Authors: U
pretty unaffected. Her and Mario appear well suited.
Found a new Bukowski book in Eugene – Women. It’s his brand
new latest latest. It’s also a scream. I’m getting a big kick out of
reading it.
Megan is supposed to be back right after the first. So she says. I
wish I knew what the fuck was going on.
I think I’m getting a cold. Goodnight.
* * * *
December 30, 1978
Another lazy afternoon in the land of sand and sea. It’s real cold at
Harry’s house but there is nowhere else to go. At least there is a great
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football game on the tube. Dallas is battling the wild card Atlanta
Falcons. They are going at it tooth and nail.
Ohio State football coach Woody Hayes went insane last night on
TV. I couldn’t believe what I saw – Woody punching a defensive
back who had intercepted Ohio State’s QB during the Gator Bowl.
He actually slugged the kid on the sideline.
The poor man has finally lost his marbles. Woody is old and, I
suspect, in somewhat poor health. Moreover, his Win Win Win sports
mentality has evidently finally done him in.
The poor, poor man. What a terrible way to go out. Why do they
take this game so seriously? Sure, you want to play hard and
definitely you want to win but hey, if you don’t it’s not the end of the
world. It’s only a football game.
There is always sex, ya know.
Well, maybe not for Woody.
Whoa, Roger Staubach just got clobbered. Oh man, he was really
decked. What a fucking hit he took.
The game of football is dangerous and violent. That’s why I love
it. A sport is not truly a sport unless a crippling injury is a constant
possibility.
Clarice is still supposed to be moving her scrawny little ass out of
the house, perhaps by tomorrow. Can’t come too soon for me. Nick
says he plans to buy a second-hand color TV so we can host a Super
Bowl party next month.
Been reading Bukowski over and over again and thinking about
sponsoring a poetry reading for him. I think that would be a
goddamned wonderful idea. Nick also thinks having a poetry reading
would be a good idea too. He’s all for it and says he can get Kim
Stafford.
Planning to send
The Dark City
out again soon. I’ll keep trying,
although I’m not sure people are swift enough to understand my sense
of humor. Sometimes I don’t understand it myself, so I suppose that’s
inevitable.
Whoa, Dallas just tied it, 20-20. Now it’s anybody’s game. I’m
rooting for Atlanta. Can you believe it? No sooner do I leave Atlanta
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than they get a great QB in Steve Bartkowski and field a really good
team.
Goddamn. That fucking Ed "Too Tall" Jones just laid out
Bartkowski. Really pancaked him. Sheeeit.
Constantly, I think about Megan. Trying to force myself not to
write about her. She is supposed to be back soon. She is not here yet.
Hope she doesn’t get caught in the weather.
Another winter storm arrived like a sonofabitch yesterday.
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January 3, 1979
Thinking about maybe building a house on the coast. Pretty sure I
could get financing through FmHA. The question is whether I want to
stay here. Megan goes back and forth on me. She returned on New
Year’s Eve but would not spend the night with me, giving no
explanation.
I didn’t press her because I was stoned on mushrooms at the time
and frankly her emotional indecision seemed insignificant compared
to the awesome vastness of the universe and the incomprehensible
endlessness of time.
So I just smiled and nodded.
She refused to take any mushrooms and left shortly after
conducting a tour of the house. Nick’s former marital home is a
beautiful place down by the river and is just a couple of blocks away
from Harry’s. Megan really seems to like it a lot.
So the upshot is that I’m afraid to settle here because it would
require me to remain in town. Without Megan, I have no reason to
stay. There you have it.
Definitely sending
The Dark City
out again. I have nothing to lose
but the price of postage.
Nick found a large TV (color) so we can watch football. He says
he was never much interested in the sport before but my enthusiasm is
contagious. Now Nick is a big Dallas Cowboys fan, the fucker.
Planning on going to Salem on Saturday for union and DemoRat
Party business. Probably will see Clarice there, as she got a job
working for Dale Ireland, a state senator from Douglas County. I
think he is her new boyfriend.
"Hello, Clarice," I will say, "I really like your house." Might as
well. I have to hand it to her, though, she kept the place in tip-top
shape.
Talent considerations aside, the difference between F. Scott
Fitzgerald and me is that Scott got his first novel published and I have
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not. Scott was indeed a lucky guy. Apparently they don’t make
editors like Max Perkins anymore. Too bad.
I’ve been sending that goddamn pile of shit out for ten months now
and nary a nibble.
Damn.
Perhaps I am too ambitious with too little talent to back it up. I
want to change the world. I want to usher in the end of human
childhood. I want to see us venture into the realm of space.
The universe is like the ocean and our spacecraft are wooden ships.
We must break free from the bonds of our small planet and explore
other worlds.
Physically, I mean.
Meanwhile,
The Dark City
shuffles along slowly. It seems less a
novel than the working out of a nagging psychological problem that
besets me.
The story is ugly and brutal.
Did I mention that I stayed with Lenny Goldfarb and his wife
DeeDee the night their baby was born at home? It was quite an
experience, hanging out with the midwife and the proud parents. I
even saw the birth itself. Unbelievable.
