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1969 3 of 7


SATURDAY, JUNE 21. He's out by 9, I lay to 10, breakfast late, come, and don't feel like doing anything in the world, so I begin transferring stamps from one album to the other. I can do about 100 stamps an hour, so the whole process will take about 60 hours, or one month if I do it two hours per day. Read a lot of Life magazines, finally getting down to a manageable size, but yesterday I didn't do the exercises, only the yoga part, and today I really don't feel like doing anything, so I don't do yoga, meditate, or exercise, nor do I type the pages that I should, and I berate myself through the day, but that's all there is to it. Get to the point of checking through my check stubs to see what my balance actually is, and Joe's done it all right. Decide it's time to get onto the telephone: Doug's going away himself for a week, and he has a friend there, so he can't talk, but will call me back; Walter Joseph doesn't answer, then does and we talk about my trip, and he wants to call me next week for dinner; Eddie doesn't answer. Peter doesn't answer, then is busy, then answers and we talk, and he's still with Allan "to my surprise." "You've been listening to the wrong people," he says enigmatically, and he says he'll call me Tuesday or Wednesday, saying the Tool Box is great. Whenever I'm off the phone, I go back to the stamps, and when the day is over have managed to transfer 400 stamps, hinges all over the place. Then I watch the TV show about summer fitness, and running is even a better exercise than swimming, and I watch "Never Give a Sucker an Even Break," one of the most non-sequiter movies in existence. Then I'm out to get the Times and three slices of pizza, and the slice price has risen to 304. Read it through, guzzling a grapefruit drink left over from yestereve, and get to bed at 11:45, feeling like I've done nothing all day. True?


SUNDAY, JUNE 22. Up at 9, feeling quite rested, and the day is clear outside for the first time since my return. Breakfast and begin to mope around the apartment, but I tell myself that I have to begin getting back into my schedule, so I sit myself down at the typewriter to catch up on the last three diary pages, resolving that exercise IS the way to keep fit, and I'm fitter than I was during the trip, and I'm happy about it, and I DO feel like doing more when I exercise, so I SHOULD keep it up. Get through to this point by 10:30, and feel that I've got enough impetus started to last through the rest of the day, I hope. The impetus lasts through 20 full pages of the 1959 diary, straight through until 1 pm, and that so startles me that I'm not good for much else for the rest of the day. Eat lunch, then call Joe at 2:30 to tell him that I'm picking up tickets for the Stuttgart, and he decides he wants to see "Shrew" and even "Onegin" again. Out to pick up the tickets, and back to decide that the apartment is still too much of a mess from the party, so I put everything away, wash all the dirty glasses, then again wax and polish the furniture, mop the bathroom floor, scour the tub, and sweep everything again, putting even my desktop paraphernalia away so that the place is immaculately clean. By that time it's 6 pm and I subway up to Joe's to meet Don Mason, who has a nice body, and have dinner and drinks before walking down to the Metropolitan to see Helpmann and Cranko in the audience. Madsen plays his normal insipid part, Clauss is virile and masculine in his Onegin part and face, and Haydee is quite good, though none of the pas de deux matches the sheer genius of the balcony scene in "Romeo and Juliet," the sheer fluid beauty of the first act is hard to match. They also skimped on the sets and costumes, so R&J is the undoubted queen of the repertoire. Out at 11 and I'm back to talk to Darwin for awhile, then we both get to bed at 11:45.


MONDAY, JUNE 23. Up at 8:30 when Darwin leaves, but the day is back to cloudy again, so yesterday was the first and only wholly nice day since I've been back. Decide to wash socks first, and that leads me to repaint the drain housing, which is leaking again, then I eat breakfast and sort through everything that's piled up since I've been away, and come up with a rather small "to-be-answered" list when all is said and disposed of. Just leaves all the books in the small cabinet in the living room and the sheer souvenirs in the small cabinet in the bedroom. Herman calls, and he's finally handed in his resignation, and Arno calls, and he'll be out of the woods by July 4 and will devote himself to bicycling and beaches and visiting my art books after that time. With all those distractions, I don't get to typing this page until 1:15, and I re-resolve to do the exercises, which I didn't even do yesterday, tsk tsk. Finish the ten pages for the day, but just don't feel like going any further. Eat lunch, then decide I have to answer my stack of letters, so I write a long two pages to Mom, apologize to John Crano for not being here when they wanted to visit me on a conference, Meyer Line asked to return my money from my one-way that I didn't use, to AMG asking where my four pictures by Tom are, to Academy Award publications asking for the complete book of the awards, to Avant-Garde magazine for a half-price subscription and a folio of obscene Picasso drawings, to Life to renew my subscription for 60 weeks for $5.99, to the United Nations Postal Administration to give them $30 more for my account, and to the Assay Office for five sets of 1969 uncirculated coins at $2.50. Call Joe and we decide we want to see the movie, but I have no groceries in the house, so I'm down to the corner to eat a cheeseburger and then get down to the Door Store to meet him at 8. We walk across to the theater and pick up some pizza on the way, and "Warrendale" is disturbing to me because I'm not really convinced the children ARE too bad to stay with their parents, and it's merely a lack of discipline on the part of the parents, coupled with the strange behavior shown to them by the "house parents" that make them freak out. "Titicutt Follies" proved that a person doesn't have to be crazy to go to an insane asylum, but he'll probably be crazy if he stays there, either as a patient or as a trustee. On the way back I recall that we have tickets for the ballet tomorrow, but I can't find them, searching through the souvenirs twice and not able to come up with them. Darwin suggests the waste basket, and I put that thought in the back of my mind as we fall into bed about 12:30.


TUESDAY, JUNE 24. Up at 8:30 when he leaves, and lay around a bit, don't feel like getting up. Don't feel like exercising or writing, either, so I get out the old stamp albums and begin transferring stamps back and forth. Decide to stop about noon, and get out to buy "Couples" and another Krishnamurti book from Bookmasters, and find the Michelin maps in the second place I stop: Rizzoli, and buy one for Spain, France and Morocco. Back by way of the grocery store and home at 1:30, but stupidly don't eat because I'm obsessed by the idea of marking down the itinerary on the maps, and by the time I finish that it's 3:30 and I'm very hungry indeed. Eat lunch while reading old copies of Screw, and the general line of writing and photographs is such that I have to line up all the good pictures of Lige and Jack and the "Sir Walter Raleigh" nude cocks and jerk into quiescence a sense of immanent coming. Then I'm back to the stamp transfer deal, and finally finish with the United States, which is a straight transfer job, and get to the other countries, which involves checking the catalog for the numbers and putting the numbers in the book for the entries they don't have. This takes a longer time and it seems that I'll be transferring stamps forever --- but I get a kick out of doing it, and I'll have a fabulous album when I'm finished. This goes on until about 7, and it's obvious that I'm not going to meditate or exercise today, either, and I'm really beginning to feel bad about it. But between 5 and 7 I did something I'd been meaning to do, namely put in my contact lenses for two hours to start back on the month-long road of re-accustomization. And it might be a hard road, since the eyes are actually sore when I put them in at first, and I can really feel them for the first few minutes, practically worse than the first time I ever wore them. But that's just because it's just LIKE the first time I wore them, since any callous I built up in wearing them was obviously gone by now. Shower and shave and have just enough time to try out the new sandwich shop on the corner of 58th and 9th, and the cheeseburgers are huge, but they're raw, and they don't have the lettuce and tomato and cole slaw, so I don't feel too badly about not leaving a tip. To the Met for "Giselle," which Haydee doesn't act very well, and I'd expected Cragun to dance, and was rather disappointed with Madsen, though he managed to put quite a bit of pain in his dance-to-almost death. Barbara Brimberg and Daisy Roach call down to me, and we talk to Lloyd and Jack, too, and Joe and I and the girls have sangria and dessert in the patio while I tell them all about my trip. Home and bed at 12:30.


