe has just gone home. There are at least two hours before I will
be too tired to continue. But something stops me. Its a feeling of
lethargy and hopelessness. I don't know that its that bad, but
something keeps me from going on. I have to break through it. Its a
weak feeling. Like I can't move myself almost. This is such an old
thing for me. Anxiety about going ahead and doing something. I sit
here very still and quiet. Thinking things around in my
head. Criticizing myself for not beginning. And the next moment coming
up with an excuse to stall for a few minutes more.

Herb Pearce just called me back. What a relief to be able to jump up
and do something else! But it does not last. Now I am back here and
faced, again, with doing something. My whole life seems to be filled
with repetitions of exactly this thing. Sitting here waiting for
something to happen. Drifting away in my fantasies. Making plans for
something beyond my latest idea. Not doing anything about the latest
idea. Letting it drift off the edge of my world. Sort of sweeping it
under the rug. I only have to pause for a moment and a big list of
things I want to do pops into my head. The seminar, notes for Loris,
sending something to Cheyenne and Adele, getting the stuff for FH
ready, and on and on. Writing more and better programs for my
business, getting my two books ready for a publisher. I wonder about
being caught in a circular trap. Is it something that can be gotten
out of? I say yes, but only if I go ahead and do something. But then I
wonder if getting that list done will only put me in the position of
having another list to work on. But the real problem is the one of
being stuck and not able to go ahead. I don't think it matters what I
do. Now is the time to go make myself a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich.

Simone is staying with Steve tonight. He did not want to come here. So
she went there, Salem or nearby. He still wants to take her away from
me. He wants her for himself. Sorry for him if he manages it. He has
no idea of the desparate character he is getting into. Suppose she
does leave me for him? Well, it is probably for the best. For me, not
for her. She will then be faced with someone who doesn't want her to
have the freedom she gets with me. And she must be aware of this. He
hasn't kept his intentions secret. I can't imagine her letting this go
on for long. She will take the bit in her teeth and run with
it. Possibly even secretly. It would be better for me not to have to
struggle with her ambivelance. This is the thing she always accuses
Michael of. Her own affliction. I wish Linda was here.

Simone has been doing quite well for herself lately. Her boss
confesses that he wants to fuck her brains out, and him being a
happily married man, no less. But that is always such a joke. George
finally showed up again after several months absence. He is in love
with Simone again, and wants to her to leave me for him. I'm better
for you, he tells her. How many men is it now? Possibly ten, that are
all trying to get her to leave me for them. They all imagine that once
they have convinced her to leave me, they will be the one who gets
her. A sorry fate for that winner! And what a surprise for all of
them. One down and ten more to go. I have coached her on dealing with
Steve tonight. I have told her to tell him that nobody gains by taking
anything away from anyone. That she needs to think big. To think about
how to include him in something larger, and more important, than being
selfish about one person. Does she want to stay trapped in this
twilight zone of ambiguous relationships with all these men? Or does
she want to try for something more solid with people who look beyond
the couple relationship, the nuclear family, secret liasons, chaotic
sexual encounters, hypocritical possessiveness of another person, and
all the things she has tried. It will be interesting to see how she
handles this tonight. Will he be patient, or will he give an
ultimatum? She was resisting leaving for his house. She is afraid of
falling in love with him. She feels the possibility. I don't want to
treat him like Stu, she tells me. But she is already doing it. She is
late, its getting later. She won't call him. I tell her to do
it. Otherwise she is treating him just she did with Stu. She doesn't
want to see it. Finally she is gone.

A funny incident with Linda yesterday. Monday night I went to the
airport with her. She had been pressing me all day to do this. She
tempted me with coming over early so we could fuck. It didn't
happen. But I went anyway. An investment on my part. I wondered about
being manipulated by her. No matter. So we get there and its not clear
about the 8 oclock plane to NYC. Finally she gets a boarding pass. She
must wait an hour. I decide to go home. But what a time. I get on the
wrong bus. It only goes in circles. The subway breaks down and there's
a long wait. So, the next day, in Harvard Square, who do I see? Linda,
with some man! She calls out my name. I pretend not to see and wander
around looking for the source of the sound. She finds this
amusing. She is very embarrassed. Hides behind her escort, an English
lawyer, visiting the US for a few weeks. She left the airport shortly
after me, having called a friend who would go to NYC early the next
morning. But she met him instead. So they stay at a hotel in Boston
and she shows him around the city the next day. She is still
embarrassed, and promises to tell me all about it the next day. Off
they go. I must admit to a bit of jealousy, but mostly amusement. Next
day I remind her about her ciriticisms of my so called sexual
dalliances, which exist only in her imagination, and how its only true
of her. She explains it as a need for adventure. It reminds me of the
time Simone came back on the train from New Haven and called to say
she wouldn't be home that night. She met a poet. She was completely
charmed by him, and wanted to get fucked. Why do these women have such
an easier time of it than me? But this one has a well known answer.

I have reason to feel pleased with myself. Both Linda and Simone have
started writing about themselves. They use a very simple and
straightforward style very much like mine. Simone has even typed some
of it. They both let me read some of it from time to time. I am very
pleased with them. It makes me feel almost like a real existential
teacher. Someone capable of teaching people about life.

It has been quite easy to write these two pages. I am having more
ideas about some sort of writing exercise or course for people. It is
not clear just how to inform lots of people about it. I always have
the hope that it will attract people to me.

Walking down Cambridge Street I see Adele's car parked by Harvard
Community Health Plan. She works there. Thinking again about sending
her a copy of my notes. And the poem I wrote for her:

Roses are red
Violets are blue.
More than ten years
And I still love you.

Or thinking about writing her a letter. Dear Adele: When we were
together I was very hidden from you. I am a little less so now. I
write these notes as a way of being more aware of myself and as a way
to let people see me better. I have wanted always to have you know me
better. I still want to do something about my difficulties in
communicating with you. So I thought to try this. I don't know what
will come of it, but I don't want to spend my life with the anxieties
that come with every thought of you. Most people who read these notes
come to see me in a completely different way. Somehow I hope this will
happen with you. I don't know. We will see. I feel like there is a lot
more to say about this but nothing comes to me now. After all these
years I still feel incredibly stuck and unable to do anything. Even
writing this. Before I started it seemed it would be so simple to just
sit down and write everything about how I felt about you, Cheyenne,
and when we lived together. But now, at this moment, I can't really
express how I feel. It seems at the moment I want to say to you how I
feel, I become crippled. Can you believe that I am sitting her, no
clothes, it is after 1 in the morning, and I can only stumble for the
slightest shadow of how I still feel about you. This is so hard for
me. Ten minutes for every sentence. A desparate feeling of failure. I
don't know what more to say. Love, Richard.

Friday, August 14, 1981

Simone has gone into one of her tirades against Linda. Completely
irrelevant things/crimes that she has committed. Things, that done by
her friends, would go unmentioned, or eh'd aside. It has completely
ruined the good feeling in the room from only 15 minutes ago. I feel
sick in my stomach. I'm sure it has added to the knots in hers. A
nauseous feeling. I don't even want to be near her. It feels like
emotional poison, an emotional swamp. Her tone of voice becomes low
and slower. Deadly serious. Even humorous incidents become totally
real for her. Linda's ambivalence, nothing but a mirror of her own,
becomes a club used to smash her down. Linda's every change of course
becomes like some evil change in the smooth flow of life. It is not
allowed. When Linda reverses herself it is a stupid move. When she
does the same it is a stroke of genius and sublime personal
insight. But you what I mean. The person who knows another's faults is
only using a light made from the energy of their own difficulties. Oh
Jesus, I am writing more crap again. What stupid things to say about
something so simple and obvious. Everyone knows this thing of being
able to see what's wrong with someone else. Enough of this. It starts
to eat me up.

Some gossip about Edwin. It seems he fucked about a month ago. Its
someone that Simone knows, and someone that I have met. He won't tell
me who it is. I get ten guesses but he doesn't say its any of them. I
figure it could be Carol, Ellen, and Simone thinks Beth, and I thought
Lynn. I named about 12 people and he wouldn't say it was any of
them. I found Simone's choice of Beth most interesting. She thinks
Beth is having lots of trouble with Phil and likes Edwin. This is from
the time she was in one of Simone's groups. Also, we were going to a
movie with Edwin and invited Beth. She declined when we told her Edwin
was coming. Maybe there is something to it. I will ask her next time
she calls. Simone thought it might have been Jean Varda. She likes
those fat men, Simone proposes. Maybe it was Laura? She shows up here
at odd times. He won't tell who it is. I'm sure it must be one of the
people I named to him. I will try some sort of trick on various people
to try and discover who it is. Maybe it was Kathy? She was here typing
a number of times. That was during the day. I find myself a bit
obsessed with trying to discover who it was. It was the first time for
him in a year and a half. Connie is another possibility. Simone
suggested Nancie Jordan, but was very doubtful of that. She was here
during the day around then. Its his way of keeping someone's
attention.

George called me this morning. Says he lots a role of film and thought
it might be here. He's really calling for Simone. I tell him she's
been out on a date. And that I've heard he's in love with her. He
says, no, no, we're just friends. George is another one who wants to
save Simone from me. He thinks he is much better for her. I think
George travels in the slow lane. Simone is always in the fast lane and
doesn't have brakes. The only thing she can do is push on the
accelerator. This is the sort of ruse George would think up. He
doesn't want to say directly that he's calling for Simone. But I know
this trick. Used it many times myself. I tell Simone all this later
and she is a bit disturbed. She doesn't want to face what she's doing
here.

Nancy has made many positive comments about my writing. She and Bob
like it very much. A funny thing, though. She tells Simone that she
wants to talk to me and Simone, both privately, about it, and that Bob
wants to do the same. Bob has sexual fantasies about her. They both
think it good enough to be published. They find it very easy to
read. She thinks I should have some of it made into plays. She
comments about my comment about someone's comment about how I don't
talk about love, and that I seem to talk about being happy very
little, or when I do, it seems to turn to its opposite. She often
writes only when sad. I have to tell her how happiness is often a very
temporary and illusory thing. Often it is only a false picture of
things. How else can one feel when the image evaporates? But I
certainly like it when someone is as positive as her about what I
write. She says it makes her feel things. That is what I like to do
best with writing. I don't care so much that it is 'well written'. You
don't talk about the things you write about in real life, she tells
me. It would be good if you talked about these things, she
opinions. Its true. I think only later to point out that she only has
to be here to hear things first hand. I have noticed that she speaks
most directly with me over the phone. Less so during a casual meeting,
and least of all when she is here. It is a bit of a bind. What other
ego boosting gems can I squeeze out of what she has to say? I get the
name of her sister who works for an NYC publishing house. I have typed
up a letter and will mail it tomorrow.

Linda has called and asked me to help her move some things next
week. I don't know if its possible. I am having money problems and am
behind in work at the moment. I'll tell you more the first of next
week, being the most I can say. She suddenly becomes very curt and
no-saying. That's all right, you don't have to bother with me, she
says. No, I have to go now. No, I'm going to hang up now. This goes on
for a bit as she hopes I will manage to recover the situation. She is
another one who wants to be saved.

I don't want to go to bed. It makes me shudder to think of getting in
beside her. She will most likely try to throw herself over me. She's a
smother type. It is a disgusting and flight inducing feeling. I just
want to get away from it. Yech.

Have been reading more of Mary Chestnut. The end is near for her and
the South. That South will never rise again for her. I find myself
using more literary phrases, or trying to, like her own. I more often
come across a part where someone is looking on as she writes. It is
amusing to read this. It makes me think of the times when someone is
looking over my shoulder. And who will read this 100 years from now
and laugh at the same scene? I feel almost as though I am right there
doing it myself.

Simone has overcome her Linda vitriolocity. It definitely fades. She
knows she does it and does not like herself for it. But it does not
fade so fast in me. I notice that she sometimes catches, and passes
me, in this little race. I mean the one to erase hardheartedness. It
lingers longer for me. For her the shortness of its life is a definite
improvement.

An interesting new development in the sexual relationship with
Simone. She has always insisted that I finger her to an orgasm. Then
she allows me to have one. It doesn't always work exactly like that,
but it seems to be her preferred pattern. So the new development is
that she manipulates herself, or I do it, while my prick is in her
cunt. She has come close to orgasm several times, but she stops it
before that happens. Its better with me. The old pattern is
boring. She is tighter and wetter this new way. We can both learn to
have orgasms at the same time. Before she would often get bored or
carried away by something when it was my turn. I don't know exactly
what brought it on but the first time this happened was after her
first great time with Steve.

She has told me a lot more about this new beau of hers. He is very
romantic, sexual, spiritual, physically fit, well endowed (each new
man gets bigger than the last, in fact, I expect the new one to have
something the size of a baseball bat in his pants), gentle, sensitive,
cultured, continental, cosmopolitan, well-read, versed in 5 languages,
likes to travel, very intelligent, and all the wonderful things I am
not. On the other hand he will never be her daddy, he is very insecure
about his intellectual abilities, obsessed with his appearance, is a
gigolo (tonight he will be servicing a 45 year old movie producer who
has put him in one of her pictures), and will not allow her the same
freedoms she gets from me. But he may be able to learn this. Simone
told him how I criticized her for treating him like Stu by being
late. He thinks it is just a clever may of manipulating her. Sexually
she likes the way he rubs his prick against her inner thighs. They are
another pair that does it on the floor, walls, ceiling, and on the
bed. He has complained that she is too analytical. She that he is too
intellectually insecure. He has started to tell her about his other
relationships, but assures her they are all superficial. They have
even talked about living together and babies! Simone has made some new
rules about how she will keep me informed about what she will do with
him. It is an indirect way for her to regulate my relationship with
Linda. The rules are broken the very day of their creation,
however. She does see him as someone to fall in love with. For me this
is a good thing. Less chance of having to handle her desparate times.

Simone has been asking me to marry her all this afternoon. It started
right after she spent 45 minutes fucking in the shower with Steve. He
was behind her and pressing her against the wall of the shower. She
had fantasies of being interrupted by the police. She wants to marry
me definitely, and be able to have a relationship with Steve, and
maybe others. I have been puzzling over this preoccupation with this
all evening. Just now the truth comes out of her. She will have the
freedom to do what she wants with me. He won't be able to allow her
the same. They have had their first argument today. She has been
pressing him about some of the obvious contradictions in his
life. Wanting everything to be simple, but on the other hand he has
these perfumed, herbed, hot towels for her after sex. All his laundry
is perfumed and has fabric softener in it. He uses various chemicals
on his face and body. But what he really means is another kind of
simpleness. Emotional simplicity. No complicated relationships or
involvements with people. He wants a more isolated life with just
Simone. Some people claim they can grow by isolating and withdrawing
from people and the world. It is, in reality, a form of emotional and
social suicide. It causes all ones abilities to relate and be social
with people to wither and atrophy. One finds the skill disappears
without constant use. The way I see it is that people become very
afraid of social contact and withdraw as a way of eliminating the
fear. I have seen myself on the one hand exhorting me to get out and
do something with people, and on the other hand, relaxing because I
decide not to go out and make contact with people. He tells Simone
that the beginning of their relationship will cause me to be better to
her or worse. In fact things got much better between us. Mostly, I
think, because she is enjoying herself more, and hasn't had to demand
what she wants from me. She has gotten a burst of energy from this new
relationship and feels very good that she can attract such a person. I
feel better for not having to meet all her demands. He is beginning to
put a fence around her. She is not the sort to be roped in. His
insecurity about holding onto her needs narrower borders than Simone
can tolerate. This will become a source of increasing friction between
them. I think that finally he will not be able to tolerate her
free-wheeling spirit. He wants a life with more substance and less
superficiality. But his Hollywood crowd can't ever be anything
else. His wandering around and imagining things will be better
somewhere else only says he can't find anything where he is, no matter
where it is. Things will be over between them within two weeks. He
wants a life of substance but fills his time with so many superficial
things. I'm not jealous of Richard, he says. He's part of a package
deal he's got with you. So there is no need, nothing to be jealous
of. But I know that its in me. I know that its inside Simone. She's
jealous of his date in Hollywood, who pays him $500 to fuck her. She
is really upset about this. She has been nervous all evening and
chewing on things. I don't believe he isn't jealous. He is fooling
himself. He does not know himself very well. Simone called him a few
minutes ago. They talk for awhile. On learning that I am here, he has
to go do something. She is nervous and wondering why he doesn't call
back. She thinks its because of me.

Saturday, August 15, 1981

I am excited about the art show again. Last night, while having dinner
at Jonathan's, I tried to remember the phone number of the Sacramento
Street gallery. I did remember it. A young boy answered. His name was
Schwen, or something like that. I played a game with him where I would
mispronounce it. He got quite exasperated. Finally his mother came on
and asked, in an irritated manner, who is this? I got a bit nervous at
that point. Who knows about the art gallery, I ask. Oh, you want
somebody else, she replies. It turns out we can have 3 pieces each in
a show that opens September 12. The guy was quite interested in our
concept. I will send him some stuff about it today.

Simone is not so sure about going away to her training course with
Steve. I might meet somebody there, she says. Very likely. She knows
this. Steve knows this. He doesn't want her to go without him. He's
having enough trouble tracking the competition. He needs an air
traffic controller just to keep track of the people circling around
Simone.

I notice these jealous impulses flashing around inside me. They are
most prominent in my face. There are these random and uncontrollable
grimaces and distortions in the face muscles. Sometimes I notice
myself holding onto an expression for too long. Beyond the feeling. It
is like a tight grimace and smile. A combination of the two. It gets
more difficult to make fun of the strutting they are doing with each
other. I feel as though some distance has been lost. It is becoming
too real for me. A little bit too serious.

We get a notice in the mail of Gail Topal's engagement party. She has
not been spaced out the last few months over this guy. He's my
soul-mate, she says, you will see when you meet him. She moved and
didn't tell Carol about her apartment being available. This pissed
Carol off. She wanted to live near Simone. Perhaps Gail was afraid of
contacting Simone after being out of touch for so long. She came to
see us often before she met him. This state of love makes people
oblivious to the real world. They manage to hold themselves in a state
of suspended death. Who knows for how long. Simone says she was in
heaven with me ñ for three weeks. Gail does not see as well as her.

I told Simone that there are 10-12 people after her. She says, you are
always exagerating. Here is my list: Richard, Steve F, Michael J, Ken,
Stu, Michael S, George, Jeff, Ron H, Joe S, Fred, Dana, Steve B, Steve
L, Jack T, Jack M, Bob W, her current boss, Steve W, Myron M, Donna's
boyfriend, the Oklahoma Saxaphone player, Ted B, Gene H, Blacksmith
House physicist, and some other more minor attempters. She is right. I
am always not seeing things the way they really are. How could I have
been so wrong? I will have to get a firmer grip on reality.

Simone gives me a list of things she notices about herself. She likes
to take showers after fucking. She likes to fuck from behind. She
tells people when something is uncomfortable for her, as opposed to
letting it pass or mentioning it later.

A fantasy with me, Simone, Linda, and Steve. Linda is here, along with
me, Simone, Steve. Linda is in the shower. Simone starts some sort of
argument with her. They argue back and forth. It turns into a real
fight. I step in to break it up. Steve thinks I am favoring Linda at
Simone's expense. He tries to get me out of it. I kick him in the
balls. That's it for him. End of fantasy.  Another one with Beth and
Phil. He discovers I have been fucking with Beth. He threatens me with
a gun. I calm him down. Then run out the back door and to the police
station.

Simone read my list of names, and my fantasies. So, you are after Beth
too! Competing with Edwin. Nancie is another one who wants to fuck
you, she says. She will never admit it, but maybe she will. I will ask
her, says me. You'll ruin it if you do, Simone warns. Its like this
with lots of people. They all want to fuck but are so afraid of what
someone else will do. Each wants it but is afraid to take the first
step. So they do it on the sly. A rare woman like Simone will be out
front about it. Linda is becoming much better about this. It once was
that she would tell me how women don't need as much sex as a man. But
now she is just responding to what she wants, more than before, but
not always. She sometimes uses the sexual lever against me.

More has happened with Steve and Simone. They talked for 2 hours this
afternoon. She came to the office about to cry. She senses it is not
going to be what she wants. Back to the search for the perfect man,
she tells someone she has called on the phone. There is something
behind this wanderlust. He can't stand being around serious people. He
can only tolerate the superficial relationships of his job and the
movie crowd. He has to be alone to grow. What bullshit. He wants a
simple life like the dolphins, he tells her. But in reality, dolphins,
possibly the most intelligent species next to man, are completely
social and dependent on each other. They are never found alone. They
are always doing things in groups. They will save a comrade who is in
trouble by raising the injured one to the surface. They will protect
each other from sharks. They are very sexual. They are always
communicating with each other with a combination of behavior and
dolphin speech. He doesn't know anything about dolphins. He is only
striving for some perfect idealistic vision of himself. Something
about Saint Augustine, or some other religious character. He begins to
feel that Simone is hemming him in. That she wants all these things
from him. But what he really wants is all those things from her.

Went running at Fresh Pond at 6pm. Me, Dana, and Simone. Nice time,
but a bit muggy. We ran two miles. Almost an accident on the way
back. Later we are almost home and Dana comments about how a woman on
the sidewalk looks at him. Ever notice how women will look at you when
you're going by in a car but not when you walk by them, he says. They
must think we want to fuck them right there, he concludes. I think its
true. He admits to having thought about it. Women too.

Wednesday, August 19, 1981

Sunday I went running at Fresh Pond with Simone, Judy, and her friend
Peter. We ran just about 2 miles. Farther than ever before. Near the
end I was talking with Judy. She says, I want to get back to doing
things with people. Yes, I says, what you really want is to find
another man. No response. But only for a moment. She makes a comment
about how we should try something more involved sexually, like four
people at once. What, I ask, confusedly. What are you talking about?
You are right she responds. It was nothing but a nasty thing to get
back at you for saying I only want to get another man. Later she asks
if Simone will hate her if she sleeps with me. Yes. Simone has, in the
last few days, found reason to call her at least twice. I have found
out that she has called her a number of times over the last few
months. She wonders, but not directly, if she is going to sleep with
me. Judy has the impression that Simone is asking her about the
loyalty sisters must have for each other. If she were a true sister,
she wouldn't fuck with me. All this she manages between dates with
other men. Judy does not believe her expressed reasons for
calling. She feels that it is always really for something
else. Anyway, we did not sleep together Monday night. Simone has
sabotaged things between her and me. I don't want to get in the middle
of this mess, she says. Its too much for her. At the same time I learn
she and Steven made an arrangement not to sleep with anyone till he
returns in September. Be she has broken it at least twice, with old
boyfriends, Michael and Flip. She said she would sleep with me that
night, but not to fuck. I declined. It would keep me up half the night
with sexual tension. How about another time when you can say there
will be no limits to what happens, I propose. We shall see, says she.

Simone is going crazy. Pacing up and down the apartment. Talking to
herself. She can't stand it. She's going to stay with Steve for the
next two days. Then some vague reference to just wanting to be with
someone and not feeling sexual at all. She had her sexual needs
satisfied last night with Ken. She just wants to get away. It reminds
me of the last time she saw Ron. I just want to go to sleep, she tells
him. Ok, says he. She was upset with me then. I asked her, are you
sure he agreed to your conditions. She said yes, and that he was not
that kind of person. (emphasis on the HE) So I says to myself, I says,
do you suppose its possible she could get herself into the same sort
of situation? Ron was not very nice. He wanted something and she
refused to give it. He took it. He was very romantic. That Ron, he
would sing to the frosted glasses, and had a large TV set over the bed
from which hot towels, scented with herbs, slowly wound their way
around his makeup table loaded with facial weight lifting condominiums
while the sound of airplanes and pickup trucks was heard being played
by a dolphin orchestra that rehersed at a house on a lake owned by a
Hollywood movie producer and many of its friends ñ all this for only
$500 a night! And this going on with a jury observing a chubby Linda
nightmare with her leading man preparing for opening night with John
Lilly and the construction crew. The stage is set again. Will we see
the same old play, or something familiar? The Greek Chorus awaits its
duty. They are bound by honor to play their parts. To be free, or not.

Should I tell her what I have noticed? A fine kettle of fish if I
don't and something does happen. On the other hand I thought: why not
try to see if I can reverse the current situation. What a fun game to
see if I could get her to break her date with Steve tonight! And to
stay here with me. Then I think, she might think the first part I have
written is just to keep her from going. She will see the sense of it
and not go. But then she will think, he is only jerking me around. Its
only his jealousy. Steve is not like that. But this next page is a
funny one. I can't quite explain it. I mean, it does sort of turn the
thing around. But then its possible for me to do things like that. Its
an old Richard Gardner trick. That is, to go along in one direction,
and then suddenly to completely turn things upside-down. Now, what can
anyone think of all this? On the other hand, I do miss the contact
with her. But it is no use. All her lamenting and hand ringing is
nothing but a replay of her grandmother being chased by the Nazis. A
very complicated, but predictable program she runs to get things her
way. Freedom and no insecurity. Its like anything else. She gets
insecurity and enslavement.

And last night with Ken. She was to stay with him Monday night. They
were going to meet here about 1:30am. Ken called and we talked for
awhile. It seems she was at Michael's. It was to be just a short
stop. At two she called Ken to say she was tired and going home. She
didn't. She stayed with Michael. She took the best deal and saved the
situation with Ken with as much grace as possible. He got her the next
night in any case. It was an explosive situation for me. I have this
urge to break through some of my armor. It has to be something drastic
to stir everything up from the bottom. Everything has to be changed
somehow.

She has read it. The thinking will start. It may even enable her to
take advantage of the situation.

It seems some sort of group activity is being planned. But I have
heard nothing about. Jack was surprised, but not really
surprised. Maybe she told him not to say anything about the event. She
is using it to get something from me. The very thing she is always
trying to pin on me. Not communicating. So they are in the
kitchen. Simone is bubbling over with enthusiasm, smiling, talking
with everyone. A visit to the therapist and everything is all
better. But its not. She wants it to be better. It takes more than a
smile and some jokes to make things better.

Writing too much makes you crazy. Especially if one has pretensions. I
can see it now while reading the last page again. Man, did I write
that shit?

She is busy marshalling friends around her. I have lots of friends and
lovers, she wails. I can sleep with anyone I want, any night I want,
she shouts at me. And now they are starting to congregate. She gets a
smug tone in her voice. She must loudly say how Richard refuses to
communicate with me. He hangs up the phone when I call him. Its all
his fault! How terrible he is to me. I have only tried to be loving
and caring and he rejects me. There is nothing more between us. Its
all over! There is something about all this protesting that smells
rotten.

You get out of my way from now on, she responds, to my telling her to
get out of the way.

156 pounds. Lost 4 since one week ago. It's the running. In addition,
I notice the seasonal change. The air is colder. Drier. It starts to
change the quality of the skin on my lips. They are stiffer, start to
dry. It will lead to a coldsore in a few days if I don't catch it. The
tension is also causing something. I begin to feel the start of a cold
in the back of my throat. Again from the tension, and not enough
sleep.

Too bad for your little plan of sabotaging, she says. You know Ken
really enjoyed your little trick to interfere the other night. He
suggests we try it again. No end to the shortsightedness around
here. Exactly my intension, to reduce the tension, not to mention, the
condensation. It greatly reduced mine. Of course it worked exactly
that way. Its why they couldn't tell me to stop. They couldn't tell me
to go away. It helped them also. It got a lot better for me once the
excitement came out. Once the nervous tremors were allowed to work
their way out. I feel the need for more of these kinds of shocks. It
rattles my complacency. I can not longer ignore the xxxxxxxxxxx
x.vmfujsnkwgevotgnflhf
ijo;whfphf;pryfjgjnortjjfjrhhfjjfiikfoÖÖ.. Itcomes out again.

Simone just now tells me she has decided to move out. You are not
going to be able to make me change my mind, she assures me. And then
an enormous leap down the hall. An experimental aircraft designed to
crash. I don't know how long it will take to find a place but I've
made up my mind. Simone's making up her mind is something like trying
to push water uphill. Or trying to push on a piece of string. It works
when the string is stiff. It works with people when they stiffen and
deaden themselves to their feelings. I used this same string to run
marathons, fight the draft, and any number of imaginary battles. I
feel this same stiff string in me now. It keeps me from being more
human with her. There is no reason for it. Its like the other
night. She calls to have me get something from the store. It was a
senseless thing to just hangup. But this mindless urge to hurt her
overwhelmed me. It was like a flash of lightning. Its stupid to do
this even if she is leaving. What is it that makes me this way? And
then a few moments later I actually long for her to make some effort
to contact me again. But again there is this enormous urge to cause
her some hurt. You can't hurt me anymore she says. Its not true. She
doesn't know how deep it is. She will keep a brave front. It will look
just like mine. It will be just as false. Just like mine. The thing
with Ken. She does not want to see it that way at all. She does not
want to see what she does. And the same for me. Sometimes I feel so
ugly I have the impression of my body turning rotten with no more time
than a few moments. I imagine myself to be in possession of some
wonderful idea whose power should be obvious to all. Instead of
following they flee. And I run from myself. Everyone is nowhere again.

Are you going? I don't care,she responds faster than the mind can
reply. Its just another lie. The answer was ready before the
question. Its just not proper to come out with them in that way. I ask
a lot of questions to which the answers are already known. And now I
ask myself, why? The answer did not come out before the question this
time.

I can't base my life on his whims, she exclaims. Until I did
something, she was doing nothing but that. From my tiny little effort
comes a serious attempt to live her own life. Now do you believe that?
Had the spark come from inside her, it would be a different story. I
can't quite believe it.

I hope you don't come, she says with a slightly quavering voice, a
little tight at the back of the throat. Because I really don't want
you to. Who wants to see your ugly face? And only a few days ago it
was sooooooo handsome!

You know I'm stuck on you. But it will get unstuck fast. Especially
with a little help from the cook and airplane mechanic. She stalks
out, hands gripped behind her back. Solid and resolute steps. I can
only smile. Yes indeed. Nothing like taking control of one's life. Why
don't you come and get off this position, she asks. But I have made
other plans. And they are gone. An entirely different feeling here in
the house. It feels alone and empty. I feel alone, and a little bit of
urge to run after them.

Writing like a maniac. But now, at this moment, I feel it slowing down
in me. The stimulation for going on has gone away. I'll be back on
Friday night, she tells me. Bye, bye. She has learned some new words
from me. Sabotage seems to be the newest.

Dana has been provoked by the situation. He has gone out and caught
himself a new girlfriend. Her name is Debra. She will go to the ballet
with him tonight, along with the others. He managed it with a single
meeting. They met at his favorite Harvard Square restaurant, Beans In
My Ears.

I find myself wishing her ill tonight. The fantasy is that she will
call in the middle of the night to have me come and rescue her. That
is, my feeling about him is right. He abuses her in some way. I have
been reading Cockpit, by J Cosinski. This man and I have the same
fantasies. We are always trying to figure ways to catch women in some
lie. His hero always catches them perfectly. Never any question that
they have tried to do him wrong. He feeds them the truth a little at a
time. Maybe gives it to them in a way that they still have an
opportunity to confess all. But they don't, and are caught
perfectly. Then he goes on to find another perfect one.

We had a crank phone call here today. Simone got it. Someone was
calling to ask questions about my business and personal life. Its
probably some friend of Deanna Schamach's who is trying to provoke
some sort of situation to get information about what's going on. I
will call the phone company to have them trace all the call coming to
this number. Proof of her Nixonian tricks will end the case.

Simone lingers longer. Her intention, as she told me before leaving,
was not to return till Friday night. But she is here for some
reason. She speaks in a loud voice designed to get my attention and a
function of her nervousness. She gives me 15 minutes to convince her
to stay. And why not decide for herself? Still not in charge of
things.  Simone tells me she has rewritten her resume and wants to
show it to me. I tell her later. And so our little tug of war goes
on. If I didn't know better I might imagine that the plot to get her
to do all this work in the last few days came from the mind of that
Richard Gardner trickster.

Monday, August 24, 1981

Sitting here with a million things to write about. This morning I am
thinking about how I am not evenhanded, what shall I say, equal,
unbiased, in how and what I write about. Anyway, I must say, Fuck this
shit, as once said by a former manager of Orson Welles. Its hard for
me again. No idea where to begin. So many things have happened.

Thursday I travel to NYC to help Linda move to Boston. I miss the
first train after being trapped in the subway half an hour. The second
almost. Simone came to see me for awhile. She had altered her clock so
that I would miss the next train. I left her with my estimate of the
time. She tried to get me to come back to her once more. But I ran for
it and made it by two or three minutes. She called Linda to tell her
about my being late but gave her the wrong arrival time. The two of
them have been talking more. They call each other. Linda was extremely
resist to me sexually Thursday night. She did not know what it was. I
had the feeling something was up. Last night it came to me. She is
sexually withdrawing as a way to get me to loan her money for
school. I began to think about this earlier in the day when Simone
made a similar comment about me when I withdraw from her. I'm going to
fuck with as many different men as I have to, so you will get out of
that withdrawn mood, she informs me. They both use sex in the same
way, as a weapon. Linda is the more old fashioned of the two.

