STRAIGHT
STRAIGHT: Well, at least not gay. The first item, below, really belongs in Plays, somewhere, but it’s here now. The rest date from 6/65 to 3/14/79, and are in the vaguest sense CULTURAL.
NOTEBOOK 348
10/9/80
SONG: Does it sound like "La Ronde?"; well, it is, but it's NOT.
Does it seem like Faust"?; yes it COULD be, but it isn't.
Virginia Woolf updated, which VERSION, my dear?
Is this game a whirl of the Wheel of Life?? O Fortuna! (from Orff)
YM tries to seduce OM (climax: full sensuous kiss)
1) OM CAN'T change, thus LOSES chance, but WINS his bet!
2) YM doesn't succeed, thus LOSES, but HE wins because HE'S happy he TRIED.
OW tires to seduce YW and succeeds (climax: YW COMES)
1) OW proves she's powerful, yet STILL unhappy.
2) YW tries to "bribe" OW into winning and losing, but OW's pride won't let her.
Climax scene to bathtub---hidden from audience except for her facial and vocal comes.
People are much more honest and truthful with a STRANGER than with a longtime FRIEND.
I guess you feel you have a FRIEND to lose, but with a new person, you have NOTHING, really, to lose.
GIMMICK/ACTION:
The old couple ENTERTAINS: They show slides (COSMOS)
They play tapes of MUSIC
They host DANCES
They show FILMS
They organize lightshows
They play games
They PERFORM, ACT, joke, entice,
intrigue, love, DISGUISE
It may be pointed out that THEY are more childlike, with TOYS, than the YOUNG.
NOTEBOOK 348A
10/17/80
CONTINUATION OF PLAY - 21
Didn't yet record my insights into the play over OVER A WEEK AGO, one AM at Dennis's:
Four ACTORS (and the PERFECT images are Henry and Jane Fonda (old man REALLY the father of the young woman) and Viveca Lindfors and Cristoffer Tabori (old woman REALLY the mother of the young man)) and four DANCERS to dance the parts choreographed by THEMSELVES: Murray Louis (and maybe he could get Alwin Nikolais to lend the use of his electronic equipment to Sergio??), and Annabelle Gamson, perfect for the older couple; and Laura Dean and the humpy young male dancer EITHER from the alternates of Dancin' OR the blond hump from the Nikolais troupe---now sad that Kenneth isn't the image of handsome young manhood, but he might do the young man's choreography! And a tenor, bass, soprano, and alto chosen by Marty Sokol to SING while they're dancing, which could be taped ALSO so that the dynamics of the music and the voices could be handled from ONE tape, rather than from mikes and tapes. Then I thought of the NAMES: Paul (like in "life PALLed") for OM and Dan for the young, so that Paul and Dan could merge under the photos to PAN, for PAN-universal MAN at the final curtain: Lois (for LOW) and Allison (Allison) for the women, so that ALLison and loIS merges into ALL IS in the final blend. And the names can flare to a whiteout AS the photos do the same, and I thought of how THAT'S done. The WOMEN (for example) can be back-projected on a lowered scrim after the last bit of dialogue, while the men are projected on the FRONT of the scrim by a projector, and they ALTERNATE while the screen gets brighter and brighter, then the FRONT projector becomes a film that takes over the whole thing while the backstage area is darked out to permit the actors, dancers, and singers to come out and link arms, possibly with the director standing over them in the back and the writer standing (reclining) under them on the floor, as the bar rises as in "Proust" and the scrim falls in a flurry (go, the play IS) to reveal the final curtain call. [MISSING DIAGRAM]
DIARY 5234 June 1965
TAPE JOTTINGS
(Reel 59)
Hello?
I'm NOT at work. I couldn't stay there any longer
Ah, poor baa-bee. (Simper) You had a bad time at worky-worky.
Conversation with Joan: "You know where I'm going to be living for the next twelve months, I think?
No?
Baston.
OH NO --- enormous wail.
On a job, that I didn't think would ever come in, suddenly came in, and there was only one person left to do it, and that's --- mmmme.
You know where's I'm going to be working?
Where?
The Phoenix theater probably, I'll know tomorrow, I'll be like two blocks from you.
Oh, for heaven's sake (secret relief).
Isn't that fanthahahahahahastic? Haha. You know, the one thing I kept saying about it was, well, it's way the shit out of the way, I hate the distance (grumble), but it's near Bob Zolnerzak. (We both laugh screechily.)
That's crazy.
OH, THAT'S SAD. (MAD laughing.)
(Me, imitating her) I'm sorry, Mr. Phoenix, but I can't work there because (dissolve into laughing). That's very funny.
Oh, I'll cry salty tears. (Laugh). Well, when would you be going?
I don't know, it all happened at, you know, like five minutes to five. I thought my boss was kidding me, he said "Lincoln Labs came in." I said, "You're pulling my leg." Because I'm going out of town tomorrow, to Poughkeepsie on this other job that I was put on. You know, people had fussed around with it and fussed around with it and fussed around with it, and they said, "Well, yeah, this has got to stop, so we'll put someone good on it." (I pause for groan which never comes.) So they put ME on it (again no groan) and I said, you know, you're out of your mind, so ANYway, so I'm going up there, and I thought this was going to be a fulltime job. I'd go up there tomorrow, get the definition of what the problem is, and come down and work on it. Now suddenly I've got two jobs.
WELL, do you WANT to live in Boston?
Ah, I hear it's very pretty in the SNOW. No, I don't, particularly. Oh, but one thing, it might not be so bad because I wouldn't gad about nearly so much in Boston as I do in New York.
But you LIKE to gad about.
I know, yeah, yeahyeah, yeah, exc --- it's just, you know, there's less to do in Boston, there's bound to be.
Ag --- this is something in its favor?
Well, that means I could settle down and write a little bit, which I'm dying to. You know, I can't al ---
Have YOU thought of going out to the Midwest and teaching school?
AKKKH. (Laugh and gasp) MY goodness (She laughs). No, I've often thought if I ever went to the University of Wisconsin like I was supposed to have I'd probably be a Ph.D. someplace in a small quiet town, with a fabulous reputation, making $7,000 a year, being a Ph.D. And, uh, you know, married, having fifteen kids, well, not quite YET, but anyway.
Well, not unless you have three sets of --- (laugh) quintuplets.
Three sets of WIVES, one or the other.
Haha, no, the quintuplets would be faster, and LESS expensive, even for 15, than three sets of wives. I mean, think of all the publicity.
Yeah, but it'd be less fun. Never mind. (Dirty laugh)
Less fun? (Puzzled)
Sure (Panting).
Why, BOB, I didn't know you had it in you.
Come ON. (LOUD laughter, flat out HAA HAA from her).
You've been reading those dirty books again (NYA NYAH type voice).
No, things at work were VERY strange today because everyone's on a kind of a laughing jag, and, you know, things that happened didn't help --- for instance, I went to go to the men's room and I passed by the reception desk, and the phone rang, at the reception desk, and it was my phone, and they said, It's for you. So I sat down at HER desk, and I'm talking to him for about ten minutes, and they knew I was going to the men's room, too, so that didn't make it any less funny. So I got off and just as I was about to go out the door again, the phone rang again, and it was someone else.
Oh?
And the funny thing was, they were both customers of mine and they had questions about billing, so I ended up saying essentially the same thing to both of them.
Uh huh.
So the receptionist was looking at me like I was out of my MIND. And finally I got to the men's room. But, you know, there was laughter all the way through.
Um.
And for instance, I was talking and I said, you know, the bill is sent to you job by job, and this fellow was wandering through and he went out the door saying job by job. I thought Wa. I looked at him and the receptionist looked at him, and HE was very much surprised. He said, "I'M sorry. (We laugh, she a HIGH hysterical squeeky laugh). You know, he just said job by job. (We laugh again). I'm sure the person on the other side of the line thought I was out of my mind (laugh) because I just broke up and started laughing.
That is very FUNny.