WEDNESDAY, JUNE 25. Up at 10 again, and after breakfast get back to transferring stamps again. Call Eddie about coming to the theater with me, but he has a dog and a car and linoleum being laid, so he doesn't have the time. Leave about 1:15, and get into "Male Magazine" at 1:45, after buying tickets to "DeSade Illustrated," sorry that I didn't remember to take money with me to get more tickets. The theater is small and very dark, and I get in during the pool sequence, where there's little light on the screen. The theater is packed along the aisles, and the only seats are along the wall, but the chore is to find which row. The nudes are good, and with the overt physical contact, it's hard-on inducing even though there aren't erections on the screen. There's also a terribly funny "Bathroom Ballet" with stop-motion shoes and slippers and clogs and boots and heels going and "coming" into the bathroom, and Gerald Malanga impressed me as the perfect Myra Breckenridge in the screamingly funny transvestite films. Too expensive at $5, but quite a flick. Out at 4:15 and back home to transfer stamps some more, and type twelve pages. I call Joe about this evening, and he says he'll call me back later about the theater tomorrow, and I wait around all evening for his call, finally eating dinner at 10 pm, and he calls at 11:30, to say that he'd been out cruising with Avi, and he's forgotten that he had to call me, and he doesn't want to see the show. Which leaves me with people to contact tomorrow to share the pair of tickets with me. Get to bed at 12;30, and Darwin doesn't come in yet, so I leave a little light on in the bedroom for him and fall asleep.


THURSDAY, JUNE 26. Wake at 9 to find Darwin still there, and read a bit of Kris before he gets up at 10 to say that he got in at 4 am after a hard day at the office. I'd finished the packet of hinges the previous evening, so I'm out to the stamp shop on 7th just north of 57th to get five packets of Dennison's folded hinges for 254, and they have two advantages, they're cheaper, and the long part doesn't immediately curl under when moistened, necessitating a finger under the stamp to smooth down the long flap, so things can go faster in the transference. Find through the bank statement that Darwin hasn't paid any of the rent at all, so I have to talk to him about that, much as I hate to, and I have to remind myself what all these books keep saying "You don't have to be friends with EVERYONE, and sometimes you have to argue with people, bring up unpleasant subjects, and insist on what YOU want." It'll have to be this way with Darwin, who at this point seems to be taking advantage of me. On the way back I buy a ticket for the movies, so I stop stamps at 1:30 and eat lunch and am out to the 2:30 production of "Lion in Winter," and the guy who plays the French king has lovely blue eyes during the "I love you" sequence with the ugly Richard the Lion-Hearted, and Geoffrey is nicely cute, but aside from the cutting dialogues between Peter O'Toole and Katharine Hepburn, and the lovely music, there's not much to the play, hardly any feelings, hardly any drama, and much of the action very much overdone. Call Azak and Arno for the theater and get no answer. Peter and Don have seen it, so they're no help, and I finally end up asking Joan. Back from the theater and she's over to talk about her adventures in the camper between Coney Island and Palisades and Long Beach with Joel, getting in the next day with wet clothes, sandy asses, and bedraggled, "ravished" looks. I shower and shave as she mopes around the apartment, then get out to Angelo's and back in time for the 7:30-8 pm program on Bejart, then down to "De Sade Illustrated," which is poorly acted, De Sade's thoughts on buggery, religion, and morality still shock, and some of the best slides must have been removed, though many qualify as hard-core, and the show is bustable. But on the basis of the dullness of the play, I'm temped to think "Geese" and "Che" might not be worth the seeing. Joan has a cold through all this, and is feeling weak, so we walk back to the Public Theater to meet her Paul, an unpleasant looking Tim, and a cute older Ivan, and she says she's going home. I escort her and wander CPW for about an hour, seeing few nice things, and cruising not at all, but being cruised by all those I don't care for. Home at 12:30, and bed sans Darwin again.


FRIDAY, JUNE 27. Have it out a bit with Darwin when he leaves for work at 9:30, and he doesn't even want to pay $6 per day. Throw out the rubber pillow which has a hole in it and is throwing sponge all over the place, get down to transferring stamps again, talk to Marty on the telephone, then decide to type six pages of that, and then get down to catch up on the two last pages of this, with my contact lenses in, which I didn't have time for yesterday, and they're just beginning to hurt a little bit --- hope I can get used to them all over again!! Continue typing on the 1959 diary, and by the time I'm finished for the day, I've done twenty pages, which makes me feel pretty good. Decide I really don't want to go to Shoshana's for the party tonight, so I call her and tell her a friend of mine from San Francisco is in town on his way to Europe, and I want to see him. She's sorry that I can't come, and Joan's even sorrier, calling me all sorts of names, but ending up saying, kindly, "I love you anyway." Darwin surprises by coming home about 5:30, and he says Cyndy's flying back to New York tomorrow, and he won't be back before Monday. Shower and shave and leave at 8 after giving ice cubes to the Shoshans, and get down to Door Store to stop in 8th Avenue Deli, pretty cheap and good and not crowded and out of the way, but in the center of everything, and then to "Lola Montes." It's very theatrically done, and, like "Privilege," makes fun of the audience gathered to see a certain type of performance, and then proceeds to give YOU just precisely that type of performance, making the thinking member realize that he's really scoffing at his OWN sense of perversion. Out and wander the Village a bit, then back home, and I get to bed at 12, moving into my own bed, but keep thinking about writing for Screw, particularly now since Erect has been postponed until September, and get up to note down some ideas, and keep repeating this process until it's 3:15, and I'm rather disgusted with myself at not being able to wait for the next morning to jot ideas down, but at the same time pleased that I have the capability of coming up with such good ideas, particularly the "letter from New York" format, which could be used as the format for all my books, and it's not been used THAT much before, only the "Screwtape Letters," Svetlana Allielluyeva's book, and five or six others that I can't recall. Finally get to sleep, nice in my own bed at last.