I had the idea to let the two of then run my business and go off to do
something different. They both seemed intrigued a little by the
idea. No negative responses. I also have this fantasy about my seminar
business. On alternate weeks I will go off to various cities, and one
of the other will go with me for a few days to lie around some hotel
pool and visit some exotic city.

Where have all these things gone? A few moments ago my head was
swarming with things to write about. I adjust the margins of the
paper. When the notes are copied somethings are cut out the by the
little holes. I don't want anyone to miss a word. I have sent copies
to Jerry Kosinski after reading Cockpit. I had the idea of going
thorugh it again and cataloging all the crazy, compulsive, neurotic,
sexual, power, and other fantasies I indulge in. Some imagination this
guy has. Its an interesting story of a former spy, but the real meat
of the thing is in his relationships to women and people in power. It
is almost completely parallel to my own fantasies and daydreams. I
find myself constantly trying to prove some woman has done me wrong
and imagine that she is being punished by the cosmos for her sins. Or
walking around and poking into things, another of the hero status
imaginings I find myself creating.

Last week was an interesting time sexually for Simone. On Sunday night
I kick her out of bed. Monday night she is with Michael. The next day
telling me how good it was with him. Saturday he visits to use the
typewriter. I learn from him that what Simone described did not
happen. He tells me her lies are not as bad as they once were. Michael
could tell you some lies much better than that, she prompts. Tuesday
night with Ken. I was there. Emotional chaos inside me. It went
away. Now I can only remember what I saw. It has no other influence on
me. The emotional part of it has gone away. The chaos did not
last. Wednesday night turned out to be the most interesting of
all. You have 15 minutes to convince me to stay, she says. It took
more than fifteen. But she gave me more than 15. I did some of my best
acting. She was torn part of the time as to how much of it was an
act. Then, once she had decided in my favor, there was the situation
with Steve. She had to call and tell him the story. My car broke down,
she laments. I don't believe you, he replies angrily. And so it
goes. He had been with Linda, a friend of his, earlier in the evening,
and sent her home before Simone's expected arrival. But she didn't
show. That must have made him madder. I know we fucked that night, but
what I remember was the in-bed fight. I would reveal something about
how I had tricked her into staying, and she would pretend to attack
me. Must have gone on for an hour.

Thursday morning with Steve. They have a good time. But things get too
complicated for him. He kicks her out. Its over. I don't want to see
you again, he says. She calls to tell me about it just before I leave
for the train station, and to New York. Later he calls to ask if she
wants her thesis back. Yes, send it to me, she says. But she is harsh
and pissed off. She does not see that what he has done is to try and
recover from the situation. He doesn't really want it to be
over. Simone ignores this obvious manuver on his part. She claims it
is nothing more than returning the thesis. She is so stupid
sometimes. I remember doing exactly this countless times with
Adele. One of us would make some sort of reconciliatory move, only to
have it squashed and ignored by the other. But he keeps trying. He
calls back several more times. I think he is learning a lot in a very
little time from this relationship. Simone doesn't let him get away
with much. She tells him what she thinks. She tells him what she sees
him doing. It must be a real shock compared to the Hollywood crowd or
his other relationships. But I am surprised at his ability to bounce
back from each of his irreversible decisions. He seems to have called
at least once a day for the last few days.

Friday afternoon with Jeff. Simone calls after her two complete
orgasms. It is so wonderful she says. Jeff has been massaging her. We
talked about his relationship with her and other women for over an
hour last week. It was the most amazing talk I've had with a man since
leaving FH. He spoke about being totally pissed of at her for being
late, or completely missing dates with him, during the entire 6 years
they've known each other. He gets very mad at her. But he is very
straightforward. He doesn't try to rationalize everything. And then
about how he sees her. She seems to only call him when lonely. He has
the impression that the lights are on but nobody is there. She always
seems to be somewhere else. I think that is especially true when she
has problems with me. He is often the one she calls when I get away
from her. He notices this and tries to tell her what he sees. But
Jeff, I love you, she responds, or, that she really is there, and how
could you say such a thing. Or she will change the subject
completely. He will talk about something only to have her go off on
something completely different. She doesn't want to here what I have
to say, he tells me. I always thought of you as a cruel and hard
person, he confesses. But she is very good at talking about her
pain. She pours it out like water from a pitcher. She can really
stretch a face when she cries, he says. Some of the ugliest faces you
ever saw. This makes it seem like your fault. He sees Steve as someone
who will help her continue a fantasy life. She has this ability to
hold men and think they are the only one. She, on the other hand,
wants to be number one with each of them. An impossible condition. A
funny description of her 8-year non-relationship with Michael. We
compare notes and realize that many of the calls Simone tells me she
gets are really calls made by her to someone, and then returned. He
sees her as someone, and so do I, who has an insatiable need for love
that can't be satisfied, but only because something inside her says it
won't. Too many experiences with being disappointed. The next one will
be the same, the little voice inside says.

But its not all so bad. I remind him of how she's kept at it for 6
years with him. He has been the one to go away most often. She is open
to him. There is this way she looks at him directly, unlike most
women. This results in our discovering the downcast-eyes principle. It
goes something like this, as I see it: men are all the time going
around looking for women. They look at most everyone to see if they
get any attention. The woman, on the other hand, looks only at those
who interest her. She knows that the slightest look will tell any man
that she's uninterested. If the man responds positively, she will take
the next step. And it goes as far as the woman wants. She is in
control at the beginning. But later it will almost always turn to the
man being able to manipulate best. It will be easier for him to stay
emotionally uninvolved, or ignore how he feels. The woman can't do it
as well. I have played this little communication game many times. It
is always easy to tell. It goes even easier if the woman decides to
touch the man. This happened to me with Lisa, who I met at the art
show. She pulled back when she learned of my relationship with
Simone. It seems this is the safest way for women. They really don't
know who to trust. The kindest, gentlest, most considerate looking
man, in public, may turn out to be a terror in the bedroom. And it
often happens that way. Every woman I know tells me such stories.

It was about this time that I had a long talk with Herb Pearce. He has
been holding something about me inside himself since last
Christmas. It seems he did not like the way I behaved when Simone gave
me lots of presents last Christmas Eve. He thought me a little
cruel. It was nothing more than my trying to respond to Simone's urge,
almost a panic, to give me presents as a way of keeping my love. I
hear many stories about relatives who say, I don't care if you send me
a present. I just want you to be happy. But when she doesn't send a
present on the right day, they are pissed, and let her know it. So she
knows exactly how to handle this situation ñ always send a present. He
also has this idea that I fuck with lots of women. He is surprised to
hear that I've only been with Linda and Simone. They have been with
many others. They were constantly accusing me of fucking, or wanting
to fuck, or trying to fuck, with any woman who came near me. But that
idea has been slowly going away. Neither has accused me of this for
several months. But Herb somehow sees it that way.

I go out to dinner with Simone, Ellen, and Jack. We spend half the
time trying to find a restaurant that's open.

Sten has returned. I call the house to give Dana a message and find
him there. He has been in Washington, staying with Connie and her
parents. I wonder how he is leading her on. He wants to arrange for
Claudia to visit the Institutes for Human Potential in PHiladelphia
with Lily. She is 5 years old and still can't walk or really talk. I
find myself swamped by that old FH feeling. Its in my stomach and at
the ends of my arms and legs. A kind of tension and anxiety and urge
to flee from something. Its like a frozen but just starting to sweat
feeling. Difficult to decide what to do next. But having the feeling
that something must be done.

Quite a time with Simone. She has to tell him how she's glad he's here
to put the kibosh on me and do something about my bad behavior. He
gets a sample of hers later. Its this old problem of pride with
her. No job, no money, not many prospects. She has a resentment of
Carol and Sten. Its not just them, but they come from families with
money. She grew up poor. Smashes a cup of orange juice to the floor!
Screams and yells about not being able to stand it and runs outside. I
follow but see that Jack has just returned and is with her. She does
not want to do work that is beneath her dignity. On the other hand she
complains about being cut off from my support. Sten gets to be the
therapist. You aren't going to oppress us with your bad behavior. Its
funny. And we will try to get what fun we can from you. Its not funny
for you. But for us it is. So why don't you start something right now
from where you are, he asks. She slows down. It gets better. Carol has
gone a little off her rocker about the thrown cup. A small piece makes
a small cut in her leg. We clean up. Carol leaves. Jack goes for a
run. Simone, me, Sten, go outside to admire his new bike. Sten leaves
for Connie's. Simone and I go for a short walk.

Wednesday, August 27, 1981

I detect a certain amount of resistance to writing about the last two
days. It started when Joe called me a triple yum-yum. She had just
called him to ask if he would come over and fuck her. It got him out
of a depression. He couldn't do it as he had a date with someone
else. But it pleased him to much he just had to call me. That's when
my depression started. Why don't women call me and ask me to come fuck
them? He does have the advantage of keeping everything separate. I
find this impossible to do even though its obviously something that
could be tried. Who do I blame for this? Next comes the career
anxiety. I have just read a book. The Soul Of A New Machine. Its about
a group of people, engineers, who build a state-of-the-art computer in
an extremely short time. The psychological/emotional problems
encountered are given greater importance in this book than the
technological difficulties. There is a nice mix of the two. One could
read the book to learn about what's new in that area. Did I make the
right decision about not continuing with school? It was always
exciting to me. Science, discovery, inventing new things. The
childhood of these people was not unlike my own. Always poking around
in things and taking them apart. I felt left out and left behind. It
was something I always wanted to do. Too old now. Well past my
engineering prime. But it won't help me to cry over spilled milk, or
other things. In the human arena I feel left out and left
behind. Simone's success and Joe's success leave me feeling unable and
crippled. Its so hard for me. I feel such incredible resistance to
doing what would make a difference. I want it to come to me
automatically. Because I deserve it.

Kathy calls to say that Linda called this morning. She was concerned
about me. Simone has left me a note. It says that Linda called. They
talked. She wonders where I was this am. I wanted to avoid her. I
could not face her. I called Judy about staying with her last
night. Ken was to stay here with Simone. About ten last night we were
in bed, clothes half off, and There he is. So I try to convince Judy
to let me stay with her. I go to the office where she will call
me. She does not call. I work till four in the morning. Wake up at
eight and leave. Simone says hello to me as I go out the door but I
say nothing. Twinges of resentment and jealousy. I don't want to admit
to having lost in last night's competition. She had four men to sleep
with her last night. I had my computer. Sigh. Interesting talking with
Ken and Simone last night. She is conscious of the tension. Ken will
not admit to it. He reads a little of my notes and says he'd like to
read the whole thing sometime. You have a very loose style, which I
like, he says. So I leave in a hurry to get to the office in case Judy
calls. Simone wants me to linger. She plays a little stalling game.

Something noticed about last night. I come home about four to
sleep. She did not take her pillow. When Linda stays here with me she
(Simone) always takes her pillow to her room. Linda is not here. She
doesn't take the pillow. I need it for my bed, she always explains. No
more explanation is needed.

Monday, August 31, 1981

Walking down Harvard Street, from business in the square, on the way
home, two young girls, about 15, are sprawled, sitting, on the
sidewalk. A slight feeling of being threatened by them taking up the
sidewalk. Should I walk through them or around them? I go
around. Then, a moment later, a fantasy about impressing them. Why not
jump completely over them? But I am a klutz with women even in my
fantasy. I trip and fall on them, managing to almost impale myself on
a bicycle. Then this feeling of complete inability hits me. Why so
much difficulty relating to women?

Today is not Monday. It's Tuesday. I was writing this about 7pm last
night. Suddenly an enormous depression. I had to lie down and
sleep. All day it was fulminating and raging about all sorts of
imaginary scenarios between me, Simone, and Linda. Linda and Simone
fighting about the dog. Simone and me fighting about gettting Linda
and Ken together. Its been worrying me the last few days. I've been
anticipating her reaction. Her very unpleasant reaction. I've even
been telling people how I think she will react. The worrying settles
in my stomach. A tense and uncomfortable feeling. The stomach won't go
away. It stops working normally. It should just be there, doing its
thing, not complaining to me. So, I thought, why waste the rest of
this sheet of paper. I'll write till its full, then begin another day.

So I had this idea for Ken and Linda to live together. A few days ago,
when in the midst of my latest depression and withdrawal, Simone says
to me, why should you be so depressed and unhappy. I'd be glad if my
boyfriend was moving to a place only 5 blocks away, she tells me. A
few days ago this idea came to me. Why not? Simone will be bullshit,
but its in her best interests. She won't like my trying to bust up her
sexual monopoly, but it will make things more interesting. She tells
me I'm always upping the ante. Here we go again. As soon as I get over
one thing, you have to up the ante, she complains. She doesn't know
anything about it yet. Or maybe she does. She tried to call Ken last
night from Amherst. She will be there till Wednesday evening. I didn't
want to say anything about this. It would just be another burden to
keep her from making something of the course she's taking. So Ken made
an appointment to meet Linda Monday afternoon. But he did not show
up. He didn't even call to cancel. This surprised me very much. He is
high up in the local est office and the sort of person who is normally
very responsible. But this is a challenging and intriguing
situation. It may have turned out to be too much for him.

Wednesday, September 2, 1981

Finally I hear from Ken. He returns a message left at the est
office. He is not pleased at my asking him about missing the
appointment with Linda. I feel this great tension in the air. His
response is to accuse me of wanting to be right. That I have other
motives. Its true. It is something I've looked forward to with more
than a little glee. Especially after his trying to get me to take est
last SAturday night. I am shaking all over, and have a knotted
stomach. He had a gritted teeth and tight fist tone in his voice. He
accuses me of having some other tone in my voice. What are you really
trying to say, you covert asshole, you self-righteous fault finder, he
demands. I have to admit to less than honorable motives. His response
is all out of proportion. I do not plan to make him wrong all the rest
of his life. I can say that I am guilty of similar failures and do not
enjoy having them pointed out. But these est people have this way of
trying to get out from under what they have dumped on themselves. I
know I have to communicate this to Linda, he says. Do you believe
that, he asks. Well, I say. But don't get a chance to finish. So I
sense that it was something more than his just finding another
apartment. Slowly this tension and anxiety in me subsides. Its like
the old bear jumping at me from behind a bush. A thing that comes up
in my dreams. The same scared feeling. Fear. But just from the tone of
a person's voice. It was all est jargon. He was very angry, but very
controlled. I believe there is more behind it. Who knows exactly
what. Last Saturday night I told him how est was one of those surface
ways of dealing with life. That I expected contact with us here would
cause deeper things to start bubbling to the surface for him. There
must be something very hard under the skin of these successful est
graduates. I ask him about my notes. He finds them more than
interesting and wants to talk more about them with me but is pressed
for time at the moment. Simone and Jack wonder how much of this
reaction was provoked by me. She is interested to find out when she
sees Ken next. So he will or won't call me or Simone.

Nadine called me yesterday. She wasn't feeling well and wanted to have
lunch with me. She has an interesting situation with a man. He wants
her to spend more time with him, and also be monogamous. Meanwhile he
is going out with several women. He is always giving her
ultimatiums. Monogamy is nonsense, she tells me. But she also does not
use her knowledge. She's not able to act on this. She has this very
childish way of explaining why she wants to have lunch with me. It is
a physical reaction like a shy child. Swinging the shoulders back and
forth, a big smile, head held high in the air and tilted back, raising
a shoulder up to her chin. And a slightly high-pitched tone in her
voice. She is very self-conscious in telling all this to me. Next day,
today, she comes by and sleeps here for several hours. Then to an
appointment with Linda about staying/living with her on Norfolk
Street. Later in the evening she is still there. She was going to
leave for NYC right after the meeting.

An interesting story about Darby, Nancie's friend. It seems she and
her boy- were robbed one night at knife-point. He got freaked out by
the incident for some reason. Perhaps he felt like a failure for
letting it happen, and broke up with her. Its not clear why. Probably
just looking for a reason. He claims not to be able to handle the
situation with her. It could also be that Darby is now thinking of
getting a permit to carry a gun. This sort of thing causes me to start
sweating and turn red.

Simone has a gun incident this weekend at her psychosynthesis
course. A woman from Wyoming has a boyfriend that she's trying to get
away from, and who also carries a gun. Simone started to get in a
position of befriending her. More sweat and seeing red. I get this
feeling of panic and practically beat her over the head if she doesn't
say right now that she will end anything happening. Later she tells me
that the woman was kicked out of the program because something might
have happened, or so the group leaders thought. Simone tried to use
her new skills in therapy to assure me she could handle the
situation. Sure, like flies influence the direction of an elephant
stampede. She has, for that time at least, a completely false sense of
knowledge. Maniacs and criminals are the only people who carry guns
like this sort of person. Therapy and reason does not work with
them. But I hear no more of the whole thing.

Judy Levy shows up at the Turtle Cafe as we are about to leave. Me,
Simone, and Jack. She's with Bruce, a boyfriend of many years ago. He
got married, had a child, and now separated or divorced. He called me
about a job, that's all, just a job, a few days ago, she informs
me. This I don't believe, is my response. You're way off, she assures
me. I tell her this evening that he certainly was looking for more
than just a job. I whisper in her ear, just as we are leaving, call
and tell me all about it, ok. She says yes. Its a bit uncomfortable
with her.

Thursday, September 3, 1981

I have just realized that putting this piece of paper in the
typewriter was an almost completely unconscious act. I was barely
aware of doing so. But its time to write something. Don't know
what. Simone received a phone call from Panama.  Someone she used to
work with. A woman painter who is very successful. She can't get out
of the country. The political situation is difficult because of the
recent death of the president there.

Simone shrieks at me, Richard! I got a job interview for this art
thing at a nearby, the Harrington, school. I had just criticized her
for not doing anything. Waste of good criticism. She turns it around
on me.

Doll-face has a girlfriend tonight, she said. One of our neighbors. We
pass on the street and she says things like, I wonder what kind of
secrets are hidden under that red t-shirt. She asks me one day, you're
a doctor aren't you. Sometimes she just walks by with her head down
and looking at the ground. She's middle-aged, a little fat, always
walking up and down the street it seems. But then she notices that I
do this often.

Last night I did a laying-on-of-hands with Simone. It was a common
thing in the Mormon church. Jack and I held her hands. I had a hand on
her stomach. We moved our hands in a steady motion. Up or down or
side-to-side on her stomach. It was also important to speak with
her. But the most important part was the tone of her voice. It has to
send the feeling of concern and care for her. The same with the
physical contact. She has started to get dizzy and sick again. The
first recent incident happened at her psychosynthesis course. She and
another woman were with the male co-leader. They were very physical
with him. He was being massaged by two women who desired him. A
conflict. He doesn't want to reject or insult either of them. The
situation gets no resolution for any of them. About three that morning
she starts coughing up blood and gets taken to the hospital. It is not
usual for her to not win in this sort of competition. But back to
yesterday, and today. She has shit an unprecedented 7 times in the
last two days. Three times last night. Two times this morning, and 2
times this afternoon.

Simone and Linda are starting to accuse me of playing favorites
again. Each says the other is manipulating me and wants me all to
herself. They play little tricks on each other. And each of them
imagines that I play some sort of game on them in collusion with the
other. Paranoia strikes deep, into your heart it will creep. Linda has
forgotten to give Simone a message from Nancie, and Simone has to
reinforce the bad impression that Nancie has of Linda.

I got a postcard from Chile today. It was from Richard Harms. A
highschool classmate of mine. He was a year behind me. He was always
smarter. I was often jealous of him and his abilities. As a freshman
he won the county math contest against all the hotshot seniors in that
years class. They were really pissed off at this. He was in Chile for
some sort of astronomical observations and has promised to write later
and tell me what's happened since I last heard from him.

Saturday, September 5, 1981

We are on Simone's bed. Hugging and kissing. I try to turn her over to
give her a spanking for some reason. Dana tells us Michael is outside
and wants to get in. Simone suddenly wants me not to be on top of
her. I don't want him to see us like this, she tells me. Its difficult
to resist telling her how she always wants to be sure that I won't
reject her when Linda is around. That I will be affectionate, hug, and
kiss her. She wants me to stop doing the very thing she wants when the
situation is reversed. This feeling is familiar. It is there for me
when I'm with both of them. If one of them is about to leave, that one
will give me a kiss and hug before going. It is not hard to imagine
what goes on inside the other. Why do people get so distressed at
others having pleasure?

Simone tells me that she has made a decision to leave me within a
year. Is has come out of her recent therapy experience. Also, the
result of continued pressure from her friends and family. I'll give
you plenty of warning, she consoles me. She seems to have this
constant pressure to make definite, absolute, clear, unambiguous
decisions. Why not with me? It also has to do with Jerry. He is the
male psychosynthesis trainer. She has become quite enamored of him. He
is the type she falls for. He has all these superficial qualities that
initially attract her to a man. He gives the impression of having his
act together. But from the description of her time with him, Barbara,
and her, it seems he has little of anything but a very good act. Not
unlike most accomplished therapists. I am amused, and a little
anxious, to hear of this. She has resolved to leave a number of other
times. I have done the same. Sometimes I can't stand it anymore. Last
time I was ready to call her parents and brother and tell them. I had
asked Linda about living with her. But it went away. This time its
different. Its not so much based on her feelings as it is the idea
that she has to make a decision. Of this I have little fear. It would
be very hard if she left from bad feelings. From this reason, that she
has to start making decisions, I can only laugh. It will be something
to make continual fun of. She has such a hard time being hard. It is
one of her most positive qualities. She has not been able to really
cut anyone off. At least not anyone who has a spark of softness in
them. I notice this more in myself. Its very difficult to hold one of
these emotionally hard positions. It drifts around. It can't be pinned
down. I can't make myself stick to it. The very fact that she has
decided to leave in the future tells me this decision is not based on
feeling.

Tuesday, September 15, 1981

I am home alone tonight. Linda made a date with me yesterday. Simone
made a date with Steve. He called to cancel it. She made another with
Ken. Linda does not want to see me again. She does not want to work
for me again. Its an incredibly stupid reason. Yesterday she broke
down and cried a lot. She was very jealous of Simone and her ability
to attract people. It had been very hard for her for some days. She
spent a lot of time arguing with me about our relationship. How it was
hopeless and would never work out. Very hard. Then the breakdown. She
cried and cried and said everything that was making her feel bad. It
was much better. We made dates for Tuesday and Thursday. She came back
to my office about eleven this evening with Sten. I didn't know where
she was. Pepper was there. She was pissed about my class. I taught the
first section this evening. She and Simone were both invited to
come. Just yesterday we had talked about how bad she felt about being
excluded from the Friday and Sunday night dinners. She didn't want to
be excluded. She wanted the chance to say yes or no to everything that
was going on. I thought this was right and told Simone how I wouldn't
participate in anything she was going to exclude, or try to have Linda
excluded from. So for some twisted reason she is totally pissed at the
possibility that she and Simone might end up in my classroom on the
same night. Simone had earlier told me she would leave the room if
Linda showed up. So I am here alone tonight. Its not terrible, but
does not feel good. This black and white, apocalyptic approach to
relationships is exactly why she has not been able to stay with
anyone. At this moment I say to myself, this time she will have to
recover the situation herself. Its not said with any sort of feeling
of resentment, but that she has to try to overcome this thing in
herself. This has happened almost a dozen times between us in the last
1 and Ω years. I feel discouraged and exhausted.

Simone was on the phone, in the office, when Linda gave me her final
ultimatum. Barbara Levy, who she was so close to, who loves her so
much, has called to cancel her visit for this weekend. Simone had the
impression that Barbara was glad Simone would not be going to Amherst
for psychosynthesis training. It had to do with the trainer
Jerry. Simone could not come out and say what she thought was
obvious. I told her it sounded like many paths, and what happened to
her there. The people all had this attitude and manner of loving each
other. But in reality there were all sorts of things hidden under the
surface. Like Simone seeing through Barbara, but not daring to say how
she really felt. And this false love and liking they have for each
other will go on. I see this same thing in Linda. She is feeling
strong right now. But its false. She is trying to use it to take
control of the situation. She feels in control of her life for the
moment. It won't last. It didn't before. And Simone's love affair with
Barbara will end when the truth about her and Jerry and Simone comes
out. They are both attracted to him but could never stand each other
if he were to start something with them. Its not unlike what has

Wednesday, September 16, 1981

Spent half the afternoon talking to Dana about the fight between me
and Simone. He asked her to be especially nice to me for the next two
days. To cancel her dates with other people. He is worried that she
will be in a bad mood for the Friday open house. Fix him a nice dinner
and buy him some chocolates, he suggests. Such an old topic for a
fight. But I am also upset about Linda. Does it cloud what I see or
does it induce me to speak my mind more than usual? Actually I hold
back more when things are going better. A bad mood makes me want to
cut everyone to pieces. The talk got some secrets out of Dana. He
called Suzanne the other day, but she was reluctant to speak with him
at any length. It seems she is seeing a couple of men. And she is one
who accuses him of being corrupted by and under my influence. Also,
that he has been missing Polly, and thinks about contacting her
again. Something I didn't know, but suspected, that Polly has more
than one relationship. Dana thinks she fucks with only one person at a
time, however.

A dream about Adele and Cheyenne. We are in Cambridge, riding
bicycles. I am following them. They go into some sort of building,
like a church

Another fight with Simone. Its about the position I find myself in
with more and more people. Something happens to them, some sort of
disaster, or they plan a disaster. My course is to speak about how I
see it. Or its something I see Simone doing. I noticed something about
Ken a few days ago. He stopped talking about the other women he was
seeing. He's stopped having other relationships. He only wants to be
with Simone. He talks about loving her and having a child with
her. They cut themselves off from other relationships. They begin to
see everything in their relationship with Simone as leading to more
and more involvement. But she is only good at leading them on. Nothing
can come of it. She can't be the wife of several people. They want her
only for themselves. They offer a ring and marriage. Jeff and Stu and
others. She recognizes it ñ prison. Ken seems to be in this stage
where he wants to be with her all the time and talks about having
children. He abandons all else for this wonderful feeling of being in
love with Simone. She fights me on this. She's at one end of the hall
shouting at me. I'm in my room throwing something at her every now and
then to keep her biting. She gets off onto Her situation with
Jeff. She's to see him tonight. But late again. It gets later. Its
some kind of resistance she has to falling into her feelings with
him. Sometimes I just want to stay with him forever, and never come
back to you, she tells me. Do you want me to call Jeff and tell him,
right now what's going on for me, she asks. I don't know exactly what
this thing is but its there. She is not always straight with
Jeff. Later she tells me about telling him what was really going on
for her and how he did the same. So, the result of spilling all the
beans is that Jeff really said something about himself. Like how he
really was jealous of Ken the other night. So who isn't jealous of
someone in such a situation? I feel it. Its only a question of
practiced deception. Its possible to make it seem as though one isn't
really feeling something. Today

Tuesday, September 15, 1981

happened between Linda and Simone. Their true feelings come out when
they are jostling for me. At the moment Simone is ahead. She is a
harder and nastier fighter. Neither of them is yet able to see that
its in their best interest to share me. To really learn to share
me. And that's not really the best word. To learn that it is really
possible for both of them to have a good relationship with me. To
learn that if one of them, Linda in particular, has more of me, that
Simone is not getting less. I know that having a good relationship
with both of them makes more for me, makes more out of me. It
literally creates more of me. I can feel this. Anything less makes me
feel like shrinking.

The phone rang a couple of hours ago. I said hello. No answer. Talk to
me, I said. How about a little heavy breathing? Whoever it is gives me
some. How about a little mucous contact? I don't get any. The
breathing gets louder. Boring, I says. It goes on. At first I imagine
it to be Linda. But after breathing for awhile, it seems to be
Edwin. Everybody here, Joe, Jack, Dana, has a little listen. But they
don't know who it is. We never find out. After some time I hang
up. They don't call back.

Quite a time with Simone last night. We must have been up till 4am or
so. It was a wrestling match, pillow, water, belt, and a few other
things fight. We have this thing where she tries to push me off the
bed. It has never worked. She can't do. So I roll her onto the
floor. It works every time. I'm much stronger. But she comes back each
time, madder each time, more determined each time, and I roll her onto
the floor again. Then comes the pillow fight. She starts it and I
respond. The same again. I bash her more often with the pillow than
she gets me. Water. She gets a glass. I have the sprayer. It shoots
clear across a room. I get her every time. She gets a little water on
me. She tries the umbrella, then the raincoat. I spray around, under,
over and everywhere. Next she takes the belt to me. Not too hard to
get it away and start whacking back. Next day Dana tells her how we
kept him up till all hours. He stayed up till 5am reading. He thought
about coming in to save her from me. Only in my youth did I do such
things, he explains.

The last week has been very hard and exhausting on me. Both Linda and
Simone put lots of pressure on me for time, money, attention,
affection, love, and every fear and anxiety gets dumped on me. They
accuse me of favoring the other. I give the other more credit, or
think the other is better, I care about the other more, or that I
always compare one to the other.  They each think they are getting
less and that the other is getting more. They accuse me of rejecting
them for the other. They are each afraid I will leave them for the
other one. They both have fears that are so remarkably alike. They
both respond to the other in such similar ways. I see both of them as
being hard, but in different ways. And, on top of this, money
problems. Nothing in the mail again today. But in two weeks I will
have about $750 from my teaching job.

Thursday, September 17, 1981

Today I noticed my depression coming out in an unusual way. It was
concentrated mostly around my eyes, just under them. Shaped like
little bags tied to each side of the eye and pulled down hard. A
little bit of burning sensation. Normally I get it in my whole
body. Its everywhere. Its depression but coming out in a quite
different way for me. Also, I am very nervous. I taught my second
class this evening. It, on top of everything else, has made me very
nervous. The old asshole is starting to talk to me by blowing these
tiny little bubbles around the edge. I've been feeling them for the
last week. A sure sign of tension. I've been thinking about calling
Adele again. That always makes me nervous. Not having contact with
Linda, while Simone has made arrangements for three nights in a
row. Hardly any money has come to my business. The only big thing I
look forward to is a big check for teaching. Yesterday Dana was
telling me how Simone was expressing, indirectly, her pleasure at
Linda having rejected me. She was seeing it as an opportunity to kick
me in the balls for having the nerve to have a relationship with
another woman. She tried to hide her pleasure over it from me.

But I am only getting frustrated again. Maybe Sten is right. Maybe I
should just get my own apartment. He tells me Linda and he slept
together after she rejected me. But nothing happened. He had his
clothes on all night. Part of the same pattern with her. She uses sex
to manipulate men. Not having sex, but with the promise of sometime in
the future. I know of four relationships with this going on. Tom and
Debbie, Roberta and Gordon, Beth and Phil, and today, Michael and
Constance. I suspect its from the woman, except maybe with
Roberta. They are all what Simone calls once-a-weekers.

This is shit. I can't say it right. At the moment I don't know what
I'm talking about. Something is there. Its not very clear. Maybe if I
write the same thing over again, with different words, it will come
out better. Now I think, what a waste of time. There are plenty more
things to write about. Things I've avoided for two weeks. There all on
little notes in my pocket. I think Simone must be getting them out and
reading them every day. Maybe every few days.

Jack continues to be pissed off at me. Its not clear to Dana or
Simone. They aren't sure exactly what it is. I hear about it only from
Simone. Little does he know that the very people he is blessing with
his revelations are talking about him behind his back. Simone and Dana
notice little things about his behavior and say nothing to him. Its
usually me. That's what started it off to begin with. He now thinks
Simone should leave me. She, as usual, goes right along with whatever
he says as a way of getting his support. I noticed how the same thing
said to him by Simone is accepted graciously. But from me, instantly,
caused a harsh reaction. I don't like to be told what's to be done, he
informs me. He has decided to stay. Dana takes credit for getting him
to do this. Jack has fallen in love with Dana. I notice how Jack is
very attentive to everything Dana says. Dana has hit the nail right on
the head, he informs us at one point. Tonight this has to be talked
about.

Simone has left me a note about not fixing dinner. I have the honor of
supporting her, doing the household chores, helping start her
business, support and encourage her other relationships, and I get to
help myself. Sometimes she has no idea what support means. In spite of
being able to attract many people she is unable to support them in a
meaningful way. I haven't said this well. She wants to support me, but
in the way that is best for me and her, is impossible for her. I was
thinking of the situation with Michael today. How there are not the
kinds of tensions that exist with Simone and Linda. He has gotten more
and more relaxed about being here. His biggest fear now probably has
to do with Constance discovering he's been here, or suspecting it. Its
still not right. This will be her third night out. She continues to
complain about not being able to get things done. Too much
socializing. Complaints about not having a job. Today her therapist
tells her she doesn't get a job so she can stay home with me. I had
the thought that it was to be able to keep an eye on me. I think
that's why she's really taking my course at MIT. She'll make some sort
of obvious move to put the kibosh on my trying to make it with Miss
P. The rantings of a paranoid man, you say? Could be. What other
paranoids have I had lately? Can that be all? Sitting here trying to
think of some more. I've got them. They come and go like clouds of
scent in the air. They are sensed one moment and are gone with the
next breath.