And then, my boss got a haircut yesterday, and so my boss told one of his supervisors that HE needed a haircut, and so his supervisor got a haircut this morning, so both of them gang up on me and said I needed a haircut. So I thought, well, alright, so I went out and got a haircut, and I came back into the office and so they said, oh, you got a haircut, and someone came over and smelled and said, gee, what did you put on that, magic marker? And it turned out it wasn't his joke, it was someone else's joke they'd told, because when he'd gotten a haircut, his gray hairs were covered up. And as I was coming home, just to put the cap on everything, I was walking up Second, and parked beside Second Avenue was this big, beautiful dog, you know, tied to a fire hydrant or something, you know, his mistress was in the store, or something, and I passed, and looked at the dog, so I know the dog was there, and went about two steps past, and this woman was on --- you know, the dog at the curb, and I was in the middle of the sidewalk, and the woman was walking DOWN on the --- near the storefronts, and she looked what I thought was straight at me and said "Well, HELLO, cutie-pie." And I KNOW I got this amazed look on my face before I realized she was talking to the dog. (We laugh). Well, out of the clear blue sky, HELLO cutie-pie. It's been a rough day.
Well, my day was very funny. I had a test today, well, I stayed up last night ---
Which one?
Shorthand.
Shorthand.
And I studied, and I had a date, and I went to the movies, and I went to my date's apartment and made him cue me for my shorthand test (RAUCOUS laughing).
That's FUN. Oh, come ON.
He built this huge fire, and I kept him cuing me until he got so TIRED, he couldn't even take me home (She's DRENCHED in laughter). Anyhow, I overslept this morning. Bob, I NEVER oversleep, you know, of all my faults, I --- I DO get up on time. I never have any trouble about getting UP. But when I got home even I stayed up MUCH later, studying that damn STUFF, you know, reviewing all the things where I'd made mistakes, when he was dictating to me, and aahh, and I set the alarm clock in the middle of the floor, and I got up and I turned off the alarm clock and I turned on the television set and I went BACK to bed and I got up an hour LATER. (Laughing)
Yeeeeas.
So I went to school, and like an idiot although I never take them out of my satchel, I left my earphones at home, so I couldn't study.
Oh no.
So when I got there I ran into Gerard, who'd signed me up, a fellow in show business, and he and I are very good friends, and I went into his office and I was talking to he and his father, who also worked there, and he said, are you in any hurry, and I said well no, because there's not much I can do, I left, you know, and I have a test at noon, and he said fine, you can sit and talk for awhile, so we sat, and we went over his career, and at noon I discovered I'd missed my test, which was at 11:15.
AAAohhh, you're OUT of your mind.
So I didn't have anything else to do, so Gerard and I went out and had coffee and jello, and we came back ---
Well, why didn't --- go ahead ---
I had an appointment at 3:30 at the Phoenix, you see, so I was just wasting time --- I couldn't do a THING, so all of a sudden he finds out he has an appointment that lasts an hour and a half, and I didn't have anywhere to GO, so I wandered around --- I had to go to the bathroom MORE times today because I didn't have anything to DO, so I was drinking coffee (laugh) --- OH, was I ever the leaky little vessel. And every time I turned around I was on some God-Damned SUBway, having to go to the bathroom (I'm HOWLING in the background). So I got up there, and they kept me waiting, and Norman still doesn't know whether he wants to HIRE me or not, and the theater's in mayhem, and the whole thing's --- uh, WILD. So I had the most completely wasted day you ever heard of in your life.
That's all right, Joan, you probably went to the bathroom more times today than you've EVER gone in your life --- and THAT'S an accomplishment.
And then I came home and I called you and you were busy and I called Patrick, and Patrick was home sick, so I called him at home, and he's got food, so I'm going to go over and fix him dinner, and EAT.
Ah, that's sweet.
But --- ah --- THAT'S all right, Patrick comes over HERE and eats enough.
And you do the cooking BOTH places.
That's right. He can do the dishes. I QUIT.
I see.
But it's been one of those --- I will PRObably have to go the bathroom on the BUS, and then I'm sure all sorts of unnasty --- nasty things are going to happen.
Yeah, well, for instance, I went out to lunch, and I said where's Charlotte? And the receptionist looked at me with a straight face and said, Oh, she went into the men's room. And (gasp) and I don't think she realized what she said, and I kind of LOOKED at her, and she said, Oh, I mean the ladies' room. I can see you going into a men's room someday in sheer desperation.
Who's Charlotte? You were going out to lunch with her?
Oh, just a girl who works with me, and Where's Charlotte? And oh, she's in the men's room.
That's funny because Gerard and I were talking today about --- people mixing up expressions. I can never remember these DAMN things, you know, you have to write them down or they slip your mind.
THAT'S why I take notes. Yeah.
What was the one? I'll have to ask him again. It is one of the FUNniest ones I've ever heard, and Patrick was talking last night, we were talking about words we used to mispronounce, like Glouchester, umhaha.
YES.
And he said that for years he used to say, because he'd never heard anybody SAY this word, but he read it all the time, well, he was missiled.
Misseled?
He was misseled, he was mis-led.
Ha HA, he was missiled.
He HA, isn't that funny?
SHE MISSILED ME.
I thought that was sort of a joy.
A friend of mine had a like one. For all the years he would read books, and the word detter-mined would be in it ---
What ---
So he kept saying detter-mined ---
De --- det --- detter-ment.
Detter-mined.
Better-mined?
Detter-mined.
Spell it.
D-e-t-e-r-m-i-n-e-d
Determined. Ha.
HA YES. He said, it was DETTERmine. He was DETTERmined that it was DETTERmine.
He was determined to missiled him.
Or the classic one, I think I pulled it on you, is how you pronounce C-H-O P-H-O U-S-E?
Cho --- what.
(I repeat)
I can't spell it out in my mind. Cho, what?
P H O --- P.H. --- Peter Holmes.
CHO PHO USE
Chop-house?
Oh, you're not playing the game (chagrined). You're supposed to say showfo-use. You're not playing the GAME, you must have written it DOWN ---
YYYYEEEAAAAHHHHHHHGH. I CHEAT. I HUMPH. (Laughter) Haw. I say TSK TSK, She says tsk. Haw. But anyhow, it's just been one of those DAYS. I don't know whether to go back to school tomorrow or what. And I call --- oh, this is funny, I called --- Bill Dempsey's niece came into town a few days ago, and ---
That IS funny, I thought you said Bill Dempsey's knees came into town.
And I had to borrow a dress to wear --- she had a date at the top of the sixes and she had nothing but casual clothes, so I loaned her this chemise sort of dress I have, and I haven't seen it for three weeks, you see, and my wardrobe not being that extensive, I was beginning to look for it, you know. So I'd talked to bill about it last night, and he said ---
Bill, what HAVE you done with my dress?
He --- yeah --- well, anyhow, I decided since I didn't have anything to do this afternoon, I thought I'd go over Bill's, pick up my dress, so I used the phone, in Gerard's office, and his father sitting there, and I called and I said, you know, is BILL there, and David said, no, he's not, and I said, oh, shucks, you know what time he'll be back? And he said no, I don't know, and I said oh that's too bad because I have a free afternoon and I thought I would come by and pick up my DRESS. And David said, I don't know when he'll be back, and I said, all right, I'll talk to you later, bye, and hung up, and Mr. Singer was sitting there saying "I hope you know what you SAID." (LOUD laughter) I forgot to tell that to Gerard, because he was out of the office --- I'm sure his father has the strangest --- you know, his father's always walking in and we're sitting there talking, and you know the guy is obviously married, he's got two kids, he's very good looking, and I'm fairly attractive, and you know (she pauses, apparently expecting a groan) and we sit there and chat for HOURS, and then his father looks in, comes in, and we feel --- sort of GUILTY, because we don't --- you know, no one there thought we knew each other that WELL, for the simple reason it looks bad, for GERARD. HAHAHA. And, it really looks funny when his father comes in and I'm sitting there half the time and we're gossiping away, but that's exactly what we do, we're like little old ladies, the two of us, we sit there and talk about THEater. We gossip and gossip, but it's very FUNny, you know, I'm sure his father is already beginning to wonder what's happening --- I pick up the phone and tell some MALE I'm going to pick up my DRESS.
