Authors: U
beyond Instamatic photos but until I met Megan, never had the
courage to buy a serious camera.
What a beautiful machine. I love it.
Mailed back my warranty card and everything. Took some
experimental color and black and white pictures. I can hardly wait to
see the results. There are so many photos I can take now that I
couldn’t take before. Mushrooms, for example.
While in Eugene, saw my dentist Don Miller again. My 1972
fillings seem to be holding up all right. All eleven cavities were filled
back then, mostly in my molars where I wasn’t brushing right. Don
may replace the porcelain filling I have in my right front tooth.
The discoloration would go away, I think, if I quit smoking dope. I
promised Don I would brush and floss more carefully.
A client complimented me on "my pretty white teeth" not too long
ago. If nothing else, I intend to keep them sound. Good dental health
is an outward sign of class, in my opinion.
My mother, by way of illustration, has hardly a tooth in her whole
head.
* * * *
May 19, 1979
Salem again. These union jerks are really putting me off. This
stupid board meeting is interminable.
People do not need to know that I do not exist in this world. My
interior world is far more compelling than this tawdry real one. Only
two things keep me tethered: My love for Megan and that absolutely
gorgeous bod of hers. Otherwise, I do not fear oblivion. Fear of
death is cowardice. Do not fear the inevitable. I suppose it is
acceptable to be a tad disconcerted, however, when death suddenly
comes by surprise.
Otherwise, let it roll, roll, roll.
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The Dark City
will be finished soon. It is full of dark humor.
Absurd dark humor.
Life is very dark in
The Dark City
.
John Thomas is working hard on the anti-nuke campaign. He has
filled three shoeboxes with the names of volunteers in the Third
Congressional district. He wants to make his State Representative the
next Congressman.
John says the time has come and if his guy won’t do it, somebody
else will. Old Bob Duncan is ripe for the picking, John says.
I think he is right.
Later 9:30 PM: Back in town. The sun went down a little while
ago, a fiery star sinking into the broad, blue Pacific. I look out over
the water and forget my own name. It is as though the Pacific Ocean
is a total brain wipe.
Worried about the VW. The engine’s running hot and hard. Nick
says he knows a guy who can fix VW’s.
Dammit. More expense.
Ruminating on just how to conclude
The Dark City
.
So many options.
We shall see.
Birds cry in the shore pines outside my window. I can speak
enough bird lingo to know they are saying goodnight. Cars are
making noise on the street. Noise. More noise. We are in the midst
of the Rhody Festival.
Author Ken Kesey is the Parade Grand Marshall.
I am like everybody else. I think Kesey wrote one classic
American novel and another pretty good novel. One Flew Over The
Cuckoo’s Nest is the classic, amazing and beautiful. The other book,
Sometimes A Great Notion, is overwritten and way too long, but also
very fine in many respects. I skipped a lot when I read it, thinking:
yeah, yeah. Get to it, Ken.
But here in town is our own Mr. Kesey.
The genius in our midst.
Got an amusing letter from Mick. He also thinks Chesley’s
marriage is ill-advised, but then again he knew Karen and like most
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guys, Mick can’t think of many women who can match that exquisite
female.
Myself, I only know of one woman who compares favorably with
Karen, and it definitely is not Shirley. Mick thinks Chesley is
probably getting married because his mother thinks it is a good idea.
And what mommy wants...
* * * *
May 23, 1979
Made an appointment for a job interview at Maryhill AFS on
Tuesday morning. The college there has a state welfare branch, using
an old women’s dormitory for the office space.
It’s a beautiful, wide-open campus with nice private offices for the
workers. I am ready to leave town right now.
I want the fuck out of here.
* * * *
June 1, 1979
It’s official. I will go to work for Maryhill AFS on June 18.
Another move in the making. I am eagerly looking forward to the
change. Called Chesley this AM to advise him of it.
Then I informed Nick.
Megan took me to dinner tonight at the Windward Inn to celebrate.
She asked me twice if I was doing it to escape from her. I said no. I
told her that I picture us together in the very near future and that I am
in love with her.
There is no one else, I said. You are it.
This however, is career-related.
How can I explain it in a way that makes sense? What I really want
to do at this point is to court her, spend some money on her, for us to
have some fun together. Before, I’ve never had a decent job and a
woman I was in love with at the same time. Let us enjoy life, my
darling.
If we remain here we will be stuck at that crappy welfare office
together. What fun would that be?
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I want to live in downtown Portland, see movies and go to plays,
sample restaurants, bars, attend concerts, and, above all else: go
dancing.
On the few occasions when Megan and I have danced, it is like a
dream. She is so slim, sensual, graceful, and beautiful. I haven’t
danced with a woman like her since ... well, for a long time. I want us
to have some fun together and in Portland we can do it. Working in
this beach town, it will always be grim.
Everybody knows our story. They smirk at us. I hate it.
I want to get an apartment up by Portland State University. At first,
Megan can come visit on the weekends or I can go down there. I’ll
find a nice private place where we can make love to our heart’s
content with nobody knowing our business.
At night, we can dress up and go out. First the restaurant, then the
movie, then to the dance club. There are zillions of places where we
can go and they are (thankfully) not all disco.
We’ll wrap the evening up at this cool jazz bar I know about and
come home at one or two in the morning. Then we will make love.