I get the stuff out of my back pocket. Time to tackle some of those
little notes. Separate the business stuff from the notes. First thing
is a note about how Simone read in a psychology book about how men
without fathers try to find women to dominate. I must tell her how I'm
still looking for that sort. No luck so far with what I've managed to
scrounge up. Ken asked me about how I saw him. Some notes about Mr
Kool. I do this too, but his is more sophisticated and worldly. That I
have never managed. He holds back his feelings until someone else
describes such a thing. This happened several times with me. I'd say
something about myself and then he would respond in a like manner. Its
possible to evoke est-like responses from him. You only have to say
something negative about yourself. Up pops his est-planation of how it
doesn't have to be that way. This is a fun one to try with him. He is
more than interested in my notes. Simone tells me of seeing a copy at
his house that was marked up and underlined all over the
place. Perhaps he is a secret editor for Random House? Throw that one
away. But I haven't said anything about recent developments with
him. He's falling in love with Simone. Stu had a talk with him the
other day and attempted to recruit him into the
get-Simone-to-leave-Richard army. Its growing every day. It seems as
though hardly a day passes that someone new doesn't sign up. Its
almost an unconscious way Simone has of covering herself if it does
really happen. Meantime, she has trouble being with me because of that
fear. She has yet to really let go sexually because of this
fear. Ellen's father has paid $100 so she can go to a big political
dinner and meet a man.

I am just now realizing how good it feels to get all these things out
of me. An amazing sense of relief. I don't have to keep these things
inside me. Its going faster and faster. My third and a half page
already. The depression bags under my eyes are shrinking. The rest of
my body is relaxing. Shaking the shoulders. I will have to do this
more often. Its therapeutic.

Simone has admitted to me the other day that the intense nature of our
relationship chases people away. She has fought me about this for over
a year. Now she finally sees that its true. She always wanted to
attribute it to my being jealous of her having more relationships.

Linda calls me late one night from her job in Belmont. You're the
daddy, she tells me. You take care of everyone and see that they get
what they need. This is hard to say, she confesses, but you are the
most interesting and influential person in my life. It was hard for
her but made me feel very good. It was like a warm wave washing over
me.

Michael visited the other afternoon. He had to make two calls to
Constance. Not clear what for. She seemed to be mad at him. Later, he
and Simone go to the square and return via Inman Street. It seems
Simone didn't want any of the men she is interested in, who live on
our street, to see her with Michael. She wants them to think she only
has a relationship with me. They will be more likely to think there is
a chance for them. Another time, when Michael was coming over, we are
on my bed doing something, when Dana, in his room, says hello to
Michael out the window. She wants to get up immediately so Michael
won't see her being loving to me. She never avoids such gestures when
they are directed to Michael, and I'm around. Today she avoided any
physical contact with me when she and Michael left the house. I have
just realized how she has done the same thing in the past.

There's a little note here to write about the progress I've noticed in
other people, but no names of hints as to who. Yes, some have made a
little progress. I notice how Jack started playing his recorder
more. He's been working on some programs for this computer. But he did
himself in, and stopped playing as much, when I suggested he get
together with Gene and play at tomorrow's open house.

Simone challenged me the other day to write a make-up/love letter to
Steve for her. Sten had an idea about trying to write something from
the point of view of the other person. End of the little piece of
paper. Throw it away.

These things are like little emotional or psychological debts. There
are four of them left. 3 by 5 cards. Nothing significant. I pick them
up, thumb through them, turn them over, put them down, go back to
typing. Resistance. Somehow I do not want to write about what is on
those little cards. But something else wants to. Pounding the
typewriter. Literally. Not working away on the keys. Next note.

A talk with Tom the other day. He tries to tell me how he has talked
it over with Debbie. Him having relationships with other women. I
think he has only convinced himself that he's done this talking. Its
enough of a basis to go ahead. He still wants an affair with
Simone. He is sexually frustrated with Debbie. She is the sort to use
her sexuality as a weapon against him, and ultimately herself. He will
end up just like his father. Michael is another one I see this
happening to. He has a philandering father also. He has taken a woman
who will be an exciting dish washer, diaper changer, and floor washer,
but not much else. Steady. Reliable. A person who will do their duty
and always be there.

Simone wrote me a check the other day. It was for $10.86. The memo at
the bottom said WW III. I don't remember what the money was
for. Something about the defense of our cuntry.

Simone had the idea at one time to call Linda about making her a
birthday cake. Nothing came of it. A good idea. The right and best
kind of idea. Just the sort of thing people need to do for each
other. Not the cake, but the thought of wanting to do things for other
people. The sort of things that will make people love you.

 A new idea about my notes. Video notes. Using video to record my
 spontaneous exposition of the things I write. But with many more
 dimensions than one can get down on paper. I think about all the
 gestures, tones of voice, expressions of the face, and other parts of
 the body. How it is difficult to put in things like enthusiasm,
 surprise, happiness, love, hatred, depression, excitement, fear,
 anxiety, and everything one can feel. And how its easier for me to
 start saying something over. Its harder to rewrite it. I don't like
 erasing things. Its ok when its only one character or a word or
 two. It would allow me to see more of myself. I'm not sure I could
 stand to watch it, though. Its impossible for me to even read these
 notes again.

Beth Eischen has read my notes and like them very much. She thinks I
should write a novel. She notices how I am an observer, participant,
and reflector of what I write about, and what's going on. That she
sees me taking all three of the parts and moving back and forth
between them.

Do I want to write anything about my fantasy of making a videotape,
with me as the hero, of a Cambridge version of Raiders of the Lost
Ark? No. Just that I had it, according to the date on this note,
around August 4th, last month. Have I been carrying this stuff around
that long? Unbelievable! Throw that one away. There are some little
things on it, but so what.

Simone and I had dinner at Roberta's the other night. Later Simone
tells me how she finds her boring, dead in her relationship with
Gordon. They want us to go to a baseball game with them. Ovey! How
completely boring. A young girl was there. Maybe eight or
nine. Roberta saw her as someone who got lots of attention. But she
was constantly acting out with people. Trying to get the attention of
everyone. She is very aggressive with me. Wants my attention but
doesn't want it. She is afraid of me at the same time. But it is easy
for me to get her to do things. Another man comes into the room and
absorbs all her frantic kicking, no complaints.

Simone has just come back from the movies with Ken. She tells me about
the latest with Ellen. Seems she met a psychiatrist on the beach at
Revere. He's a good fuck and she's decided to marry him. Two days is a
quick decision. She's not coming to the open house tomorrow as she
will be fucking with an old high school classmate. She reminds me of
Kathy, who has recently given up on men. Again. She finds them to be
superficial, worthless, and real shits. She goes back and forth
between falling completely for one, and never wanting anything to do
with them again. She came to my course tonight and enjoyed it very
much. Nora called Simone today. She wouldn't say anything about how
things were going with Ted. She would only say something vague about
how she was getting used to it.

Stu has had a crash with his new true love. She's left him. He calls
Simone to get her sympathetic ear. He knows what will get her. Its a
little lesson for Simone. Why did this happen, I ask her. For one, he
did it to get even with you. Second, he jumped into the whole thing,
living together, after knowing her for only two weeks.

Nancie is pregnant. She wants to know what I think of this. I tell
her. It seems to me to be a way for her to tie down her relationship
with Bob. A way to do away with her doubts. As a future mother, she
can't do anything else. She will have to go through with it. I don't
think she has such good communication with Bob. It seems that many
things with them are not out in the open. One being that Bob has been
talking to Simone about his fantasies. He wants to sleep with her and
has told her a number of times. I am quite sure Simone has not told
this to Nancie. I sometimes think about telling her this. But they are
both under the illusion that they have a good communication. Its not
so. Simone thinks the same of Nancie's situation with Bob, but hasn't
said it. She leaves it to me. And so Nancie now thinks me judgmental
and opinionated. So I am. But not behind her back. And Simone is that
with her. All the time thinking they talk about everything. I learn
that Bob is uncomfortable with me but is not able to say anything
directly to me. Nancie again wants Simone to leave me before the
wedding. She wants Simone to start a relationship with her friend
Michael-three-cars. I did not go to the wedding shower a few days
ago. It is very frustrating for me to be in this position with Nancie
and Bob. I like them well enough. They are good company, interesting
people, who I could get some useful contacts from. But they seem
unable to talk to me. They seem to be afraid of what I might say. They
have some anxieties of I don't know what. Projection. That's what it
is. Projection. Bullshit. How superficial. They don't want to hear
what I've said. They want everything to work out. They want to live
happily ever after. They are afraid it won't. Nancie is using her
friend Michael to get Simone away from me. She tells him only about my
sexual affair with Linda. Jeff comes as a complete surprise to
him. Wait till her learns about Stu, Ken, Michael, Steve, George,
etc. Nancie apparently uses me as an example against Bob. How Simone
and I have more open communications, or something like that. The exact
reason or way is not clear. She has been very straightforward with
Simone about how she sees our relationship. Simone doesn't like what
she has to say, but I agree with her. That makes Simone even madder.

The Officer Zabbo event is waiting there on my table, on a card. But I
don't want to write about it. It happened something like two months
ago. A fight between me and Simone. I withdraw to the office. She
tries to get in through the window. I keep her from opening
it. Someone calls the police. They trash me. One more time, he says,
and I'm going to arrest you, have you evicted, and put in jail for
three years. Its as though I'm being punished for keeping a criminal
out of my house. They ask Simone about filing a complaint against
me. She acts appropriately spaced and innocent. She denies that
anything is going on. They notice the bruises on her legs and
arms. From falling down when she faints. They see me as a wife
beater. Later, one of them asks Simone to go out with him. A few days
later still another asks her out. You don't have to be with that kind
of man, they tell her. Simone doesn't want to see how she's played
this. She plays the perfect innocent woman who's been taken advantage
of by a mean man. I go to the police station to complain about the
officer threatening me. And call several friends who I know are
involved in city politics. They tell me not to worry. These guys see
this sort of thing all the time. Don't take it so serious, they say.

Last week Keith showed up to visit Simone. Does Richard still
masturbate everyday, he inquires. He was not expected. He and Simone
go out for awhile. A few moments later Judy calls me. She's lonely and
wants to go out with me. We go to a movie. Lenny Bruce, with Dustin
Hoffman. On the way back to the car she asks, Is Simone going to sleep
with that guy Keith tonight? Well, you can just imagine what I would
do with that. My immediate reaction is ñ she's really asking if I will
stay with her. I've put the question to others, and they see it the
same. But I've just go to push on it. I get a bit obnoxious. And
continue to insist. The makes her only madder. She takes me home. We
sit outside the house. I try to recover from my stupid blunder. She's
right. I do get obnoxious about things like this. Even if its
true. Then, without warning, she saves the night. Leave me alone
tonight, she blurts out. Ah ha! So, there really is a chance for
me. She realizes she has stuck her foot in her mouth with that one. I
have a great time with it. One can say those four words at least a
hundred way. She got at least half of them from me. We have a good
time with it. I get to hug and kiss her. She lets go a little
bit. Things are much better. We part. I am at least in good spirits. I
don't really know what's really going on for her. Perhaps she really
did want to have me stay with her that night. She felt offended about
my observation of her behavior and couldn't get herself out of being
defensive. Something went wrong for me and I ended up pushing on her.

Simone has just come from her room to tell me that Ken has fallen
asleep and is snoring. But I am doubtful of this. She feels very
awkward. She comments about being in a house with lots of men. How can
she feel anything but awkward? She knows in some way that people are
not getting what they need. It may feel good to have lots of men
around, but it won't be good when they get frustrated and go elsewhere
for what they need. I told her about how she contributed to this
situation. She turned it around and thought I wanted her to start some
sort of computerized dating service. Its simpler than that. We know
lots of horny, frustrated, unsatisfied people. They all have their
little petty, silly prejudices that keep them from accepting each
other. She could use what she has with people to show them how its
possible to overcome such things. But she doesn't. Its more work than
being the center of attention. But everybody wants attention. Keeping
it all for oneself is shortsighted. Others will only feel compelled to
go elsewhere and attract the same sort of slavish attention that she
gets. Most will not do nearly so well. This is what has happened to
Linda. She envies Simone's following. But is too proud to learn from
her. She is proud to settle for anything less than the same. So she
gets nothing. Or she will get a continuous string of short affairs
that leave her feeling nauseous. And she will say, so proudly, how she
can attract any man she wants. But she can't keep any of them.

Simone has told me she's put more than one tampax in her vagina
again. It was three this time before she noticed anything odd. She
doesn't want me to write about this. Or how she does these very quick
deep kneebends as a way of making the air rush over her cunt. She does
it at odd moments. When I see her do this she looks at me very
sheepishly.

Finished with those little cards at last. I rip the last two in pieces
and throw them in the trash.

More people have called to say they won't be coming to the open
house. There is something odd about the way Simone tells me this. Its
almost as though she's glad they won't come. They all have their
little excuses. But at bottom its because they aren't getting
something. They aren't getting what they really need. Dream therapy is
not enough. I am reminded of my recent idea about cargo cults and
modern therapies that have been extracted from primitive cultures. But
that will have to wait for tomorrow.

Saturday, September 19, 1981

A terrible sensation while fa-ling asleep the other night. It was like
a warm, soft, wave. A panic that spread over me. I had the sensation
of something disastrous happening inside my body. As though I were
about to die. Literally as though my lights/life were about to go
out. This feeling has come over me a number of times. Not often, but I
recognize it. I feel to much panic to realize this at the moment it
happens. It passes quickly. I am afraid for some amount of time after
this. I don't know exactly what it relates to. But there were a lot of
sensations and feelings streaming through my body. I was in bed by
myself for the third night in a row. Simone was here with Ken. He was
pretending to be asleep. Simone came in to ask me about this. It
seemed obvious to me that things were getting to be too much for
him. He has started having odd little behaviors as he develops more
feeling for her. He is having little difficulties keeping his
agreements. He was unable to attend last night's open house, but
called twice, then again early this morning.

It seems Simone has just spoken to Ken again. She could not tell him
about the infection she has. It may have come from him. He does not
use underwear. I have told Simone about having the men she fucks with
wash both before and after. She's talking to him now but has
difficulty getting him to take the problem seriously. It is clearly
hard for her. The nervous laughter gives her away. Now a comment about
doing something to me. If you're jealous of him, then deal with him,
she says. He is trying to get away from any responsibility. He has
done a number of things recently to try and make me jealous. There was
a note the other day about how he 'did not fuck the dog.' A little
fantasy about him, Simone, Linda, and me. Ken and Simone are in her
bedroom. Linda is with me. Linda and I take our clothes off and go to
the door of Simone's room with squirt guns. We knock. Open up, I
shout. Its the relationship terrorists. We burst in and start
squirting them in the crotch. Then we all jump into bed together. The
fantasy goes to one of everyone switching around to be next to someone
different.

An idea today about another style of writing. It was to write as
though this was a novel. To make myself just another character. I was
thinking about how to write what happened with Nancie yesterday.

They were taking her to Central Square. All three in the car. Headed
down Prospect Street. They would stop at Bread & Circus and walk to
the subway, return and do some shopping.

Why don't you talk about the problem between the two of you right now,
Simone suggested.

Richard, finding himself in an awkward position, and a little nervous,
about the sudden broaching of the subject, began. It had been in the
air for a week or more. Nancie was Simone's best friend. Richard was
living with Simone. So how does one introduce a subject that's been
festering between two people who are close to a third. Someone who is
literally in the middle. Who passes communication between two people.

I have lost it. The idea was for me to sit somewhere above the scene
and try to look down on the action. To see all the parties with the
same weight or objectivity. But another conversation with Simone, and
the underwear problem came up. She first had the burning on Thursday
night. The night before she was with Jeff. Sometimes he does not wear
underwear. He doesn't wear underwear so that he can feel his prick
more. The infection may have come with him. I find people do not take
these things very seriously here. On FH everyone really understands
the importance of sexual hygiene. I once told on Herbert Stumpfl. He
was flirting with some of the young girls in the guest group. He was
kissing. That was a no-no. I went to Otmar and told him about
it. Herbert was in big trouble the next few days. Another time I told
Renate about Suzanne, who was not wearing underwear. Simone tells me
to finish with the underwear thing. Why don't you talk about Michael's
underwear collection from different countries, she proposes. He was
here the other day and looking through my drawers for some of his lost
foreign underwear. It seems he is paranoid about my possibly stealing
some of his. Kathy and Simone talked about Dave Ring's underwear
today. He has furry, pink, I love you, and other weird
undies. Otherwise he was very straight, a devout Buddhist. What about
your mother's underwear, I ask. It seems she buys the cheap ones that
always fall apart or have holes in them. She buys funny, weird kinds
for Simone. Carol has just come in to tell us one of her funny
underwear stories. She once put a pair of bikini, shear, red, nylon
undies. She photographed him with his hard shaft showing through. I
once wore a pair of Simone's. Her grandmother wore very large ones
that resembled shorts. Carol likes to wear them with holes over the
pubic hair. Then it rubs and stimulates her. But it sometimes
irritates her. Simone likes to get fucked by a man wearing jockey
underwear, with the penis through the hole in the front. Joe calls
with an underwear story. He's coming home from work on his
motorcycle. It was pouring rain. He had to piss. He went in his pants
as it didn't make much difference. Now Simone has one about pissing in
her pants. She would get really stoned while in college. She was
hitchhiking from Freedonia to New Haven. She got a ride from someone,
had to go and couldn't hold it back. She went all over the guys car
seat. Simone was always very embarrassed to tell someone she had to
go. She was in a store once, during her youth, had to go, and let it
dribble down her leg. Then there is the story about how I rent
Simone's bras to Joe. Its only a joke really, but Joe and I always
have a lot of fun with it. Carol asks Simone and I to lie on top of
her. I get on first and Simone on top of me. She calls us a cookie
with creme in the middle. She likes the weight on her. Joe has just
arrived with the Boston Globe.

Sunday, September 20, 1981

Simone and Carol are in the bathroom. Simone says something about
George's pictures of her and how I'm paranoid about having everyone
else see them. Suddenly I am overwhelmed with rage. Perhaps I'll go to
the office, and not tell her, or just go away for part of the day. She
can go to Tom's by herself. But I don't do it. Then thinking about
Edwin. He wanted to buy some labels from me the other day. I delivered
them to his office. Asking him for payment he suddenly responds with
what about my chair. The one he loaned to us. Someone spilled orange
juice on it. He seemed to be connecting his paying me with cleaning
and returning of his chair. What a petty, vengeful, small minded
asshole, I thought. It was uncomfortable to realize the same quality
is in me. This often happens. I notice some sort of behavior in one
person, or myself, and then the situation reverses. I see the same
thing in myself or the other person. We seem to all be alike. We seem
to all be able to see this ridiculous behavior in others, and on the
other hand become indignent and self-righteous when we notice such
things in others. Especially when it will do something against us.

We visit Tom and Debbie. They are in a constant fight. This day it
seems that Debbie protests against everything Tom says. He can't say a
thing without her criticizing it. He tells us, jokingly, how they
start the day with a fight and keep it up till the end. On the way
home Simone tells me how Debbie almost decided to go away for the
day. Tom had told her we were going to visit and talk about
relationships and sexuality. He apparently has his high hopes for what
our visits will do for him and Debbie. Anyway, we hardly touched on
the subject. I had no idea of this till we were on the way
home. Simone did speak briefly about how we have managed to reduce the
length of time we hold grudges against the other. And also how she has
noticed herself falling into a childish, helpless role. Except for
these things it was very mild and a bit boring. The best part was
walking in the woods and finding all sorts of new mushroom types, and
a railroad spike. One mushroom had two slugs on it. On the larger slug
was a still tinier worm with something like a hundred legs. We visited
an outdoor arts fair. I learned about cloth making technology up to
the beginning of the industrial revolution. It took 10 spinners to
keep one weaver busy. They cut the wool from a sheep, carded it, spun
it into thread, wove it. This took four machines. The wool cutters,
the carders, the spinning wheel, and the weaving machine. The man who
told me all this was a computer programmer. He was making a shawl that
would last longer than the life of its owner. He thought I must be
some sort of technical person.

Ken is having some technical difficulties. But I say this in jest, as
it is something not handled by est. His difficulties, that is. He
begins to feel things that have nothing to do with est, but rather the
deepest feelings that people can have. He is beginning to have what I
would call small failures. That is, he is having difficulty being the
sort of person he wants to be. One who makes arrangements with people
and abides by them. One who is not overwhelmed by feelings that tend
to swamp most of us, and cause us to behave in ways we later
regret. He has become very aggressive towards me. By having Simone
pass on things that he hopes will make me jealous. He is beginning to
fall into a familiar pattern. At the beginning he had no deep feelings
for her. Now he is overwhelmed by them and tries to make a situation
that helps him avoid this. He wants her away from me. No doubt he will
no collaborate with Stu to end our relationship. It is becoming messy
for him. He will try most times to remain emotionally distant. He will
try to remain aloof. But nothing in est will help him with the things
he has yet to feel. He says many things against me. Just now, while
reading this, Simone tells me that he thinks I have defective
sperm. This comes from the problem Simone is having at the moment. She
may be having a miscarriage. He wants to see it as my problem. To put
all the evidence he can find against me. I have told Simone to be
careful with him. These feelings can easily be turned into aggressive
behavior against her. I am sure he is having lots of violent fantasies
about me. What to do about it? He is clearly in a position that will
leave him feeling left out and not really loved. Simone can't really
satisfy him in her present position. She lives with me. She spends the
most time with me. Most of her life is a mystery for him. He's not
going to get the satisfaction that his feelings demand. Lots of
unfulfilled longings. Like Stu, he will come to see me as an
obstacle. Explosive feelings will build up inside him. He will have no
choice except to go elsewhere for what he needs, or to fight against
me. Our not living together makes it impossible for him to get
anything but fleeting satisfaction. He has relatively little contact
for someone that he now cares for very deeply. I don't know if it
would be possible for him to live with us. But I think it is becoming
more and more obvious that other relationships will not be able to
tolerate the kind of distance living this way creates. He wants to be
closer, but Simone will not allow it. Its not that she deliberately
cuts off feeling for him. But that the way we live keeps them distant
from each other. She is beginning to feel awkward when he is
here. Last time was very hard for her. I could feel it myself. It
caused some sort of artistic explosion in me. Seven and Ω pages. The
tension and awkwardness from that evening broke some sort of dam or
writer's block for me. Why is it that we can't push on to the next
most obvious thing to do? All of us living together. It is an
emotional block. A feeling out of control. Its too much to go the next
step. Its too awkward or tense. We have had the same experience here
with every person that has fallen in love with Simone or me. They just
develop this longing for one or the other of us. Then someone gets
afraid of being rejected. So they eject themselves from the
situation. Nobody has the courage to break through that seemly
impossible barrier. And we fall back to a position of getting less
than what we want and need. It starts again with the next person who
feels something.

Sunday, September 27, 1981

What to write about? Another few days with things just boiling over
and out of me, but resistance to putting them down on paper. I fiddle
with the typewriter to make the time go by. This lever here seems to
make it a little harder to push down the keys. I move it the other way
and things seem easier. Maybe its my imagination. Someone has also put
white-out stuff on the piece of plastic around the type ball. You
can't see part of what's being typed and part of what's been
typed. Enough of this.

Long conversation with Edwin today. He is writing something called
conversations with Richard. He will show me a copy tonight. He is also
writing a letter to the editor of a magazine and a press release about
his business. He's going to show me copies of them also. I have made
some critical observations about his business. It isn't going as well
as he wants. How do you see it, he asks me. This is going to make me
into another lightning rod. I have said some very hard things about
what he and his partner are doing. Edwin thinks they will see it as a
personal attack. But he realizes its not so. He has been in a very
receptive mood. Two days ago I told him about the labels and chair
incident. How it was small-minded and vengeful. THis led to more talk,
and several days later a confession that some things had been
festering inside him. He sees us as being closer and more connected
than I do. But we have never really been able to create any sort of
common enterprise. The times we've tried have failed. And the times I
have tried to borrow money from him have caused him to demand things
from others. Things are slowly disintegrating with him and his
partner. They will probably part ways soon.

Stu has just called. What do you want with Simone, I ask. She's in New
Haven, I tell him. He wants Ken's phone number. It never ceases to
amaze me. They once lived together as ëthe best of friends' ñ until
Ken started sleeping with Simone. Now he has to call Simone to get his
phone number. Simone tells me that the two of them have been meeting
together recently and discussing how to get her to leave me. They both
probably figure they have a better chance against each other than me.

An interesting talk with Edwin this morning about how he sees this
whole thing with me and Simone and the ëothers'. He sees the men who
go after Simone as being very arrogant, self confident, possessed with
the idea that they must be hot shit to be able to get Simone's sexual
favor, that she will probably leave me in two weeks for them, and that
they are cuckolding me. But men are also emotionally stupid. Most
women would immediately conclude that they don't want to be the other
woman. They immediately see that in most situations they are being
used by the man. A man in this position, on the other hand, has no
idea of what's coming, in the case with Simone. They see it as a
typical situation where the woman is going elsewhere because she is
not satisfied. Too late they learn that Simone is out for her own
sexual satisfaction, that they can't, at least none of them so far,
give her what she gets from me. Another story with women. Bonnie says
to me yesterday, I'd jump into bed with you right now if it wasn't for
Simone. I like the crowd of people you associate with. I don't want
her to hate me and push me away, she says. She goes elsewhere for sex,
which she can get at any nearby bar. But she tells me that not many
people give her the kind of satisfaction and good feeling she has had
here, with us, on at least three occasions. Last night, a small dinner
party, with me, her, Edwin, Joe, Susan, and Nadine. Left her feeling
very good. She now wants to work for me and spend more time here. She
would have an affair with me only if I didn't tell Simone. She would
do it if I kept it secret. She wants to do it but doesn't want to
betray Simone. Ah yes, another loyal woman. I got so horny yesterday
that I had to masturbate. You can stay and watch, I tell her, or go to
another room. She went back and forth but stuck around and cuddled up
with me when I came.

I have noticed a certain kind of fantasy connected with this
situation. It always involves something disastrous happening to
Simone. She gets eliminated from the scene and I am free again. An
unconscious desire coming out indirectly through murderous
fantasies. Sometimes its a fantasy where she has a car accident, or
she will be attacked by men on the street, or they get into the house
somehow, when she is here alone. Unconscious urges to solve my
problems by getting rid of someone. An unconscious feeling that
someone else is the cause of my problems. But this is just not
so. Things have happened recently to the contrary. I have been quite
distressed about Linda not seeing me anymore. I miss her. And a few
times I have thought of calling her. Just remembering an interesting
thing Bonnie told me. She sees herself as being more attractive than
Simone. Simone sees herself as being more attractive than Linda. Linda
sees herself as being more attractive than Simone. Linda and Simone
will, no doubt, see themselves as being more attractive than Bonnie,
but I haven't heard anything from them yet. Bonnie asks me something
like, what do you see in a woman who is so badly dressed, never shaves
her legs, and whose nails are always dirty? Gee, I must admit, its a
mystery to me. Anyway, after Linda ended things, I went out an
immediately made contact with two other women. Jean Pichey and I met
several weeks ago at an art show. Last Tuesday we were in the post
office at the same time.  She is very young, 22 or so, and very
attractive. She looks almost a little Asian. So we walked around the
square and talked. I didn't want to go but was pressed for time. I
missed the bank. It closed as we walked up to the door. She went to
buy socks. What do you think of these, she asks. I am no person to ask
about fashion, is my response, but they look nice to me. She was not
able to pick brown socks from black ones, so I helped with that. Which
way do you go from here, we ask each other. No way in particular we
both respond. But I know time is pressing me. Perhaps her also, but
neither of us want to go away.

You remind me so much of my brother, she tells me. Its making me a bit
delirious at this point. I go home and jump in the sack right
then. And it doesn't seem to be just my feeling. I am nervous about
touching her, want to, but can't. It looks the same for her. She is
uncertain about how close to get. She missed a bus the day of the art
show. It was my writing about social art works and the show in May. It
so interested her, or so she tells me. Would you like to see more, I
innocently ask. Yes I would, she responds. So its already in the
mail. I've written her a letter about my fantasy to make some little
scenes/plays from some episodes in the notes. I have not heard from
her. Nobody answers my calls to her number. She is living,
remantically, with Leo, who is a very busy filmmaker and student. He's
trying to make a career for himself. She emphasizes how he is away a
lot and is often home alone, and lonely. Perhaps she wants company. I
will be only happy to oblige her. Then I think, shit, the notes will
be too much for her. She will be like all the others and too afraid to
get involved.

A depressed feeling has just come over me. I have to lie down. Then it
comes to me. I have just been thinking about calling Jean or Merrill,
the other woman I had a date with this week. At the same time a very
diffuse, but naysayer seems to jump up inside me. I doesn't say it
directly, but its says that it won't work. If you call someone they
won't be home, or they will reject you, so why try to do anything. But
now I have jumped up and started typing again. It goes away a
little. So go to the telephone and call someone, you idiot!

Cheyenne was home. Adele will not be home till late this evening. Who
is your babysitter, I ask. My grandparents are here, she says. The
conversation is not so strained or tense as last time. Adele was there
beside her. This time she was not. The first time I spoke to Cheyenne
was much easier. Again, Adele was not there. So we chat about her
school, grades, and what she does in her spare time. I have something
for you, I say. What is it, she asks. Then I throw her a kiss over the
phone. Thank you, very much, she replies delightedly. Would you like
more I ask. And you know what she would say to that. Say hello to your
grandparents for me, as I close the conversation, and tell your mom I
called. She can call me or I will call her in a day or two. Passing
her car the other day I thought of buying some flowers and putting
them in the doorhandle of her car. My face is still burning from the
anticipation of talking with her. I can't believe she is really
emotionally detached from me. Judy, who I call next, asks if she is
with anyone else. My impression is no. She is still so set against me,
so determined to defend herself from me, that this takes up an
enormous amount of her energy. She tries to tell me that everything if
over for her, that there is no feeling, but I hear something else in
her voice. No need to be so hard if that were really true.

Jack and Dana have just returned from their camping and hiking
trip. Simone, in a fit of anger the other day, told me that the
tension between me and Jack was so thick it could be cut with a
knife. Its just not so with me. Obviously he has a lot of
tension. He's having a hard time with his whole life right now. He has
decided not to move to Atlanta and is looking for a job around here. I
did not hear this from him, but rather from Simone. Dana thinks he is
the one who has convinced Jack to stay. Behind his back he has had
lots to say about Jack. About the erratic way he runs. How he has a
difficult time driving. He doesn't do anything smoothly. Lots of
half-starts and half-stops. Lots of confusion. I criticized him the
other day about leaving an iron on the stove. It wasn't really about
the iron being on the stove. The cord was sticking inside one of the
burners. I was anxious about the cord catching fire or burning. There
is a constantly lit pilot light. He responded very defensively by
saying it had only been there for 3 minutes. Another bolt of
lightning. Another mark against me.

A few days ago I saw Carol and Gary walking down the street
together. Carol says she was on her way to the library. Gary was on
his way home. I asked them if they were having an affair. No, they
say, I am just doing this and the other just doing that. It is only a
coincidence that you saw us here together. But I noticed something
about the situation. A sort of awkwardness. A slight sense of having
been caught at something. Carol was over the other night when Simone
and I were out. She wants to use the typewriter later today. She is
spending a lot of time in Cambridge. I begin to get suspicious about
how much of it had to do with her visiting Gary. They met at some
social occasion here a couple of weeks ago.

Beth called a few days ago to tell Simone about her poison ivy
pussy. It seems she and Phil were out running in the woods. They
stopped to fuck. It was not a good spot. She seems to have it worse
than Phil.

Edwin has had a short affair with Captain Kaplan. They went home
together, to Edwin's, the night of the open house. Edwin did his duty
and listened to her the whole evening. Nobody else seems to be able to
put up with it.

A revelation for Simone the other night. She is always telling me
about how she only has complete orgasms with other men. So I have told
her how sex, when I get it, with Linda is better than with her. Linda
often holds back. But it is either holding back or not. She goes all
the way, whichever way she goes. She has had an orgasm every time
we've fucked. Simone seldom has this with me. She is always uptight
and tense about something. Only with her fucking machines can she
really let go. I got that phrase from Edwin. Simone does not like to
hear such things. She turned over and withdrew from me. Aren't I
sexual enough with you, she asks. It has always been a bit odd with
her. In the beginning, the first few times we slept together, sex was
like some sort of pornographic movie of what sex should be
like. Everything was dramatic. She made many and very loud noises. The
sort one would use to dramatize pleasure. Her movements were very
exaggerated. She was very forceful and aggressive and dramatic with
kissing. Forcing her tongue into my mouth, biting me very hard, trying
to stick her fingers up my ass. It was almost like a competition to
see who could be more outrageous. But all the theater has gone
away. It reminds me of Suzanne on FH. She was, at the beginning, very
loud. One could hear her fucking through two doors. Or at least the
sounds she made while fucking. I was the first to comment to her about
this. She told me so. Nobody had ever spoken to her about it
before. She stopped doing it after that. With Simone it is another
thing now. She wants me to be equally responsible for birth
control. But my own experience, with Adele, the courts, society, and
what I see, tell me that we are not equally responsible, and that
others will not see it that way when its to their advantage. Its a
nice utopian, idealistic, fantasy. But, like most of the utopian,
idealistic, things that people want to bring about in the world, it
has a very shaky foundation in reality. People want to love and be
loved by everybody. But when threatened their deeper feelings will
come out. Their real feelings will come out. I only have to realize
what happens inside me when I don't get what I want. Rage, hatred,
resentment, depression, vile fantasies of doing in people, compulsive
preoccupation with reliving a situation that went wrong for me, always
trying to recreate it in my favor.