Yes. (Laugh) Yes.
I gonna write Eddie Elias, asking if he wants to go out and see Gerard's show. He's in a children's production, he plays Long John Silver. Langley and I went out to see him on Saturday. He's very good.
Speaking of good, if you get a chance to go up to the Equity Library Theater, their production of Earnest in Love is just charming ---
I LIKE Earnest in Love --- how much do they charge?
You've seen it? It's free.
You gotta have tickets or something, don't you?
No, you can call up and get reservations. You can just walk in.
(Singing) Because I'm EARNest in love ---
Very good production. I was singing at work today: OH a handbag is NOT a proper mother, not a PROPER mother ---
Not a proper MOTHER (she joins in). I'll have to see that.
A very pleasant production, they do it up JUST fine.
I conned someone into taking me to see the Leningrad Kirov Ballet Friday.
Oh, aren't you clever. But Madison Square Garden is such ---
I'm SURE we'll be SO far away. But he has field glasses (hnnnhn.) Actually, he said $6 for seats ---
THAT shouldn't be bad.
It depends on where you ARE, though, on the goddam circle.
The what?
On the damn circle. (Then I recommend she come early for Bayaderka).
Ah shucks, I don't want you to go to Boston.
I don't either, particularly.
What are you going to do with your apartment?
It'll be vacant, of course, You can stay here (I regret this instantly).
When Bob leaves, I move in --- what do I do with mine? Friend moves in. We all move UP a notch. When Bob gets back, we all go back down.
Hey, I gotta go.
Yeah, I gotta go, too. I gotta get cheeses for my starving friend.
I gotta wash my hair.
I gotta get --- you gotta wash your hair?
I got a haircut today --- I've got all these flakes down the back of my neck.
You know when a woman goes to the beauty shop, she doesn't go and wash it all out of her hair.
When I go to a barbershop, I gotta wash my hair. I look like a skinned rat.
OK, skinned rat, I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon.
OK, bye.
Bye.
DIARY 5247 Jan, 1965
JOAN AND ME
--Joan?
--Yeah?
--This's Bob Zolnerzak.
--Hi, Bob.
--Did I --- wake you?
--No, but --- amh --- could you call me back in about ten minutes?
--OK, I'll call you back in about ten minutes.
--Because I gotta wash my --- rinse --- I'll explain to you when you call back.
--Bye.
--Bye.
Ring. Ring.
--(Hnhnhnnanana) Hello.
--(hahaha) Joan.
--(Ananah) You couldn't have timed it worse.
--You're not finished.
--HAHAHA. No it's all right, we can talk briefly. Haha
--Should I call back?
--Can you call in about a half an hour?
--Well, you did say ten minutes before.
--I know you did, but --- I know I did, but --- HAHAHA --- it's all Langley's fault.
--I'll call you at precisely 10 o'clock.
--Right-o I'll be ready.
--OK. You wanna bet?
--Bye.
Ring. Ring.
After conversation.
--This is very sad, we were supposed to have gone with Lee and John, a friend of ours who was killed. We're going to his funeral tomorrow.
--What??
--A fellow that I dated quite a bit, whom we were all very fond of ---
--He was KILLed?
--Was killed over the weekend, Thursday night, rather.
--How?
--In a fire in Greenwich Village, so --- we've all been --- uh --- I thought perhaps Marty might have told you --- we've all been FAIRly upset about it.
--Oh, I HEARD about a fire in the Village, what --- uh --- was it where he lived, or ---
--No --- am I going to see you tomorrow?
--Yeah.
--Well then why don't you let me tell you about it tomorrow; I --- think --- I would rather. Than just talking about it before I go to bed, and all that sort of thing.
--Yeah, that's OK.
--And I have enough trouble sleeping anyway.
--OK --- um --- are you working yet?
--AHHHAAAHHHAAA ---
--That's a horrible question to ask, I know ---
--Unfortunately, I had an interview tomorrow, but I had to cancel it because it's --- uh --- although there wouldn't have been any conflict in --- with the funeral; nevertheless, I don't think I'll be in the --- in my --- most charming --- mood, shall we say?
--Oh --- well, maybe I'd better change my idea of what we wanted to do ---
--What?
--Which was go see "Mad, Mad World."
--(Pause) (Cheerful) Oh, I don't know; I don't see why not.
--Wellll, I'll leave it up to you.
--Isn't that a comedy?
--Yeah.
--Well that's far better than seeing "Lilies of the Valley" which another friend did on Saturday afternoon.
--Better than what?
--"Lilies of the Field" excuse me. (Ha)
--(HAHAHAHA)
--Boy, talk about MY mind being in a horrible gomble. This friend of mine from Akron, he's a twenty-year-old boy named Frank Webber, and we were going to go see a movie together over the weekend, before all of this happened, and he came over in the afternoon, after having seen "Lilies of the Field" bringing in this bundle of chrysanthemums, and it seems that as he came out of the movie house, he was just a --- aa --- quivering mass of protoplasm --- or whatever it is --- he was just a WRECK --- just as limp as a washcloth. And this old bum selling flowers got him and said "Nobody's buying my flowers," and Frank says "HERE, I'll take ALL of them, and he came in bearing this bundle of flowers, with this ridiculous story.
--Well it was a pretty --- it was a moving picture.
--How long is the movie?
--A couple hours, it's pretty long.
--Well, I haven't seen you in SO LONG, and why spend those hours watching a movie, when we could be --- well sitting there GOSSIPing?
--Spending our time in much more proffer --- profab --- profferabbalabblellellable pursuits.
--Well why don't you call me? If we're just going to have dinner, you know, and TALK, maybe you COULD come down here and we could just find a place here.
--Decisions, decisions, decision.
--Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to shuttle this whole thing off on your LAP. --- ACTually I did indeed.
--I'll call you about four, something like that.
--OK, good. Langley, by the way, thinks this is the funniest conversation she's heard.
--BY THE WAY, what WERE you doing, or should THAT wait for tomorrow??
--No, no, Langley and I were both doing our HAIR; I was doing hers and she was doing MINE, and every time you called, it was always at a time when we had to do something RIGHT THEN. (I laughing in background. Oh, Gosh) It couldn't have gone on for two more minutes or we'd both been GREEEEEN, and that's why, the second time you called back, it happened AGAIN, that's why we were attacked with giggling.
--You DID sound slightly hysterical.
--Well, it WAS sort of hysterical.
--I talked to a friend between times who gave a very irreverent suggestion, and I said Oh, No, Joan would never do that.
--WHAT?
--Well (HAHA) that's (HAHA) ---
--With LANGLEY you mean?
--HOOOO NOOOOOO, no, he thought you may have had a fellow there.
--Oh --- well ---
--And you know, dammit call BACK. (Laugh)
--I appreciate your defending our honor, you may tell him what we were doing.
--Yeah, you were turning green.
--You realize that since I had ptomaine poisoning, people have been calling, and I have to hang up on them abruptly, and call them back (I'm exploding laughter). It gets to be most embarrassing. But ah ---
--You're all over that now, aren't you?
--No, I'm not.
--Oh, you're not?
--Um-mum, not completely.
--Well, we'd better go --- no wonder you ---
--No no no---
--To a short ---
--No, no, let me exPLAIN.
--Got a short span of attention my FOOT (Huge laugh)
--That's not --- no it isn't my FOOT, dear, it's ---
--They got another NAME for that.
--No, it's not --- really that baaAAaad; just ah --- um --- you know --- ya!
--OK.