SATURDAY, JUNE 28. Get my pornography out and come in the morning, and make the mistake of leaving it out, because I come again in the early afternoon, and then later when I can get into my vibrator, come agonizedly again, which is really a bit much, and I should be saving it for someone else. Work through the morning on the Screw letter, looking through much old stuff for samples of types of my writing, and then Marty calls to say he wants to buy my old air conditioner, so I hurry up with lunch at about 3 pm, and put all stuff away in time for them to enter about 3:30. Bill, Jerri's brother, is very interested in my bookshelves and in my book about LSD, and he's nice to look at, too, though the ragged skin on the bottoms of his sandaled feet aren't the most attractive stuff in the world. Cyndy calls and we talk in great detail about her sickness and my delight to be back, and I show Marty my Moroccan map of my trip, and he's out by 5:30, and I sweep the floors and put everything back into the closet in preparation for Avi's arrival at 6:45. Yes, I'd gone out in the morning to buy tickets to "Oliver" and was highly impressed by the quality of the student trousers available on the street. Will really have to get out to take advantages of that, but I have to get the "Special Project" for Screw out of the way, what a lovely way to make a living, being an "Erect Reviewer," and get the pages typed, but I don't even get to the exercises today, because just as I'm about to do it, hungry for lunch, I come again, and that kills the whole idea. Talk to Evan, and he sounds interested in my trip, too. Avi and I have a drink, then out to Angelo's again for dinner, and he buys a ticket for "Lion in Winter" and we're into the cold, low-ceilinged Loew's State 1 for "Oliver." It's so theatrical and untrue-to-life, with these poor starving waifs marching in beautiful formation and singing marvelously about their hard life, the milkmaids in ridiculous ballet, and the whole street coming to life only for his amusement. Fagin had some good moments, and Mr. Reed's loving blue eyes as Bill Sykes gave another level to his performance, and there were some funny moments, and the shootout at the end was dramatic, though the jewels sinking into the sewers were phony, but all in all it was a disappointment, especially for $4.50, and the horsy gum-chewing girl in the back didn't help, either, but as Avi says: "You can't change the world, Bob." No, but damn it I'd like to TRY. Home to the paper at 12, and get into bed at 1:30.


SUNDAY, JUNE 29. Up at 10, use the binoculars on the sun bathers and the workers on the roofs across the way, then yoga, interrupted by a call from Joe and Cyndy, and a short meditation and exercises, call Marty to make sure the air conditioner is working OK, it is, and then to catch up with these two diary pages at 1 pm. Continue typing, and stop for lunch, and then my mother calls and says she'll be coming July 18-26, and then Don O'Shea calls to say he'll be coming July 14-17, and I call Joan, who asks me to come up to see her, and by the time I'm finished with the number of pages I want, it's almost 5 pm. Darwin calls about Cyndy after I call Cyndy to tell her I'm leaving the apartment, and it's too late for her to call me. Then I shave and shower and walk up to Joan's, and her place is like an oven, and she's very funny with a too-short dress on, and the trouble is between the plumpness of her thighs and the thinness of her calves. The ones aren't really so plump, and the others really aren't so thin, but the combination is ludicrous. We sit in the park and look at the boating, then I'm over to Joe's for dinner and she's over to Paul's. Joe outdoes himself with homemade consommé madrilène with lemon and radish, chicken roasted to ultimate tenderness, with the skin lush under its light coating of herbs and spices, and the squash au gratin was just what I needed to convince myself that if squash is attractively prepared, it can be just as delicious as any other vegetable. We sit around and drink and talk, then walk down to the theater for "The Taming of the Shrew" and the first act is almost perfect with its choreographic inventiveness and rushes of humor. Everything builds to the climactic pas de deux which can't possible live up to expectations, and it doesn't, but that's saddening, anyway. There are after-curtain speeches and introductions of Wolliams and Beale, and everyone leaves the theater glowing. I get back to type the two pages of AGAIN, and Darwin's in and we're to bed in our newly exchanged bed-places at midnight.


MONDAY, JUNE 30. Wake at 8, uncomfortably hot in a broiling morning, and lie about until 9, trying to get up energy to move. Turn on the air conditioner, and conditions improve enough to do my yoga and meditate for exactly as long as I should. Call Avi to find he's not going to the beach, but will come over in the afternoon for "Curious." Get down to type this page when I should do it, as a relaxation before exercising after meditation, and it's nicely early at 10:45, much better than yesterday, but ideally it should be even better when I can get myself to bed earlier and up earlier, to get into the swing I want. Eat breakfast and do my first set of exercises on Level 4 at a pretty fair rate to finish in 15 minutes, sun on roof, NUDE, for 15 & 15 & 20 & 20 minutes, and then put stamps away because it's becoming obvious that I can't keep up my rate of writing, get my letter off to Screw, and do what I want to do while fussing with the stamps. They'll just have to wait. Avi comes over at 1:30 and I haven't eaten lunch yet, so we're out to Chock Full for some franks and orange, and then off to "I Am Curious (Yellow)," which delights me by being very funny in parts, so that we're waiting with bated breath for the sex parts, and then the sex parts are so un-fun that we're dying to get back to the serious part, and then the serious part gets boring so quickly we don't know where to turn. The movie seems terribly long, and when we're out Avi makes a joke about seeing it again. Back home just about 4:30 in time to pull the shades down and watch "Soldier in the Rain," with Jackie Gleason as a non-comic sergeant and Steve McQueen as a abdominally-beautiful GI with great ideas, though they're all expressed in such a quaint southern accent as to be sickening. Then it's six and I get dinner ready and am still eating when Don comes over at 7:45 for "Krakatoa," and we chat about "Curious" for awhile, and then I'm out for my third movie of the day. This is pretty bad except for the spectacular special effect, but the part that's bad is SO bad: like the singing of the terrible song, the awful musical score, and the island that explodes from the same starting point again and again and again. But some of the lava flows and explosions and fires on the ship were eye-popping, and the buildup of the first tidal wave was Makaha huge in slow-motion, though it rapidly disintegrated into egg-beater froth of no great drama, and Max Schell's head stoically lowered into the shower was just a bit too much. Walk back home looking at the people in the streets, and I use Darwin as an excuse not to invite him up, which he seems to want, but he agrees to go.


TUESDAY, JULY 1. Cyndy calls and talks for a long time, wanting to see me but can't decide how. Joan calls for lunch, and I call Norma to join us, and we have a long session in the park from 12-2, and I get down to the bank to cash the return check from Meyer Line and I have some money again. Back to type twelve pages of the 1959 diary, and it's about 6 pm by the time I do my yoga and meditate, but I can't seem to keep in the swing of meditation, there's so much else that I want to do, so I stop after 15 or twenty minutes and get back to typing and exercising, and then take a shower and get down to dinner, and again Avi comes in to find me there eating, and Joe comes and I feed them all fresh cherries that I got from the grocery store. That's what I did after lunch: I took the laundry out to the Chinese laundry, and took my black pants to the tailors, but since they wanted $10 for reweaving, and only $2.50 for a patch job, I decided that since the pants were black, a patch job might by OK, almost invisible, and then went to get groceries, which I much needed. I've just got to get some of these things done, like washing the dishes, which hadn't been done in so long I don't have any knives or pots left to use at all. We're then down to the "Wild Bunch" and Joe gets caught in a fight, which I explained elsewhere, so I get home at 3, and Darwin's in bed already, of course, so I fall exhausted asleep as soon as possible.