Steve Levine called the other day to tell us about his new weather
therapy. Something about getting in touch with the seasons and the
rain, clouds, sunshine, snow, sleet, and wind inside each of
us. Crazy. People try contact with everything but contact with people.

My students continue to give me very positive feedback about my
teaching. One has said I am the best teacher of some 10 courses he has
taken. Another told me about friends who were taking a similar course
elsewhere. That they jumped right into programming and have already
lost part of the class. Everyone seems to have come back. This same
person told me that I should teach a word processing course. Some
others are interested in my seminar. One of the younger guys has a lot
of insight into himself and his social situation. He is only 25 and
feels that he's not doing enough. That something is really missing
from his life. His girlfriend is ok, but he sees a time down the road
when she will be like his mother, or other women, who will be
wondering where her fur coat or new car is. Prodding him on to make
more money. Getting caught up in making money and not enjoying
himself. He has access to money, but it doesn't help his existential
plight. We spent some time talking about it. I asked if he writes
about it as he has a very good way of expressing the situation. No, it
makes him want to jump out a window. I have told him about my writing
and will give him a copy at the next class.

More about Stu. simone called me to borrow money. His mother died
recently and left him a bundle. He has decided to use this as a lever
against her. She has to stop seeing me and wait a year for him. Or
some outrageous set of demands. He reminds me of trying to borrow
money from Edwin. He wants compensation all out of proportion to what
he is doing for someone. Further, he does it in a situation where the
person who needs it is desparate. How would I tell him my view of the
situation he is in with his girlfriend? How he overreacted to Simone
and tried to do something vengeful. How he jumped into a living
situation where he hardly knew the person. What could I tell him so he
would learn these things from this experience? I knew all this when he
called earlier. Even the idea to tell him what I noticed was
there. But it was not something I expected. That he would call. There
is often some confusion in my mind about exactly how to proceed, but
its enough time to cause the opportunity to be lost. He just wanted
that one thing and had little interest in talking. It was obvious. He
was probably in some distress at having to speak with me. Always, I
think, next time. Next time I will speak up and say exactly what is on
my mind. How seldom it works out this way.

We have just answered a call from Nadine and Linda. Me, Jack, and
Dana. She needed someone to help move two refrigerators. One up and
one down. We talked a bit about the day. I tell her about my talk with
Cheyenne. At that moment she asks if I want to talk with anyone
else. Who do you have in mind, I query. Linda wants to speak to you
she says. So how are you doing, and how are you doing. The first
round. Dana thinks it may have been a ploy to open up communications
with Linda. Nadine greeted me as Mr. Reliable. Dana asked them about
their promise to take us to Rosie's. They have agreed and we will see
them in an hour or so.

Monday, September 28, 1981

A very peculiar feeling today. Something like when the sound and/or
picture disappears from a television. You don't get a message saying
temporary difficulties. It seemed like a very quick blackout. With a
slow fade. I could feel something happening inside me. It was
frightening. Just prior to that I'd been thinking about success. It
seems that my market survey indicates my idea for a seminar may be
very profitable. But there is something so crippled inside me that I
panic at the idea of doing well. I feel a sort of paralysis come over
me. Then this funny blackout feeling. A bit dizzy and out of
it. Sometimes it seems that I'm imagining these things and others
times that something is not working quite right inside. It is also a
question of my getting older. I worry about it a lot. But on the other
hand, I've had feelings like this since my early 20's.

Simone tells me an interesting story about a visit to her therapist
today. It seems she now sees us as a perfect couple and will be
presenting a paper at some conference about our relationship. I find
it to be a bit silly as she knows about me only from Simone. Perhaps I
should send her a copy of my notes. But the best thing is that Simone
discovered some things about herself. She slept with Dana the other
day. The thing I like about you Dana, she tells him, is that you don't
pressure me to have sex. She told me this while non-verbally bringing
up our time together last night. She is constantly pressuring me to
have sex. She is always planning sex for me. She is always telling me
when it is going to happen. She did not realize till today just what a
drag it is to have something like sex foisted on her. The other big
discovery was about freedom. And how she gets it from me, but would be
afraid of a relationship with Jeff, or Stu, or any number of others,
because they couldn't allow her to have it. It would be too
threatening to them. Ron, who is leaving for Colorado in a few days,
took a parting shot at me and told her not to marry me. You can do
better than him. I think he can be added to the list of all the others
who would like to be that better one he imagines to be out there. The
guy, whoever he is, has failed to make is appearance. God knows he had
plenty of chances. But somehow he keeps holding back. Perhaps he will
show up at Nancie's wedding. I won't be going, and the worst he will
have to contend with is Jeff. Maybe he will make his move then. Or how
about several weekends hence when she will be at Grossingers in the
Catskills. But that's not so good as he will be contending with a lot
of other very fast men.

Simone visits her family alone over the weekend. Visits a number of
old friends and has Marijuana flashbacks. Maybe I could live here in
New Haven, she thinks to herself. Talk about bad trips! Loris is close
to delivering her baby. She's mad at me for not visiting, or at least
sending her a copy of the notes about Cheyenne's delivery. I will have
to get at those notes soon. I would like to have a copy to send to
Adele in a few days.

Thursday, October 1, 1981

Wednesday, 10:51am. A dream. I am in a fancy pastry/cookie shop with
Linda. You have to order something and wait for it to be made. We are
there waiting. and looking at things to buy. Adele comes in. I do a
double-take and whisper to Linda, did you see who just came in? She
says some name I never heard before. She and I go to one side of the
shop. We sit down. She starts moving away from me. It gets harder and
harder to whisper to her about Adele being there. I don't remember any
more. Suddenly the phone rings. Its Linda. She has called to ask me to
come over and see her. We make an appointment for 12:30. She is having
a very hard time. After stomping on me for my behavior of two weeks
ago, she breaks down and cries. I realize that I am in love with you,
that you are my best friend, that most everyone is boring compared to
you, and that I missed you very much, she tells me. She didn't think I
would respond to her call. But she has thought that all the other
times she's ended our relationship. In the past it was always me who
did this. I have told her what a big step this is for her. Even when
the jealous feelings are very strong, they can't win out over the
positive feelings she has for me. We slept together last night. It was
surprising how little sexual resistance she had towards me. There was
none. Let's fuck, I said. Ok, let me do this first, she says. It was
that simple. It was the first time we'd done it without rubbers in a
long time. We both like to watch the prick go in and out of the
cunt. It was very wet and noisy. She has two orgasms in a very short
time. She even prepared something so we could fuck in the morning if
the opportunity rose. It didn't. She has, sometimes in the morning,
and very strong this morning, something like waking nightmares. Her
body shakes, she sobs lightly, as though running away from
something. The feeling she has, as told to me, is one of being very
lonely and afraid. I watched her do this for most of an hour this
morning. Holding and touching her helped only a little till she woke
up. She'd fall asleep again and it would start over.

Simone has started to come apart again over Linda and I starting up
again. She makes many underhanded and nasty comments about me and
her. Are you going to try and seduce her tonight, she snaps. It is
most evident in her voice. Most everything she says to me, even about
totally unrelated things, is distorted by her inner anxiety. She has
started thinking more about leaving me and living with Jeff. In
exchange for freedom and security with me, she wants no freedom and
insecurity. She is standing here and saying how I never write anything
good about her. What did you say, I ask in a moderately stern
voice. She responds with a couple of off the subject things. I ask
again, but with a softer voice. She admits to me that its not
true. Sometimes you do write positive things about me, she admits. I
didn't mean never. So why did you say that, I ask. Because sometimes I
can't put aside my little black book used to keep track of everything
you do. I still haven't forgotten how you said you wanted me to be run
over by a car. I can't forget it, even if you have put it away, she
admits.

Today we got into a fight about fights. I don't want to fight, she
yells at me. Snarl, snarl, snap, so who's fighting, I protest. And so
it goes, back and forth.

Some guy who goes to my class has fallen in love with her. He wants to
fuck her, and has said as much. Simone doesn't want to do this if he
keeps his wife, of two weeks, in the dark. Monogamy is such a
wonderful things, he tells her at one point. Somehow what he is doing
is lost in his brain. She won't do anything unless he tells his
wife. Today he made a date with her, where she will have breakfast at
his place, Simone, him, and his wife. I have the feeling that his wife
might turn out to not be there when Simone shows up for breakfast. I
am skeptical that he has really told her what might actually go
on. His behavior is so typically male, that I suspect he is scheming
about how to carry this thing off. Its hard to imagine that he has
suddenly become truly open about what he wants to his wife. But
perhaps this is just jealousy or paranoia on my part. But I can't put
it out of my mind. His honesty with his wife has been too sudden. I
think something more is going on. Three of the men in my class asked
her out. Ed, with the wife, thought I was her brother. Boy, was he
surprised. I notice he made their date for Tuesday morning, before the
next class. Perhaps there is nothing to it.

Friday, October 2, 1981

I wrote a poem for Simone while sitting at the kitchen table, eating
the lunch she had made for me: a turkey, cheese, and tomato sandwich,
and some cookies and an apple. Here it is:

Higgeldy, piggeldy, bump.  While laying in bed late last night You
heard a thing that went bump!  Don't pay it no mind, You know ñ its
only my lump!

She wants to put it in her notebook ñ the Richard and Simone
file. Have you been writing lately, I ask. Yes, but the last ten pages
were bullshit, so I threw them away, she responds. And don't go
looking in the garbage for them, she pleads.

Linda has abruptly ended a phone conversation with me. She does not
want to hear about being number 2. That is, she's not number one with
me. She can't face hearing this. On the other hand, she doesn't do as
much for me as Simone, who always likes to remind me of this. Tell me
just one thing she has ever done for you, she demands. Its true. Linda
does very little for me. She seldom goes out of her way for me. She is
like most of the men Simone knows. She always expects, or feels
entitled. She informs me of her plans to return to NYC. Its not
working out the way she wants. Earlier in the conversation she
complains about how a person can't rely on anyone. One of the people
who was to move in this last month has not been seen for two
weeks. She doesn't understand why things aren't going better for
her. Why aren't men more interested in her. Why did I get these lousy
roommates for her. She wanted them to commit themselves to living with
her for at least a year. And now she plans to leave. Even going so far
as to give up the lease on her apartment. She whines about how men are
so callous and superficial, and then tells me about how she only picks
men with beautiful bodies, and how could Nadine ever have someone like
Martin. Nadine thinks he's just fine. His body also. So blind to her
prejudice. She rejects anyone who doesn't fit into her exacting
standards. And, at the same time, wonders why she has so little
contact with people. Wonders why Simone has so many friends. Simple,
she doesn't reject as many people as Linda.

Simone has called from the Cape, where she is attending Nancie's
wedding. Lots of people and money around her, but she wants
me. Michael Schaffer is there asking her if I have brought ëhim'. He
means me. She told me of her idea to have me sleep with her and Nancie
tonight. I would fuck her and then Nancie. But its only a ruse to get
me there. Before leaving she asked if there was anything I wanted to
tell Bob and Nancie. Yes, says I, tell them to stop using you as an
intermediary and mouthpiece. Speak for themselves. Bob walked away
from her when she told him. Nancie still has not told her mother she
is pregnant. She has some imaginary fear that they will make trouble
over it. Simone is staying with Jeff tonight. Nancie wanted Simone to
sleep with her tonight. She said Darby wanted to sleep with her the
next night.

Saturday, October 3, 1981

I have noticed some little things about my body. Hair growing out of
my ear lobes. Once I found a hair and inch or two long. Another time
one a foot or more long growing out of my shoulder blade. I'm getting
older. Little things start to go wrong. I read about a woman who
recently celebrated her 100th birthday. Will I ever make that mark?
Will I ever make anything? Will I ever get anywhere? Will I ever be
anybody? Will I ever? Will I ever! Will I everÖ Will I. Will. I. Ever?
Ever! Ever. Have I noticed anything about my writing? I stop to
think. And realize that nothing immediately comes to mind. Joe told me
it is getting better.

Which brings me to Jean. I met her by chance in the PO. We wandered
around the square for an hour or so. I didn't want her to go. I was
all nervous inside about her. I wanted her to fuck me. Next day I sent
her a copy of my notes. She started reading them Sunday night and
wanted to call me, but was too shy. Finally, last Tuesday. I was out
and Dana took the message. He said she seemed enthusiastic about the
notes. The talk we had can only be described as thrilling. I was so
pleased that she liked me, and my writing. It made her all fluttery,
or something like that inside. She made little notes and comments in
the margins. Her head was filled with little things it made her think
of. I wanted to take you home and do something crazy, she confessed to
me. It made me ecstatic. I am sure she wants to fuck me. She's going
away for a few days. She comes back today. I have told her about my
desire to touch and hug her last week. Maybe it will happen next time
we meet, she says. I was completely in a trance for the next day or
so. Its not so intense now, but has been replaced with
expectations. On the one hand, I want her to be in love with me. On
the other side is my fear that what she knows about me will be too
much, and so rejection. She has only read through March, so I imagine
that April and May will put an end to her desire. Or something else
will do it. And finally, this intense longing I have for someone, will
be frustrated. I fear she will hold back.

10:45am. A dream. Back on FH. I have returned for a visit, or is it to
stay for a longer time? Not clear. Meeting lots of people. But I
notice myself not hugging or kissing anyone. My hands are constantly
full or occupied with doing something important. Marlena says hello to
me. I notice something is slightly wrong with her teeth. She seems to
have gained a little weight. There is some sort of course going
on. People are going into a room with equipment. Then it hits
me. Everyone on FH is studying computers. Its a keypunch/terminal
room. ITs the new thing on FH. Everyone is learning how to program
computers. Otto is in a room doing something. Sausages are frying for
him on one side of the room. The next person I recognize is
Katarina. She is doing something with the sausages.

Simone learned something about herself yesterday. She often gets
frustrated when I'm caught up with work and can't really be with her
when she wants. But she remarks how she does this with everyone else
she knows, and comments how they must dislike this quality in her as
much as she dislikes it in me. She tends to do this to a larger group
of people.

I have been nervous all day. Thinking about Jean and seeing her
again. Will she come here? Will I go to her place? Will Simone come
back when she's here? Will Simone cause a scene and cause her to go
away? Will I fight back? Will I do any number of the fantasies I've
had? I've imagined a whole scenario. Exactly what will happen, and how
I will respond to it. None of it is good. It assumes the worst
behavior from everyone. I can't imagine a positive future. When
thinking hard enough about it, when contriving one, its possible. But
a positive future seldom arises spontaneously. Sometimes when its a
fantasy about just me and Jean it comes out that way. The moment
someone else enters into the picture it goes bad. Already I feel
better. This writing is such a therapeutic thing. My nervousness has
subsided considerably. Its like magic. The more exactly I describe
what's going on, the more that difficulty goes away. Maybe I should
try to develop some positive scenarios. I started one this morning
while in the bank. I thought about the paintings they have up behind
the tellers. Wouldn't it be great if we could get some of the social
art works placed on display. My little fantasy included me, Simone,
Jean, Gene Hall for some reason, and some others that escape me. We
got together and made an exhibit that the bank accepted. Another
fantasy, from yesterday, was about writing something on what I've
learned about multiple relationships. Then taking it various places
and giving little talks about it. I thought about Dr Vallee at Leslie,
Her Pearce's groups, Family Tree, and others.

I realized something about myself yesterday. It seemed like an
important thing at the time. Something worth writing about. But I've
completely forgotten it. Some sort of defense. Perhaps writing about
what it might have been will cause it to come up again. Why do I
forget important things like this? Maybe its so I won't have to do
anything about it? It still won't come out. Sitting here thinking
about another subject, my course at MIT. I remember it came to me
while walking from the office to here, home. Still nothing.

A science fiction fantasy. The world is divided into two camps. One
side is ruled by Harvard. The other by MIT. The border between the two
camps is somewhere around Inman Street and the post office. One side
rules by controlling the social order. The other by controlling
technology. The end.

Every half hour or so I call Jean. She's to be back from Martha's
Vineyard, or the other place, sometime today. Very nervous. I keep
thinking about it. Will she still accept me? How will Leo take this?
Will I be able to handle situations that come up, where people are
very anxious? I imagine myself in a situation with her and Leo. What
can I do to put him at ease? It will be a hard thing for him, no
matter what. He may try to pretend otherwise, but will turn out to be
human. I could take a positive position here and say it won't happen
this way. But that is not realistic. He's cool, Jean tells me. But all
of us are so conditioned and trained to feel rejected in this kind of
situation. I play a little scene out in my head. Hello, Leo. My name
is Richard Gardner. Or maybe, I'm Richard Gardner. Jean's told me a
lot about you. I get lost here as its difficult to imagine how he
might respond. How do you start talking about being in love with
someone he's living with? How do you tell him about your desire for
the woman he lives with?

Linda has just called me. We talk for awhile about the situation at
her apartment. Its starting to go bad. She doesn't want to live with
Nadine anymore. She sees Nadine as a negative influence. Someone who
has no ambition, no desire to do something with her life. People from
Brooklyn never do anything, she tells me. So I imagine getting out a
book of all the famous people who were born and grew up in
Brooklyn. She feels so entitled to having a creative environment where
people are responsible, creative, hardworking, etc. But she herself is
not willing to put anything into it. I give her all my criticisms of
how she's trying to blame others for her difficulties. I'm going, she
snaps. Look what you are doing here, just like last night, I tell
her. It gets too hot and she has to go. She has been like this all the
time I've known her. I wonder, will she realize this, or take another
random tack in the course of her life, and return to NYC? I have tried
to criticize her, and at the same time show her how we have created a
more active environment here. And that she can do the same where she
is. She brings up FH. Uses it as a defense. They wouldn't allow this
sort of thing there, she informs me, Sten says so! So what, I respond,
this is not FH. They are half way around the world.

Back to Leo and Jean. More scenario: I know its hard for you to hear
this, but I've sort of fallen instantly in love with Jean. Its not
very deep, but I like her very much. I want to sleep with her. I want
a relationship with her. I know this might be a very new thing for
you, but I can't really have much to do with the idea of sneaking
around and doing this sort of thing. The truth is I just feel this way
about her. I don't really know you. I don't have any strong feelings
about you. Who knows what might happen. Perhaps you have thought about
the same sort of things, but couldn't really do anything about
it. Maybe you didn't know how or where to start. But I've started
something. I don't know where it will go. Maybe my fantasy of having
us all live together, without the emotional and sexual barriers that
most people put up, will come about. I don't know. Its only something
that seems very important to me. I don't like having to resist the
kind of feelings I have with a woman like Jean. Its seldom that I find
someone who responds so positively and clearly as her. I can't resist
such a person. I don't want to. To resist would mean holding down,
holding back from loving someone. I don't want to do that either. I
don't get all the love I want and need. I don't know anybody who
does. But I want to try different things to get it. I notice that my
face is feeling very hot. Its difficult to write this sort of thing,
even if it is nothing more than my imagination at work. But it is
something like what I would want to say. It is close to what I
feel. My throat is getting tight, and my eyes a little watery. But I
also notice that the driving energy from these feelings has incredibly
speeded up my typing. I'm going along at a mile a minute here. Now it
seems to end. I shouldn't have said it. It has put a cruse on
energetic, emotional, fast typing.

And what to say to Simone? She really does understand. The same thing
has happened to her in the last few days. She may not want to see that
it's the same, but it is.

I have just talked to my aunt Rosemary. She lives in Maryland. My
project to interview my grandparents, her parents, about their early
life, what they remember about their parents and grandparents,
interests her very much. You won't have any trouble with grandma, she
says. But I can't remember, except once, grandpa talking about growing
up, she adds. Then we talked about things from our early
childhood. She will be forty next week. She is about 3 years older
than me, and doesn't remember anything about us till 6th grade for
her. No, one other thing. She was 4 years old, we were in a car going
down to Patrick's Pharmacy, she had a watermelon sucker. In the sixth
grade, for her, she came into my 2nd grade class one day. I was very
anxious, nervous, about to shit a brick. She'd left her watch in the
bathroom that day and I decided to wear it. And here she is, right in
my classroom. I was incredibly afraid of being discovered by her. She
tells me of a time when Ann was blamed for sticking pins into a
toothpaste tube. Grandma spanked her for it while Rosemary
watched. Rosemary was the real culprit. She came to resent our being
there. At first she looked forward to it. Then her attitude became one
of, nobody lives in Wyoming. It isn't even there, she exclaims! She
wants me to visit if I go to my grandparents in Florida. Her sister's,
my aunt's, husband has decided to become a priest. It was very
surprising to everyone. She says he's not a very good person with
people. He reminds me of the father in a Victorian novel, she
explains. I tell her I'll visit if I go by train but not if I
fly. Flying gives me white knuckles. It frightens me. She tells me how
grandpa isn't afraid of flying, just crashing. I can identify with
that. Another thing I learn is that dinner was a time for
arguments. Clever, intellectual arguments. This is not part of
memory. I can imagine participating as a way to divert people's
attention from the food. This would make more available to me. She did
not understand all my notes. I sent her a few miscellaneous pages. Now
she gets a complete copy.

I have tried to call Jean again. She's still not home. Its making me
nervous again. My face is burning. Some of the things with Rosemary
embarrassed me. She reminded me of how I used to wet my bed every
night. I gave it up when I left home, I tell her. Its so hard for me
to be reminded of that. Always a big thing for me.

Phone call from Simone. She's just finished dinner at the
wedding. Tells me about the enormous quantities of food. Some of
Nancie's friends have criticized her for coming with Jeff. If not
Richard, then by yourself, these little guardians of modern day
morality tell her. Some expression they used. It wasn't exactly saying
that it was wrong, or in bad taste, but something in between. Can't
remember. Michael Schaffer has been saying things about me. How I'm
too old, and don't make enough money. He doesn't even know me, but,
according to Simone, does not like me. I tell her its like with
Linda. She doesn't really know Linda, but mistakes what gets stirred
up inside her, for the feelings one has of not liking a person. Surely
she understands this. And then a bit of rancor in her voice, as she
relates part of Dana and Linda's conversation from last night. It
seems Linda said something about going to Holland and becoming a
hooker. I let it pass. I think now about just hanging up the phone
when it happened. Or saying, I'm going to hang up the phone in a few
seconds unless you become aware of what you have just said, and
why. As usual, she has lots of stuff to tell me about the people
there. Especially the moralists, Nancie's friends. I can imagine this
putting quite a strain on their view of the world and how things
should be. We talk about my conversation with Rosemary, my date
tomorrow with Judy. She will call later tonight. I would still like to
do something with Jean, but she's still not home. Why don't you fuck
earlier, like at nine or so, and come home afterwards, she suggests to
me.

My face is hot again. I get up to piss every few minutes. Must be
nervous again.

Simone reminds me again about writing the notes for Loris. She may
have delivered by now. They've been sitting here for weeks. It's a
pile of 3 by 5 cards, with a piece of paper on top, also about 3 by
5. Its dated 6/6/72, underlined, and under that is the word
'contractions', also underlined, then some numbers. I will start
something, a new page for these, so they will be appropriate to send
to most anyone. Who would want to read about some of the things
written here? Besides, I don't want to waste the rest of this page.

These notes are about the day Cheyenne was born. Also, about the first
months after she was born, and some things that happened to her.

It really began the day before, early in the evening, at a Chinese
restaurant in Inamn Square, and whose name I can't remember at just
this moment. Adele and I went there for something to eat. It was sort
of a fast-food Chinese restaurant. NOthing special. It burned down a
few years later. It's a little park now, right across from Rosie's,
the bank, and a drugstore.

On the morning of June 6, 1972, Adele woke up feeling sick to her
stomach. She was two weeks past her expected delivery time. A little
vomiting, with something that looked like worms. But it was only some
sprouts from the Chinese food. The contractions started. I made a
little table of the time they started and how long they lasted. It
looks like this:

6/6/72 Contractions: 9:02:45(am) 45(seconds) 9:09:30 7 45 (the 7
represents 7 minutes since the last contraction) 9:15:00 6Ω 45 9:21:30
6Ω 45 9:26:45 5 50

shower

stronger 9:52:30 35 10:00:30 8 45 10:04:55 5 35 10:10:10 5 35

- - -

10:21:35 55 (Adele, or someone else, wrote these) 10:27:50 6 50
10:34:25 6Ω 50 10:40:30 6 45 10:46:00 6 70 10:52:15 6 60

hospital trip

2:13:40 60 2:28:15 2:37:15

prep, enema labor room

3:09:30 75

4:30 delivery room 4:56 ñ baby Cheyenne is!

Oops! It seems I left out a bunch of contraction timings. So here they
are continued from the previous page. These begin sometime after
10:52:15, so, here we go again:

11:14:35 60 11:21:15 7 65 11:27:25 6 85 - - - 11:55:20 65 12:03:40 8
65 12:14:05 10 55 12:18:05 4 55 12:24:35 6 60 12:30:35 6 55 12:35:05
4Ω 55 12:41:40 6Ω 55 12:47:40 6 65 12:54:40 7 70 1:02:30 8 1:08:30 6
60

and then back to the previous page and begin with the hospital
trip. Only one thing came as a real surprise, in the sense that we
didn't know it would happen. After expelling the placenta, Adele began
to shake, almost violently. The doctor told us it was a completely
normal reaction. It lasted for only a few moments. Near the end of the
pregnancy Adele would do some funny things. One was to carry a bottle
of water around. Something like mineral water. She was afraid that the
sack holding the baby inside her would break and get water all
over. Also, that it would occur in odd places, like supermarkets. So,
before shopping, she would have me get a bottle of mineral water to
carry around while we shopped. I remember we went to a supermarket,
Star, no, Stop & Shop, on Beacon Street, near Porter
Square. Groceries, then, cost us something like $5 to $10 a bag. That
was a long time ago.

Adele was surprised at the episiotomy. She got a shot for it, but
still an unpleasant thing. There were a number of other women in labor
at the same time. But it was different for all of them. They were
either hysterical or crying their hearts out. We had taken two courses
to help with the delivery of a child. It seems the doctors of these
women had kept them completely in the dark. They had no idea of what
was happening. We were quite offended at these doctors for doing such
a thing. Adele ended her relationship with a doctor in the beginning
of the pregnancy because she found him insensitive. Another couple we
knew, and who had a baby shortly before us, also took the Lamaze
course, but found the same conditions in the hospital they used. The
other women were either hysterical or crying.

It was difficult to restrain myself in the delivery room. I kept
reaching over to help the doctor with the delivery, and holding
Adele's hands with my other hand. It lasted about 30 minutes. She was
born at 4:56 pm, 22 inches, 6lbs 10oz.

The doctor put her in a little box to keep her warm. She turned her
head to one side and looked at me, or so I imagined. She cried for
only a moment, then was quiet. She was perfect. Later, in Adele's
room, I help her for the first time. The tiniest little hands and
fingernails, and each one just perfect. She had a slight bit of yellow
color for which the doctor did something. It seemed to be a common
thing.

I started to write notes about things that happened to Cheyenne as she
developed. Sometimes they would be things noticed by me, or by Adele,
or some other person. Each thing was written on a 3 by 5 card with the
date:

6/6/72 Cheyenne's entrance into the new world. She came out breathing,
blinking and crying. What a beautiful kid! Weighed 6 lbs 10 oz and was
20 inches long.  The following is not a regulation 3 by 5 card, but is
a list, on 3 by 5 paper of who we sent birth notices to: Maggie
Lettvin, Tom Savage, Dan Rubenstein, John Donovan, Dorothy Jones,
Buddy Cohe, John Rosenfield, Sheila Hoffman, Gusty Trainor, The
Breidenbachs, The Berensons, Carla Marceau, Liz Notarius, Jack & Ruth
Rothman, Mitzi Haber, Billy & margot Rothman, Mark Habor, Louise
Castellucio, G Pederson-Krag, Phyllis Newman, Laura & George Price,
Annette & Hy, John Carley, Sam Mason, Karolyn Martin, Bob Rappaport,
PInky Sinclair, Rosemary Xeron, The Gardners, Ted Gardner, Dave
Burrmaster, Barbara Ackermann, Karl Linn, George Morrisey, Ed
Mcquillan, Victor Oppenheimer, Al Solish, Rina Wald, Warren Brodey,
Avery Johnson, Joseph Brenner, David Silva, Sylvan Bromberger, Bill
Buffett, Mike Cheney, Earl Coleman, Martin Hurwitz, George Alves,
Stepehn Arons

6/10/72 Cheyenne comes home for the first time and meets her new
neighbors.

6/18/72 Cheyenne blinks her eyes at light and air pressure, but not
motion.

7/6/72 Cheyenne's first visit to the doctor! Gained 3 lbs and 13/4 oz
in 30 days. AMAZING!

7/17/72 Cheyenne 'talked' and said her first 'words' today. Her
grandmother has been speaking to her a lot.

8/4/72 Cheyenne started blinking at motion today. Adele says she
laughed for the first time.

8/5/72 Adele says Cheyenne turned over on her side for the first time
today. We were at Fresh Pond.

8/16/72 Cheyenne took a whole bottle of milk this evening. 7-8 oz,
went #2 twice during the operation.

8/17/72 Cheyenne's first diaper rash showed up today! My goodness!
Look at those red wrinkles!

8/17/72 Cheyenne has started blowing bubbles and dripping at the
mouth.

8/18/72 Cheyenne can now lift her head and look around while lying on
her stomach. Her shoulders come up just a little.

8/19/72 Cheyenne has learned several new sounds/'words' today. We went
to visit the Wyler's in Snowville New Hampshire.

8/20/72 Cheyenne has discovered fingers! She can put individual, as
well as a collection of them, in her mouth, and sucks, making a lot of
noise in the process.

8/20/72 Cheyenne has discovered Sam, and vice versa! She spent a long
time watching him as we returned from New Hampshire. Sam had a good
time smelling and licking her hands and face.

8/21/72 Adele says that Cheyenne responded to her voice for the first
time today by looking in her direction. Cheyenne likes to be held high
over my head.

8/23/72 Cheyenne's double chin is going away and her neck is getting
longer. We held her upside down and there it was!

9/7/72 Cheyenne can lift herself up, the back part, by straightening
her legs. She can almost turn over. She has started blowing lots of
tiny, clear bubbles. Adele said Cheyenne laughed today when she was
tickled around the neck.

9/17/72 Cheyenne spent her first night alone, in her new crib, in
another room! Adele seems to be taking it ok. Cheyenne likes the extra
room for moving and the spaces between wooden slats allow her to see
more.

9/20/72 Cheyenne visited the doctor again. She has gained 22 ounces
and continues to develop normally. A variety of reaction tests were
conducted and she performed satisfactorily.

9/22/72 Cheyenne has learned to use tools! Today she grasped her
rattle and manipulated it to her mouth, several times. She also
laughed with us and ate some solid food, which she seemed to enjoy
very much.

10/1/72 Cheyenne seems to be starting her teething. She bites her
lower lip with her upper gum!

10/2/72 Cheyenne grabbed a toe earlier today, and, just now, about
10pm, turned from her stomach to her back!

10/8/72 Cheyenne discovered toes today and played with one for the
first time.

10/13/72 Cheyenne is beginning to see and grab things like paper, her
hanging clown toy, etc. She has lots of patience and tries to get hold
of something over and over again.

10/16/72 Cheyenne fell asleep on her back today! Another first time
event!

10/18/72 Three big things new happened to Cheyenne today: 1) held her
own bottle, 2) played with Sam and got licked in return, 3) grabbed
the beads hanging over her dressing table and played with them.

10/29/72 Cheyenne visited her grandparents this weekend, was her usual
wonderful self and they got to feed her solid food for the first
time. Her grandfather took care of her while Adele and Richard went to
the movies, The French Connection.

11/5/72 Cheyenne bit Adele for the first time today! Boy, did that
hurt! The reason is because of a tooth coming in on the middle of the
lower gum. Her grasping and manipulating abilities have improved
considerably. She really likes to play with pieces of paper and twirl
them around.

11/7/72 Cheyenne spent about an hour in her Jolly Jumper, had a
marvelous time jumping and talking and touching Sam who was very
interested in smelling her.

11/8/72 Cheyenne can almost stand and sit by herself now. She can
stand when she is being held only by her hands.

11/127/2 Cheyenne's first tooth has broken completely through the gum
today. She tried to grab her bottle by leaning forward and grasping
with both hands just as I was about to feed her today. She recognized
what it was quite clearly. Adele showed me how she has just learned
how to lift herself to a standing position from a sitting position
while being balanced only by holding her hands.

11/13/72 Cheyenne has started swimming! Well, almost. She and Adele
were in the bathtub and Cheyenne went underwater three (3), count
them, times! Only a bit of distress, with a quick recovery.