--Give me the aisle seat! (Laugh). There was something else I wanted to tell you, but you interrupted me with one of your wisecracks --- OH, I know what it was, my friend Jeannette and Freddy Schoenbaum, Janet just had her baby, and when I first moved in, about a year ago, Langley and I hadn't gotten --- an ironing board yet --- and it --- so I borrowed Janet's, but she said return it, because I have to use it, and I said OK, so I got finished with my ironing and I folded it back up, and I called and Bernie answered the phone, and I said, Hi, Bernie, this is Joan Ann, can I bring the ironing board up right now? And he said (indescribably clipped) No Joan Ann, don't bring it up right now. (BURSTS of laughing) and it was SO OBVIOUS. (Laughing). So like I said she had just had her baby, so --- (laugh) Anyhow, I thought it was funny. Maybe I shouldn't have given you NAMES; if you ever meet them, all you'll ever be able to think about is --- (Laugh) --- ironing boards.
--Right. Did you ever get your ironing board back?
--Speaking of babies, did you ever get you ironing board back?
--Yeah.
--That's the way the line should go. OK, I'll talk to you tomorrow.
--I'll call you.
--I think I'll take a bath --- again.
--Uh, yeah --- OK. I always take a bath when I wash my hair --- but I suppose it's different.
--Well, that's not what I meant by again, but --- never mind --- it seems like I'm in the bathtub all the time, that's all.
--That's for YOU to say, my dear. (Chortle)
--Hm, OK, I'll see you tomorrow.
--OK, Goobye.
--Bye, bye.
DIARY 5314 Jan, 1965
SHEILA PHONES
(Sheila and I before party)
--I found out how we get there.
--What would happen if I said I wouldn't go?
--Oh, Bob, please.
--Look, I'm in a LOUSY mood from what happened; I was tired when I talked to you earlier.
--But this will cheer you up --- please?
--Will it, though?
--It will, I promise ya; I do, really, common --- come on.
--Because in the first place it doesn't sound --- I don't know --- exactly like what I'd call a PARTY.
--Well (exasperated) there's not gonna be any rock-and-roll blasting in your ears; so don't worry about that, and you don't have to cure anybody or anything like that.
--And it's OK if I go and sit like a clump?
--Yes, it's PERfectly all right.
--Yeah, I'm sure.
--They exPECT the worst.
--How do you do, my name is ---
--The worst. (Giggle).
--(Puffed sigh) So I should turn off the stove?
--Well, you've got an hour.
--Everything went wrong; everything that could have possibly gone wrong today went wrong. I don't even have any underwear for tomorrow, figure that in with it.
--(Laughter) Oh, great. --- so, WASH some. --- Huh? --- Well?
--Well, they're AT the washers and I couldn't pick them up, BECAUSE I DIDN'T GET OUT OF WORK UNTIL 7:15.
--So you go like they say, "Boris." You (giggle) can figure THAT out yourself.
--Say Boris?
--Bourtis --- Bourzis. Junky comment.
--How long is it gonna last? (Pause)
--Till FOUR in the morning (petulant).
--Yeah (quashed).
--OK? (sweet)
--So no one will mind if I leave at 10 (flat)?
--Of course. I mean you get there at 9:30 and you leave at ten-five.
--Right!
--C'mon, Bob.
--LOOK, say I --- I got run over by a --- a dachshund.
--OH, come ON, you can do bet --- no, please. I'll be very upset, and everybody you know is ---
--Big deal. Snicker. --- this'll be the first time?
--No, but I spoke to Marion and I said you would be there, and she said "Great," she's (pause) THRILLED.
--Big deal.
--Oup, c'mon now? It'll be good for your morale. (I whine in background).
--I won't know ANYONE there.
--(Laugh) All four of them. (Sigh from me) Since when are you afraid of meeting people?
--Remember I told you about my shy childhood? Since TWO.
--Well, you're not a shy child anymore.
--No, a shy (giggle)
--C'mon.
--balding ---
--(Silence) (Sigh) I really don't want to, and I feel as if it's going to be a lousy ---
--well, if you ---
--get together from my point of view--
--because if I --- feel tired and irritable ---
--Well, by the time you get there you will feel neither tired nor irritable.
--Wanna bet? Only way to cure that is to go to sleep for twelve hours.
--OK
--What time did you say the party was going to be over?
--At eight in the morning (hysterical giggle).
--So I'll meet you at seven.
--No, c'mon, c'mon.
--(Beeps in background) WHERE are you?
--I'm just taking time off from my class, and I'm gonna miss fifteen minutes because of you, dear.
--Anh.
--So, um, I'll meet you in front of the building at 8:30??? (sweet rising tone?)
--(Pause) (Explode) AT EIGHT THIRTY?! WHAT ---
--It's a quarter of eight (softly).
--That means I have to leave here ---
--Here?
--Here!
--To get down to the office?
--Yeah.
--How long does it take you?
--Fifteen minutes.
--(Resigned) You want me to meet YOU? Do you want me to come up to your apartment?
--(Disgusted) Nyah. (Pause) Look, tell 'em I'll see 'em in California.
--OUP, c'mon!
--I'm NOT being funny.
--(Annoyed) I KNOW you're not. Come on. (Long silence) Really. (Silence) You know.
--(Hysteria) I'm gonna be a clunk!
--Well you always are, so what's the difference (mingled with giggle.)
--(I mumble) Yeah, but in public?
--Come on, don't be stubborn.
--What's everyone gonna wear (utterly resigned).
--Wear whatever you're comfortable in (slow and deliberate), wear a shirt and slacks, I don't care.
--Should I come what I'm in (explosive snort) (she gurgles)
--Awww, unless you're arrested, but that's all right.
--I'm hungry.
--Well, EAT.
--But the chili isn't going to be finished by that time.
--Oh, gosh! What'd you have to do, go down to Mexico to find it?
--LOOK, it's as if it walked UP from Mexico; the meat was crawling a little bit.
--Oh, Bob, don't eat that. (Small gasp). Actually, Marion said if we like, she'd have something there.
--Anh.
--She's got food, c'mon!
--Well, what about the bottle?
--Break it, I don't care (laughing).
--Wait a minute, let me see what my bottle says. (Pause as I go to the door).
--Are golden lions waving a blue and white flag around a bottle of Vat 69 Christmas wrappings?
--So what.
--Waddya mean, so what?
--Take the wrappings off.
--But what's inside (we're both laughing sillily) ---
--A broken bottle.
--Yeah, but the only trouble is, if we take a bottle of Vat 69, we'll be expected to DRINK it (snorts and giggles), and I don't particularly feel like drinking Vat 69.
--They won't --- they'll have something open. I'm SURE they will. And anyway, they're not going to knock it over the head of somebody there in honor of --- all sorts of good things?
--That's Consecration of the House? I don't know.
--YEAH (Overly cheerful) that's a good way to ---
--I REALLY don't --- (sigh)
--Bob, c'mon. (Pause) Eight-thirty?
--(Pause) So where can I get something to eat along the way?
--Don't worry about it, I'll buy you a sandwich. (Pause) How's that? (Brighter)
--This situa --- uhhhhhh. (She sighs --- pause) Now I know why people commit suicide. (She laughs) Really, it's the feeling there's nothing much to do, somehow. REALLY, because, uh .... Whadda ya gonna do if you have no underwear tomorrow, or you're gonna be sick because you ate rotten horsemeat (Well, DON'T eat it) that was (PLEASE don't eat that) Well, I CAN'T, I don't have the TIME. (Sigh). REALLY, it's ---
--Don't you have any like, cheese, or something?
--Six other people pour their troubles into your little SHELL-like ears, and you sit there listening to them, too, which is rather stupid (Bob, dear). Wwhhaatt.
--why don't you go round the corner to the Deli (and do what (petulant)) --- well, what do people usually do in the deli? (Pause) Well, ask somebody. You know, walk in and go over to somebody and say "What do you usually do in a deli?" (Shhhhhish).
--No, ititit's, somehow it's just too much trouble, it's ---
--But it'll be worth it, I promise ya.
--Wanna bet?