WEDNESDAY, JULY 2. Joe calls to fill me in on his story, and I call Joan and Cyndy and tell them all about it, and call Avi and tell him all about it, too. By this time, after Norma calls, to tell me about her troubles with her friends, see elsewhere, I get into a taxi to "make time" and sitting in the taxi stuck in midtown traffic, the whole segment of my life comes down close around me: I've got to wash dishes, got to get tickets for Mom's visit, got to get the letters out to Jean-Jacques and Charles and Denis and Svein-Erik and Edward and Claudia and the Seavers, got to get caught up on my writing, since I'm about twenty pages behind schedule, got to get the Screw letter out, have finally gone through most of the movies I want to see, and every good looking guy who passes the cab I stare at, and one of the things I really have to do is to start cruising, so I can re-orient myself to realize that not all these beautiful guys are obtainable, that I have to work to get to bed with them, and that I have to have some sort of outlet with them so that I can look at them and take them more in stride. I'm pleased with being in New York, but I have to take more advantages of some of the good things available in New York. Get to Cyndy's at 1 and relieve some of my pressures by telling the story of Joe last night and Norma's friends just before I left to meet her. She's feeling pretty badly, too, weak and has lost weight, though unfortunately her weight loss isn't that obvious, and she looks so cheery it's difficult to remember she's sick. She doesn't want to walk, so we're down to the Cattleman where I have a steak and she orders a baked trout that looks deep-fried and ends up with broiled (dry) sole, and the help at the place is really very nice, once they get used to the idea that we're going to be trouble. I tell her all about Norma and the chance for the weekend, and she so desperately wants to get away somewhere, and I've given her the name of the two hotels that Barbara gave me when she called on Tuesday to give me the details on Herman's going-away dinner from IBM. We finish late at 3, and then back to her hotel room while she gets ready for her doctor's visit, and calls about an apartment on W. 57th, and I walk her to her doctor's, and she decides NOT to see the apartment. I walk back up via Alexanders and Limbo and Bloomingdales, and finally find two lovely pair of tropical worsted bells in navy and army, two nice colors, and pay $27.56 for them, I hope a bargain. Up to take the tags off and get Joan's card and take them to the cleaners and pick up Joan's AA stuff and when I call her to tell her I have it, she invites herself over, arriving at 6:30, which gives me time to exercise and take a shower, finally washing my hair, and she comes in and sits around and talks, and at 7:30 says she's hungry for dinner, but I refuse to be sucked in and say I'm not hungry after such a large lunch, and she leaves quickly, having given me an excuse for not going to Marty's bridge game, either, because she's here when he calls to say he needs two more for two tables. Decide I have to catch up on typing, having done the dishes also before Joan arrived, and I type 10 pages, then eat dinner, then get back to type 10 more pages of the 1959 diary, and by then it's 11:30 and I'm dead, so fall asleep then.


THURSDAY, JULY 3. Wake at 8:30 and up at 9 for yoga and talk to Cyndy and meditate for full half-hour for first time in ages, then exercise and talk to Joe and Avi, and eat breakfast, and then go up on roof for second nude sunning, after Monday, this time for 20-20 and 25-25 for an hour and a half, and try on old clothes and find to my amazement that most of the old trousers which I'd put into the drawer as being too small for me actually FIT me again, and some of the current things I got for being tight, like the white bells, are actually a bit loose around the ass. Feel justifiably great about the results of my exercising, and try on almost everything and decide to keep it all, except that I spend lots of time re-sewing the inseam of the old pair of khaki shorts which I split on my jaunt up to Moshulu Park in the Bronx so many years ago, and sewing the slit starting to form on the inseam of the ancient woolen trousers which fit me very tightly even back when I was going to COLUMBIA. That's what I call keeping fit. Go through the rag pile, too, finding out what I want and what I don't, and throwing out the drapes from 70th on the basis that if I haven't used them yet, I'm not going to use them ever, and get some drawers cleaned out and get some things back in order from the trip yet. Put bags of junk into the hall, feeling very good about throwing out something finally! Watch the end of a program about Carlos Chavez on TV, and I guess the rest of the time is spent transferring stamps from one album to another.


FRIDAY JULY 4. Up onto the roof again, this time stretching it out to 25-25 and 30-30 for almost two hours, and I cover up my cock with the towel because there are others on the roof, but I'm still bare-assed. It feels hot and it turns out to BE very hot, because I'm actually burned the next day, and it means that starting off slowly isn't nearly as important as having the same kind of days, since certainly today was hotter and clearer than the ones I'd started on, and the start didn't prevent me from getting a burn. Down to watch "Treasure Island" with Wallace Beery and Jackie Cooper, quite dated, and Cooper was a hideous actor, and try to decide what to do for the evening, but no one wants to come down with me to the Italian Section to watch the fireworks, so I end up looking out the window, seeing the fellow on the balcony tipping many off over the side, seeing those on the roof of the near one throwing them into the back alleyway, seeing the blasts and reports from 50th or 51st Streets, the skyrockets taking off from the piers on the Jersey shore, and assorted others. Make a list of how I spent other July 4's, and felt rather lonely that I wasn't spending the time WITH anyone.


SATURDAY, JULY 5. Today I meet Shoshana in the street, and she offers me free tickets to her free concert in Central Park tonight, but I have to refuse because I'm going to Joan's farewell party at Alex's. See Miguel Godriow's "Circle of the Mind" on electronic TV. Up to meet Joan and she looks at me hatefully because I'm dressed more sexily than she is, and we're bussing over to their place, where it's terribly hot even through all the windows are open. They've cleaned up the place and framed some paintings for the wall and the area over the fireplace is nicely covered by a Peter Max panel stolen from a bus. Norman is short and Jewish, and Alex has gotten terribly fat, but everyone is cheery and open and accepting, and the sangria comes out and everyone begins getting pleasantly high just sitting around talking about everyone's career. The guacamole and pepper dips come out, and when he says watch out because it's hot, I fear the worst, but the Fritos disappear and the dips vanish, and it's very tasty, that's all. There's a large salad to start with, also Norman's, and it's good, and then the Bonnie-prepared paella-like rice dish with chicken is filling, and everyone digs around for the raisins and mushrooms to show how much they like it. The refried beans are good, and Fritos again form a sideshow. Then he's made a fresh-fruit-in-wine dessert which goes well with the last of the sangria, and we all sit around pleasantly talking, making fun of the cats, and Joan gets out the pot she bought from Avi that afternoon and everyone smokes it in banana flavored and cherry flavored papers, and it seems the papers have more oomph than the pot, because nothing much happens. I concentrate on not going off on my LSD kick, but I get the feeling of altered time, and we start laughing at the inanities in the conversation. Then Paul calls and she's down to meet him at 10, and I escort her to the bus and kiss goodbye, and walk cautiously back through the park, where the pot-feeling wears out and I figure it's a good time to meet someone. Stand along the walk and look at the fellow in shorts, and he looks, and I invite him to sit down, and he's tall and well built, and I quickly ask him up to my place. Jim and I don't put the lights on, just get right down to kissing and making out, which is difficult as he's 4 or 5 inches taller than I and rather stiff, so I have to strain upward to kiss him. Clothes come off and he's thinner than I thought, no definition at all, except for a cock that grows and grows, thickly, until it's a good eight or nine inches, which is nice except that it seems insensitive and no amount of pounding by him or me will suffice to bring it off. We roll around on the bed uncomfortably for quite a time, then he stands at the side of the bed and manipulates himself, and this view suffices to harden me up, and I come after much pounding, and he does too, and then we lie wetly together, talking about his difficulties in studying and acting classes, since he wants to be completely prepared before going into the acting field. I wonder where he's getting his money from, but he talks on about other things and there's not much real information, not even about what he's doing, so I'm just as happy when he leaves, and I can fall asleep.