11/15/72 Complete extension of the fingers and repeated attempts to
grasp anything in reach is beginning. Cheyenne can stand with only a
little balancing with two or even one hand at a time. She is taking
and holding her pacifier now for long periods of time, perhaps because
other teeth are coming in. She sometimes sleeps on her side.

11/25/72 Another big week for Cheyenne! A visit with grandma and
grandpa and the other Rothman's for Thanksgiving dinner. Acquired the
ability to sit up vertically from a bent over position, resting on
outstretched hands instead of forearms, reaching out with hands to be
pulled up from a lying on the back position, ability to pull herself
from a sitting to a standing position with only a little help with
balance, reaching out to grasp my hands, very interested in Sammy and
his movements, smiles and giggles for everyone, especially her
grandparents.

12/4/72 Cheyenne put the toes of her left foot in her mouth this
evening ñ for the first time!

12/6/72 Cheyenne said what sounded like DA-DA or GA-GA for the first
time today!

12/10/72 Cheyenne is now saying MA-MA very clearly, mostly when she is
somewhat distressed. Her ability to sit up and manipulate objects
around her has improved. She can push up to a sitting position upon
falling forward.

12/14/72 Cheyenne has learned to play a new game. We placed a blanket
over her head. She didn't know what to do. It was slowly pulled away
till we were visible. We placed the blanket over her head several
times and she finally learned to pull it off.

12/16/72 Cheyenne had her first 'finger food' today! She picked up and
ate a cracker.

12/19/72 Cheyenne is laughing more, especially at visual jokes, has
learned to grimace, as though sucking on a lemon, and is very active
in the jolly-jumper.

12/25/72 Cheyenne's first Christmas! We spend the day with lots of
grandma's relatives. Cheyenne is her usual wonderful self. Looking
around and smiling at everyone. She reached out to get me or Adele
when someone else is holding her and will grab us even tighter if she
thinks someone is going to pick her up. She is pulling herself up to
her knees ñ starting to crawl, is holding and manipulating her
pacifier. Sitting up and playing with toys for longer periods of
time. Can almost turn from back to stomach.

12/29/72 Cheyenne went to the doctor in Monsey, has stomach virus,
diarrhea and a cold, weighs 15 lbs 15 oz. Two miscellaneous sheets of
paper from the doctor with a prescription and a list of foods to eat
while she's sick.

1/19/73 Cheyenne turned from back to stomach for the first time! She
was lying on the table and getting ready for a bath.

1/19/72 Cheyenne can move in specific directions with the
stroller. She can chase Sam or move towards an object that interests
her.

1/21/73 Cheyenne moved her arms alternately while in a crawling
position. A telephone book was the object of her pursuit.

1/21/73 Cheyenne stood up in her crib by herself today and moved the
car on the busy box back and forth!

1/17/73 Cheyenne seems to be getting four top teeth at once! She has
been a bit cranky.

1/28/73 Cheyenne can now roll from back to stomach by twisting and
arching her back. Also, started to clap hands, and seems to be
mimicking others actions.

1/31/72 Cheyenne has learned how to crawl! She started about 6pm when
Adele was playing with her on the kitchen table. Alternate movement of
hands & feet was somewhat shaky but clearly evident.

2/1/72 Cheyenne used both feet to propel her stroller, also,
alternated pushing with left & right.

2/14/73 Adele observed Cheyenne picking up a milk bottle and putting
it in/near her mouth.

2/19/73. Cheyenne started clicking her tongue today.

2/23/73 Cheyenne now holds a full bottle all by herself and can finish
most of it before it, or she, has to be tipped up.

2/28/73 Cheyenne's general flexibility is increasing and today she put
a toe in her mouth. Adele found her lying on her stomach with legs
pointing forward.

3/22/73 Cheyenne has learned a hand game! We put our hands on her high
chair table. She puts her hands on ours. We pull our hands out from
under hers and place them on top of hers. And so forth, with great
relish!

3/29/73 Adele says that Cheyenne has learned to climb down from the
front room couch, about 10 inches high, by going off feet first.

4/11/73 Cheyenne's swimming is improving. She no longer clings and
cries but will reach for things with both hands, and is more relaxed.

4/13/73 Cheyenne stood up by herself twice this evening! Another
first.

6/2/73 Cheyenne visits her grandparents today. Says 'hi', seems to
recognize them, is held by them. Also, learns a new word, 'see', and
points at things.

6/6/73 Cheyenne is working very hard at standing, tries to throw
herself into a standing position, momentarily does so, then plops
down.

6/16/73 At last, Cheyenne is kicking during swimming, and for the very
first time, is reaching out for objects and no longer clings.

6/18/73 Cheyenne has been a real terror these last two days. The
reason: first molar, bottom left side.

6/24/73 Cheyenne took her first independent steps today, while
visiting M. Fay in Worcester MA.

7/14/73 HCHP doctor says Cheyenne has Roseola. Loss of appetite,
fever, up to 104 degrees at one point, but mostly about 101.5 or so,
with the rectal temperature about 1 degree higher than the oral.

7/21/73 Cheyenne recovered from Roseola, after the 4th rash. She
sleeps more now but should return to her regular schedule. Activity
has increased considerably in the last few days. She doesn't want to
be carried in the sling unless moving, trying to stand up and is more
steady than a week ago. Two cards with the schedule for taking care of
Matt. He's about Cheyenne's age. We made an arrangement with his
parents to trade childcare. We would trade on the basis of hours.

And so ends the notes about the first year or so of Cheyenne's life. A
Lot of other things were happening, both in the world outside and
around us. The 1972 Olympics were going on, and the Munich
massacre. George McGovern was claiming that Richard Nixon was the
crookedest guy to ever be President. A year later he was to be on TV
every day. Another short war in the Mideast, and lots of other
things. There was some competition between Adele and I over
discovering new things in Cheyenne's development. We were always
excited to tell the other of what we had noticed. It seemed to me that
she always discovered the biggest new developments first. But reading
it over again makes that seem not so likely. We were very excited
about her and pleased with her. In many ways she seemed to be a
perfect baby. I remember staying up all night a few times, but never
after that. It happened only at the beginning. She would always eat
and shit regularly. She was a good sleeper. We loved her very
much. She paid us back many times over. I remember once when Adele and
I slept late. We went to her and found her covered with the stuff she
normally left quite neatly in her diaper. She was unable to keep it
organized will we got to her. But she didn't complain. She just talked
to us with her cooing voice and held out one of her toys for us. For
awhile she made a noise that sounded just like and old creaky door
being opened. The sort that one sees, or hears, in a horror movie. I
remember being scared out of my pants by it, and looking frantically
around the apartment for the source, only to realize that Cheyenne was
the source. She really liked this little orange sling that went around
my shoulder and made a pouch at about my hip. Putting it on was enough
to send her into an ecstatic fit. Or saying, wanna go for a ride. That
would do it. When she was really small I'd carry her around in a
little gizmo on my chest. Wearing my parka, and her, made it seem as
though I had an enormous stomach. People would often be surprised to
see me come in and hear this squeeking sound from inside my coat. She
was very careful with her position relative to real objects. Once when
she got herself under the kitchen table, I noticed her placing a hand
over her head to keep from bumping the sharp wood and metal objects
located there. Matt, on the other hand, would jump up, practically get
himself knocked out, fall down, lurch forward, and jump up again, only
to bash his head once more. At a very early age he would scramble in
and out of his crib. Very athletic kid. Cheyenne was just the
opposite. Sometime before her first birthday we invented some
games. One was for her to jump from the kitchen table into my
arms. Another was for me to grab her around the waist and hold her
over my head, sometimes tossing her even higher into the air. I try to
think about more incidents from that time. A lot of little pictures
come to mind. Sitting up late at night right after she was born. She
would cry and cry. We didn't know why. Holding her didn't
help. Feeding her didn't help. Changing her diaper didn't help. Making
her warmer or cooler didn't help. So I would stay up, put on my old
motorcycle crash helmet, and read the paper. From time to time I'd
talk to her, or try to give her a bottle, or hold her. But it didn't
help. So I'd go back to the crash helmet and newspaper. She would
finally fall asleep. It was all over within the first two weeks or
so. Just a thousand little things about the sound of her voice, the
looks she gave me, the things she pointed to, how she was so happy
most of the time. And now, in this moment, how I completely miss
her. I can't help but cry. I can't see from the tears. A sharp pain in
my throat. This has got to stop. Enough. Dry the eyes. Clear the
throat. Blow the nose. Crying doesn't help anything. It has to stop
before one can go on to do something real besides crawl around in
misery.

Sometimes I wonder about her deep down health considering the battles
for her mother and I were going through at the time. But we did not
blame her or take it out directly on her. It makes me very wary of
being a father in that way again.

Wednesday, October 7, 1981

Carol has this thing about my writing. She spent yesterday with
Gary. He just happened to be in her neighborhood and dropped in. I
suppose Richard is going to write all about this, and have lots of
interpretations and meanings for it, she says. He's probably going to
be even more fanatical about seat belts, she adds, after Simone tells
her about Nancy's bad car accident, from which she may be paralyzed
for life. I will have to ask her what it is that provokes her so. She
has gone so far as to correct some of my public writing. I remember
putting something up at the art show last Spring. She added a
correction to be placed beside it. She wanted everyone to know how
something really happened. She has gotten mad at me for some other
things I've written about her.

Sunday, a date with Judy. We are to go biking at 11am. I'm over an
hour late. She's mad at me. We go out toward Lexington. The route I
took with Adele about 10 years ago. We passed Habitat. Another
incident with Adele. We were going to visit a friend of mine. He was
doing something there. We were all set to go, but she became
reluctant. It turned into a fight. She didn't want to go. I was going
without her. Walking down the stairs when suddenly she throws a
ceramic cup at me. It shatters and splashes all over the hallway. Am I
pissed at this! Completely indignant. You fucking asshole, I yell,
what kind of way is this to communicate something! It turns out she
wanted me to stay and fuck. We did. It was very good. Later, she tells
Sandy how much better it is after tension has been released through a
fight. So, Judy and I return to Cambridge and have a late brunch on
Huron Avenue. She has to go home and work. What do you want to do now,
she asks academically. Well, I respond, my plans were to go home with
you and try to seduce you. A smile from her. Nope, she's going to
work. I go home.

Monday, one of the craziest days of the week. Nancy Anandi calls to
say she has been badly hurt in a car accident. The baby, she's 6
months pregnant, doesn't seem to have a heartbeat anymore. She may be
paralyzed for life, and badly scarred. But her husband is paying more
attention to her. He had been going to New Jersey and seeing
prostitutes for some time. Ed, who's in my class at MIT, and in love
with Simone, just happened to be in the neighborhood, and stopped by
to visit her. I was right. He didn't tell his wife. He lied to
Simone. He can't do. She's my anchor, he laments. I can't take a
chance on her leaving me, he wails. Simone demonstrates how he's
romantic with her. He holds her, looks at her eyes, and slobbers all
them after saying, what wonderful eyes you have. Next comes her
pelvis. Then the lips. Then the ears. Then the elbows. Or something
like that. Simone won't be going to his place for breakfast on Tuesday
morning. Simone told him I might be playing jokes with him the next
time we meet in class. But last night I played it cool. He was a
little nervous. His hands were shaking. I just gave him a lot of
individual help. A little more than the others. I got back late from
class. Simone thought that he and I got into a fight. She tells me how
some are afraid to come here because they think I might do or say
something. She says Michael won't come by with Constance because he's
afraid of what I might say. I meant to say, after the note about the
fight, that she is very paranoid. None of the things Michael imagines
has ever happened. None of the other things people imagined have ever
happened, as best I can recollect. It seems I am everybody's
lightening rod. More Monday night - crazy with Simone and Linda. Linda
gets pissed that I won't stay with her. Things are very bad for
her. But I point out how she's managing them very well. She wants
Nadine to move. But now she sees that she's been acting exactly like
her father. She asks Sten to help them see the situation clearer. She
stomps out. I am in bed with Simone. She wants to fuck. Nothing else
will do. I've been impotent with her the last few days. She becomes
aggressive and starts hurting my balls. I push her away. She gets
insulted and stops out. She comes back and tries to force herself on
me again. I just want to sleep. A long day. No desire for her. I get
up and start to dress. She jumps up and starts hitting me. Tries to
keep me from going. I force her to let go of me. She gets dressed fast
and runs out ahead of me. I call Linda to see if she will let me stay
with her. Yes, but I want to go to sleep soon, she firmly informs
me. We get in bed. She immediately starts to seduce me. My impotence
disappears. We fuck. She threatens suicide and mayhem if I
don't. Linda is reading, apparently quite satisfied, and tells me to
go to her. She needs you now, more than I do, she says. And honestly,
it seems to me. Simone will come over, cause a scene, and ring the
doorbell all night, if I don't return home. She calms down a
little. Dana is there. He's with her. Will take care of her. Ok, she
relents, but I want to stay with you tomorrow night. I agree. Linda
and I talk about it. She becomes outraged. She attacks me. Tries to
scratch and kick me in the balls. She's stronger than Simone and its
hard for me to hold her back. She gives up. Its her father again. She
knows it. A long cry. We cuddle. Start to play with each other. I
masturbate her to a very strong orgasm. I'm horny again. Get her
diaphragm. We fuck again. Three for her and two for me. We are
exhausted. At last sleep. It must have been 3 or 4 in the
morning. Eight am the phone rings. Its Simone telling me a customer is
at the house. I leave and start the day.

Thursday, October 8, 1981

Did you have sex with Jeannette or Jean today? I had sex twice with
Ken, Simone informs me in her childlike, strained tone of voice. She
has been drinking, is nervous, and throws her arms around me like a
desperate child. And me, I feel like a competitor who has just
finished second. But it doesn't last. Not even worth joking about.

I visited Jeannette at the daycare center today, and showed her the
reference letter for her court appearance tomorrow. She was nervous to
see me. Couldn't sit down or still. Especially to sit next to me. She
only lets me hold and squeeze her for a moment, and bounds up to pace
around. I guess you are the only decent guy I know anymore, she
suddenly informs me. Last night, being nervous, she tried to contact
Vinnie. He had been telling her that tonight he would be moving
furniture with his brother. He told her this very explicitly at least
twice. On calling Vinnie's brother she learns that this is not so. She
bicycles over to his place. You can't come in now, he
exclaims. Someone else was with him, it turns out. They have been in
this situation all along. Jeannette has gone out with many other
men. She knows he does this also. But for her, this was the first time
she has been directly confronted with the feeling of bin rejected
because of another woman. She wants to do nasty things. Well at least
give me money for a cab home, she demands. On taking out his money she
grabs it all. $92, more than enough for a cab home. She's put it in an
envelope and wants me to deliver it. A very clever way of getting back
at him with a cheap shot. He will most likely think I am seeing her
again. She gets off without having to do any of the things he will
imagine we are doing. It reminds me of Judy. A boyfriend informed her
father he might be moving away from Boston. That night she asks me to
sleep with her. We just slept together. I was awake most of the night,
horny as shit. She did it to get back at him. So I took the money to
Vinnie. He recognized me, but I left immediately. So, what to do about
Jeannette? Certainly I will call her about the Friday court
appearance. I have thought a lot about what she is doing in her
life. I wonder a lot about how she is able to be so open about things
that happen to her, how she feels, her ideas and thoughts, and on the
other hand so carefully avoid any intimate contact with me. Hugging
her today suddenly turned her into a spring. Up she jumped! Up and
running, practically, around the room. Quite a sight. I'm stuck
here. I've never felt so close and so far away from someone. It seems
that this kind of behavior, such opposites must create some sort of
internal difficulties. I still want to sleep with her. But I can't
seem to get a real yes or no. She thinks about it. I sit here pulling
my hair out. Enough of this Jeannette.

I have been meaning to write about Jean for several days. She was
flattered by what I wrote several days ago. We had one of our secret
little meetings in Harvard Square again today. All the time, walking
around, a bit paranoid about meeting someone I know. Nobody in
particular. Just the idea of meeting someone who might what, I don't
know? We talked a lot about Leo. She can't tell him. She wants to keep
it a secret from him. Why don't you and Simone come over for dinner
sometime, she suggests. No, forget it, she concludes. It would be very
awkward for everyone but Leo to know what's really going on. She has
to drink a bit to get in a mood for doing things like this. Not all
the time, but sometimes it helps her. She is from a Catholic family
and often feels guilty about what she does. How did she explain it to
me? Something about being in a state where its possible for someone to
take advantage of her. She thinks she might have to be that way for
me. But its her who decides to get in that state. Ok, I tell her, I'll
take advantage of you either way, drunk or sober. She knows I want
to. She's beginning to draw back a little after reading more of my
notes. She wonders what will happen. Have I got it all planned out? Of
course not, she realizes. How I wish it were easy enough to plan
out. I can say what my ideas and fantasies are at any given moment,
but it has never happened that way. I'm not really in control here. I
have noticed that she is a little chubbier than when we first met. She
was wearing bluejeans then. The last few times a skirt, from her
job. She tells me I'm a handsome man - in my own way, but that my
personality makes me more than just a handsome face. I notice myself
trying to make a joke about it. She almost called me last Monday
night. It would have been too much. She had a fight with Leo. They
didn't sleep together. She was a bit drunk that night. He didn't come
home till late. Leo has all these ideas about becoming a rich man at
an early age. He will probably spend his entire life trying to become
either rich or richer. And probably not really doing the things he
wants to do after getting rich. Who knows for sure. But she does talk
a lot about his being away from home a lot. Lonely. Maybe its time
used to think about being with someone else. I sense a desire, at
times, to try something else. Its not come out directly. But maybe
later. Six children in her family. Four girls and two boys. Her father
is a professor at a Connecticut university. We may meet again tomorrow
afternoon. She's been busy, something with her job, on most evenings
this week. Its not usually that way, she assures me. A good idea from
her - she will come over sometime and draw while I write. A nice
idea. It makes me feel good that she thinks of such things. It makes
me feel even more desirous of her. I tease her about a sweater she
sees in a window and wants. Why not ask about the price, I
suggest. Maybe I'll buy it for you, I say. She won't let me go back. I
pull her back again. She resists. I pull her back again. And back and
forth. Tomorrow I'll find out what it costs. She thinks it may be as
much as $60. We meet someone from her work in the subway. A black man
who is always asking her out for drinks. He's from Barbados. We
pretend to not notice him at first, then to be shaking hands. I kiss
my little fantasy, and she is gone into the bowels of the
MBTA. Sigh. Until tomorrow… Such a romantic asshole I am. Enough of
this silly writing. Time to say something serious about something.

Important developments for both Simone and Linda in the last few
days. Linda has realized, for the first time, how she acts just like
her father. He becomes very paranoid at first. Then comes the rough
stuff, threats, violence. She has become afraid of Nadine's influence
on her. Nadine is too much like all the things in Brooklyn that she
doesn't like in herself. They came out very much in Nadine, or so
Linda feels. Her solution is to imagine them getting even worse, then
to act on the fantasies. Namely, to kick Nadine out of the
apartment. She doesn't even want to give her a months notice, but does
it anyway. She breaks down enough to ask Sten to help the two of them
work on it. She has come to see it as her problem, and not
Nadine. Simone's realization has come about by taking her religious
training seriously. That is, to really live by all the fine words that
one hears in a church. Forgiving and forgetting. Loving and
accepting. She went to dinner with Linda last night. Fuck you, she
snaps, Linda and I are going out to dinner with just each other. She
sees that it doesn't make much sense to go to church and talk about
all the fine things written in religious books if she can't do these
things in real life. And Linda is one example of her contradictory
behavior. I am a bit lost trying to find something as significant in
myself. There are not even any possible candidates. Maybe just that I
haven't gone crazy from all these things yet. Maybe that I keep
trying.

More funny things with this Ken fellow. Now he wants Simone to leave
me. You are always trying Simone, he tells her. But he's such a
nothing. He has been reading my notes over again. But still nothing
directly from him. Simone says he was wearing underwear today. Carol
was at his house today and go pissed at seeing a copy of my notes
there.

I am not able to write in a way that satisfies me. Something is said
but nothing is being revealed. It seems like a lot of little
scattered, chaotic, dim pictures. What is the big picture? I had an
idea today and lost it.

Simone says Carol came by today looking for me. She wanted to spend
some time with me. Simone tells me how Carol has criticized her in a
way very much like I might. Michael accused Simone of being like me
today. What a popular fellow I am becoming. Everyone seems to
believing, hating, or mimicking me. Its so nice to have attention! Its
so nice to have attention! Its so nice to have people talk about me!
Its so nice to be the cause of everything! I almost have the urge to
write a song about it. Something in the style of My Fair Lady, or
Doctor Dolittle, perhaps. A parody of the Talk To The Animals song
that someone sang last night at the Ding Ho.

Dana talked to me at length about his new woman friend, Linda, this
morning. He is thinking of showing her some of my notes. But he didn't
want me to write anything about the things he was about to tell me. I
must tell, and did so right then, that he will have to be the
censor. So he doesn't tell me some things about her for husband. She
is 34 and a school teacher. She is very attractive. He wanted to stay
with her last night. But she was anxious about what her daughter might
think. Its just something she got from her parents. She will end up
passing it on to her daughter, Dana tells her. But in the end he comes
home. Maybe another time. I have suggested that she bring the daughter
over this Friday and Saturday. She's to be staying here for two nights
and a day. Exactly why does he want to show her my notes? I suspect
its so he won't have to tell her some difficult things about
himself. He indicates that there just might be something to my
idea. He seems to go for a long time where I only hear real things
about him from Simone. Then, for some hours he will reveal a lot about
himself. Its been this way since we have lived here. A few days ago,
during the Monday night fights, he even suggested to Simone that she
leave me and get a place with him. He's becoming more bold. But not
enough to be able to handle Simone alone. Boy, would he be sorry!

Simone's friend Nancy Anandi is not on the critical list. She called
here today to say she was home and well. The baby's heartbeat has been
found. It was a mistake at the hospital. Two people with the same last
name.

Jeff and George have been talking about Simone. George dropped over to
visit him the other day. They both agreed that Simone should leave
me. George confronted Jeff on his relationship with Simone and hoe he
hanging onto things from six years ago. Jeff wants Simone to go see
Herb Pearce with him. She has agreed to do this once. But Herb has the
idea to turn it into couples therapy. He says it would be more
interesting for him.

I have just realized something about Linda. Simone tells me sha has
said she's not interested in reading my notes anymore. Then I realize
how she always says one thing to me and quite often the opposite to
Simone. Recently she's told Simone that she wants a monogamous
relationship with me. But just the other day told me, again, that she
wants to live with me and other people. I have noticed this quality a
lot in people. Saying things that seem to be so contradictory. I think
what she tells Simone is often the truth and she says things she
thinks I want to hear when with me. But there are clearly times when
the things for me are also true. Like most people, lots of ambiguous
feelings. Such strong contrasts. Perhaps part of it is also to keep
Simone off guard. I can imagine her having a subconscious urge to
disinform.

Saturday, October 10, 1981

Thursday night. A fantasy. I am in bed with Simone. She is sucking on
my prick. A nuclear Blast. The force and shock causes her to bite off
my prick. We are buried in the rubble. Years later, maybe centuries,
we are discovered as just skeletons, but she still has my prick in her
mouth.

Another fantasy, about the three women whose names begins with J. I
imagine that I manage to seduce them all this weekend, while Simone is
in Amherst. Jean, Jeannette, and Judy. Jeannette was to visit me for
lunch at noon today. She didn't call or show. Judy wasn't at home, or
didn't answer my message. Jean has turned around on me. How ironic a
fantasy.

Jean me me today at the post office, our favorite meeting place at
four. She was obviously upset. It came out of her with difficulty. She
does not want to have a physical relationship with me. Well, I may
have thought of it once, but it was nothing more, really, she
explained. She has talked with Leo again. I don't know much about
exactly what. She tells him about the sweater she wanted, and that I
offered to buy her. Be careful of what he wants from you in return, he
warns. And some number of other hints that seem to say he's putting
some pressure on her. But most of all is what her manner reminds me
of. It is like I have women describe men. I mean she is evasive,
doesn't really want to talk about, tells me to stop bringing it up,
just like men treat women who are talking about something that bothers
them. And I know she has these same communications difficulties with
Leo. They are of a slightly different sort. He doesn't want to think
about the everyday problems that people have. His idea of life seems
to be that one works for success and they go away. She tells me more
about the pressure from him. I didn't dress warm enough. Leo tells me
I shouldn't be so cold. I like lots of blankets when I sleep. He says
it has something to do with wearing too many clothes. And then there
is her loneliness. She has mentioned it every day we've been
together. I should learn to get used to it, she tells me. Leo will be
going away a lot, and I will have to learn to be alone. She wonders if
I will still love her after this. If I will love her if she doesn't
sleep with me. You know the answer, I say. You won't love me as much,
she concludes. Right. You have decided to cut yourself off from me,
and it just won't be possible. Making up such an indirect explanation
for her doing this makes it even less likely. Better for her to have
just said that it was too hard. On the other hand she is very
young. This is a completely new thing for her. I have immersed her in
quite a lot. And she did make a big step for such a little amount of
time. No small thing to ask Leo if he still wants to marry her and
have an open relationship. While I feel the distance has increased
between us, she did not refuse physical contact with me. She kissed me
goodbye. But not like the other times. It was more perfunctory.

Sunday, October 11, 1981

A feeling of going crazy. It started with intense ruminations and
thinking about Simone and Linda. I imagined her giving me a hard time
tonight about going to see her. Worked myself into a frenzy about
it. On getting out of the shower I discover the two of them are
talking on the phone. She has apparently called here. Then paranoia. I
notice myself thinking all these things. I feel a little bit crazy. I
notice myself getting a little bit crazy. It makes me feel a little
bit more crazy. I notice this. Then come some berserk and murderous
feelings. All this while Simone is on the phone with Linda. I was
taking a shower when she called. It seemed like someone else.

She has changed her mind about me coming over tonight. I want to get
some sleep and up early to work on my art she explains. I don't
believe this and tell her so. She is saying just the opposite of what
she wants. She told Simone first. Then me. Simone takes it at face
value. But most likely realizes its not so. A man's behavior, in a
similar situation, would be transparent to her. Dana says that Linda
is just not capable of being really honest with Simone. Its much
easier for her to tell me, or much harder for her to lie. Linda often
tells Simone just the opposite of what she really feels. The truth
about things would probably make her feel vulnerable. So she will say
one thing to me and something completely different to Simone. I get
there and she blames me for not being able to work on her art. She
talking to Simone. I leave the house only to hear Simone say she will
call Linda about her change of mind. There is rancor in her voice. I
tell her that making trouble will cost something. She takes it to
heart as it comes out ok. Linda is not offended by it. We are miles
apart. A very distant feeling. No real contact. I am awake many times
during the night. Linda is having some sort of bad dreams. She
breathes very hard. Tries to cry out in her sleep, is very
restless. She shakes in an odd sort of way. Almost like being
cold. This happened more when I first knew her. Simone also did this,
but for her it almost never happens now.

Monday, October 12, 1981

I am feeling terrible. Its been building up the last few days. A bad
class last Tuesday evening, impotence with Simone, Jean, Jeannette,
the hearing I have to attend tomorrow. Only my being blamed by Jack,
Dana, and Simone cheers me up. Its so exciting to have people imagine
you are the cause of their problems. It makes me feel important and
needed. Without me they would be desperately searching for someone
else. Richard the lightening rod.

Jack is the first one. I come into the house and say something about
him and Dana eating with me if they haven't already. Reading a
newspaper. He comes in and fills the air with tension. Its very
measured and careful and difficult for him. He finds my manner
offensive. It seems as though I only ask questions and give him advice
or criticism. He can't stand this. He yells at me, no, not quite
yells, but raises his voice from frustration. He doesn't think I'm
getting it. Incredible tension. It seems he might jump up and hit me
at any moment. He tries to be very ernest and serious. Too much so. I
seem very mechanical and like a machine to him. He gets no positive
feeling from me. I think he is very confused. Very unsure of
himself. Afraid, jealous, and envious of me. He wants some of the
things I have, or seem to have. He sees me acting out a father figure,
but seems to have little awareness of how much of it is his own
projection onto me.

Dana comes into it near the end when I mention how people sometimes
sabotage the efforts of others. You mean like the way you always upset
Simone when she has something important to do, he interjects
impatiently. Yes, I say, but at the moment don't remind him of how she
originally blamed him for everything going wrong. She has just shifted
to me. In the beginning he was important to her being able to do
things. She came to see him as a hinderance at one point, and realized
she could probably do everything by herself. I eventually did many of
the things necessary for starting her business. Gradually I started
doing less and less and put the responsibility back on her. Now I try
to do almost nothing. She reads this and tells me how she and Dana
never got into arguments before leading a group. I tell her she has a
bad memory. She and Dana never did this much before. They couldn't
because of all the fighting they did. I remember criticizing both of
them for their mutually antagonistic behavior. It was at this time
that I became Dana's good friend, as he used to call me. He didn't
like Simone to critcize me. I would jump on Simone when I thought she
was pressuring him, or had unrealistic expectations of him. It was
always done with both of them there. He seemed to be very impressed
with this ability to be fair and avoid taking sides. Never can
experience your own faults, she snaps back nervously.

So, after Dana gets started on me, who should walk in, Simone, back
from her therapy weekend in Amherst. I get a lecture from her. Its my
fault again. My not being a success is because of you, she confidently
informs me. This is unacceptable to me, and will have to end, she
assures me. More false confidence from Wacko Therapy. She tells me
about how Barbara and Jerry are very distant and cold to her. But not
once does it seem to come up during the formal therapy. More and more
I am convinced that all these therapies accomplish only one
thing. That is, that people learn how to be more deceptive with each
other, how to avoid deep things, and how to argue your case with
antagonists, how to convince others of their responsibility for your
problems. Simone is certainly getting better at this. She is more and
more turning to leaving me as a way of solving these problems. What a
surprise she will have once the excitement of making a decision wears
off. People seldom realize that the decision one make is
unimportant. What's important is being able to make these
decisions. It seem to me they mostly make the wrong decisions, but get
an enormous burst of energy from having done something. Ending
relationships is the real biggy. I have yet to find anyone who
honestly sees themselves as responsible for staying in and ruining a
relationship. Lottie has recently experienced this. John has his
little clique of friends who completely support him and see Lottie as
the crazy one. Lottie has isolated herself and doesn't have the same
for herself. Jeannette spent three hours telling me how bad Vinnie was
to her. How he's so superficial and is only using her. How he and his
friends rejected her when she was down and out and needed some
help. She's the same sort of character herself. She calls me only when
there's trouble. She only wants me when there's something to be
done. She complains about his failure to communicate. But with me she
is the same way. She avoids talking about anything of substance in her
relationship with me. She stopped sleeping with me when I got more
involved with Simone. But she doesn't want to talk about that.

Simone got a call from Ken. She has gone to spend some time with him
at the Arborteum. She is very excited as he has a surprise for her. I
will be back in 2 hours, she informs me. This I am skeptical of. She
won't be able to cut off a good time. She may feel guilty, but won't
stop it so suddenly. He is going to quit set in order to have more
time with her. Stu did this for about 2 months, then went back to his
old ways.

There is something wrong with this writing. I am getting no relief
from doing it. Certainly it is going fast enough. I'm typing along at
a mile a minute here. But it seems I've said something other than
what's going on. The face is hot, the hands cold, the body nervous and
uncertain.

Simone has created another of her unconscious melodramas in order to
get her way. She did not come back as planned. She wanted me to
wait. I didn't. She states a drama to get Linda to give up the idea of
me fucking with her. She tries to disguise it as sincere concern and
love. As really acting from her heart. It smells like bullshit to
me. More of her old double standard. She claims to be competent to
criticize me, yet in the same breath demands that I have work for her
to do. She is not capable of finding her own. She wants to force me
into a limited role for her security, and to finance her freedom. A
dramatic veil of tears hides everything else. How could anyone doubt
such an open person and sincere tears?

Monday, October 19, 1981

I had the best of intentions yesterday. Get up early in the morning,
write, go to work, get lots done. It was hard to wake myself this
morning. It was an odd depression. Thoughts about Otto and his
writing. Thinking about how he speaks about things. Its always about
himself, but it gives one the impression that he's speaking directly
to you. Whatever he says stirs some universal feeling related to his
current topic of discussion. How can I learn to do the same with
myself? Sometimes it works for me. I can manage to do this. But more
often than not some dogma, idea, ideology, prejudice, fear,
projection, fantasy, paranoia, come out. And most everyone notices
this. It becomes easy to dismiss me. To ignore whatever I have to
say. This is true of me. Program-like responses from another person
turn me off, or, the opposite, turn on a frenzied response. The latter
comes from feeling as though I am being attacked. Stuck, stuck,
stuck. You-are-a-robot. You-can't-write. You-can't-do-anything. You-are-stupid. Why-don't-you-try-something-else. Have-you-ever-thought-about-computer-programming?
Give-up-this-stupid-writing0shit. You-can't-do-it. You-are-a-complete-failure. Beep!