Hot, sweaty, dirty, and sweet. I’ll find a place with a big claw foot
tub so we can soak in the suds together.
On Sunday mornings, we’ll go to Hamburger Mary’s for breakfast.
Those homo chefs at Hamburger Mary’s make the best damn lacto-
ova vegetarian omelets you’ve ever tasted.
Megan will fucking love them.
For a long time I think I have been waiting for a woman like Megan
to come into my life. I sense she has also been waiting for a man like
me. Let the world go to hell.
We’ve got each other. In this golden summer and fall of 1979, I
want it to be just Megan and me.
* * * *
June 29, 1979
So much has happened I haven’t had much time to write, let alone
digest my experiences.
I’m working at Maryhill AFS now. A whole new set of wacky
clients. This afternoon one of them (her name is Shirley) slipped on
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the lobby floor, the surface made slick by the puddle of urine a boy
toddler had deposited a few minutes earlier.
It was official. Crazy Shirley was coming to visit her welfare
worker. She has two kids and a history of mental illness.
It’s odd but I guess not too odd that she has the same name as
Chesley’s wife-to-be.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
Shirley nodded. "I slipped on the floor."
"Uh huh." I helped her up. There was a big wet spot on the back of
her ratty green stretch pants. I made no move towards the interview
room. I didn’t want her sitting down on anything.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"My ex-mother in law is raising my rent because she heard that
welfare payments are going up."
"Yes, I see. Well," I said, "your Section 8 housing application is
still on the waiting list. It might be another six months or so before
you get approved for low income housing."
"But I can’t afford another rent increase!" Shirley said. She has
these frantic, pleading eyes.
"How much does your ex-mother in law want?"
"Another $23 per month. Exactly the same amount as my grant is
supposed to go up. She knows about the increase."
"Oh, for crying out loud," I said, crabbily, before I caught myself. I
took a deep breath. "Well, if I juggle your food stamp allotment
around some, maybe we can use the higher shelter cost against your
stamps."
"How much?"
I did a quick mental calculation. "I’m guessing maybe I can
increase your stamps by $25 or so."
Shirley was embarrassingly grateful.
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July 25, 1979
Tomorrow’s the big day. We are flying to California for Chesley’s
wedding – Michael, Randy, and me.
Lloyd refuses to go. He says the bride is a horrible hag and he
wants no part of it. Absolutely I agree but I’m going anyway for
Chesley’s sake.
Everything is set. My bags are packed and I’m ready to go. Picked
out a few photos to show around, mostly of Megan and me having
fun. I am bringing my camera, books, other reading material, and my
Dark City notebook to keep me occupied should things get dull.
I’ve decided to introduce a policewoman in the next chapter. She
will burst through the door with gun in hand. There will be certain
other revisions as well.
Lots of hard work ahead.
How fast does light travel? 186,000 miles per second? Visit this
water world and travel to
The Dark City
. Read a story written in sand.
See fear and horror as Dale Murphy sinks into an unfathomable
morass. Life is destructive of itself.
That’s the beauty of it – the constant waste, the decay, the
redundancy, the inevitable spoliation.
Ashes to ashes, from DNA to dust.
Need to rent me a monkey suit, buy a gift.
All these draggy financial things. Human marriage customs. Bah
humbug. Poor people buying gifts for the rich. I may never get
married. Surely not like this, in any case.
It’s way too phony for me.
Reading Isaac Bashevis Singer’s
Passions
. Love the way that guy
writes. Reminds me of me. Also reading Jules Witcover’s
The
Resurrection of Richard Nixon
. Witcover’s book really inspires me
about politics. I love reading it, consider it a masterpiece. Nixon’s
comeback after his 1960 loss to JFK was truly amazing. Politics
aside, what perseverance!
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Still want to run for the legislature next year. I’d like to have the
decks cleared for an all-out effort. Don’t tell me I can’t win. I don’t
care. I just want to run. I want to express my views in a public
forum. There are so many things I want to say.
* * * *
July 27, 1979
Soft, cool California morn at 8:00 AM. The suburb Chesley’s
parents live in is called Danville. About thirty minutes south of San
Francisco. Attended a very dull party last night (all male) to
commemorate the passing of Chesley’s singlehood.
Did not get drunk and probably it’s just as well. Wished I’d
brought my book to work on, though.
At least there were no strippers or sexist bullshit to live down later.
I got real stoned and sat alone for a while out on the patio, thinking
about Chesley’s old girlfriend, Darlene.
She was this leggy Chinese-American chick Chesley met at Oregon
State. Oh man. Darlene had this very long black hair, dark almond
eyes, was beautiful and sexy. Chesley started dating her right after I
hooked up with Leanne. Talk about skimming the cream. That babe
Darlene was like to take your breath away, she was so drop dead
fucking beautiful.
And smart, too. Except, apparently, about men.
Originally, Darlene hailed from Hawaii but she also lived in
California part of the time. She had a father in the military and her
parents were divorced.
Darlene’s favorite thing was to get stoned and fuck Chesley’s
brains out in his dorm room, which was right next door to mine.
Based on the noise that came through the wall I’d have to say Darlene
was multi-orgasmic practically to a fault.
Beautiful, smart, and fucked like a champ – what more could that