SUNDAY, JULY 6. Up somewhat after noon and finish the Times and get back to stamps, pausing to watch a summation of the Seven Wonders of the Universe, which turn out to be something like the Earth, the Moon, the Sun, the Solar System, the Galaxy, the Universe, and something else, which wasn't terribly interesting. Shower and dress up for Avi's dinner at Joe's, and Joe outdoes himself again, though he doesn't have much gin and tonic to get us lightly high, and the chicken and the zucchini and the salad is all lovely, and there's some sort of dessert which I've forgotten, and then we sit around and talk about what to do next, finally deciding to go into the park. We walk along the paths, and sit on the bench and talk, and there are lots of people wandering past, and finally they want to get their rocks off in the bushes, but I say I'll go off on my own, and get down to the bridge and stand looking at the sights, surveying everyone who comes in and out. Brian comes in, and he's dressed so poorly he doesn't affect me, even when he stops to ask for the time. He's obviously interested, but I'd just gotten there, and was willing to look at some more before making my choice, but only minutes later he's back down the path, amusedly asking me for the time again, and we stand and talk, and I'm not put off as much as I should be by his sardonic way of talking about everything, including himself, though he says that he has a VERY good bass voice which he's cultivating in voice lessons, while I surprise him by having what he calls a "natural tenor" speaking voice, which he says is rare. Really? We stand and talk and talk at the bridge, and he's just about as tall as I am, and he has nice curly hair, and what appears to be a nicely solid body underneath the clothes, so I finally ask him if he wants to walk down to my apartment, and he does. We walk down and talk about the two old movies he's just seen and the movies I like, and we talk about opera and plays, and when we get here I scrabble through and put on Wagner's "Liebestodt," but he's not really that interested in it, and later on I've heard enough too and turn it off. We sit in the window looking out at the view and talking, and then the lights get dim, but I lazily don't feel like starting anything, and he's so stand-offish and officious that I can't imagine making the first move, either. Finally it gets later and later and almost as a matter of boredom I tell him to stand up, and we begin slowly kissing in the window, lights still on low, and he all the while making insipid remarks about wanting to see the Empire State Building turn off at midnight. Some of the clothes come off and there's a strange smell about him, and when I get him into bed and go down on him, the edge of the head of his cock actually feels eaten away, and his public hair is matted and wiry, and it seems almost dirty somehow. I try working on him for quite awhile, but even though the light is on, there's nothing I care to look at, so I really don't feel like doing anything, and finally he puts his hand down to assist me, and he comes all over his stomach, as I didn't feel inspired to take it. He hates the mess and goes into the bathroom to clean off, and we lay for awhile to watch the Empire State Building turn off, which it does not too long after midnight, and we uncomfortably fall asleep.


MONDAY, JULY 7. Since he doesn't work, he doesn't have to get us, and since I don't want sex, we just lie there until about 11, and we begin rubbing together and I'm vaguely excited in my morning way, and I try to get him to do something, but he won't even use his hand, let alone his mouth, so I reach down, while kissing him, and hand myself an orgasm, which he doesn't attempt to watch or enjoy or even acknowledge. He comes off by hand, too, and when he comes back from the bathroom there are little dingle-berries of toilet tissue matted into his public hairs as if he really didn't care what he looked like. When he took his shorts off the floor, a bloody piece of toilet paper fell out, and I had a quick sense that he was bleeding from somewhere in the jockey short area, and this had stopped the bleeding, and maybe his cock was cut up from too much use, or someone had fucked him too hard, or something, but the thought of dried blood caked somewhere around his person made him quite unattractive. I wanted to get back to work, but he seemed in no hurry to leave, even after I almost disgusted him by offering him oatmeal for breakfast, which he didn't finish. We chatted on for awhile, and then I said I had to go out, and he went out the door before I was really ready, but taking his leave oddly, as we kissed, and I said something about meeting him again in the park sometime. He mumbled something about wanting to call me, and I actually had to ask him, "Do you want my phone number?" as it was obvious I wouldn't want his, since he said he lived with his mother and had to have all his activity outside, though she was accustomed to the idea of having him stay out all night. He said he certainly would, so I gave it to him, hoping he'd never use it. Anyway, I didn't have his, so I wouldn't feel compelled to call HIM. He left and I breathed a sigh of relief and went back into the bedroom, where I was disgusted by dark dirty marks on the pillow case where his head had been, and even dirty marks other places. The sheets weren't the cleanest when we got into them, but he certainly helped foul them. I probably went back to transferring stamps for the rest of the day.


TUESDAY, JULY 8. Oh, yes, last night I also watched the premiere of the David Frost show, with an unruly feminist audience during the interview of Lionel Tiger, a teary-eyed Ed Sullivan as he talked about his family loves, and a stilted Prince Charles for an unprepossessing first show. Also wanted to watch Graham Kerr on "Galloping Gourmet," and one of these days I did manage to see him, and he didn't repeat his jokes, had a grand repertory of grimaces and talk, but after watching him a number of times during the week, and actually taking down some of his better recipes, I grew tired of him and let him go at that. Transferring stamps has become so accustomed a ritual that it goes increasingly easy. After the fatigue of the first few days, my eyes and fingers grow so accustomed to the routine that the only indication of passing time is a sore ass as I sit in my chair. Stop for food and exercising, and look out the window to see what's going on, but I'm not even eager for sex, since the two I've had in the last couple of days haven't been the greatest, and since both Avi and Joan are out of town, the telephone is quiet, and it's really very pleasant to have the stamina to devote the entire day to stamps. At one point it seems that I must be going through a half a packet of hinges a day, which is about 500, and I sort of get a rate of transfer going of about 200-300 an hour, depending on which country it is. Sometimes I get hung up in the catalog sorting out varieties and painstakingly numbering the ones that I hinge into blank spaces, or on top of others, but where I'd started planning to put only stamps that belonged in their proper places, and putting in extra pages for the rest, I more and more threw the catalog aside and just put in stamps where they fit, since the book was thick enough without adding a number of new pages, and the thickness increased visibly each day, as it closed first with a thicker binding, then the page thicknesses made it an even book, then the pages grew thicker than the binding, until even by putting the catalogs on top I couldn't get it into a regular shape, and I bypassed a number of countries because I couldn't decide how to put them into the pages. Somewhere along in here I finished with the regular countries and was left with the stamps I'd bought in Europe, so I went through all my souvenirs and got out all the stamps, and was again amazed at the quantity of stamps that I bought overseas. Actually sorted out the French packets into their countries and had them spread all over the bed, but then they began to curl up in the heat and humidity, so I stuffed them back into envelopes again, though I had trouble finding fits for some of the larger booklet panes.