Hopeless. Hopeless. Hopeless. Mope. Mope. Sit here and do
nothing. Pretend to be a great writer. Pretend to be writing about the
rich world of my inner self. Pretend to write about things of interest
to all humanity. Pretend to pretend. Go on you asshole. Keep it
up. You've got to do something. Break through the trap you carry
around. You aren't just caught in it. You maintain and repair it. You
keep it in working order. You plug all possible escape routes. You
chase away those who wold break it.

I have just been talking to Simone. Its about what's been bothering me
since last night. Do I say anything about it, or hold m tongue. Its
bound to eventually come out that somethings there, and not being
spoken about. Are you thinking of leaving me, she asks. No, its not
anything I'm going to do, or planning. Its just how I see some of the
things going on with me and her, and the four of us living here. She
has said some half dozen times how the next few days are precarious
for her. It was two years ago, just before she left for the last art
therapy conference that Michael left her, or rather announced that he
would be leaving her. That's not it now, but she is sure to be
sensitive to, and disturbed by what I have to say. So, do it now, or
wait till later?

Sunday, October 25, 1981

Dear Donna: I thought it was about time for me to respond to your
June, 1981 notes on A X-Country Journal. First, I would have to say it
flatters me to get them and to be asked for an opinion. I was further
impressed by your calling them notes. So, I have read them twice and
am doing so for a third time as I write this. Your trip reminded me
very much of when I traveled cross-country with my father and sister
as a boy of 8 or 9. I also went across much of the same land right
after graduating from high school. Leaving the next day, on my motor
scooter, as sort of a mini-easyrider. The scenes come into my head as
you describe your own impression of the land, animals and people. I
see you imagine the openness of the land to be an invitation to
emotional openness. Its not so. Having lived in one of these
all-american, flatland towns, I can tell you that the plots,
conspiracies, machinations, secrets, and mysteries, are as plentiful
as the corn and wheat. In fact, I would wager that gossip there is
greater per capita than in the crowded, but anonymous cities. There is
less entertainment, and more work. So, what is one left to do?
Gossip. I found it very plain, dull, and boring, and left. I have no
real desire to go back. Sometimes nostalgia overwhelms me and for a
few moments there are fantasies of visiting the old farmhouse, walking
in the woods, along the river, over the fields. But soil, air, and
water are not the things I want to work with. I have heard that
Boulder is the new age capitol of middle America. Do you know that the
Rockies are much younger than the East coast mountains? This accounts
for their larger size, jaggedness, bareness, and teetering rocks. One
day they will all be smooth and tree-covered. In Wyoming there is a
place called Hell's Half-Acre. It looks very much like Garden of the
Gods. I wonder what that says about the mind of the person who
discovered each of those places. Often you say how young everyone
seems to be in the Southwest. My trip of over 20 years ago left me
with no such impression. Perhaps it was because I was still
younger. But it makes clear how this really is the growing part of
this country. The Northeast really is dying, but only relatively
speaking. Its just not growing as fast. It just doesn't have as much
youth energy. Unless you count all the people going to school
here. But most of them will leave on day. They will be attracted by
the sun, the open sky, and other things that attract you to that
area. I'm sure you have heard by now, but Jack is not moving to
Atlanta. He may in fact, be living with us. It hasn't been decided
yet. Its a bit crowded for the three of us, plus the temporary
situation with Jack. He was on the phone about 2pm. Its 3:30pm
now. Maybe it was you, or perhaps Jean Varda. Simone got a letter from
her yesterday. She has been away for four days. Returning about 7 this
evening. She, and two friends, went to Grossingers for a 4 day
American Art Therapy Association conference. She calls me each day to
relate all the latest gossip. I was surprised to read about your
impressions of atom bomb land. Did you know that right here, in
Cambridge, just down the street from us, is where America designs and
builds the prototype for all its nuclear missiles, and their guidance
and navigation systems? Its true. We are most likely directly targeted
by the Soviets. Ground zero is probably somewhere on Broadway, so as
to get MIT and Harvard. I read an interesting book about the builders
of the pueblos. It had an explanation for the comings and goings of
the various people. It seems that in their culture, a fire, constantly
burning, is an absolute necessity. This means a lot of firewood. The
area has never supported the kind of forests we have in New
England. But over the centuries it has been a different
situation. Some hundreds of years ago it was possible to grow regular
crops of grain in that area. The weather patterns have changed to make
that impossible without irrigation. So this theory has it that they
left when it was no longer possible to easily get firewood. The
people, or another group, came back when things changed. The movement
of people does correspond to the changing weather patterns over the
centuries. Have you seen the movie, The Petrified Forest? It was
Humphrey Bogart's first big picture. I enjoy watching it. I always
seem to see something new each time. I went swimming in Lake Mead on
the trip with my father and sister. The pain of walking on the shore
rocks is still in my mind. A float made from barrels is not too far
from the shore. No memory of actually being in the water. I was still
afraid of the water then. I couldn't swim. It still makes me fearful
now, even with the ability to swim. Its like being on the edge of
anything more than ten fee above the ground. The lake will not die by
being drained dry. Lakes die by filling up with silt. The lake slows
the water enough for the silt to settle. This fills up man-made lakes
in 50-150 years. I have heard that Lake Mead has about another 50+
years. So, at last, you are in San Francisco. And for me, now, what to
say about your writing? Lots of beautiful pictures about the real
world that exists for everyone. The sky, the land, the water, the
air. Pictures about how you want your life to be. But I like best the
more brutal and ugly things you describe. Not that I like brutality
and ugliness, but I think it is only from a real knowledge of these
things inside us that a better internal world can be built. I see only
glimpses of this in your writing. The arguments with Brad, the
loneliness of having left friends and familiar places, the longings
for a new clean places to start life again. I know this feeling of
being frustrated with where you are. I am having a lot of it myself,
at the moment. Fantasies about the end of my life. Not really the end
of life, but rather my consciousness ending. This has been on my mind
a lot lately. Why, I wonder? It seems to be related with all my life
frustrations. Feeling trapped, that things will never get better for
me. I am getting older and sometimes get preoccupied with the idea of
what life will be like for me when I really am old. What can I do now
to make it better? What can I do now to make now better? I wonder what
it is like to not exist. A funny thing to think about, don't you
think? I try to create the feeling of this idea in me.

A man is parking his car on Hampshire Street. What will the world be
like if he suddenly ceases to exist? Will it cease to exist if I die?
Sometimes I imagine it must be this way. Even though I know people
have died, and, of course, it did not stop. A lot of funny thoughts
about consciousness being imbedded in the body. I can't really express
them. But some of them make my consciousness laugh at itself, even be
fearful of itself, for a moment. I have to push these ideas
aside. They are capable of overwhelming, I fee. It must be things like
this that push people to suicide. Enough of this heavy existential
stuff! I have forgotten what in your notes prompted this. Yes, the
writing about the external, non-people world. Like I say, it seems
that you only strike this internal world a glancing blow. I can say
the same when placing side by side, what I write, and all the things
that really go on inside me. But from experience I know it to be a
good way to see myself better. It relieves a lot of internal
tension. My strongest impression of you is one where you are sitting,
legs against your chest, and wrapped tightly with your arms. Almost as
though you are afraid of flying apart, or of something being
revealed. I have heard that you are not feeling well and things aren't
going well with Brad. That you are not making friends easily. There
are millions of people around you. Most of them feel the same. They
have trouble with themselves, with other people. I would advise you to
just say hello to anyone of them, to begin with. Then another and
another. It won't take long to get all the friends you need. Your
friend Simone is a good example of how well this simple approach
works. She never lacks for friends or company wherever she goes. Try
it. It works for her because she says hello. It will work for you. I
have discovered that it even works for me! I recommend it to all my
friends. It works for everyone who has tried it. And write some
more. And send me a copy of it. I will send you more of my writing if
you want. Bye for now.

My Dearest Darling Daughter Laura: What a pleasant surprise it was to
get that lovely card from you the other day. Especially so that you
remembered my birthday. I have thought of you often these last few
days. I remember a lot lately about when you were born and the first
year of your life. What a time that was. Here was, apparently out of
almost nothing, a completely new person. It makes me a bit
nostalgic. Your choice of cards shows so much how a lot of that little
girl is still in you. Its something I miss very much. Perhaps we can
arrange to spend a little more time together? What do you think? Dana
tells me of having seen you in Harvard Square on Sunday for the last
three weeks. What do you say to meeting me there for breakfast next
Sunday? How does 11, Sunday morning, sound to you? At the Mug & Muffin
restaurant. My piano sits in the office every day. Lonely. Wondering
where your fingers are. It misses you. Do you miss it? What is going
on in your romantic life. I've heard rumors about you and that rascal
rogue Dana. Are they true? And what about your art classes. How are
those going for you? I am doing lots of writing. Taken a vacation from
it for a few days. It is so hard to be creative consistently. I am
always making a Monday morning resolution to get an early start and
accomplish a lot. But its something I've been doing for many
years. Perhaps I should try another approach. Or maybe I should go
ahead and do it. In any case, your little card has gotten me to do
some writing. For that I must thank you. Thank you, Laura. And what
else? I am still struggling with my old fears of success. Thinking
about my stepfather made me realize how much I'm like him. He had
something with success also. He worked and slaved all his life to get
ahead. Somehow real success seemed to elude him. Others around him
often managed it. He worked very hard and seemed very capable. But
somehow he did not seem to follow the right things. Its this way for
me. I have lots of opportunities. There are two bigs ones sitting
right here in front of me. But I find myself procrastinating. Anything
but those things need to get done. Its not even that much to do. But I
can't seem to put my hands on them. This kind of success would most
likely mean some kind of changes. Certainly one would be that my life
would become a little more regimented and influenced by the schedules
of others. Before I forget, you are invited to a Halloween party
here. Its next Saturday night. Come as your dream. Well, what else to
say? Why don't you write me again. I do like to get letters,
especially from you. Bye for now.  your Dad

Monday, November 30, 1981

I could not sleep last night. Maybe it was the Chocolate Orgasm from
Rosie's. Or the vaporizer being on all night. Its been very dry. I
thought it would help to have more water in the air. Or maybe it was
my existential anxiety about life. I thought, we come into
existence. We become aware of ourselves. Then we disappear
forever. What does that mean? It must be things like this that turn
people to being religious. To have an explanation for those kinds of
feelings. They come over me a lot lately. This feeling of pure
existence. The fear of not being any more. Of going poof! I continue
to struggle with anxieties about becoming a success. I've had a fever
for about three weeks. I thought it might have something to do with
the last months turmoil. Then another idea. It stopped for a few
days. It might be related to my having a can of coke during my classes
at MIT. I haven't had any for just over a week. Then it stopped.

No writing for over a month. And why not? I don't really know. Maybe
it is the prospect of having to write about a lot of things that make
me uncomfortable. Things have been very busy. But its really some sort
of resistance. I want to do it. I think about it a lot. I've even made
lots of notes this last month. They are all written in a tiny notebook
that I carry all the time. I thought of just trying to write the
history of the last month to overcome the block. Not even that
helped. It didn't get done. And now I think, why not just write down
all the little notes I've made? Another resolution was to write a
least one page a day no matter what. To just put paper in the
typewriter and go to it. Unconscious writing. It shouldn't be too hard
to babble on for a page a day. Then the next resolution was to write a
page a day for the next month. Just to see if I could do it. Its
really December 2, 1981, 1:16am, and I'm not even doing the simple
task of writing a page a day. I've got to finish this page, plus two
more just to be caught up. Now its coming over me again. This
hesitation about what to do next. Sometimes it doesn't matter. Just do
something. Of course, that's not always the appropriate thing to
do. But it can't be a bad policy with writing. That word, policy. I
still remember an incident from my childhood. about 3rd or 4th
grade. It was Lorna Anno. I was in love with her. Maybe that's why its
still in my memory. She mispronounced the word. She said something
like the word police, with an e, as in tea, on the end, poe-lee-see! I
was nervous about having to say the word myself, as I was uncertain
about how to pronounce it. The feeling, the anxiety about having to
say the word is still clear in my mind and body. It comes over me even
now when thinking about it.

I sit here, trying to think of what to write next. It is a good model
of my life. What should I do next? Meanwhile I continue to sit here
and spend my consciousness time allotment. A little of it is used up
each moment. It is better spent doing something. That's not exactly
how I mean to say it. I have to stop and catch myself. I'm carried
away with fantasies about fucking on FH.

Tuesday, December 1, 1981, page 1

This will be the first page of my new resolution to write at least one
page a month for the month of December. Today (not really as this is
actually being written Wednesday morning, about 1:30am) Linda informed
me she was going to move back to NYC. She wants to spend 6 months
intensively studying art. Its not good enough for her here. I will
have to write something for her about what a silly idea I think it
is. Its only for 6 months. She wants to come back and live here with
me and the others in a group. She begins to feel as though the people
around her, me, and Simone, are like a family. She is developing more
trust with everyone. She even has a new relationship that may last for
awhile, if he doesn't jump ship. I have met him twice. Once before he
was involved with Linda, and again at the office. She has a very good
time sexually with him. But he's afraid of being trapped in a
relationship. He was 6 years or so with a woman who had 3 children and
was almost 10 years older than him. It started when he was 20 or
so. She mistakes the sexual energy available at the beginning of a
relationship for its being genuine, sincere, intimate, and deep. In
the beginning its just sex. The other things take a lot of time and
work. Its not hard to be horny with someone new. She reminds me often
of how much better it is with him than me. She asked me once how I see
our relationship. Its one where she tries to become independent, but
its only possible to be really independent when there are people you
can really depend on around you. Emotional dependence requires people
you can depend on to meet your emotional needs. I see her, and most
everyone, trying to become independent of people. They struggle
against some specific person, a mate of some sort, and don't see their
own contribution to their addiction. She and Simone are both always
trying to become independent of me. But it won't work the way its
going. They will end up replacing me with someone else.

Tuesday, four weeks ago Adele called me. She want to meet for
lunch. It completely surprised me. I had no idea. Two months ago I
sent her a set of my notes, and 2 weeks ago, a copy of the latest
stuff about Cheyenne. Her attitude and tone of voice were completely
different from other times. She was very friendly and made a date for
lunch the next Monday. I remembered some of the first times we
fucked. She was so wet it was like surfing. More fantasies about how
she will start to see me again, we'll fuck, and so. Simone's has the
idea that she's getting married or is moving. Maybe Cheyenne is sick,
she wonders. None of them is true. It was a combination of my notes
and est. I couldn't believe this part. It seems she has taken the
training and is now in a ten week course called What's So. Just
before, a day or two, falling apart feelings from exposure to the
difficulties and problems of others. Body hallucinations of my leg
bending. A vague sense of something wrong internally, and thoughts
about if its temporary. Nothing quite like it before. About a week
after her call the fever starts. Don't know what it is. Subdued, not
weaker.

Wednesday, December 2, 1981, page 1

Linda once told Simone that I hoard money - that I have lots more than
I let on. Its not the first time someone has assumed I had
money. Maybe its just something that comes from being generous.

Linda and I have a long talk over lunch about her moving back to New
York to study art for 6 months. She is filled with ambiguous feelings
over it. She will be there no more than a month, or two, and become
depressed and wish she hadn't done it. She gets no support, or nothing
like what she has here. It won't be possible with a stay of only 6
months. She has some contradictory impulses at work here. One is the
belief that she can be a great artist, and that she must study with
someone real good. Yet she is totally lacking in self confidence about
the present state of her art. Knowing her almost two years, I can say
that her ability may have improved, but this thing about not being any
good is still the same. I suspect it will be the same again. I have to
remind her how she has avoided doing any art with us, and probably
most specifically, Simone. She feels she has no imagination. Simone is
better in this way. However, she is technically more developed. But
she is afraid to show anything she does. Joe will get his portrait,
minus 30 pounds, done by her tonight. Its the first real, and
imaginative thing she's done, that I know of. She even took back the
painting she made for me and Dana when we moved into this
apartment. She became paranoid that Simone would try to destroy
it. She has these grandiose fantasies about becoming a great artist,
like the old masters, a realist. Its coming back, she informs me. She
begins to waver, and have second thoughts about it. She's been smoking
more since making the decision. She says there isn't anyone good
enough to teach her here in Boston. But she always believes she is
just a beginner, and not very good. She keeps looking for some magic
trick that will make an undisputedly great artist. An artist that
won't be challengeable. Everything she does will be that good.

A dream about Jack and a beautiful, all-American red-headed type. She
comes in with Jack. I'm just waking up. Short, flaming red hair,
slightly ruddy complexion. She starts to take her clothes off and get
in bed with me. It makes me horny. Jack comes in and pretends nothing
is going on. Its not clear why he's come into my room. I wake up. Jack
is there having breakfast with Dana.

Thursday, December 3, 1981, page 1

I am starting to get anxious about my resolution to write a page each
day. It seems I'm always just a little bit behind. Late
afternoon. I've just started for this day. Fear of running out of
material. Why does this feeling happen? It is as though I'm afraid of
not having much going on in my life. I know some of it has to do with
that. Another thing is that getting all the past events into writing
is important to me. I feel nervous about something that gets left
out. Everything is important. There is some guilt. Why do I panic
about not writing and leaving something out? I am anxious about
getting to my class tonight, about typing while Dana has his group
here, about not being able to write a page today, about remembering
what happened today, about all the things I've put off doing, all the
things that I feel some guilt for not having done. Its ridiculous.

Sten did not show up for the meeting with me and Simone last night. He
got cold feet. I spoke with him. He hemmed and hawed a bit. A lot of
resistance to doing it. He had lots of work. Maybe afraid he can't do
it. Maybe he thinks it useless. I offered to pay him. Maybe he will
run a plain, simple, SD group some evening for us. He goes away in two
weeks, to Virginia on business, then to Europe for some indefinite
amount of time.

I read some of Lotti's writing last night for the first time. From a
notebook she left in the office. She was there when I started reading
aloud. She tried to get it away from me. I began to exaggerate the
words and phrases. It became very funny to her. It was a serious
letter to John. She couldn't take it seriously the way I was reading
it. She enjoyed it a great deal. It was fun for me. It gave her some
new insights.

I have a date with Ann tonight. She called earlier today and said she
was very unhappy about my changing from Wednesday to Thursday
night. It was not obvious at the time to me. I told her first that it
was Simone's wish. She readily agreed. After thinking about it she
decided it had to do with my not wanting to be with her. It seems to
me that this is a way that people can learn to accommodate each
other. Another time I might have a date with Simone and she will call
to have me change it in her favor. She thought for awhile that it
might have had something to do with Simone playing tricks with me and
her. Not so, I assure her. Simone is putting her head in some sort of
trap with Stu and Ken tonight. She may end up having dates with both
of them.

Simone has just brought me a quote. It made her think of my
writing. Its by William Wordsworth: To me alone there came a thought
of grief. A timely utterance gave that thought relief, and I again am
strong.

Friday, December 4, 1981, page 1

I stayed with Ann last night. She thought we might be babysitting with
Liz's child, Christian. But she was there. Liz has some sort of idea
about how I am resisting her approaching me. And that it has something
to do with Ann's relationship with me. Its confusing. She is very
uptight, very rigid, cold, and hard. She hungup on me in mid sentence
during a phone conversation the other day. Ann wanted to know what
orgasms were like for Simone and Linda. Hers seem to be evenly
distributed. That is, she feels fairly intense pleasure most of the
time but doesn't seem to have what she would all a real orgasm. With
Linda it is very well defined. They can't be mistaken for anything
else. They couldn't be faked. Her whole body is taken over with
intense pleasure and convulsions. Not large or violent, just
intense. The whole surface of her body turns more red. Then
surrender. She, Ann, seems to want them, but holds back just at the
edge.

A dream about Judy last night. I am on a bicycle built for two with
someone, perhaps Linda. We are riding around, and in, a house, at the
same time. We go by a window and Judy is inside. She is sitting in a
large, reclining chair. The TV is on. She's doing some sort of paper
work, or maybe reading a newspaper, and half watching the TV. Then we
are in bed, me and Judy. Hardly anything has a chance to happen when
we are suddenly not alone. There seems to be someone else in bed with
us. Its a kid. But he's very energetic, and not quite normal. He's
like a miniature adult, but has both child and adult
characteristics. Then the whole family seems to have come into the
room. The end.

A lot of suicidal people around recently. Jane has been calling Simone
the last few days threatening to do herself in if Simone doesn't live
with her. A new roommate has just moved out. She annoyed when Simone
points out to her how people seem to just move out after leaving
notes. They never say anything to her. They just leave or maybe write
a not that they are leaving. Joe had it a few weeks ago. Stu, Peg, and
even Simone, about a week ago. Ann felt it a few days ago. I imagine
there must be something more to say about this. I don't know
what. This feeling seems to be accompanied by the urge to do someone
else in at the same time. Peg said she wanted to ram her car into
Joe's if she was in the neighborhood. She called me to say she was
quitting. She can't stand being in the neighborhood. Stu want to do
Ken, and me, in. Simone tries to knock me off when she's feeling that
way. I notice it in myself. Frustration with myself or someone. Then I
get these murderous urges. Sometimes even thinking that things would
be better if I killed someone.

Dana has been acting most peculiar lately. First it was building a
trapdoor into the basement. He would fix up a little room down
there. Soundproof it, insulate it, and use it to hide from the
world. I had these kind of fantasies as a kid. I was always scheming
to build some kind of underground retreat. Once I started on it and
was caught by my mother. I wanted to build a complete, secret, safe,
underground world, known only to me. Maybe this is a fantasy common to
most boys. He wanted to make a new rule about the dishes. This was a
few days ago. It was that the dishes should be done as soon as
possible by whoever uses them. They shouldn't be left for any length
of time. I thought this to be a good idea as most of the dishes are
washed by me in any case. The first few days didn't work so well for
me. He even criticized me for leaving them. But a few days after this
we learn that Linda has been putting pressure on him to have a neater
and cleaner house. She was critical of my laundry and thought he might
be doing the same to his. Namely, stuffing it all into a bag and not
ironing it. It doesn't matter to me. Sometimes Simone will iron
things. I don't ask her. She thinks it needs to be done.

Sexual fantasies about Judy all day. I imagine she wants me. Has
finally decided to have me. I fuck her from behind. Somehow she is
always bigger than me in these sexual fantasies. We are about the same
height. I undoubtably weigh more than her. But she always swallows me
with her body. Very soft. I am like a little boy in her arms.

Simone tells me Sten wants to have an affair with her, but is
afraid. He also thinks she should leave me. Its probably several
things he afraid of. The state of his relationship with Connie, who
would probably never be able to accept it openly. He has some
anxieties about dealing with me. He could also be afraid of Simone
becoming attached to him. He knows well what sort of person she is in
a relationship.

Simone stayed with Stu last night. He barricaded in his room reading
Playboy magazines. It was not a good night for her or him. She learned
about the death of his relationship with Laurie. She was too demanding
and aggressive, he lamented. I couldn't do enough for her, he
says. Then he is demanding and aggressive with Simone. She
resists. What kind of woman are you, he demands angrily. Then a pause
for him to complain about Laurie again, about how demanding and
aggressive she. Sometimes she wants to fuck and he doesn't feel
it. She feels rejected and complains about this. They fight. He can't
stand being with her. They are going to some sort of post-relationship
therapy. Its the latest vogue. Simone give me a real life
demonstration about how Stu assaults her. He grabs and pokes her all
over, and tries to kiss her all over, but very hard. Its
disgusting. She can't even play what he does. She is often exactly the
same with me. I tell her she's insensitive and aggressive. She tells
me I'm distant and passive. But I know I don't like it. I think this
has helped her to see what its like for me better than all the times
I've criticized her.

Saturday, December 5, 1981, Page 1

I have had a cold these last few days. Thursday it made me
cranky. Fighting with everyone - and unable to see myself doing
this. Lotti pointed out how insensitive I was being with
people. Growling at her and Simone about money. They keep making
computational errors related to how much money they should get for
working. Anxieties about writing and leaving something important
out. I still have something of this fever. Its a strange illness for
me. The cold came a couple of days after Linda told me about moving to
NYC. She has since changed her mind back and forth.

My mother called me today. Something wrong with her foot. An operation
has put her on crutches. No snowmobiling this year, she laments. What
about Cheyenne she inquires. The latest news about Adele talking to
me. Maybe she wants to get married, she proposes. Plenty of chances
for that, I assure her. But she obviously hasn't done it. Maybe she
waiting for you to ask her, she says. Doubt it, says I. Some people
are like that and are willing to committ themselves to waiting for
their whole life, she says. Maybe she's just waiting for you to make
up your mind, she adds. The conversation gets a little tense at this
point so she shifts to the weather. Carl has moved back to Cody and
bought himself a gas station. Ken sold his station and works for an
oil company. Ann's husband is going to be working in Las Vegas doing
massage. He will go there 4 days a week and be home 3. The kids still
don't like him. Its peculiar with this guy. He supposedly quit a
carpentry job because some of the workers were swearing. He's also a
Mormon. But here he's going to be doing massage in Las Vegas, and away
from home. Something doesn't fit right here.

Talked to Judy a few days ago about her job. She's depressed with the
situation where it may be over in January, and all this week outsiders
have been evaluating the situation. Somehow she likes one of my
pictures from the Social Art Works show. New York Times Swimsuit Ad,
is the one. You can have it, I tell her. She's very pleased. And by
the way, I add, how about an affair with me this weekend? Simone will
be away for several days. Do you think about it, I ask. Yes,
sometimes, she says. What would Simone do if I did? Would she hit me,
or throw anything at me? Or, worse, make a scene? Yes, I tell her, but
she's getting a lot better. She and Linda are in a position to be the
best friends the other has ever had. Its a situation where nothing
bigger, or more emotionally threatening, is likely to happen. When you
have to face jealousy, competition, rejection, the need for love, and
other things every day, you are dealing with the most important things
in your life. She has had what she called loving, caring, deep
relationships before. They turned out to be superficial when
confronted with jealousy and competition. With Linda she is facing,
and overcoming, those things. Things that ruined past situations. I
sit her thinking about how to describe this new development. Its not
clear how to do that or if its really happening, or a temporary
state. She actually questions wether or not she wants to deal with
these things. How is it possible to live any sort of reasonable life
without tackling questions like that? She thinks of moving out in the
Spring, or getting another place with Jack and Dana, and not me. She
fantasizes about living with one or another of her easily conjured up
romantics. She has second thoughts about living with me and Linda. But
she is still here. She continues to try. She discovers that Linda,
Ann, and Judy are not so bad. A phone call from her latest therapy
weekend leads me to believe she doesn't think I'm so bad. Judy noted,
after reading much of my recent writing, that I stress mostly the
negative and unhappy parts of things with Simone.

Judy and I visited the Children's Museum last Saturday. She wanted to
spend the afternoon with me and decided to go there. Standing around,
waiting for her to come back from the bathroom, I notice a number of
very attractive women. I find myself feeling not satisfied with what
I've got, namely, Simone, Linda, Ann, and Judy. Imagining someone else
would be a better deal. I wouldn't have all the problems I have with
them.

Starpeople fantasies. An old fantasy is that I'm not really
human. Aliens left me in the hospital with my 'mother' as a ruse. At
times this seemed to be the only way of explaining my feelings of not
belonging.

Last Saturday again: Simone tells me Carol will be coming over for
dinner. I begin to feel paranoid. Sten was to meet with just her and
me. Now she wants an ally. She protested about having other people
there just the other day. She went to a tea leaf reader with Carol
today. Throw him out, the reader tells her, he's a homosexual. Stu
calls late at night with a crisis. He's threatening suicide. He's
broken up with Laurie. She was too demanding, and rejected him for not
giving what she wanted. But you rejected me, Simone reminds him. No,
he replies, its because you took Richard over me. I must say how this
is really crazy of him. Simone did not reject him. He rejected her
because she wouldn't reject me. He wants her to treat me that way, but
not him. When will people ever learn not to reject each other? When
will they learn they must accept people in order to be accepted?
Everyone is so stupid in this way. I see it over and over again with
all the people I know.

A visit from Tom last Tuesday. He is a case. After his men's group
meeting we meet at Ryles for a drink. Me, Simone, Tom, and Joe. He
wants me to join this group. I tell him about my search for a human
group. That's what I'd join. He's having trouble with Debbie
again. Simone told him how he only seems to contact her when things
are bad. He hung up. Debbie won't fuck with him. He's horny. He still
thinks about having an affair with Simone. He very hyper, relaxed, and
loose, but not really. With him its a bit practiced, phony. He is a
manic-depressive type. His enthusiasm and energy is superficial and
shallow.

Sunday, December 6, 1981

Carol is still moving to Philadelphia. She has gotten a lot more
relaxed recently. She spent a recent night upstairs with Edwin and
Jeff. They drank an caroused till some ridiculous hour in the
morning. Edwin did some sort of ventriloquist act, Jeff told dirty
stories, and Carol was an exotic dancer. She even spent a night in bed
with me. Simone and Ken were in the next room. She started with all
her clothes on. We could hear them fucking. It aroused us. Slowly she
started undressing. Its too hot for this piece of clothing, she
informed me, and nothing more. Finally, all the way down to her
panties. But no more. She helped me masturbate. She has this perverted
loyalty disease. Its nothing more than fear in the disguise of
I-wouldn't-do-that-to-my-best-friend. It invariably happens
though. Sometimes the pressure is too much. A person just feels too
horny. Forget the loyalty. There are lots of ways to explain such
things. All the crazy things that hold people back from getting
pleasure and satisfaction from life.

Jeremy Bloom, who visited FH last year, and also went to the first
marathon conducted by Brooke and Otmar, has started dream therapy with
Simone. He told her that FH didn't work for him, so now he wants to
try dream therapy. Simone won't tell me about him, except to say that
he has a lot of very deep problems.

Saturday, December 5, 1981, page 3

I am writing in my little notebook while we talk. Are you an FBI
agent, he asks. Hand over those notes, he demands. You're the one
who'e into openness and honesty, he says with an indignant tone in his
voice. He doesn't get them. Somehow, and just how escapes me, he says
something to the effect that I've hit the nail right on the head, I've
gotten right to the heart of the matter, I've noticed that he isn't
getting enough sex. But I said nothing of the sort. Just a few knowing
looks and nods of the head. Without saying a word to him about the
subject, he imagines that I've concluded his current problem is not
getting fucked enough. This was obvious from what he told Simone, and
she later related to me. But he said nothing of the sort in mixed
company. Except to say that Debbie had gotten out her TV and was
always watching it. He's thinking of divorce again. Built himself a
cage and wants to get out of it.

Lots of comments about my notes from recent readers. Dave Burmaster:
ranges from brilliant to dull. I could never say all those things
about myself. Made me think about my relationship with Becky and what
happened. Ann: you know what I like about your notes? They show that
everybody's life is as crazy as mine. Teri: entranced. Reminds me of
Anais Nin. After reading the parts about sexuality I decided to do
something more concrete about birth control. I'm going to do something
about it. I had an abortion last Spring and don't want it to happen
again. Lotti: you don't break any new ground, its boring, the same old
stuff. Mark Levy: amazed at my writing. It has an emotional impact on
him. He appalled as I seem to be somewhat of an exhibitionist, and I'm
not being moralistic, he assure me. Sandy Copeman: (as told to Simone)
she's not going to lie about her other relationships. Right now she
sees several people and doesn't tell them about the others. She also
confessed to having a funny relationship with a psychiatrist. Their
sessions sometimes last for hours. She couldn't say it directly, but I
think he's fucking her, but its part of the 'therapy'.

Sunday, December 6, 1981, page 1

Liz, Ann's roommate is offended by my use of the word appointment. I
called Ann one day to change a date to another night, but used the
word appointment. She became a bit indignant and accused me of being
rather impersonal and uncaring. She gave me a quick, short,
self-righteous lecture - and then hung up in the middle of my first
sentence in reply. She thinks me a bit strange, as does Peg House, but
is intrigued. Her interpretation of my body language is that I'm
telling her to stay away, don't touch me. This is the first woman, to
my knowledge, to ever say such a thing about me. Most have just the
opposite impression. And its true, I'd like to get my hands on most
women. But she thinks I'm pushing her away. Peg thinks I look at women
as though they are meat. Its true. Sometimes I feel nothing more than
lust. Pure, unadulterated, simple, unbridled lust! On the other hand,
there hasn't been a woman I haven't felt more for, given time to do
so.

The latest gossip about Darby is that she in love with a new
man. She's known him for two weeks and wants to get married. He is
recently divorced. More trouble for Darby. Why don't people's friends
speak up and tell them what they are doing? Simone went to visit
Nancie a few days ago. She didn't want me to come along. Sexual
troubles with Robert. He doesn't want to fuck. Seems he is getting
fatter and doesn't want to be touched. Maybe something related to his
being a father again. What a story about his ex-wife and their
son. They have both taken vacations to be crazy.

Lotti asks me how I lie. For me its mostly a matter of holding my
tongue. Simone does this by letting hers flap all the time. Dana does
it by pretending he doesn't have one.

Simone has wanted me to agree to a trip to Wyoming to visit my
family. One night I told her she was like a dog pissing on trees to
mark its territory. And she is constantly trying to mark off little
boundaries around me, as her property. This drove her crazy. She spent
some two hours foaming at the mouth and verbally and physically
assaulting me. Finally I just left. There was nothing else to do,
except maybe stay and be assaulted. People are most disturbed when you
say something to them that hits the mark.