DeeDee I must say was magnificent. What a trouper. Too bad
Lenny is such a shithead to DeeDee’s daughter Brinn by her first
marriage. Lenny obviously hates Brinn. My opinion is that Lenny is
a jealous, self-absorbed jerk. Brinn seems like a really great twelve
year old girl and Lenny’s attitude toward her is just unforgivable.
But that’s another story. The birth of Leonard Junior was
absolutely riveting. Children are wonderful, in my opinion.
They are just great.
However, it is unlikely that I will have children myself. There is no
woman in my life I trust enough to take that step with. The trust has
got be there.
How would I handle it if she flaked out the way Leanne did? Or
pulled away abruptly (and viciously) like the other one did? Or worst
of all, turned into lazy, drug-addled parasite like my mother? I’d go
out of my mind.
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Believe me. I’ll be the first to admit that men are no prize. Myself,
for example. I hate most men with an abiding passion. What
assholes. On the other hand, women also have their faults, the first of
which is that they are unwilling to admit to having any.
Most of the women I have known go forward laboring under the
delusion that they are perfect. It can make their company quite
tiresome, even with the lubricant of sex.
Work isn’t so bad now that I have more or less decided to get the
fuck out of here at the earliest opportunity.
* * * *
January 6, 1979
Union notes:
ER Committee – need to strengthen the union.
Organize Health & Sciences Center, Dept. Of Revenue – 100
people in three buildings. No first aid, no cots to lay down on.
Only the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
Smokers allowed to pollute indoor work areas. Management
smokers free to puff away, causing hardship to employees with
respiratory problems.
Safety
Accessibility
Shop Stewards
Employee Freedom
Personal Responsibility
Negotiation team needs direction on policy issues
Next meeting January 27, 1979
Enough.
Planning to visit John Thomas and McNeese later today. John has
gotten a job working for State Rep. Wally Priestley. The Portland
newspaper editors hate Wally for being such a wild-eyed radical.
It is so much like John to be working for Wally. Personally, I think
the world of Wally because he is the only honest man in the whole
fucking capitol. Even more to my liking, he defeated that twerp Bill
Whitehead in the 1978 primary election.
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Tonight John and Dave are planning to smoke dope and go see
The
Rocky Horror Picture Show
. I told them I would pass. I finally saw
Rocky
last year at the Clinton Street Theater and thought the movie
was kinda dumb.
Oh sure, Susan Sarandon is definitely a double plus fox, a woman I
would have to describe as eminently fuckable. But the thought of
spending ninety minutes looking at that scrag Tim Curry again is
extremely unappealing.
Whenever Rocky played at the Clinton Street the place was always
packed. Although the women looked awfully darned cute in their
vamp outfits, once around with Tim Curry was more than plenty for
me.
* * * *
January 9, 1979
What a world. Work burns all of my time and energy and ideas for
writing just go by the board.
Chesley called today. It was good to hear his voice. He says he is
"happy" with his girlfriend Shirley and is correspondingly smug. I
find it odd that Chesley has taken up with the same woman that Randy
committed adultery with but mutual desperation makes strange
bedfellows. If Chesley is happy, I am happy for him. But I got a bad
feeling about it.
I keep trying to chase the ghosts from my heart but the effort is
fruitless. They are haunting me always. I am a product of my past,
pure and simple. I am pretty sure Megan could make them disappear
in a flash, but she has suddenly gone cold.
I say goody for her.
Should I complain? I suppose not. No one has been more
inconstant in love affairs than yours truly. Still, I am fairly young at
27 and have my job, my good health, and undeniable intelligence.
What else do I need?
Someone to love and be loved by.
That escapes me.
* * * *
January 10, 1979
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At work. Slow day. The things I must do are unbearably dull and
routine, so I am putting them off. The branch manager and her
stooges are in a panic, though. Mavis actually filed her Department of
Labor complaint against them. The notice must have arrived today.
I mean really. They have exactly one non-white working in this
whole office and they kick her out for no good reason? What the hell
are we supposed to make of that?
Mavis was a temporary CETA employee so she has no union
recourse but as I explained to her just before Christmas, this
discrimination complaint is almost as good. The union is practically
worthless anyhow. I feel like telling them I helped Mavis write it. In
fact, I wrote the whole damn thing for her.
I told her what the options were. Then Mavis told me what to do
and I did it, running every word by her.
Everything they did to her was wrong. They did it because she
became friendly with Dale Jones, the investigator, whom they hate.
But Mavis was a good employee and a hard worker, unlike that moron
Elmore who can’t even tie his shoes.
I find it extremely gratifying that they are now locked in the
manager’s office and looking pretty sick. Serves them right, the mean
old biddies.
Megan is being completely standoffish. She hardly speaks to me.
You’d never guess by looking at her that just three weeks ago we
were in bed, making love like there was no tomorrow.
I can feel the axe coming down.
I have no idea what she is thinking anymore. I have no clue as to
what I have done wrong, if anything.
* * * *
January 15, 1979
Four days ago Megan told me that our affair is over because she
and Mark are getting back together. It is goodbye, Patrick, nice
knowing you. Wham. Like a kick in the stomach. I am too pissed to
do anything but drink and puff on Marlboros, which I am happy to
report I have started smoking again.
I am too bitter for tears.