WEDNESDAY, JULY 9. It seems during these days things like going down for the mail and exercising and eating were only small disturbances in the task of stamp manipulation. Opened one package of hinges after another, triumphant at the number of stamps I had, marveling at the prices I was circling in the 1960 catalog, and liking the way the Vatican City nicely filled up the pages. I did almost nothing connected with the apartment and very little with myself, even forgetting to shave and shower for a number of days because there was nothing to do it for, and I began shuffling into the elevator for mail looking like some strange slobby weekend guest who'd taken to staying a month but left all his bathroom equipment home. Down to get a haircut today, and it marked another turning point: last time I'd gotten what he called a Buster Brown cut which I kept down in my eyes for a few days, but it was annoying, it got dirty quickly, I felt self-conscious, and just didn't like it, so I swept it back and announced to the barber today that I wanted it cut quite a bit shorter in a regular style. By the time he was finished, he'd cut off more than half my hair, and made it actually SHORT all the way around. I didn't want that, but I knew it would grow back. Took the opportunity of being out for such things as laundry getting and grocery shopping, and one of these days I was sharing the laundry facilities with a fellow from down the hall, who must be in either 1705, 1707, 1708, or 1709, since 4 is the couple and 6 is the plump woman, and I guess the plump guy is her husband. So there's also the blind lady who's in one of the four, and he's in one of the others, though he's been here awhile, I just haven't run into him. He sort of looks at me with approving eyes, and though he's hardly gay-looking, he seems pleasant in a graying-big-dog way, and seems to have a nice body under the open-neck tee-shirts and awning-striped bells. I tell him to call me when he's through with the drier, so he knows I'm Bob and in 1703, but he doesn't volunteer his name or room number, and then during the next couple of weeks I see him more and more, though he talks about girls with his bearded friend in the building, and ogles them, too, though he still seems to have eyes for me. We'll wait and see.


THURSDAY, JULY 10. During the past few days there have been calls to and from Barbara Brimberg, making and changing arrangements for Herman's farewell dinner tomorrow, and I'd talked with him a couple of times, encouraging him to call me for lunch, but he never did. Also one of these days Dick Hsieh called to say that everyone was doing well in the family, he had changed jobs and was working upstate, Maria was still working for IBM, another and last sister had come over from Hong Kong and was living with them, and other bits of news, including his father's lengthy stay in a hospital with cancer caused by cigarettes. And they had to watch some graphic television commercials which really clutched him. I keep thinking of the things I should be doing during these days, but it's been about a week now that I haven't typed anything, and the stamps are taking all my time. Joe's been on and off the phone with news about his nose, and he calls about now to say that his nephew's doctor simply sat him down in a chair, gave him a shot of deadener, and tweaked it back into place, saving the $1000 that he could have spent by having an operation. I'd told Arno and Joan and almost everyone about it, and so they all checked back with me for the news of his recovery.


FRIDAY, JULY 11. Start with stamps for a little in the morning, but since I'm getting out of bed about 11 am each morning, I shaved and washed my hair, VERY short, and debated what to wear to the Cattleman West for Herman's party. I decided on my white bells, since they weren't as tight as my two new pair, which had stood me in such good stead in the Park over the weekend, and the short-sleeved blue shirt, and I took a jacket along with a tie in the pocket just in case they decided to make a fuss. Got there early as I had hoped, and there was Barbara and someone else, and we chatted as they moved more and more chairs into the H-shaped rooms for the H-shaped tables, but not everyone showed up, so there was room for the 30-35 of us. Talked to Gladys and Murray, and sat next to Sunny and Roz, who told me about Mary Barry getting married to Vinnie Gallagher, and other marriages and pieces of news from the offices, but the whole thing ended as a dreadful bore as ordering took a terribly long time and Gladys could only think of a finite number of ways to saying how nice I looked. Started to leave with Sunny about 3, but Herman stopped me and said we should talk, so he and I and Dave Taylor stayed to talk for awhile, and finally we all left about 3:30, after he took my address so he could send me an address card from his new company. Out and home to call Arno and Don to try to get them over to see "Home," but they couldn't come, so I watched it myself --- no, Joe came over, and we watched it, and talked for awhile, and then I walked him home, but nothing much happened on the way back, and I got home alone.


SATURDAY, JULY 12. Kept going on stamps, and about this time I got out my box of duplicates and took stock of exactly what I had, going through and throwing things out that I no longer needed, and slipping the few duplicates I found in transferring the stamps back and forth. My collection is now in a much better shape to be exhibited, and I wouldn't be ashamed to show the album to someone like Stu Bernstein who also collected, but specialized, so that he could have a complete album. It was just past time that I should have gotten out of the dinky album I got back for Edward's collection, which had its last pages giving stamps from 1946, and it had no dates or descriptive information about the countries at all. The new album has the marvelous advantage of having the Scott catalog number right on the stamp picture, along with descriptions of the next higher values and colors if the stamp isn't pictured. Sort of resolve that I won't be keeping this one up to date, either, as it would imply a permanent commitment to getting pages supplements every year or two, and then transferring the stamps I didn't know where to put onto the new pages, and then being concerned about FILLING the new pages, probably the worst thing of all. But at least the book takes blank pages, so when the spaces get almost filled from a country, I can move in blank pages and expand that way. No more of this "putting stamps anywhere" in the new book, though, they have to fit AT LEAST according to year, even if the spaces aren't available. That means I should be getting a new catalog, but I sort of put that into the back of my mind as I use it less and less in an effort to get everything in before Don and his kiddies come to see me on Monday. Take time off to watch the International Swimming and Diving
Cchampionships from Santa Clara, and the color is nice, and again the close-ups of the divers steal the show, except when the cameras zoom in on the boy swimmers just before they leap into the pool. Such fantastically lovely bodies! Again out to get the Times and pizza and eat and read and work the puzzles, and they go more and more quickly as I get proficient with Bartlett's, EB, and the atlas and dictionary. Each night through here I get to bed between 2 and 3, seeming not to be able to crawl into bed before that.