--Shaddup.
--How far is it from the river?
--(Fast laugh) Close enough to jump in. (Laugh) As a matter of fact, you can probably jump from their window.
--REally, that's handy. "This party's LOUSY." Splash.
--(She chortles) C'mon, I'm missing my whole class.
--Bye.
--(Gasp) Well, are --- come mon, are you going to meet me at 8:30?
--yeah ---
--In front of the building?
--In front of YOUR building?
--Right.
--Yop.
--OK
--Bye
--And wear whatever you have. Y'know, like a striped shirt and plaid pants, or something.
--Oh, c'mon.
--Goobye.
--Goodbye (sweetly) I'll see you later. (Pause). Smile?
DIARY 5426 January 1967
MOM'S VISIT IN 1966
Thursday --- ate late snack at 3rd Avenue Deli.
Friday --- Fish at Oscar's, to "Black Orpheus" and "Purple Noon," then past Maxwell's Plum and Friday's and walk home.
Saturday --- Bus to Cloisters, catch closing of St. John the Divine, cab to Albert's, Village bus tour, wander streets, and Crazy Horse Revue. Cab home.
Sunday --- Church, to Delancy St. and eat at Katz's and walk Chinatown and cab home. Rita and I have pizza and catch last of concert in Park and walk lots and home at 11:30.
Monday --- Chili at home. Scrabble all evening. Talk. Only time we three stay home all evening together.
Tuesday --- Mom plays Bingo, Rita and I to NY Philharmonic in CP and rain. Home to Monopoly.
Wednesday --- David Somers meets me at work and we walk home and we four have dinner at Ruc and he leaves and we play Scrabble.
Thursday --- Dinner at Mamma Leone's and to Mad Show (after I dash home for money) and Arthur's, where Rita and I dance till 1 (Jordan and Sybil there).
Friday --- Mom tired after she makes good fish here and I tell about South American trip. Rita and I go to "Shop on Main Street" and "Billy Liar" and back at 1.
Saturday --- I go shopping and LATE breakfast and to Radio City Music Hall for "How to Steal a Million." Dinner at Eduardo's and dessert at Serendipity and cab home.
Sunday --- Church and lunch in CP Zoo and see animals and buy Jazz tickets and see mall and late and walk home. Easy Money in evening of TV.
Monday --- Mom stays home (we have chicken in) and Rita and I to "Richard III" in CP.
Tuesday --- Playboy Club for lunch, Wax Museum, RCA for Rita, cab to Village (Fedora's closed) and eat at Fish 'n' Chips. Walk Village. Mom sick, and Easy Money till 1 am. (Rivals on TV)
Wednesday --- Mom got tickets and we met at College Inn and taxied to CP and Mitch Ryder and The Detroit Wheels and cab home. Finish Easy Money.
Thursday --- Dinner with Madge at Harbin Inn, and to her house for WHOLE family. "These Three" on TV.
Friday --- Mom to airport. Tuna and noodles at home. "Union Pacific" and "Oklahoma Kid" at New Yorker.
Saturday --- Rita sees "Funny Girl" and I work till 6 and we eat at Hungarian Restaurant on 81st and walk and see "Princess Ida" on 74th St.
Sunday --- Church and Coney island and home at 8 for TV and dominoes and Monopoly till 1.
Monday --- I work late after "Cavalcade" at MMA and dinner at La Crepe and to Cheetah and 3 am snack at the Brasserie.
Tuesday --- Dinner with Madge and Janis at Sun Luck Loo in Chinatown, buy tea and fan, and to "Madame White Snake" and belly dancing 10:30-1:30. Rita also to Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Wednesday --- Rita to airport at 1:30.
So they did NOT get to Lewisohn Stadium for opera, Underground Movies at Bridge, happenings at Circle in the Square, boat around Manhattan, Ginza, Three Crowns, Sweets, Fonda del Sol, Nathan's at Coney island, Los Chavales de Espana (Chateau Madrid), Trude Hellers.
DIARY 5501 October, 1962
NIGHT WITH SHEILA
It was a night of pure, unadulterated comedy. It started with Sheila wanting to come over and me trying to avoid it. Marty called, wanted to spend 2 hours wandering around town, and I said OK. A few minutes later Sheila came up and said "Let's do something tonight." I said, "I'm busy, I've got a date, and to forestall argument, I'm going with Marty, call him if you want to come along." She says OK. We get into the elevator at 5:15, get down to the first floor, and I say, "No, we were supposed to meet Marty." I push her into an up-going elevator while Sheila says, "No, he's not coming along, we're going to your place to listen to records, but Marty's going to walk the town." I'm so amazed at this I forget to push two, and we ride to 10 and 15, and some others get on, and we ride down again. I stand in the open elevator saying, "How could you have called him and told him I changed the plans? He thinks I'm awful. I made arrangements with him first." She said, "But he SAID he doesn't mind, and get out of the elevator before it goes up AGAIN." I said she was nasty for doing this, but she said she was just honest and did what she wanted. We walked in silence which I broke to say we had to eat out. I had subconsciously checked the food as adequate for myself but not for two. So we went to the Czech restaurant, then came here. We listened to tapes for a while, while she flopped around on the sofa trying to make herself appealing. She said she was warm, asked for my bathrobe. I threw it at her, and she said, "You want me to change into it right here, strip for action?" coyly. I pushed her into the bedroom and closed the doors and called Bill and Jim Moody and Laird about the letter he sent. She asked now will you talk to me. I said sure. We talked for a few minutes. I told her to look at some of the books in the case. She kept repeating, "Why don't you say something." She wanted to shut the light off so, speechlessly, as we settled into pantomime often, I motioned to the small light, and she shut the bright ones off. All this while I felt my cold building up, my throat getting sorer. She came over and plumped down in my lap. I looked at the sofa, she lowered her head, I looked at my sleeves, she said, moaning, "You won't even look at me." Finally I closed my eyes and I kept listening to Bach on the tape recorder. We talked about nothing a bit longer. I moved to the sofa, and she paced back and forth like a predator. I said sit down; I said, say what you're thinking. She said oh, you wouldn't want to hear it. I smiled and said you're hoping I'll coax you and want to hear it. She said, you're a nut. I said, you say it differently as if there was a word in front of it. She said there was, and as the words stupid and bastard crossed my mind I asked for it. She said, "You won't like it." I said, There's no telling. She scrunched her head down and said, "A loveable nut." Then I started. "That's just the trouble, but it's funny, you're not one of the basic types." What are they? I told her first was the crying for sympathy type, the second was the let's get drunk so we can have lots of fun type, and the third was the scientific type, who tried to do me an intellectual and emotional favor. She asked if I knew her. I said I thought so. She said she needed affection and warmth. I said that was nothing new. She shook her head, said she was always attracted toward intelligent people, and they were all nuts. She drew up charts of the intelligent fellows she went out with. When I was talking I was listening but when she started talking I had a tendency to stop listening to the conversation. So I began talking about myself. Twice, I said, she insisted I wasn't cooperating when she would lay across me and I would simply sit there with my arms limp at my sides. She said you don't let yourself go (cf Pete Graham on repression). I said I know, it's not a matter of letting myself go because it's happened too often. And I went into my transpositional stories. There were two times I said I was in love, once when I probably said it only in infatuation, and she just laughed at me (the equivalent of Nye or James Dean). Then there was the case where I said I loved her, and for a second she said she loved me, but at just that point it started going downhill for me, as it went uphill for her. (This was about equivalent to JJ.) I continually bemoaned the difficulty of breaking off. This third (equivalent to Bill) I refused to say I loved her, and she refused to say she loved me, but she hinted and joked so that I said, "If ever I would love anyone, it would be you." Then I started talking about the smaller cases since then: the girl on 78th St. (thinking of Bobbie), the girl on 70th (thinking Eileen), and a couple of girls at Columbia (thinking of no one, except possibly Ralph, and some one-night stands) --- all these said the same thing --- they thought I was lovable, they wanted to get their hooks into me. She said "Well, you are lovable." I moaned mockily and said this was troublesome too. I was told so many times in so many way that was so, that my defenses against it disappeared, and I began to admit it might be true. I said, while we're laughing, I could tell you a good joke, but I'd better not because you might not laugh. Tell me, tell me, she said, I said I told Marty about it and he didn't laugh. Tell me, tell me, she said, I'll laugh. I said there was a little something different one time, after a few times, she said "She said she hated you." I said, oh no, it was still a love, change another word. Sheila suggested, she loved herself. I said no. I said it was the last word that would occur to you. She looked at me and said, not laughing, he? I smiled and she remained serious. She said, he? In a louder tone. I laughed and said, let me tell you about the ocelot. She gasped, oh, Bob, what are you saying?" So I told her the story about Jim and Jim and the ocelot and me and the