Some dreams later that night, after the above mentioned fight. Hitting
the beach with the Marines. But everything looks normal. Its just a
beach with houses and people in them. The people don't notice
anything. Us soldiers on the beach are afraid of being shot. We are
very cautious. But nobody else notices anything. Another one where my
prick kept falling off. I keep trying to glue it back on. But the flue
won't dry. It just gets and stays a little sticky. I have to hold it
on. In the dream, or right at the end, I wake up and am afraid it
might just be true. Is it ok? Is it falling off?

Monday, December 7, 1981, page 1

Today is the 40th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Two
people, Sten and Lotti, have told me they read an interview with the
lead pilot.

The picture has come back. It went away last Thanksgiving day, a week
ago Thursday. Simone moved my bed around to have room for some art
work. The picture was placed in a position for everyone to see. It was
gone at the end of the day. Simone has accused me, Jeff, and Dana, of
having taken it. I thought Jeff might have taken it to his mother for
a wedding present. Simone thinks I may have taken it for some ulterior
motive. Or because I've done this sort of thing before. That Richard
is a known picture thief. Anyway, its back. It could only have been
me, Jeff, or Dana. Maybe Jack, as he has a set of keys, and could have
snuck in with it. It was not here when I left for the office about
9:30pm. I didn't even remember what it looked like. Its been hanging
over my bed for months. This missing painting seems symbolic of
something. The lack of communication here or inability to recognize a
common purpose or interest. Its like taking the normal little foolish
and nasty behavior we exhibit and abstracting it. Maximizing pain with
minimum damage. Throwing a psychological wrench into the machinery of
life, into the workings of social reality. A considerable amount of
unnecessary tension and speculation and accusation has been generated
by this incident. What actually happened is still not clear to
me. After realizing that the painting may have been under my mattress
for the last few days, my suspicions shift to Dana as the culprit. I
only noticed it the last few days. But Jeff could have put it there
also. It was something I only noticed every now and then. My awareness
built up slowly after noticing something like an edge under the
mattress. But its only a piece of foam rubber on a flat piece of
plywood. There shouldn't have been anything there. I didn't look
because I couldn't imagine what it could be. It may have crossed my
mind for just a moment. But I was in bed with someone each time. Not a
romantic thing to do. Excuse me, but there seems to be something under
the bed and I'll have to stop fucking, or whatever is going on, and
check it out. But most important is that we not only unconsciously try
to manipulate the mood here, but now its going on in a very deliberate
and malicious manner. Somebody feels they have something to gain by
causing confusion and suspicion and bad feelings and mistrust. I
wonder if it isn't Jeff trying to push Simone more in his
direction. After I left for the office, and Simone went out, the
painting came back. Jeff and Dana were here. Jack may have come in for
awhile. Jeff asked Simone to live with him and get married. He is
pulling out all the stops. On the other hand, just a bit earlier,
Simone told me that he wants to try having more than one relationship,
and that he wants to be honest about it. He's very afraid of doing
this, and asking Simone to marry him may be a way of avoiding having
to do that. Dana, on the other hand, said something, like a clue,
which made me think it was him. About the painting being face down. I
imagine a meeting where we all present the facts, and theories, as we
see it. But even this is such a frustrating thing. What a waste of
time for all of us. The culprit could still manage to stay hidden. On
the other hand it could be a very good thing to see exactly how each
of us suspects the others. Not even Simone is free of guilt. Its
possible for her to have done the whole thing. The motive is not
exactly clear to me. Perhaps to stir up mischief amongst the rest of
us. How would the others see me? First, that I did something similar
before. But I made my position clear. It was in reaction to something
else. Well, they might say, obviously you won't try the exact same
thing. Something a little more clever, a little more subtle. Maybe a
new way to keep Simone in line. Keep her a little off guard all the
time. In any case, someone will be paying for it till they
confess. Something like this always costs something.

And why do I tend to use the same word two or more times in the same
sentence? I notice myself doing this to myself in the previous
paragraph. Why, exactly, does it turn out to be this way, exactly,
why? I have to think about it too much to do it. Thinking about it
makes it too hard to do. I end up making sentences that make no sense,
tense wise, perhaps? Will he ever be literarily clever, you ask
yourself? Will he ever go on to something else? Yes.

A long talk with Joe yesterday about VD. The fear of it makes him
loose his enthusiasm about Linda and Simone. He sees both of them as
not very prudent or careful. Its a very unromantic part of his
relationship with women. He grills them about it. He also tends to be
with women who get around less than him. I have heard similar anxiety
from Ann. She worries about it. Simone's friend Steve has told her
he's afraid of getting herpes, via me, from her. He has the same
problem, but more related to being so secretive about his
relationships. Everybody is afraid of getting something from someone
else. They never suspect they may be the one. I have decided to get a
VD test, and make the results public, at least amongst the people most
directly concerned, once a month. Joe liked the idea and said he would
be amenable to doing the same. Then others could follow the example
and space their tests so that someone has a test every few days. This
should help the anxiety. But I suspect resistance to the idea. Nobody
wants to get caught as the one with something. Everyone will be
inclined to say its a good idea for everyone else. I even thought of
refusing to fuck with someone who doesn't have the test results from
at least the last month. There are those who will say it spoils the
mood. Tough shit. Anxiety about it spoils the mood. A disease will
destroy the mood.

Tuesday, December 8, 1981, page 1

Life here, with Simone's return, has returned to normal. Namely, the
desperate, whining, sniveling, demanding, little kid who can never get
enough of what she wants. After hearing more of her weekend with Jeff
I am absolutely astounded and amazed that she would even consider
living with him, or marriage. But it actually seems to be on her
mind. This after seeing a woman who spent 17 years with an alcoholic,
and has just married her second, and who is already covering her ass
for divorce. For her, of course, this behavior seems like the
perfectly ok and natural thing to do. For me its something to be
avoided, which means avoiding her. She never has any understanding of
this situation until someone turns the tables on her. Jeff being the
most recent, and Stu just before that.

Some dreams last night: Maggie Lettvin is giving an exercise class on
FH. I walk into a room and she is on the floor with several other
women. A second dream has me, Simone, and Steve in a garage, an auto
repair place, trying to fix a car. He wants her to go outside and
smooch. He wants to get her away from me. I keep trying to fix the car
and keep an eye on them at the same time. This merges into another
dream about a car, with helicopter blades on top, slowly descending to
the roof of a one story building across the street. It lands ok and
begins to roll, very slowly, towards the edge. Why doesn't the pilot
use the brake, I wonder. Its getting close to the edge. Its going to
fall over. It does! It falls slowly. The nose of the car is
squashed. The pilot is still inside and ok. Two others get out. The
pilot is acting funny.

More funny stuff going on here. Dana thinks I'm trying to interfere
with his and Simone's business, and trying to get Simone out of the
house. It seems he thinks I'm doing things to get her to leave. That
I'm acting strangely, but he doesn't say concretely how. Jack said
this recently. But nobody says anything concrete. All vague reference
and innuendo. Dana thinks Ann's coming over last night was some sort
of complicated trick. Jeff thought the same. He thought Simone might
end up sleeping with him if he played his cards right. But Ann only
wanted to read the Globe help wanted ads. She'd spent the day at an
interviewing seminar. She was enthusiastic about continuing her search
for a job.

Simone has just returned. Dread sweeps over me. The urge to be
elsewhere. Now its that I told her mother I was arguing with her
tonight. You told my mother we were fighting tonight, when you've been
at your class she accuses. But its only a question of semantics or
time. Nothing to do with reality. So you want to fight tonight, she
asks. How do these things start? I wonder. Then a false try at making
up. It reminds me of an incident from her therapy weekend. Barb Levy
and her have some tension between them. It originally came from the
possibility of a relationship with Jerry, one of the trainers. They do
not speak easily with each other, as in the beginning. Simone makes a
contrived move, I want to hug you, she says, and is rebuffed.

Wednesday, December 9, 1981, page 1

Monday morning, Linda calls me to borrow a pair of shoes for Mark
Levy. He has locked himself out of the apartment downstairs. His shoes
are inside. He didn't want to ask me directly. So, I tell her, first
he wants my woman, then he wants my shoes. Well, I continue, tell him
that my underwear is the bottom line. And no more! He has told her to
leave me. Can't you see how he's just using you, and doesn't really
love you, he informs her.

More about Simone's most recent assault. I realize how my own
interpretation of the event gets confused after talking to Nadine. I
had, in my confusion, described the situation as one where I was
trying to flee the apartment, and Simone was trying to hold me in. In
reality, she was trying to throw me out, and I was trying to stay
inside. After threats of murder, stabbing, calling the police, and
miscellaneous mayhem, she left and went to Linda's.

Do you know what Richard wrote in his notes, she cries to them on
walking in the door. He wants me to have a VD test every month. Linda
and Lotti both ask me about contraception. I understand you still
aren't using anything and taking equal responsibility for it, she
says. I get pissed off at this and remind her that she is talking
about an ideal world where everyone has equal rights. My own
experience tells me that men and women don't have equal right or
responsibilities when it comes to children. Women may want men to take
equal responsibility for contraception and abortion costs, but nobody
jumped up and down to help me get the right to see my daughter. So I
get carried away with it. Lotti is now under the impression that I
won't let Simone use contraceptives. Is it true, she asks.

Simone calls me from Braintree. She has had an accident. A scrape with
the guardrail. She almost passed out again, and vomited. She told me
about staying with Jack last night. Didn't want to tell me where at
first. Then she disclosed that it was to protect Lotti from getting
hurt. This afternoon she says they didn't fuck as Jack was too afraid
of the complications. Jack is also in on protecting Lotti. She and I
may a great little play, and have enormous fun with it. She still sees
Simone as a matchmaker. Jack won't really let go and have an affair
with her until she leaves me. She's covering her ass about someone to
take care of her. Just in case it doesn't work out with me. Who
wouldn't do the same? I see it all the time.

Simone learns more interesting stuff about Dana. He really wants to
have an affair with Simone, but not as long as I'm with her. His lock
went on last August. Simone didn't notice it till a few days ago. I
asked him about his impression of my opening the door and looking in
without knocking. My memory is that I've never done that. He admits
its possible.

Judy tells me she notices that these assaults and physical
interactions with Simone seem to be more frequent. It seems that way
to me also.

I stayed with Linda last night. It was hard for me to fall
asleep. Some fear of Simone showing up. Some of fear of the
attack. Asking Linda about it prompts her to remind me of her
father. He was always threatening to kill someone, or throw them out
of the house. This kept her awake many nights. She still has some of
this in her. Touching her at night causes her to react very
strongly. As though she were having a bad dream. Her body will
suddenly jerk or convulse. She will gasp for breath.

Sometimes I see that each of us is like an iceberg to the others. We
only get to see a little bit from the top of each of us. We show and
hide as we see fit, to whomever we see fit to do so. Only some larger
number of people get to see what each of us is really like.

Nadine, Lotti, and Linda thought my idea for regular VD tests was a
good idea. They may even participate.

A call from Lesley College yesterday to come in for an interview for a
job in their computer science department. Simone must be a little
jealous.

Michael called the house for Simone about 1 minute after she left. I
told her about the attack on me. He could identify with it as she's
done the same to him many times. This afternoon I learned from Dana
that she's done the same to him. He tells Simone, but not me that
Constance is having some sort of very hard time at the moment, but he
can't talk about it or won't.

A long talk this afternoon with Dana and Simone. About the whole
situation and what we will do. I want to talk to a lawyer and find out
what sort of problems I will have if she really does call the
police. My reputation with them is not too good. I need to cover my
ass. She's astounded at this reaction. Everything seems to be almost
ok with her. She speaks about moving to another place with Jack, but
doesn't really want to do that. About moving into a big house with
more people, but feels we have to have a solid base for doing that,
and its not there yet. She wants to have some sort of group meeting
where we talk about everything that's going on. She wants me to
respond in a certain way when she's feeling bad. I get some examples
of kissing or hugging her when she asks. But this seems completely
phony and contrived. But its real to her as that's how she and Michael
did it. To me it would be faking. I feel false enough now in much of
my behavior. It doesn't make sense to practice being false
directly. To do something for which I have no feeling. More, but we
had to end as she had a client coming for therapy. We will try talking
with more people this Friday evening. I have volunteered to get a tape
recorder. We can give copies to people who might like to know about
hot it went. But did not want to attend.

There will be a new VD clinic at the Cambridge Hospital, every
Tuesday, from 4 to 6pm, beginning on December 15. The guy at the desk
asks me if I have a practice. No, I inform him, its for my own use. Do
I imagine the people in the waiting room to be staring at me after
this little conversation?

Thursday, December 10, 1981, page 1

Yesterday, at the Lowell School office, I had to add a sentence to my
course description. Sitting down, I looked at the paper for a minute,
then wrote what was needed almost without hesitation. Virginia found
it very clear, simple, and to the point. Dr Wedlock, the director,
found my course descriptions to be just fine. He had two English
teachers for parents. They were always working with him to develop his
writing. He's very good for what he writes. In thinking about it, I
realize how much my own has improved in the last year. Even in the
last ten days it seems to have gotten better. Its much easier
certainly. The last few days have come right off my fingers. Very
little hesitation.

Joe has been spending lots of time with Nadine, Lotti, and Linda. He
must really enjoy having the three women to himself. Linda finished
his portrait last night. It was in pencil. He was sitting in a chair
and had only his underwear and a pair of socks on. Also, his
glasses. It was very good. He was very pleased with it. She was
satisfied with what he paid her. He's going to hang it where his pool
playing ladies picture is now.

The Zucchini Assembly. People keep asking me what its about. What are
we going to do. Edwin is skeptical. Ann is cautious about coming. We
talk about it in a restaurant. Edwin can't recognize me as being able
to lead a group in any way. Sten is the only one, he tells me, and
he's not here. But back to what its about. We all have the feeling of
not really knowing what other people are like. What's going on inside
them. I see it as a chance to have everybody we know site down and
talk. A chance to unburden.

Friday, December 11, 1981

Its not really Friday. I'm trying to make up for two days of being
away from the house. Anxiety about being here with Simone, especially
alone. Very strong urge to flee.

Lotti talking to me about Simone and using contraceptives: I don't
think you should take the responsibility since it is her body.

Some ideas about the Friday evening meeting: Joe thinks there should
be a limit to amplitude and duration of people's talking. Lotti
doesn't think it will work. It will end in disaster. Linda wants
credit for the tape recording idea. Joe likes it. Lotti and Linda are
resistant at first. Linda wants to know how people who break down will
be handled. Lotti is feeling very vulnerable at that moment. It has
something

Wednesday, December 16, 1981

Yesterday, Tuesday, December 15, 1981, between 4 and 6 pm, I visited
the VD clinic at Cambridge Hospital. This is the story of my visit,
examination, and some things I learned there.

I was embarrassed to be there for two reasons. The first having to do
with a general sense of shame at going to such a place. There is such
an attitude in society about this kind of health care. A sense of
guilt. I must have done something wrong to have to go there. But that
passed quickly. There were two people ahead of me. They finished very
quickly. A man and then a woman. After I finished with everything, and
returned to get my coat, the waiting room was filled with men. Half a
dozen or more. And no women. The second reason for my embarrassment
was related to having run out of clean underwear the day before. So I
had borrowed a pair of women's underwear. It made me a bit
selfconscious. But that too passed quickly. So now its my turn. The
nurse, Ms C, called me in. She's an older woman, in her late 40's or
50's. Another source of embarrassment, to be examined by a woman. But
maybe she won't be doing it. All my little anxieties get added up as
we enter the exam room for who knows what. But I don't feel any
dis-ease from her. She seems like an old hand at this. Since 1963, in
fact. She takes out a roll of paper and puts a new piece on one of
those exam tables with stirrups. She sits and I continue to stand. Am
I going to run out or something?

Do you have sex with men, she asks. No, I reply, and why do you
ask. 65% of my cases are gay males. They tend to be the most
promiscuous of all sexually active people. They have the least
knowledge about their partners. They have the most casual and frequent
sexual contacts. Just women, she comments. Yes, that's right, I assure
her. She doesn't ask any questions about animals, plants, or other
objects. And nothing about masturbation. Can one get anything from
masturbating? Let me see your penis, she asks, after slipping on a
rubber glove. Out it comes. My embarrassment all goes away at this
point. She is completely matter of fact, and probably quite
unimpressed. One could see a lot of these things in 18 years. She has
this piece of wire, about 8 inches long, with a little round thing on
one end, and a loop on the other. This goes inside to get something
for the culture. The little round this is specially treated to pick up
germs. It smarts like a son-of-bitch! She must have put about half of
it inside me. The end gets smeared on the surface of a culture
kit. She puts a little pill in with it to absorb all the oxygen. This
test is for gonorrhea. It must be done in the absence of oxygen. It
takes a day or two to grow. The little plastic case goes into a second
plastic container, a bag. The blood text for syphilis means a
needle. Its easy to find a vein, but a little blood spurts out a
slightly jagged hole. It stings a little. A friend of mine faints when
he sees blood. He can't donate it because of this. Otherwise he's
fearless. That's it. I've no other symptoms.

Wednesday, December 16, 1981

I'd been thinking about doing this for some time. First, to be sure
that I was ok in this way. Second, because my sexual partners, from
time to time, have expressed anxiety about it, or someone they have
sex with has mentioned it. At least one man has said he will not have
sex with one of my partners because he is afraid of Herpes, which he
imagines himself getting from her, via me. It is also a way of
becoming more conscious of one's sexual relationships. And how much
one cares about those relationships. I find many people concerned
about getting something from someone, but less concerned that they
will be the giver. The situation is like this for me. I have 3 sexual
partners. All women. I have had sex with two of them for almost two
years, and almost 2 months with the third. They have all expressed
varying degrees of anxiety about my other relationships. Each of them
has had from 9 to 15 sexual contacts, different partners, in the last
two years. But their anxiety seems to be mostly directed at my other
partners, through me, rather than themselves. And this makes some
sense as these other people are more unknown than their own
partners. So my idea is to practice some preventative medicine to help
put these anxieties to rest. I will start with myself and ask them to
do the same. They can be responsible for whoever they relate to. A
second part of this is to start some sort of public record. I am
thinking of a notebook with the results of my own and other tests. I
will make it available to anyone who will have any sort of sexual
contact with the people in our ‘group'. So I am starting a notebook,
VD Test Results. Results will be stored in chronological order, and
alphabetically, by last name, within a given month and year. A number
of people have told me its a good idea and that they will join me in
doing this. I look forward to their participation. Anyone may join in.

Most of my time, half an hour at least, was spent in a most
interesting conversation with Ms C. Asking me how I'd learned of the
clinic, I tell her it was from an article in a local newspaper. She
was not pleased with this paper as she had been badly interviewed
several years ago, by them. But she did want to get a copy of the
article. I was taking notes at this point and she wanted to know if it
was for a newspaper article. No, but I told her about my notes and
what I wanted to do with what I wrote about my experience at the
clinic. I promised to send her a copy.

Herpes was the biggest topic of conversation. Its the thing most
people are afraid of. 50% of the people never get it. They are
protected by virtue of having contacted Herpes I, coldsores, as a
child. I had these things coming out my ears. So it seems I'm well
protected against them, and will most likely never get it. She
emphasized how stress and anxiety seem to be the biggest cause of an
outbreak of Herpes once it is contacted. Its not so terrible. It can
be sore. But there is no danger if sexual contact is avoided during
this active phase. There is no danger at any time. Avoid sex when you
have the symptoms, and you will never get it. It seems that Herpes is
increasing. Her theory is that some of it is due to increased oral
sex. Something about how Herpes I & II get passed around and perhaps
have some sort of catalyst, or activating, influence on each
other. She does not believe Herpes to be related to cervical
cancer. One out of 7900 babies born at Boston Lying In last year,
1980, was done by cesaerian section because of an active Herpes
case. One in 5 million cases of Herpes may die from related
cause. There is about 10 times the chance of getting it in an airplane
crash. So, avoid oral sex when you have cold sores. She finds that
women will use a fear of Herpes as a way of avoiding sex. Men get
things most often, but women have the most fear of getting
something. Most of these cases turn out to be just fear, and behind it
a fear of sex.

A most interesting story of 17 couples in Newton. They are married,
have jobs, homes, children. But they have organized themselves in
order to get more sexual satisfaction. At the same time they are very
conscious of problems that can arise from having so many potential
sexual contacts. She has been seeing some of the men for several
years. They have regular examinations, but doesn't know what they will
do now that the funding for that clinic has been cut. They range from
30's to 50's in age. I want to contact them to learn how they
contacted each other originally, how they got started, overcame
problems of jealousy, and how it is going now. I want to organize
something like this for myself. As do many other people.  Syphilis is
another interesting topic. It starts, sometimes, with a simple sore
around the genital area. Sometimes nothing. One gets a rash on the
palms of the hands and soles of the feet after 6 weeks. Then
nothing. It goes to sleep for from 5 to 15 years. It lodges in an
organ, or organs. It wakes up and destroys the organ(s). Its simple to
cure. Penicillin will do it. Its something you can have and not
know. This test, done with blood, takes about a week.

So, I am writing this with the idea of sending it to people that I
know and/or am sexually involved with. I hope it will help put an end
to some anxiety, and some of the finger pointing. People can have
themselves tested, and ask their sexual partners to do the same. In
addition, I want to do something about the question of how people can
best get their sexual needs met. How to be satisfied and solve some of
the problems of health care and emotional care. I feel like Ms C, who
had a very positive attitude about sex, and who, sometime during our
conversation, told me that people should stop worrying and have fun.

Sunday, December 20, 1981

I am in the bathroom. Pissing. Glancing to one side I notice someone
in the mirror. Not just in the mirror, but reflected from still
another mirror. For a moment, the identity is unknown. But its only
me. From another angle. Almost from behind. Unrecognizable. Its me,
but I don't really know it. I don't really know me. Or some of the
time, I don't know me. I try to move in an predictable fashion to see
different parts of my body. The two mirrors make it
confusing. Sometimes I see myself as a doubly reflected
person. Someone reflected off the mirror of my past experiences, and
reflected off myself, as a mirror for others. But never seeing just
myself, or others, without some reflection, or more precisely, …but
the word escapes me. What do I mean? What mirror am I looking into for
the answer to this question? The word was in my mind for just a
moment. A small movement made it disappear. And now I struggle, moving
the mirrors around inside consciousness, attempting to bring it back
into view. Who is deciding what word will be used? I wonder if the
word will come from my idea of writing the right thing. Is it for my
readers? Is it for my idea of who my readers are? Is it for my idea of
myself? Is it for me?  Simone tells me of reading Anais Nin's last
book. Something about her writing taking her over. Was she nothing but
her writing? Was her writing all there was of her? I don't remember
exactly how it came out. But she was confronted with the problem of
living her life, or living her writing. It became such a big thing for
her. It seems that her life was nothing but writing-related things at
times. At least she seemed to be expressing this. I read a little
about a talk she gave to benefit a feminist organization in
Cambridge. It happened at the Old Cambridge Baptist Church. What a
time they gave her. The radicals wanted her to come completely over to
her side, against men, it seemed. She argued for them to free
themselves first from the idea of being on a side and against
anyone. Or so it seems to me. I could agree with that.

An hour long talk with Jonathan last night. Simone's cousin. After a
short description of the difficulties with Simons, he relates a
similar story about himself and Myrna. They talked about and agreed to
the idea of having an open relationship at the beginning. But now
there is a possibility for him to have something like this. She is
against it. Doesn't want it. What will he do? I give him some
ideas. But its a little more than he can do. He will probably just see
how things go rather than taking an active position. He has to resist
his impulses to have anything to with this other woman. He's afraid of
Myrna rejecting him. The other woman is not a sure thing. But he
doesn't want the part of Myrna that won't let him have his freedom. He
could end up getting the same thing from this new woman. His last
girlfriend left him because he wanted to have other relationships. I
suggest he think about how he decides on who to have a relationship
with.

I have been meaning to write about this party, at Linda's, two weeks
ago yesterday. It was different from those we have here. It also
involved the three men who live in the apartment downstairs. Mark,
Brice, and David. I found most of the people there to be very stiff
and easily offended. A lot of dancing with sexual messages, but no
real feeling. Performance. Judy found it very strange. She left
early. Linda really let go of herself. Flirting with every hairy chest
there. She was most attracted to a Mr Pink Shirt. The savage, as Lotti
called him. This after observing them involved in some sort of
fertility rite dance. Later we catch them in a bedroom fondling. She
later told me about taking him out on the porch and him taking his
pants down. Amazing, considering that a blizzard was going on at the
time. All this makes me a bit jealous. I have to ask her about our
date after the party. She reassures me. At 3am most people have
gone. Those still standing are a bit drunk and/or in stupors. Two
people are talking about numbers. Some sort of numerology stuff. Its
impossible to calculate at this time, one tells the other. What floor
am I on anyway? Two very attractive female assholes though me
aggressive on my telling them how attracted I was to them. From small
planets the only thing you can hear is thump-ta-da-thump-ta-da-thump,
I learn from another nearby, but lucid conversation. Lotti lies here
with her head on my leg. She doesn't like it here anymore. Interview
with Miss MK, a friend of Brice, from the north. Too long, bad, soon
to leave, who knows where. No distinguishing remarks about the
party. Seldom I have met such a superficial bunch of bananas. Droopily
she remarks. Linda emerges with the savage looking type. Pretending,
all the time, that nothing is going on. He moves to another
room. Lotti thought she was giving him a blowjob. We peeked in every
now and then. Pink shirts name is Jeff, alias Big Chief Pink
Shirt. Lotti saw them doing some sort of fertility rite. She tries to
explain what types of mailing lists I sell. Pink Shirt walks through
the room praying, or at least with is hands clasped in a prayerful
expression. He's a handsome devil. The sort Linda falls for. Someone
asks if I'm the party historian, as they notice me writing. I know
about 15 people here. Lotti and I continue our spy game with Linda and
Pink Shirt. She thinks he's the sort who will punch me out. Sherry and
Marushka thought me too much bold, aggressive even. Steve and Nadine
are making out in a chair next to me and Lotti. It all seems mindless
compared to the parties on Amory Street. There's a lot more alcohol
here. Lotti remarks how Linda doesn't seem to be fixated on me. She
seems to have room to breath, unlike Simone, she adds. It wasn't
always that way I tell her. Linda is still fixated on the idea of
someone. So am I, Lotti says about herself. Steve wants to contact
Carol when she's in New York. She gives him the name of her hotel, but
he's forgotten her last name. I have the impression of people partying
and crashing through life. Stumbling through their allotted
days. Falling into things by chance. Falling into
situations. Everything is random and by chance, and everyone wants to
believe things are the opposite for them. Each sees the stream of
chance in the life of everyone else, but not their own. Each wants to
believe that they are in control, that they have a handle on their own
personal fate, that things are moving in the direction they want. But
I know that a single party, such as this one, can result in enormous
changes in one's life. I met Simone at just such a party. I had no
idea of what would happen there. A single moments decision, which
might have gone completely the other way, led me to go that night with
Edwin. This party could be the same for any number of people here. If
not this party, then maybe the next. But something completely random
will happen sometime. And one will go flying off in that new
direction, still believing oneself to be at the controls.

Linda has enough energy for another party. She got it from Mr Pink
Shirt. The excitement of a new relationship, plus the tension of me
walking around in the middle of it. He's a law school student and is
married. He cheats on his wife. Linda flicks booggers at this
writer. Nadine describes it as a very human party. And adds that
Richard is interested in who's picking up who. She really liked
it. People communing with people, not just individuals alone. Its
called being a weasel, Lotti retorts, about my interest. Steve wants
me to mail him a copy of this. Box 300, GPO, Brooklyn NY 11202.

You look funny with a leaf over your head, Nadine remarks. I'm sitting
under a large leafy plant. Leaf, Leaf, over my head. Git away now, or
I'll shoot you dead. And my apologies to all you poets.

Sam and everyone is gone, but me, Linda, and Mark. In fact, he is
totally pissed at me for coming back. I've just given Lotti an escort
home. He thought I would be gentlemen enough to realize that I wasn't
wanted here. It gets very tense. He wonders what things will be like
in two more years, from my living like this. He never really explains
what the this is. Perhaps he expects me to have heart failure from
sexual excess. Or perhaps develop cancer from the anxiety of having
many relationships. So the tension continues. Linda looks down at her
feet most of the time. With a criticism of me now and then. Several
times I ask if she wants me to go. The answer is no each time. Mark
seems not to hear this. He continues to pressure me into leaving. He
tells me about love. You don't know anything about this, he informs
me. You have only base lust, he adds. What Linda and I had this
evening is something that everyone but you could see. It was obvious
that we shared something special. Something you don't know about
because of your preoccupation with pure lust. And on and on he
goes. It is my turn. I tell him about how he doesn't notice that Linda
wants me to stay. That she doesn't really trust him. He has a mean
look in his face, a mean tone to his voice, the whole time. Linda
wants me to stay for other reasons. She knows from lots of experience
about characters like him. This love that he imagines with her will go
away in a few days. They will feel an odd sort of tension in its
place. He has great expectations of the situation, as does Linda. And
already they both have fear of not getting what they want. They have
turned a few minutes of sitting on a couch and smooching into a great
romantic adventure. Its nothing more than their having allowed
themselves to let go for awhile. But he can't stand to hear me talk
and gets up to leave. Not before informing me that, were he not a
gentlemen, he'd punch me out. And I have barely had a chance to go at
him. Paranoid feelings for an hour or two that he might come back and
punch me out. I was surprised that my words hit him so hard. Well, he
didn't burn down the house, or shoot me. For some time the sound of
people moving around frightened me.

Later, in bed with Linda, I noticed how she said everything she wanted
about me, but nothing about Mark. None of the criticisms I've heard
about him before. She doesn't trust him and so holds back. He's forced
himself on her before. It could happen again. As Ann said, he's a
horny young guy who thinks he deserves a woman. Only when we are alone
can she say things about him. She does not challenge his claim that
she and Mark have what he calls genuine caring for each other. But I
know from my experience with her that they will have difficulty
talking to each other in a few days.

He's a very well programmed person. He wonders what's wrong with my
program by telling me how I should know automatically what was going
on with he and Linda, and then bow out gracefully. He sees Linda as
someone completely under my control and hopes to rescue her from
me. He wonders how Linda could allow herself to be manipulated by me
and so trapped in this situation. But he will be glad to save
her. This discussion about what people should know, just by being
sensitive to the situation, goes on for some time. My response is that
I'm completely insensitive, and need to be told exactly what's going
on. It doesn't help. He still can't tell me exactly what he wants,
except to ask me to leave. Each time I ask Linda if that's what she
wants. Each time the answer is no.

Linda agrees with Mark about my not being capable of love. But I think
this is a reaction to not getting everything she wants from me. She
has gone chasing after love many times since I've known her, and many
times before. She's no expert on what love is. She runs after it in
desperation and grabs the first thing that even vaguely resembles
love. And then has the greatest of expectations for it. Which can't be
satisfied. She holds back herself from the very beginning. She always
fears it will fail. This contributes to its failure. The other person,
who she decides on for having similar qualities, fears the same. The
other also holds back. They each notice this holding back on the part
of the other, and do more of the same themselves. So, that's all I
have to say about the party at Linda's house, and the house of all
those who live, love, laugh, linger, lament, and long there.

Monday, December 21, 1981

Simone and I were in the bathroom this evening. She's on the
toilet. I'm brushing my teeth. She pulls me over, takes down my pants,
and sucks on my prick. I get a hairbrush and start brushing her
hair. With one foot I begin to kick the garbage can. She twirls the
toilet paper roll, the wrong way at first. The paper gets on the
floor. She twirls it the other way. It becomes quite amusing. Others
in the next room have no idea this is going on. We titillate them with
the idea of something have going on, but only let them guess. I
promise to tell everyone later, when the guys leave.

Judy came home from the hospital today. She went in early this morning
to have an ovarian cyst removed. I went to a local flower shop and
sent her some. Also a card, with a poem. A get well soon card.

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Even if you still won't,
I'll always love you!

-Richard

p.s. – get well soon so that I can get back to trying.

Linda is overpowered with feelings of jealousy the last two
days. Saturday night I stayed here with Ann. She wanted me to change
my plans and stay with her. I would have done it if necessary. But she
was only trying to blackmail me. It was done by saying she wouldn't be
as amorous the next night, Sunday night, when we had a date. She keeps
trying, but I won't do it. Half an hour later, another
caller. Anonymous. I say hello and get no response. Two hellos later I
get some kissing and lip smacking. A 20 minute conversation of lip,
tongue, cheeks, and other facial parts talking. I tend to the orgasmic
sounds. The caller to fresher and more playful sounds. It seems like
Linda. She denies it the next day. Then its over. She hangs up. It
seemed female, and local. Two minutes later another call but its a
hangup.

I show Joe and Edwin my postcard from Teri. The note says: From a
fantasy in your 81 chronicles, may the new year bring fulfillment. The
other side is a naked lady, from behind, bending over, and looking
back at the photographer. It was taken about 1925. Edwin thinks it was
either a conscious or unconscious message to me. He thinks she wants
to get in my pants. Joe thinks the same.