SUNDAY, JULY 13. That means I also get up at 10 at the very earliest, and more likely 11, and sometimes even 12, since I seem to thrive best on 9 hours of sleep, though it might be leveling off at somewhere between 8 and 82 as I catch up from such things as busy weekends and people's visits here. This morning I set the alarm to see what Camera Three offers, and I'm delighted to find that it repeats the Carmen DeLavallade program that I saw only the tail-end of before, and she is quite an extraordinary dancer, and I again fantasize about writing a review about her for Screw. Breakfast and get back to the stamps, but also clean up the apartment a bit in preparation for the O'Sheas tomorrow. I do want to get to cleaning the windows, particularly on the inside, where Darwin's cigarette smoke has crudded them up, and where his greasy forehead left smudges across the inside glass. It wouldn't help to do them on the outside, since it's been raining most of the time, and anyway I wouldn't have been able to use sunshine, since I'm still feeling the redness of the sun I got on July 4, but I haven't started to peel yet. The quietness is beginning to tell on me, and I'm debating calling people on the telephone to talk to them since Joan and Avi are gone, and Don and Joe aren't calling, but I get back to the stamps and the time passes, and I can count the pages and number of countries left to transfer, and I'm getting down to the last packet of hinges, and working my way through that, which means I'm close to the 6000 stamp mark, and being so close to the end makes me work even harder, so I don't even go out, don't do anything much other than look at a couple of books I should throw out because I want to clear space on the shelves for my souvenir books, but I can't really decide which ONES I want to throw out, and get caught up with "What DO I want to keep," and there are so many influences it seems impossible to make a decision. Take down Bourjaily's "End of My Life," for instance, remembering that it wasn't very interesting, and read through what I've underlined, and I find that I rather liked it when I was reading it, and I get into it again and find it keepable, so I put it back. But I could do this with most of the books! Decide that I really don't want the Schrodinger, though when I take it down I'm tempted to read it from where I stopped, but I tell myself that it's hopelessly out of date from the point of modern science by now, and also say I really don't need to keep the 1955-56 Handbook of Chemistry and Physics, so I put that out on the table, which is a good idea, because later Don decides that he wants a spare copy for his office, and since most of it is current, he'll use it. So the book goes to someone who can use it, and it seems like a better idea. Sort through for some other books, but then decide I have to add things about them to my list of "Books Thrown Away," so that when I write about my life I can throw things in about the books without actually still having them: opinions about them, quotes from them, ideas or questions that hit me as I was reading them. Ideally I'd like to get down to about 100 books that really hit me, but when I get to choosing them, I have trouble throwing ANY of them out. Have to get over that. Again the idea of a fire and what would I save hits me, and again the feeling that it might be better if everything burned and I could start over plays around, but then I decide that AT LEAST I could throw my notebooks out the window, then dash down to collect them, so that the writing at least would be saved. How morbid.


MONDAY, JULY 14. Put things away and finish cleaning apartment for Don's coming, and finish with stamps for the time being, and he calls from the road about 4 and rings from downstairs about 6, and they're up and Sean charms with his smiling "Hieeee" and Kathy is still as sharp as ever, and they settle in with television and Don and I are out so I can stock up on rum and we go to Angelo's to pick up the pizza I ordered by phone, and we're back here while they eat and we watch "Laugh-In" before they get ready for bed. Helen has quite a job putting them in their proper places because they both complain the other is keeping them awake. Finally Don loses his temper and shouts at them, and Helen goes in and quietly sits with them until they're asleep, for Sean using the simple procedure of pushing his head back down to the bed whenever he raises it. When they're asleep we get the frozen daiquiris out and talk and talk about their lives and progress and my trip, and before anyone knows it, it's 1 am and we're all exhausted. Take the kids into the living room, and I have troubles falling asleep because she keeps squeaking something in her fold-a-bed, and there has to be a light on because she's afraid of the dark. (Would ANY children be afraid of the dark if they weren't TOLD that they COULD be?)


TUESDAY, JULY 15. Both of them sleep quite late, to everyone's surprise, and we're all up by 9 for a leisurely breakfast of oatmeal and cereal and a couple of eggs, and then Don announces that he wants to see some graphics places, so we search through the newspaper and telephone book to see that Duveen is closed, get many addresses on 57th Street, and he particularly wants to see the American Artists and Graficists, or something, on Fifth Avenue, so we taxi down, look at a flowered piñata going up in front of Japan Airlines, and into the shop to look at some very attractive, and attractively priced, etchings. When the kids get loud, we're off to another place, then stop for a drink in Paley Park, where I take their pictures, and then up to 57th for five or six galleries, but then they become cranky and we can't resist stopping into Cepelia, and both love the pile of rugs in the middle of the floor. Home in time for lunch, decide we're going to have chili for dinner, and I'm out to shop, staggering home with a grand load, and we chat while the kids nap, and then we're up to eat dinner, and then even though I encouraged them to go out, they insisted they enjoyed sitting around with me, and I got out all the souvenirs of my trip and showed them, and then Don got out his play and we went over many of his corrections in quite a bit of detail, and I even let him read three or four pages of the first draft of "Acid House," and then again it was 1:30 am, and Helen sat nodding in her chair, insisting she wasn't sleepy, but that she had to get winks whenever she could. We decided to let Kathy sleep in my room, putting a little lamp on so she'd sleep OK, and I slept a little better too, since I was tired.


WEDNESDAY, JULY 16. The kids were up somewhat earlier, but they let me sleep until about 9 am, when we all clustered around the television set and watched Apollo 11 take off to the moon, and the interest (and distraction) of the kids ("Yes, Kathy, that's happening right now, that's not a film") helped make it quite impressive. We watched for a few more hours and then decided it was time to go out, particularly since Kathy kept demanding it, saying she didn't want to sit in the house all day, and Helen indicated to me that they would have a few disciplinary actions when they finally got into their own home. Saw the ad for the Apollo exhibit at Time-Life, so we grabbed a cab down there and looked at the exhibits and sat through the show on the floor, and the kids didn't make TOO much noise. Then they had become exhausted, and we tried walking up Sixth, but they fussed and began to cry, so we grabbed a cab and came back home. Sean let me carry him quite a bit, but then he wanted only his mother, and no amount of reasoning could affect the irrational child. After their nap we taxied over to the Children's Zoo, but it was rather disappointing for me, and we came back through the park, where they played only a bit before Sean fell on some rocks and happened to slit his palm with some broken glass. We jogged home and cared for it, then went out to eat at Mont San Michel, which was pretty good, but the mousse was terrible, and they all promised me that Hetch would do better when I came up to see them, along with freshly baked French bread. The kids behaved well enough, though Sean gave everyone a few poor moments, and then it was home to put them to bed, and they fell asleep in enough time for the parents to take off to see "Romeo and Juliet" from 10-12:30, which I baby-sat for a quiet evening, reading Don's recommended book by the science writer for the New Yorker, and about the only thing I got from it was the fact that I could probably do a lot better. We talked for awhile longer, and I was very thankful that they were leaving tomorrow morning. There was an interesting occurrence in the middle of the night, too. I heard Sean saying "Hi-eeee" beside my bed, and I thought it was time to get up. Then I looked at the clock and it was 4 am! I looked at him, debated for a moment, and turned him around and trundled him into the living room. As we passed the hall, Kathy leaped out of bed with some sort of shout, and I despaired that I'd have both kids up and on my neck. The living room was silent and dark, and Sean didn't make a sound as I stood him in front of his bed between his parents. Would he scream if I put him to bed? His continued silence gave me the courage to push him gently down, and he fell motionless on his face, not even straightening out. I waited to see if that would be followed by a wail of tears, but he seemed instantly asleep, and when I went back, Kathy was asleep also, Whew.