banker's daughter and the hanging and the poisoning and the birthday party. She said, "That's the reason you're sour, you're afraid of that." I said no, that just brought just a bit of variety into people telling me they loved me. I said you want warmpth, but I'm afraid of warmbpth, and we started laughing hysterically. She said, why did you ask me out? I said "We might compare you and Cathy O'Sullivan. If Cathy and I would have this relationship, I would feel obliged to her, she'd think it was serious, whereas you I won't feel obliged to. Cathy's never had anyone, and you've had many." My cold got worse and worse, and I told her a doctor said I could never stick with a cold since my water system speeds up something terrible. I drink more, so I have to leave the room more. I'd go in, drink two glasses of water, urinate, drink two more glasses of water, then slosh into the living room where Sheila was still laughing from my hasty exit. She'd sit on my lap and get comfortable, and I'd have to dump her and run to the bathroom, and only once did she threaten to hold me back. She said do you think I'm wicked, I said not exactly. She asked what a combination of her and Cathy would be like, and I said they weren't extremes of the same thing but entirely different. I said couldn't there be a meeting of the minds. She tried to wriggle out of it by saying "That's not what I'd said," but, true to Emerson, I said, I don't care what I said, I'm talking now. She would get uncomfortable on the sofa and I'd twist around, grab her legs, and wrestle her into a better position, pulling pillows into rakish angles. She said, "If I didn't know you were who you were, I'd suspect your motives for this." She leaned against my knee, I pushed the table out, pulled the pillow up, her skirt rode up, and we said the tape recorder certainly should have been on during this. She said, "In all seriousness," and burst into laughter, "I have loved many," and went into absolute fits of laughter, which I joined with. I said that's what I like about you, you can be serious, and we roared with laughing, and the woman upstairs clumped up and down as if complaining about our amorous noises at that late hour. She looked at her watch and said she should call her mother, and she didn't, lying that she had wandered the town and was back at the office. I could hear her mother's voice raised in anger over the phone, and went into the bathroom so I couldn't get another taste of the loving gentleness of Motherhood. She hung up with the words, "Mother, Mother, Mother, goodbye," and came to me crying, leaned up against me and said her mother had said she was never going to see me again. I said possibly it was for the best. She said why do you agree with her? Do you think I'm a nut? I said yes. She asked if I thought she was to blame for this, and I said yes. I said your mother's probably right, and that's as far as it went. We got a cab and she went into the wilds of Brooklyn, at 11:30, and I recorded this. I said I had tried to warn her about my lack of warmth, that was why the girls had slapped me before, that's why I said I was sexless, and the next time I said I was loveless. I said I wanted a meeting of the minds only. I said I had high hopes for the relationship because she WAS intelligent. I said I was the only person I knew who could be jaded without doing anything. She talked about the lead weights of my hands that I would do nothing with. I invented the following: "What are you doing with your hands?" "Nothing." "That's the trouble." She began bouncing up and down on the sofa. I looked up at her and said, gee, when I chose a fellow who said he loved me, I could at least have chosen a fellow taller than me. She collapsed on the floor in weak laughter. She kept pulling the shawl of my bathrobe around her neck, saying it was a pain in the neck. I felt rather strange stroking my bathrobe, especially with a girl inside. I joked, as she ran her comb through her impossible hair, that there was a photographer on the fire escape taking pictures. At one point, when I said a man had loved me, she said I was told that about you. I said that I had to take the phrase "I love you" as a sort of compliment, as a way of praising me. (Reminds of a few nights later when she said, those are nice shoes. I looked down and said, yes, they're fairy shoes. She looked at me seriously and said, "Are you a fairy?" and I smiled and flapped my arms and lisped in a falsetto, of course I am.) She kept poking my stomach and saying I was fat. She asked if she was fat and I benignly said yes. She drew back and shouted AM I? I said you shouldn't say anything that I can agree with so easily. She wanted to kiss me, but I refused, saying I didn't want to give her a cold. Her lips went all over my face and she moaned about my 9:30 shadow. I said I could add a fourth type to the girls: the giggle type. I said if I went out with Cathy I would feel obliged to marry her and give her lots of children, and Sheila came back with an insane statement about the chance of our getting married, but me not worrying about children, someone else could do it. The next step might be to say that that's the reason I go out with men so much, because, haha, there's no danger of men throwing themselves at me saying they love me. People in the office know I go out with Sheila, they know I went out with Bobbie, but they didn't know what happened, that they coax themselves into my apartment, or I coax themselves into their apartment, and scenes like the one Sheila and I had happen often. So I date a girl a few times, and suddenly it's over because she avows her love. Then I might shake my head sadly and say there must be very few eligible men around town and the ones that are single are mainly gay, which might be why I run the risk of being loved by men, too. I may be seen in bad company since it takes one to know one, and if I'm not one how can I be condemned for being seen with one? A perfect case. We discussed the relative merits of various types of kicks. She said she'd gotten swift kicks before. I said I don't like swift kicks since I'm just as usually giving them out. But a slow kick is impossible. As we left she asked, am I stupid or are you stupid? I told her I was or I would have given her a good swift kick.
DIARY 5607 June, 1965
MAN FROM "SLEEP"
Marvelous, marvelous New York. Go down to the City Hall Cinema after coaxing Joan to go with me for "sleep" by Andy Warhol on this March 18, 1965. And sit through the movie from 9, after sporadically starting at 8, and lowering the curtain again because they started at the wrong spot, from 9 until 12:30. Joan leaves at 10 after 11, and I escort her out and come back in, and the final sequence almost tired ME out when they show twenty prints of the same excerpt they showed at Philharmonic Hall, which lasts for two minutes and forty-five seconds, so that sequence took up 55 minutes of the film that I saw. And after the twentieth print the film license emblem comes on and the lights come on. One person applauds. No one complains that they haven't seen the full six hours proclaimed outside, and we leave. I get down into the subway, deciding not to take a taxi home, as I had planned previously, and get onto the uptown IRT train, and notice that the fellow who'd gotten on in front of me was sitting down the car, and I looked at him, looked back ahead, and looked at him again, looked ahead, and about three stops later looked at him again, and his head was at a certain angle for me to recognize that he was the man in the movie! The man who was sleeping. I debated going over, debated going over, and thought --- well, what the heck, so I went over, sat down next to him and said, how does it feel to be a movie star? He smiled and turned to me and opened his mouth and a gust of RANK air came out at me, and I almost turned away. He said, Did you see the movie? I said yes. What did you think of it? And this was the last question in the world I expected to be asked, and I couldn't answer. I said, OOOHHHH, and that was it. He asked what time it started. I said about 8:30. He said they left some of it out. I said yes, it was supposed to be six hours. He said yes, they left some out. There was some more after that. I thought of more questions, debating whether to talk with him more, through that fetid breath of his. His face was very pale. He looked like he looked in the movie except that there was a scar at his left eye, running back almost to his ear. His hands were large, long fingernails, tobacco stains on his fingers; he sat there with his hands clasped, very shy, not speaking much. I asked if he was in any other movies. He said yes, he was in a few others. No talk, no talk. Did they give you a pill or did you sleep? No, I sleep very easily, he said, again with a smile. I suppose it was his idea rather than yours? Oh yes, he said, oh yes. Have you seen the movie often? Oh, I saw it about a year ago, the last time. When was it made? A year ago last summer. Do many people come up and talk with you afterwards? Do many people recognize you? Oh, no. So the conversation lags and lags. He seems willing to talk but awfully awfully stupid, terribly stupid. He speaks with a slight accent, as if he had trouble speaking English or listening to English. The question of whether he's a boxer come up, but I really can't think to ask it. So 68th Street comes and I say "Good night." He smiles broadly and says, "Good night," and I finish my conversation with a movie star.