Sunday night phone call from Simone. Another fight. An escalating
series of threats and counter threats. But an interesting thing
happens. My threat to talk with Michael and Constance about his being
here with her leads to the confession that he was not here at all. She
lied. It was to make her feel better. I have seen this happen to her
before. We argue. We threaten. I vow to do something. It causes her to
recant part of, or some story she's told me. It seems to happen with
something every time we get into this kind of fight. She was with her
parents in New Haven. Something has caused them to start talking about
sex and to tell dirty jokes. All this while Daniel is there. Her
father talks about gang banging native women in the Amazon during
World War II. He was an air traffic controller for some secret
project. Again in front of Daniel. She says they have never done
anything like this. She has an argument with her mother about love and
getting married during which her mother walks out on her. She wants
Simone to get married. Why not Jack, she says, he's so considerate and
polite, she tells Simone. Simone confronts her about not being in love
with Martin and having married him only for the security. That's when
she walks out. A bit rough on her mother, but it will keep her from
pushing. Another incident where her mother pulls her dress up and
starts dancing around in the living room. Daniel is standing right
near her. Simone is shocked by this as she's never seen such a thing
from her mother. Why did you do that, she asks incredulously, and with
Daniel watching. She claims to have felt like it, and Daniel didn't
see anything, right Daniel? All very peculiar. But I am wondering what
she's been telling them about the situation with me. Obviously
something as Simone constantly relates little things from her mother
about how Michael was not so bad after all, why not marry Jack, why
not meet this nice lawyer I know, and so on. But she says almost
nothing about what she's told them. She got in an odd situation trying
to tell her the truth. Her mother suggested we date other people. She
went no further than saying that we were already doing this. But I
just don't know. I've tried to get something out of her but meet only
resistance. Something is causing this behavior in them. And its
nothing like I've ever seen from them.

All the old problems are still here with us. They have been
temporarily put aside. She wants no other women here in the house. She
doesn't want them in my bed, at all, ever. She means to say she
doesn't want me to have anything to do with them at all. But she stops
before this comes out. I know its there. She has been covering it with
a thin layer of cordiality and superficial acceptance. But she lets
her hatred get the better of her. So, its a question as to what we
will do. I will certainly not give up my right to free association and
developing relationships. She wants to control this part of my life to
avoid the feelings it causes in her. She wants me to stop doing
this. It will get boiled down to this or continue as a daily covert
battle. I notice it more in her voice when someone calls for me. It is
almost as though she has received bad news. She becomes a bit
unglued. Her in charge facade slips a little. I find myself,
internally at least, slipping into battle formation. A few practice
fights during the day.

Dana has stayed away all weekend from being mad at me. He really puts
me in control of the situation by this. He is a bit stuck waiting for
me to do something. He keeps telling Simone that we need to talk about
things. But he doesn't start anything with me on his own. He waits. I
stay in control.
 
Tuesday, December 22, 1981
 
Linda is very pissed off at me and Simone. Why Simone is a mystery to
me. She doesn't want to come to our Christmas dinner, or have Simone
help her move to New York. Just the other day she asked Simone to live
with her, but without me. She has just called here and wants to talk
to me. She has been feeling very jealous the last few days. Her
response is to withdraw from me. It started last Saturday night when I
wouldn't leave Ann for her. She had a date earlier with someone she
describes as very handsome. We had a very wonderful, sensuous
time. Just with faces, touching, rubbing, feeling, looking at. She
didn't allow it to go below her neck, as usual. She wanted to be with
me after it was over.

What it is about the men she picks? They have to fit her idea of
handsome. This prejudice eliminates many good people. Further, she
wants people who will admire her for superficial things, like the
condition of her skin, or praise her body, or the way she
dresses. They turn out to be people who use those lines to get
women. She liked Dana a lot. But had the same problem of letting go
with him. She likes the way he is very athletic in bed, and very
romantic. She tells me about an argument they had a few days ago. It
seems that Dana claims to have penetrated her when they were in bed
last Christmas or New Years, when I called from Austria. Linda denies
that it went that far. Probably somewhere in between.

Linda has had a little bit of her talk with me. She is very disturbed
at the situation with me and Simone. I think she wanted it to come to
an end. A real end. But now its back to almost normal. On the surface,
at least. What are you going to do about your couple relationship, she
demands. I thought you didn't want that. I thought you were afraid to
be alone with Simone? What happened Richard? She thinks I should hold
exactly to some position. That things shouldn't change, or at least
shouldn't change in the direction they have changed. She's written
something for me about her feelings this evening. It was ok, earlier,
but she got very upset when Simone came in. She cried a lot while we
were gone. Then she wrote. She wants me to read it. I tell her to do
it and she will get a lot out of it. I don't want to, she says. I
don't want to read, I tell her. She leaves after reading from a page
or two of my notes.

But I am disturbed also. What am I going to do about this couple
relationship? I can feel it dragging me down again. Simone is starting
to make all her little demands on my energy and time. Suddenly, again,
it is necessary for me to go many places, and do lots of little things
with her. She had resolved to do many things differently in the week
or so we didn't see each other. But tonight, like with many other
things, she has failed to follow through. A dance class at 5:30. She
didn't get to the studio til 6:15. Too late for the warmup and
dancing.
 
Wednesday, December 23, 1981
 
Simone and I went to visit Bob and Nancie last night. Christmas season
type of visit. A number of other couples were there or stopped by. I
learned about a new social phenomenon, slam dancing. Its held Thursday
and Friday nights at theParadise club. Its a place for punk rock
bands. Spectators pay admission to watch it. Its mostly young males,
maybe 20–25. They seem to be lower/working class people. They dress in
punk types costumes. A heavy bass beat is important to the
dancing. Someone describes it as very primitive. They start out moving
together and working themselves into an alcohol/drug stupor. Then the
slamming begins. They slam and crash into each other. People are not
allowed to hit with fists or break furniture. Several people may be
sent to the hospital during a night. They have bouncers to throw the
rowdier ones out. Its been going on for about two years here in the
Boston area. Nobody seemed to know if it goes on anywhere else. It
takes people with lots of aggression and hatred. They seem to get a
lot of pleasure out of hurting others. The watchers, like the person
who described it, are afraid to get involved themselves, but are
fascinated and hypnotized by it. Peter, who lives with Nancie and Bob,
described all this to me. The owner of the club, Jack, gave him a free
lifetime pass to slam dancing parties.

Simone was like a wallflower. She stayed back from things, didn't talk
much. Later she told me I was right about her behavior. There was
something going on. She has told Nancie, at least, about her decision
to leave me. And here we show up together. She reversed her position
and was feeling anxious about what people might think of her. She was
also a bit intimidated by the people. They tend to be either rich or
well connected people, relative to her. She's the same way around her
aunt Gloria, who married into a wealthy situation.

Something I noticed was the very low level, superficial interactions
people had. Mine were not so active either. We were in a very
beautiful, expensive apartment with people who have done very well in
the outside world. But the world inside the door of the place was very
dry, stale, dull, limited, unenergetic, and boring. From time to time
I had the urge to try and start something more active. But I was held
back by my own anxieties about being thought a fool, pushy, or out of
it. I wanted, and probably everyone else, to make things more
interesting, a little more alive, but at the same time there was an
unspoken, but mutual agreement, a common desire on the other hand, to
keep things light and superficial. It is what could be called the new
social pressure. As though people feel they can talk about deeper
things, but since we can its not necessary. Or maybe its just me being
a little drunk from the rum and eggnog.

Ken called just before we left for Nancie's. He realizes he's in love
with her and wants a relationship but doesn't know what it will look
like. He goes on for some time about getting her a Christmas
present. Its a special present for a very special person, and had to
be just perfect for that person. A perfect reflection of that person's
personality. Nothing about when they will see each other. I suspect
this may be a function of when my next date will be with someone other
than Simone. She is probably anxious right now about proposing
something for fear of me doing something in return, or seeing this as
her saying its ok for me to do something. She's told me not to have
anyone sleep here with me. But hasn't gone so far as to say I stop it
completely. This is what she wants. Its not what she wants for
herself.

Simone tells me more about Edwin's being a drunken fool with her. In
this new version we have her naked from the waist up. Last time she
was in her bedroom with just a slip on, and Jack was not there. This
time she is fondling with Jack and Edwin comes in and lecherously asks
about what's going on here. Jack gets pissed and goes upstairs. Edwin
climbs on her, fondles her crotch and starts kissing her. She both
protests and accepts it at the same time. Edwin has never acted like
that around me before, she says incredulously. But also with an
element of having enjoyed it, in her voice. Ruth Kaplan, formerly
Captain Kaplan, United States Air Force, has asked Simone to have an
affair with her. And she's man enough to be able to do it.

This morning, about 8am, Simone jumps in response to the door being
opened. Its Jack. He's come early to see if she's sleeping with
me. She's out of bed like a shot. No clothes. Mumbles an excuse about
having to go to the bathroom, and tries to make it look like that's
what she was doing. They go out for breakfast. Last night I imagined
that he might be wanting to give her a wedding ring. I wonder how big
the ring will be, I say to Simone. What ring, she asks. The wedding
ring, I respond. She doesn't think that's what he wants to say. Its
about her sleeping with me and about his being celibate. He says I
don't understand his wanting to be this way. He's going to visit Jean
Varda in New Mexico. He called earlier this evening to say he'd missed
his plane. Last weekend he got Simone to the train station too
late. He has troubles organizing this part of his life. Something
about how he thinks Joe is manipulating both her and Linda in the
maelstrom on Amory Street. Something to do with using them
sexually. His latest idea is for Edwin to move downstairs to this
apartment, and then for Simone to move upstairs with him. He kicks out
his father, Edwin, and gets his mother, Simone to come to him. He's
benefiting the two least powerful people here. He and Simone don't
have the same equity in the apartments as Edwin, Dana, or me. He would
be reducing Edwin to his position and, by taking Simone, put me in
another aspect of his present situation. Not even Simone will fall for
this one though. It is very unlikely to happen.

This thing has happened with Simone. I tell her about a proposed date
with Ann. She immediately responds with her plan to maybe do something
with Ken tonite. She's afraid to really tell me what she's
planning. Always she thinks this kind of situation will cause me to
retaliate. But its never happened. She tells me he thinks her crotch
smells like seashells. It smells like she needs a bath to me.
 
Saturday, December 26, 1981
 
Another mystery here on Amory Street. It seems that Simone has bought
me 16 or 20 presents for Christmas. She also bought a chocolate vagina
for Joe, and a chocolate penis for Lotti. Some of these presents have
disappeared. One of them, a small container of maple syrup, showed up
in the refrigerator. She did not put Lotti or Joe's name on there
packages. Its possible she's making all this up. That she didn't
really buy me all those things. Perhaps its a way of getting me to buy
her something. She wants me to, and said so with her Christmas
stocking story. It wouldn't look good for your stocking to have lots
of things in it and for mine to be empty, she pouts. Now, on the other
side, we have Jack and Dana who are absolutely furious that she has
bought me all these things. They don't want her to do this. They see
it as more backsliding. She giving in to me again. What she needs to
do, according to them, is to resist these impulses to be good to
me. He doesn't deserve someone as good as you, they remind her. You
deserve better, they assure her. I have suggested that she speak to
Jack and Dana about this. It is hard to imagine who else it might have
been. They both have complete access, via their keys to the
apartment. I have had fantasies about confronting them. But it makes
no difference to me. This is something they are doing to her. They are
covertly manipulating her. Covertly deciding what she should be doing,
and them implementing their ideas. And I think this is the end of the
whole matter for me.

Another mystery about Joe and Linda. Simone comes to me with the story
of how those two are fucking, sometimes even during the day. I ask
both of them but they say no. Joe does not respond directly, but tells
me that Linda can be believed more often than Simone. On the other
hand its possible that they are. But the cosmic boomerang will take
care of them if they lie.

Linda experienced the cosmic boomerang last Saturday. She had a date
with Warren Beatty (that's just what we will call him as he is so
handsome and resembles Warren). He finds her very attractive and told
her a lot about himself. But it turns out to be a lie. He's
married. He used the old roommate story on her. She wants someone very
handsome and attractive to tell her how beautiful she is. I think most
men are able to do this with her and have their way. She found out the
truth when whe called his house. He was a bit dumb to let her do
this. He probably didn't think she would pursue the female voice that
answered all the way to his relationship with her. She doesn't want to
see him again, but I've suggested it would be good for her talk with
him again. She needs to be able to see what's going on when in a
situation like this. She wants to ignore the fact that he took her for
a ride. He pulled the wool over her eyes. Nobody likes that to happen
to them. But following up here will help her understand how men like
that do what they do to her. She may be able to save herself next
time. This was the same night she called and tried to get me to leave
Ann for her. The whole experience with him made her very horny. He
played his cards well and held back.

Simone has a whole new story. She has been totally anxious about her
relationship with me. She wants us to either marry or for me to move
out. I find this a very strange choice. She very deeply believes that
being married will do something for her insecurities. That it will
bind me to her in some magical way. That other people will be less of
a threat to her. On the other hand she elaborates, to great detail, on
how I am not the right man for her, how I will never be capable of
being a good father to her children. She knows, in reality, that
marriage has not helped any of her friends who've married in the last
year. Some of them are moving toward divorce. Michael has given her
money to pay for a course to help her decide about staying or leaving
me. And all the time, an enormous chorus of advisors, all imploring
her to leave me. All of them telling her how much better she is than
me. That she deserves someone much better. I wonder if they imagine
themselves to be that person? Dana seems to ask each day, what are you
going to do about Richard. He asked her if I changed my underwear
after showering. I don't know exactly why he did this, but perhaps
evidence for some sort of case he's making against me. I can imagine a
group of people meeting secretly to plot exactly how to help Simone do
this. But I have to laugh at this. Nothing could be more amusing or
harmless if it were true. If only it were true! They would decide on a
big day for the confrontation. High Noon on Amory Street. The suspect
marshall goes out to meet the crowd of bad guys. Such a fantasy. Of
this my whole life has been made. A better movie I could not
imagine. But, regrettably, it will not have a chance to be played out
in reality. They are no better than incompetent bad guys. She is away
again this weekend. To visit Carol in Philadelphia, and, undoubtedly,
to visit with Michael Shaeffer. She has not mentioned this as one of
her intentions. But I doubt she'd go all the way there and not see
him. Yesterday she told me of fooling around with him, and on my bed!
It was the night Nancie came over to make Christmas cards. A week ago
Monday.

Simone is marking me as her property again. She's like a dog pissing
on a tree. A few days ago I find a pair or her underwear between my
sheets. A very black and exotic little thing. A day or so later one of
her bras appears in with my underwear and socks. Perhaps this was for
Michael who she says often looks through my things when he's here. He
seems to think that she may be giving me some of his things. Last
Wednesday Ann was going to stay here with me. She was going to stay
with Ken. A last minute change of plans lead me to stay at Ann's
house. The next morning, in my room, at the top of my full garbage
can, is one of her used tampons.

Joe and I had a tense fight a few days ago. It was about his latest
true love. She's married. He's worried about me writing something in
my notes that will reveal who she is. I didn't even remember her
name. Only that she was very attractive to him and had worked as a
model in London. He didn't want me to write about her. But couldn't
ask me to do this directly. But the atmosphere in the room was very
tense. He was very serious and wanted to be able to have his way with
me. He began in a very careful way. It reminded me of negotiations to
end the Vietnam War and how they started with discussions about the
shape of the table. He was raging and furious inside. But very
controlled. You can manipulate me, but you can do it to Joe, Simone
cheers from the sidelines. He adds that I'm not in his class. Very
good, but definitely not in his class. He is very good. I am just a
sarcastic jokester, who has no real success in life because I treat
everything in this same way. His best punch barely phases me. But he
continues with very careful discussions about the shape of the
table. In the end I have to tell him that what went on between him and
this woman is of little interest to me. Unlike Simone, who was the
source of some of his anxiety, he does not pretend to be open and
honest in his relationships. He is deceptive and deceived. Both to
himself and the other person. He wants to know that he is attractive
to, and can attract women like that. Its important for his self
image. But he never seems to realize that they probably have motives
quite unrelated to his being attractive. They may do it to get even
with someone. He may remind them of a father figure. They could just
be horny and want a zipless fuck. Or some other reason. But he needs
to deceive himself about being attractive to women. Its something like
Linda wanting to be told that she is beautiful. The men do it and it's
the way they get what they want from her. A small price to pay. He is
intrigued by my description of him as deceptive. I mention Peg
House. He claims to have no feeling for her. But as I see it he is
somewhat like me and uses his considerable intellect to bury and
ignore feelings of that sort. Some years ago I used the most
incredibly superficial and stupid reasons as explanations to myself,
for rejecting women. Some little thing made them unattractive to
me. Some tiny insignificant thing made them completely
unacceptable. And along with this had to come the squashing of any
feelings for them. And later continued rationalization to keep the
feelings from coming back. Simone is amazed at this point as it seems,
to her, that I've turned him around. He's actually asking me for
advice about what I think he should do. He went from being very strong
to being mush, Simone says. But you have it just the opposite, I
inform her. He was mush to me as long as he tried to be strong and
resist me. But when he turned it around and asked me for advice I
became pressed against the wall. I had to do something real or be
exposed as a complete jokester. It was ok to keep it up as long as he
tried to keep things serious and tried to be more of an authority than
me. But his real question, about what he should do about his real
life, was an unbeatable defense. The moment he exposed himself as
being unable to do something about an important part of his life was
exactly the moment that I, inside me, felt the battle turn. And it was
a fight to win something. It was easy to manipulate him, to keep him
from getting what he wanted, as long as he continued to do the same to
me. A direct question would have really put me on the spot. It never
ceases to amaze me how people see this doggedly resolute pursuit of
something as being a sign of strength. And then to see an admission of
weakness as a sign of weakness. Certainly in a real battle, where
people will die, this is the case. But in the world of will wars,
brain battles, emotional engagements, and feeling fights, just the
opposite is true. Joe does not need to keep his latest yummy out of my
notes. He needs the kind of relationships that he never has with those
yummies, or with anyone else, so far. The only real fight he has is
with himself. I think that asking me for advice, even if the advice is
worthless, and certainly many would tell him to ignore it, was the
best thing he could do for himself. It may help him to think more
clearly about what he does. There were some interesting things I
noticed about him during our little engagement. Normally he has a very
slight lisp. It became a little more pronounced. His voice becomes
softer and a little slower. He lowers his chin and raises his eyebrows
from time to time. These were the things I saw as clues to how intense
this was going to be for him. He saw me as someone who would evade the
thing he wanted to do something about. And he was right. I could not
help but be equally indirect. On the other hand I could have pointed
out, right away, that it was not necessary to go through this
convoluted process of his negotiating for something. It was my mistake
not to have done that. It was clear almost immediately as to what was
really going on. There was something to what he said. I have noticed
it before in myself. It is as though I will not settle for things
going any way other than where I want them to go. So I do a number of
things. Stalling is one. Being sarcastic is another. Making a joke
about something still another. The result is to build up a reservoir
of frustration in whoever I am trying to communicate with. It is
nothing but a roadblock to good communications. I could have ended
this roadblock with Joe sooner than I did.

Simone has found me a number of books and articles about how different
writers work. Particularly those who write autobiographically. She
tells me about how Anais Nin does character analysis and how Proust
describes little things and incidents with a lot of detail. She has
ideas for developing my writing. I have a list of new books and
articles to read from her. All this came after one evening when I told
her to go away and stop bothering me when I'm doing my art. Don't
bother me when I'm working on my art, says me.

Long talk on the phone with Ann about all the facts in the case. We
try to clear up what's going on here. Who said what when. She has
heard something from Edwin, via Dana, about my behavior the night Ed
was here with Simone. He's married and is deceiving his wife about his
relationship with Simone. I came home unexpectedly and they were in
bed. Joe was with me. We came in, and walked to the other end of the
house. Simone came out of her room, stark naked, very nervous and
agitated. She put something on and went to the livingroom to talk to
me. Its who is very afraid of you, she tells me. At this point I don't
know who it is, but thought it might be Jack. It surprised me to learn
it was Ed. So Edwin heard I knocked on the door and bothered them for
45 minutes. It lasted ten minutes. He was so afraid that I would hit
him and Simone that he got dressed and left. I pretended to be curious
and tried to look under the crack between the floor and the door,
which was open slightly. Is he under the bed, I ask, and little
knowing that that's what he did. Dana has to make his contribution,
and tells me to respect their privacy, So he gets dressed and
leaves. I thought you had a date, she said. It was Joe, I replied. I
thought you wouldn't be home till tomorrow, she said. It is tomorrow,
I replied, pointing to the clock. She is about to hit me and laugh in
the same moment. She is totally frustrated at having been caught so
red, or wet-handed. Edwin has been telling Ann more things. Like how I
miss many appointments with Simone. That I don't care when its
her. Then its ok to be late. Edwin jumps on the rumor wagon.

I have some new ideas for writing next year. A new notebook with
dividers for each of the months. Each month will have the same number
of blank sheets as days in that month. I will try to write something
every day. Or at least to write enough each month to use all the pages
for that month. And a small notebook, like the one I've been keeping,
to jot things down during the day. Maybe one with a page for every day
in the year. Also, I will write, and include in these notes, more
letters. And more in depth analysis of people, like Anais Nin, as
suggested by Simone.

I met a woman in the laundromat the other day. She approached me
first. I wanted to say something to her. Very attractive. It was a bit
awkward for both of us. We kept trying to talk. I was trying hard to
think of what to say next. She managed to walk out the same time as
me. Asking her which street she lived on, I offered to walk with
her.Harvard Street, she responded. I fumbled with that one for a
moment when she walked in the opposite direction from me. I was
embarrassed and said something about seeing her next time she was
doing her laundry. I was so stupid not to invite her to our Christmas
Eve dinner and party.

More ideas about this new, altered state. Talking to Linda she
suggests its like Buddhist meditation, a state of having a clear
mind. No, its not like that, or its not like I read it as being
like. I have felt something similar, at times, to what people call the
meditative state. This is not like anything I've heard of or read
about. It is completely, incredibly, starkly, uncompromisingly
real. It is like being aware of atoms, molecules, cells, tissues,
organs, and finally, the organism itself, but with no ideological,
religious, political, cultural, learned overtones. As though I have
incorporated within me, as a feeling, the knowledge of all
evolutionary development. As though the rational part of my brain did
not exist, or was not in control. I had this image of myself on a
large white surface. Like a floor made up of large white tiles. The
tiles, and the lines separating each tile, stretch off into the
distance. And maybe, somewhere far away, there is something
else. Normally things are crowding around me in a circle. All kinds of
things. Each making their own noise, and wanting their own kind of
attention. Sometimes they move in closer. The circle gets tighter. I
get a little panicked. I become a little paranoid. Suddenly something
happens to push them back and away from me. The clear space around me
gets bigger. I can hear a little whistling of the wind. Just
barely. Sometimes I can push everything way back and out of the
way. Sometimes they are crowding me very close. This state is as
though there is nothing crowding around. There is no floor. There is
nothing, and there is everything, all at the same time, but it is
nothing. At the same time none of these things exist. This feeling
comes and it goes. Click. I feel it. Click. It goes away. I hold my
hand up to the light and look at the details. It is not a hand. It is
a foot, a claw, a thing in the universe. It just is. It is nothing
beyond that. It has no ideology, dogma, beliefs, as though it had no
human emotions, as though human feelings did not exist. It is feeling
without the human part of the brain.

Jeff tells Simone that he's decided to go with Janice. It's the best
he can do. Simone will not decide on him. Nobody is perfect, but he's
going to try it with her. She has threatened to leave him if he sleeps
with Simone. He will only have dinner with her. I see it as having
adopted his parents about how to live his life. He is completely
resigned. Perhaps it will change in the future. He is very insecure
with her. She lives in Ken's apartment building. He doesn't want her
to meet him. Jeff thinks Ken will seduce her away from him.

I have had this idea for a book of violence fantasies. Short little
fantasies from many people's experience. A man is telling me about the
dangers of living in his neighborhood. I had never noticed it. He has
two big dogs to protect him. I start to have one about a woman, small,
attractive, out walking with two dogs. But they are not normal
dogs. They look normal. But up close they have enormous and powerful
jaws, almost like sharks or reptiles. They are mutants. Someone
approaches her and attacks. The dogs shred her attacker.

November 13, 1981, the second Space Shuttle launch. Anxieties about
watching it take off. Edwin is here to see it on our TV. I decide to
take a shower. My fear is that if I watch then something disastrous
will happen to it. An explosion or a crash. My watching it will cause
something to go wrong.

This same night, the 13th, I talk to Bill Kennedy about his seeing
Adele at an est meeting. He wants me to take est. I tell him about my
proposition to Ken. Richard, one of my students at MIT, took est, and
eventually concluded that people used it to justify and entrench
themselves in their own past opinions of themselves. Bill is quite
sure it has done a lot for him. Its magic, he tells me. He believes
that it will help Adele get over her fear of me. That she will
eventually stop blaming me. It can't fail to do this, he assures
me. He expects something dramatic to happen by the end of
January. That's when the current seminar series she's taking will
end. He encourages me to go to a seminar should she ask. She hasn't
yet, I tell him. He's surprised to hear this as everyone is encouraged
to try and get people to come. He's surprised she hasn't asked me. I'm
not. She wouldn't be able to hold her present position against me in
the presence of something as simple as est. Her two meetings with me
were, I suspect, to fulfill the course requirements, and nothing
new. She wants to tell herself that she's done it. The it in this case
is very little, but its an it.

Linda has had a big personal development in the last few days. Last
Monday she cancelled a date with me for the evening. A note said she
was feeling very jealous of my couple relationship with Simone. The
next few days she became more hostile and pushed me for being in this
couple relationship. She also stayed away from me a way of punishing
me. You're not going to use me again, she states adamantly! Christmas
Eve she came by to leave me a present and to spend some time at our
party. She was very nervous and tense. Later she called me from work
and admitted the last week was an act. She finds that being in a
relationship with me, and having Simone as part of it, really brings
up a lot of very deep feelings for her. It is as though she is back in
her family and having all those old feelings. But she wants to
confront those things in herself. It is one of the first times I have
heard someone so clearly state that the source of their difficulties
in life lies with themselves. She was very straightforward about
seeing that is has nothing to do with me or Simone, just herself, and
what fears she is confronted with. She wants to spend more time
confronting these things. She doesn't feel therapy will do it. She
liked some parts of bioenergetics as it caused feelings to come up
very easily, but they were not as real as those things that come up in
the realistic situation with me and Simone. She is feeling much better
about me. I told her how she had gone through things like this with me
before so I wasn't worried. It only goes on for 3 or 4 days. The
longest, when she stopped working for me once, was about 2 weeks or 10
days. But she is learning something and it doesn't last as long. She
realizes sooner that its her difficulty.

Lotti called me earlier to come over and visit her. I get there and
who should appear, but Linda and Joe, with his eight cylinder
reindeer! It got a bit tense. I don't think they expected me to be
there. They didn't stay long. Joe said something about me and Lotti
fucking again, but it was a bit too harsh to have been a joke. It
poked at it just a little too long. Lotti assured them that she'd
invited me. They may have thought I showed up to cause a disturbance
of the peace. Linda puttered around for awhile and left, but not
before telling us the latest chapter in the Warren Beatty story. It
seems he is married but has separated from his wife. She was there for
some reason. They had an open relationship in the beginning, but he
didn't like to come home and find the clothes of other men there. So
they are parting ways. Or so he says. It could be that he is just
twisting her around again. On the other hand, he did give her the
phone number of his house. I felt somewhat jealous that she will see
him again, but she did it from my advice. She can still learn a lot
from this. It is not clear that everything she told him was true. We
shall see. She comments again about how handsome he is. It will cause
her difficulties in seeing other things in the future.

Peter Goldstein, someone I met at Ann's house, and who came to the
Christmas Eve party, read some of my writing, a little from the
beginning, middle, and end, and had four things to say about it: 1)
execellent, 2) there is a development within the writing, 3)
fragments/sense of what goes on in an individual's life, seems to
focus on a person, relates to progress in life, going to a point of
formulating something, moving in a certain direction, but doesn't know
what, couldn't think of a similar style, 4) don't stop. He is a writer
himself, and has had a play or two produced off Broadway. He has also
taught writing at the university level, and has done public relations
writing. I sat here, literally on the edge of my bed, while he read
some of it. I stayed only a few moments, really, and then left the
room. Some time later he came to me with his comments. It made me feel
good for an instant. Then it is almost as though it is never
enough. Enough praise, that is. It wears off almost instantly. I even
get a little depressed. Then the search for more praise from someone
new begins. Why do I need this?

Before I began these eight pages, the following question was bothering
me: Why is the description of events so elusive? Namely, the events
described here in these last eight pages. It seemed as though they
would be impossible to describe accurately. This was my
feeling. Several explanations are possible. Am I unable? Am I
unwilling? Am I unconscious of what's really happening? Am I fooling
myself about being able to see? Am I stupid? Then I went ahead and
tried to do it. The little pieces were not so hard. Its as though
saying, admitting how difficult it is, helped me to do it better. The
little pieces came out not so bad. But some part hasn't come out at
all.
 
Wednesday, December 30, 1981
 
Katy, who called Simone yesterday about living with us, has arrived. I
meet her in the hallway. She's outside the apartment to smoke a
cigarette. She is the oldest and most beautiful 14 year old I have
ever seen. Just getting to be voluptuous. She wears an old dress, or
maybe new, with rips in the sides. One can see her bare skin and
bra. She looks directly at me and introduces herself. Very
energetic. Her body seems to be in constant motion. It is youth,
restlessness, and anxiety about being aware of herself. She is dressed
in a glamorous and overly made up fashion. Nails painted on fingers
and toes. Heavy makeup. She's in the bathroom putting on more when I
come in to brush my teeth. You don't need it, I tell her, and do you
know why? Because its not natural, she answers. No, because you are
quite beautiful without it. She drops some of her things when I say
this. She admits its for her pimples. People my age have trouble
keeping their skin clear, she informs me. She has to rush out after
that. All afternoon she is going from one place to another. Simone
whispers to me that she's gone into the bathroom 15 or more times. I
wonder what for, she whispers conspiratorically. All day she's been
whispering things about Katy to me. Then she shushes me from time to
time. She is like a parent. Afraid to have the children hear grownups
talk. She wants Katy to go to school if she lives here with us. She
doesn't want her to drink in our house. Katy could barely walk a
straight line, she whispers. Its too much for such a small person. Why
does she drink? So she will appear to be more of a grownup, because
its what people in her family, especially her mother, do, and probably
because of some peer pressure. It is also something to do with her
hands and mouth, as opposed to talking. She uses it as a way to
conceal her nervousness and lack of experience. More leaving the room
to go elsewhere, not for any particular reason, but to break the mood
of the moment. I talk to her some at the beginning. Telling her about
how Simone is afraid someone will seduce me. I can easily see why. You
are the oldest and most beautiful 14 year old I know. She has to leave
the room. Simone finds her a little later writing in her journal,
apparently about me. She has a biteplate. She turns to remove it for
hiding in her purse. She is embarrassed to have anyone see it. On the
other hand she wants her teeth to be straight and beautiful. She is
similar to Simone in many ways.
 
Thursday, December 31, 1981
 
Today is the last day of the year and I've no grand conclusions about
it. Not that I haven't been thinking about it today. More than the
usual share of things are happening today. Or is it that this is true
of every day? More than average happens every day. And I've not a
thing to say about it. Filled at the moment with anxiety about what to
write next. Its like being in a car speeding toward a blind
intersection, with no certainty that traffic from different directions
will stop. I wanted to sit here and write something brilliant about
the last year. A year in which I've managed more things for myself,
especially in terms of writing than ever before. But to be honest, and
this occurs to me just a moment after writing the previous sentence,
that is not true if calculated with expectations I have of myself. At
this moment, I again think of giving up the whole thing. I think ahead
to the next year and the prospect of writing at least a page a
day. The notebook for the new year sits there all ready and able. I
need only wait till after midnight.

The Katy case concerns me again. Simone has been out with them. Katy
has walked off again and disappeared. Simone calls for advice. That's
why I wanted you to come with me, she says. Another excuse to get me
going in her direction. To do what she wants of me. I planned to go
out with them, Simone, Katy, and DAniel, earlier. But then lost all
desire. Simone wouldn't allow this. An hour and a half tantrum. It was
something to watch. She didn't want to go too far off her rocker,
probably for fear of what Daniel might pass back to his parents. He
has told Simone about his desire to come and live with us. He had to
fight his parents and pay his way to get here. But Katy is still
missing. Simone thinks she has wandered off with two 16 year old
drunks. Why? She can control people like this. They will do what she
wants in return for sexual favors. With us she feels out of
control. She wants more attention than she's getting. Again, much like
Simone when she was younger.

She's back. In a taxi. Simone called to say she'd be home soon
also. Now I think about the reckoning we will have to do. Is this
anyway to end the year? So much for my pretensions. Goodbye
1981. Several of us watch the new year come in on TV. Me, Linda,
Nadine, and Katy.