DIARY 81 11/29/68
THANKSGIVING AT NORMA'S
I'm being excited by him, fuck her. I say this sounds like a good idea, but they don't terribly readily offer their own bodies, and Betty starts talking about Romeo, who's inexperienced, and Betty opines that he should get started with someone who's more his speed, or else her role with him would be too much that of a vastly superior tutor. So maybe that was a hint to me, too. Grant's obviously interested in Romeo, and when I ask more about him, Betty laughs and say, "You two are getting too interested in him, lay off." Then Grant talks a bit about his first wife and he's sorry she's not talking with him any more, but says it might be due to the fact that she hasn't introduced her second husband to him. Betty expresses contempt for those who think they're "swingers" but who begin to freeze around the face when she described what "swingers" really are --- probably promiscuous, double-gaited, orgasmically-gifted enjoyers with good bodies. Though there's a bit of traffic, and we get lost and I have to call Norma from Cutter Mill Road and Bayshore Avenue, we get there about 1:30, and Lou, her husband, is a gotch-eyed, stand-up comic who's on practically every minute, but thankfully he's more often funny than not; Kenny, her 6'5", 250 lb son, whom Lou obviously gets a kick out of showing off by kissing him on the mouth two or three times during the day; Ruthie, the smaller more alive daughter who writes, paints, draws, acts, gets good grades in school, and reads everything --- and of course the writing includes short stories, novelettes, novels, plays, and poetry. Lou starts off on commercials, on which he's currently embarked on some sort of training program, and we sit around until 3:30 waiting for Peter, a bright-eyed bush-haired NYU student actor, arrives, driven by the truck that Jonathon, then eleven-year-old monster, goes wild to ride in. Dinner is served, and it's mostly great, the turkey, platter of light and dark meat, the stuffing, one cooked outside the turkey, one cooked inside the turkey, the creamed squash, the candied yams, the peas creamed with onions, the salad which no one touches because they forget about it at first and they're too full at last, the rolls, which Kenny gets a bang out of roasting black over the candles set around the tables, the gravy which Ruthie complains that her plate is "wetter" with than anyone else's, the cranberry sauce, one diet, one regular, which Jonathon says "Thank you, slave" to Lou for when he hands it to him on his brief excursion at the dinner table, and we all eat through a selection of slices of the dessert: apple, lemon meringue, and pumpkin pie. There's much talk of offering a drink, though most of them are members of AA and can't touch a drop, so there's cider during the meal, after the meal, and much coffee. And the appetizers before the meal weren't drinks but stalks of celery and chunks of cheese and curled slices of ham to be eaten without bread or roll. Peter and Kenny and Ruthie go off to play on the piano, chords repeated endlessly to a noodling wordy verse. Betty pleads "just fifteen minutes" nap on the master bedroom bed, Grant nods off to sleep in his chair, and Norma and I talk on and on about "Man the Manipulator" and Beecham's book about "Beyond Something and Failure," whose "Reality-Therapy" she's currently engaged in, impressed with the life style of the 70-year-old who seems tranquil and continues to charge only $15 per hour. We talk on and on, and Ruthie and I get a chance to talk about her novelette bursting with drugs, fixes, children living at home but unhappy, and anomie. Then it's time to leave to get Grant and Betty to the ballet, and we talk happily on the way back, Betty repeating the proposition that "if the first sex is good, it'll go on getting better, but if the first sex is bad, it'll go on getting worse," which seemed to fit Joe and my situation perfectly. They asked if I was connected to anyone, but I said no, still "Se-arching, se-arching, se-arching." They leave me off just before 8 in front of the New York State Theater and I get home feeling very tired but cheerful, and Avi calls to say he's sick in bed and was denied Thanksgiving with his relatives because they were afraid "(NOW TO D61")-- can't find D61.
DIARY 97 12/11/68
SEX WITH NORMA
Beginning of this section is missing.
$1000 in some unspecified way, then she divorced him and started going with another fellow. The fellow she went with from 16 to 26 she couldn't remember more than 4 or 5 small scenes from that time: she was sure the relationship was traumatic but none of her memories of it were traumatic, and I got her to admit that it might not be quite accurate to say she had nothing to worry about her not remembering anything from it. She began praising my "merry eyes" and my nice face and my good mind and my enormous helpfulness when she needed it. I guess I felt like Arno felt when I thanked HIM profusely: I KNEW she needed someone, and I was glad to be able to help and knew that she appreciated me full well. She was talking about something and I said there was a strange look on her face and she said there was pain there, so I tried the device of telling her to breathe deeply. She did it for awhile and finally broke into wracking sobs which shook her body and wet her cheeks until she fell forward onto her knees, shaking, shaking, shaking, our only contact being my knee against hers and my hand rubbing her skinny back, narrow above her enormous backside. I fleetingly though of offering her my handkerchief but didn't for some reason, and I should have, because going into the bathroom to wash her face somehow switched the emphasis of the evening, and it wasn't so close afterward. I tried to find if she wasn't angry with homosexuals in general, but she said no. I asked her what she wanted from Ralph, and she said she expected him to change completely if he ever managed to make it with her, which he hadn't managed. She had even gotten angrier when she found that he was "so deep into the gay world" as to call people "she" and have various orgies. I told her she couldn't expect him to change completely, and she looked up at me: "How do you know?" "Because I'm gay myself." She looked completely surprised, saying that she always thought she cold tell, and I came back with the perfect response: "Aren't you glad to find that you're not infallible?" We both laughed at the relief implicit in that admission. She complimented me for my normality, and we talked on until she seemed to give me permission to go for about the third time, saying she really felt much better, and she thanked me very much. At that point I looked at my watch to see that it was 7 pm, so I left, getting uptown to shower and shave and brush my teeth, having no time to eat or sweep the apartment. I had to content myself with drinking water and picking up the obvious white and black flecks on the carpets. Norma arrived about 8:45, looking terribly elegant in a white fur coat, which she took off to reveal a chiffon brown dress which hung from, not her small bosom but her large stomach, which she carried in front of her, looking like the poseurs from "My Fair Lady," and she really smelled elegantly lovely. She looked around the apartment, approving, then sat down on the sofa as I felt terribly uncomfortable, and she increased the discomfort by saying that she wouldn't even mind if we just passed the evening talking and nothing happened. This seemed to panic me even more and I sat on the edge of the coffee table to talk to her, reaching for her hand, and finally I couldn't take it any more and said "This build-up is making me nervous. Let's go into the bedroom." "OK," she said in her sickeningly sweet voice, and swung into the bedroom to get out of her dress very quickly, and at that point there was little to remove since she had no bra and her panties and stockings were all of a piece. We kissed for a bit in the center of the floor, but again I was nervous, so we got totally nude and slid into bed. I told her about Cissy and Madge in bed, saying that a boyish figure on a woman didn't turn me on, and I looked down at Norma with her narrow chest and small breasts and wished I hadn't said anything. Her hips were wide and womanly, however, as befits the mother of three children, but the first thing that was strange was that she clipped her public hairs, saying that that was quite the thing to do. "Why, in the nudist camp they cut them into all sorts of strange designs. Some shave them into some sort of neat shapes though others shave off almost all their hair, which can be very ugly. One of them had huge dark flaps, I guess they were her lips, hanging down. It was very unpleasant." I joked again about her remark about "You mean I can just LOOK at all those COCKS?" and said how I'd have sympathized exactly with her. We laughed about that and I began feeling chummy and easy, so I bent over and said I might as well have a look at it. She spread her legs apart, looking down at herself, saying "Well, there it is; there's really nothing much to see." Indeed there wasn't. With her cropped hair, the public area was very small, even with her legs pulling it apart. There were folds of skin which emerged and fell back into the hair, and I didn't bother tracing them or following their symmetry as I had rather thought I WOULD. We had been talking about the clitoris after she tried to assure me she was quite open about everything concerning sex, how she rather liked 69, didn't like simultaneous orgasms because she wanted to be concerned about herself for her orgasm and about him for her partner's orgasm, and I agreed, thinking in the back of my mind that that was a rather selfish way of looking at it: enjoying to the hilt one's own pleasure, then delighting in the other's pleasure mainly from the viewpoint that I am causing this pleasure and that it makes me feel good, rather than loving the unity of my causing THIS PERSON pleasure. She described her clitoris as being "more inside, which is nice, because sometimes when it's outside the penis doesn't stimulate it at all when it's in the vagina." She messed about with her right forefinger, remarking, "Oh, it's all gooshy already! Seeeee?" And her finger slipped around in the pink opening, which did glisten with moisture, and she directed me to feel there. She moved around a bit, saying that it felt good, and she began to reach for me, but I was still as pristinely limp as when I'd "welcomed" her in the door. For lack of anything better to do I plied my finger back and forth over what felt like the front part of her cunt, with little differentiation, and she described it as "that area in front" and finally she began to direct me further, slipping her fingers into her vagina, and I did the same, to feel the hole slanting upward into her body. "Oh, I remember now, I just felt the diaphragm --- that's how much confidence I had in you." I made some semi-caustic remark about how I'd certainly hoped that SHE would take care of whatever preventive measures were necessary, for she couldn't expect ME to know about them. We fiddled around a bit more in her "gooshiness" and she began to go "Um" as I fought to maintain a rhythm. She began to push herself against my fingers and the moisture increased, a marvelous natural secretion, and our kissing began to heat her perfume, and she had also probably oiled her body, so there was a slight feeling of cosmetic tackiness about her skin, and the smells grew more intense. The "Um" grew gradually into an open-mouthed and rather tearful sounding "Oh," which got louder and louder as she pressed against me, the rhythm speeding up, and I began to worry about hurting her with my fingernails, which every so often caught on something down there. I tried to concentrate on the sound of another human being in sexual excitement, but it didn't help my down state. After a while we paused and she asked if I'd mind if she went down on me. I said I wouldn't, but it quickly became embarrassing as she used her flower-mouth lightly on my limp cock and I said I didn't think it would do any good. We got into a small discussion about anal intercourse, started by my remark that I'd never fucked a woman OR a man, though "With the prostate right there, it's supposed to be very exciting for the man, but I never found that to be true. I think it takes a certain sort of relaxation that I've never felt." She said she'd been fucked in the ass before but it hadn't been significantly better, nor significantly worse, than the other way. The time went on, and we talked about the weather, and about books and my abortive affairs with Cissy and Patty, and then the idea hit me. Since Betty had said it might be good to have a man around to excite me, I thought it might be good to look at my slides, which excited me --- and would probably amuse her --- and that might be the catalyst. She expressed interest in this, and I got out the slides, flipping rapidly through the last 40, and she oohed and ahhed where she thought appropriate, and I lay down beside her to try to excite myself, but nothing worked. I didn't even have the beginning of that secretion which tells me that I'm excited. So after a couple of minutes staring at the slides, and somewhat trying to block off the idea that "To D 76" Can't locate D76.
DIARY 135 12/30/68
STONED WITH CYNDY
Then I take off on reducing the pile of junk I have on my desk, and put everything away, and in order to start writing checks I assume I'm putting $750 into the bank tomorrow and write checks for all but about $50 of that, which is pretty good spending for one day, including $420 for the typewriter and $180 for the rent. Also forgot that one of these days, yesterday or the day before, I went through my bookcase, determined to throw out twenty or thirty books, but I could only find 14 that I felt like throwing away, and by the time I was finished looking through them to see if I'd said anything jewel-like, the list was down to about 10, so it wasn't really worth it, save that it got the idea of throwing most of my books away pretty thoroughly out of my mind. Eat lunch sometime in there and get out about eight pieces of mail, ignoring all the real correspondence for some other time. I call Joe to see how his evening at the baths went, and it went rather well, so I figure I might pay them a visit sometime also. Ask if he wants to come over for "Woman of the Year," and he does, and as soon as we hang up, Cyndy calls from town and says she'd like to stay at my place, so I invite her over, too. Shower and shave and such, meditate for the second time in a day for the first time in a long time, eat dinner, and Joe's over for the movie, and Cyndy shows up just toward the end. We talk until about 12, playing with the Seaver's and the Ream's gifts, and Joe leaves. Cyndy looks tense and tired, so I suggest that I have pot. She says she'd like that, and I manage to roll one reasonably neatly even though the paper is awfully thin and the stuff is terribly dry: Cyndy says I should keep it in the freezer so it won't dry out. My throat is sore and dry and I cough a number of times during the first cigarette, but by diligent swallowing my throat and lungs become accustomed to the smoke, and when the first one's done I rather quickly roll another, thinking back to the 4 or 5 we usually smoke, forgetting that we were usually 4 or 5 in the group. I fear nothing will happen and put some music on to listen to. In the silence the music grows strange and I grow dreamy, sleepy, but the thoughts are still racing through my head and I find that I can still recall the LSD loop and take off many times through it. Then, in order not to forget it, I wrote the following pages the next day. The one fades into the other and everything changes from one thing becoming another, but one thing co-existing with another. The rate of the cycle varies, from the true eternity of so many uncountable years to the recurrent panic of rebirth every few seconds. The hands cling to the face, fearing that the gripping fingers will pull off the mask of flesh that is the face, fearing that the nails will dig familiar patterns of rills into the forehead, causing bleeding in pools that have been seen already. My throat is sore and that expands to all types of death by choking. My head lolls to the side on the sofa, and I'm rocking on a cliff-face just like those men in "North by Northwest," and I'm off to Lincoln's head, and all the presidents back to Washington, and Washington begins with W, which is the such-and-so letter in the alphabet, and everything's back to letters, and I'm a child memorizing the alphabet under green trees in a field with a lady in a sunny dress. Then I'm nauseous and can't type. Then I dash to the bathroom and change, and back again into the cycles. I want to scream "What year is this, knowing that it must be 1968, but what difference does that make? It's just a number too, and everything counts backward to one. Countdown, to one, for war, and the bombers sound like they're coming over, and the thunder rumbles and I say "This has all happened before, and I can make it go anyway I like." Then the sound goes to a movie explosion, and it's a movie I've seen that leads to movies as repetitions, leading back to cartoons with music, and that's to music, and I look at the records, and everything's connected with a record, and the music plays on, and we're back to time, and I don't have a watch on my wrist, but I would put one there if I wanted one, so possessions seemed to be of no avail, and I was sitting on a settee because it wasn't a bed, and [and then I went to bed]. The windows were dark, but it was a painted sort of blackness, and at one point I had the idea that if I could only break the windows, through the jagged shards of glass there would stream daylight, but not an ordinary dawn, but a preternatural, supernal, everlasting light which always pervaded the universe. I fantasized leaving the sofa on which I was uncomfortably seated and running up to the roof, shouting with laughter, to stand on top, regardless of cold or rain, and look up into the dark sky and ask "What's above the sky?" and know that beyond the local blackness, caused somehow by the shadow of the earth, a shadow caused by the earth and by the mind of man, there was a radiance supreme and terribly desirable. It was the radiance of God, and once the thought of God came to mind, there was again the identification, the unity, of God and myself, and I knew then the reason that the concept of God was so prevalent, because everyone thought of themselves as God.