THURSDAY, JULY 17. They laughed at the story when I told it to them the next morning, and they packed everything up and had one last breakfast, Helen leaving lots of stuff in the refrigerator for me (rolls her mother made, a rotting peach, tomatoes), and Don went for the car and parked outside while we carted everything down. The girl from 1707 caught me on the curb and asked if I wanted a color TV set, but I said I had one, then asked if she wanted to leave it with me. Coming up on the elevator to get it, I traveled with the stocky dark fellow from a lower floor whom I'd thought could be interesting, and I was pleased that I could make his acquaintance, until he told her that he was moving to Florida the following Monday. So much for him. I brought her TV in and put it away, then settled down to putting things away and relaxing after the O'Shea influx, and getting ready for Mom's coming on Saturday. Closed the drapes and got out the pornography and settled down for a delicious come just after they left, squirting quite a bit after the four-day abstinence. I kept trying to avoid masturbating, but it gave me so much exquisite pleasure it was hard to resist. The unavoidable liability about coming so well was that if I met someone by chance and invited him up, I wouldn't be able to perform very well both because I had just come and because I was used to so unique a touch to get me to come. And then on an evening, debating cruising, if I'd come once or twice during the day, I certainly didn't feel like cruising and meeting someone with an already drained cock. then I guess I went back to the stamps.


FRIDAY, JULY 18. Today I probably continued fussing with the stamps and fixed up the apartment for Mom's arrival, scrubbing and sweeping and washing the dishes and putting things away, though I didn't have to worry so much about Mom looking into things, since this time I would be with her all the time. During this past week I kept a sheet of activities for Mom out in front of me while I was working on stamps, so that when something, such as going to Riis Park or Battery Park, would cross my mind, I'd write it down on there so I wouldn't forget. Without Rita along to suggest things, I knew it would be up to me to keep her going, and I tried to think of something for each afternoon, each dinner, and each evening. She'd written me what tickets she'd wanted, namely for the "Great White Hope," but I'd just never managed to get out to buy them, and I hadn't to this date, but I didn't see fit to go out and get them, probably because it rained. This was the worst wintery summer yet for weather, as almost every day was cloudy and rainy and muggy, like a perpetual late spring. I felt sorry for anyone who had places at the beach or elsewhere this summer, and Joe moaned all the time about how few times were nice enough to go to the beach. John Connolly later told me that he had NEVER gone to the beach because ALL the weekends were so bad, but that he'd go "into the pool up in the country," whatever that meant. I tried to go up on the roof whenever it was sunny, but there just weren't that many days that it looked that nice, though there would be people across the way almost every day, though they stayed on the roof for hours with no visible effect. Maybe there were just a set of septuplets who went up once a week, so they colored so gradually I just couldn't tell the difference. On the roof of what looked like the Annex to the Park Vendome there were usually a number of swishy looking fellows lying out in bikini briefs, talking smilingly to each other, walking long-leggedly around the roof peering over the side to see who was there. And then the windows for the ballet classes below were always open, and sweating hands and arms, and sometimes whole bodies were visible in the window, and at first I looked out avidly, but as the idea paled, my watching waned until I just sort of kept track of what was going on, and that was that. The apartment across the way came in for some question about the top left apartment: the Christmas tree was still there, but the guy seems to have left, because there are mainly long-haired blondes washing and flopping their tits around the apartment. Always something to look at out the window, even if it's raining.


SATURDAY, JULY 19. Up late for the last few adjustments to the apartment, and walk down just a little late to the bus, so that I had to race to drop off the laundry, then over to the box office to pick up three tickets to "Great White Hope," since Cyndy wanted to join us, too, and just make it to the bus at 12:30 for Newark. Surprised at the amount of road construction along the Pulaski Skyway into the airport, and watched some terribly nice people waiting for other planes, and the fellow who sat across from me, long-legged, dark eyebrowed, strong-fingered, and he seemed he might be vaguely interested, in a mid-western farmboy type of way. Out to the dock to wait for Mom, and have another chance to watch kids being either completely charming or utterly bratty. Plane comes in on time and Mom sees me standing in the doorway even from the top of the stairs, so I get onto the runway and we kiss and walk back inside, letting everyone know we're Mother and son. She starts complaining immediately, letting me hold her sweater while she used the ladies room, and we're out to the bus, talking, and into New York, where we catch a cab home. We sit and talk for a time, then I eat lunch, but she's eaten already. She makes a particular point about Grandma's not wanting anyone to do anything not connected with her when she's visiting, and I take it to mean she wants my undivided attention while she's here, since I have nothing else to do. She talks about work and gossips about people, and I tell her a bit about my trip, and we talk until it's time to have supper, and we finish up the chili, then begin watching TV for the landing on the moon. I get out the stamps, have about a dozen countries left to transfer from album to album, and sit in front of the TV, and Walter Cronkite and Huntley and Brinkley and Jules Bergman go on and on, and we switch channels when one or the other gets too monotonous. Delighted to hear that the schedule has been moved up, and when midnight comes around, our boredom makes us doubly glad that this isn't all happening at 3 or 4 am. There are some incredible moments, though the high contrast of the cameras on the actual foot-down makes it difficult to comprehend, but as the pictures get better and better, and you can see them loping gracefully over the moon's surface in their cumbersome rigs, I suddenly got the idea that they were there. Then came the tremendous moment when President Nixon got on the long distance phone with them, and the screen was split and you could see Nixon on the left, in color, saying "This is the President of the United States," and there on the right, from the moon, were the two astronauts, and when Armstrong's (what a name!) voice choked up, there were tears running down my face, too. We watched for a couple more hours, and went very tired to bed (Mom was there already) at about 2:30.


SUNDAY, JULY 20. I call the church on awakening to get the hours of the masses, and we go out at 12, and already she's beginning to get on my nerves. She seems to demand filling any minute of the time with some sort of conversation, and after talking about the people in the family, the boarders upstairs, the neighbors, the people at work, there aren't many others to talk about, so she talks about peripheral people, or about minutiae about important people, then she asks strange questions about what I'm doing, then general information questions about where and when I bought something, and how much it cost, and what the store was like, and who helped me select it, and how something else was dirty, or should be replaced, and she went on and on like a five-year-old, asking how and why and where and when and who. "That's a very busy cafe across the street, there're a lot of people going into it. The barber shop's busy too, what's that building over there, what's that building next to it, how old is it, why does it look like that, why is that dog barking, someone's stopping to talk to it, someone's petting it, now it's barking again, aw, look at it," and so forth on and on, and I just sit on my churning stomach and my rising temper and keep quiet. She refers to the time I called her a bitch, and I honestly couldn't remember what it was, except that it was something about Dad. She needles at that until I almost forcibly change the subject. She doesn't want to do anything, and it rains a bit through the day, and I absolutely scour the Sunday Times Entertainment section for something to do, finally singling out "Oh, Calcutta," "The Hoofers," "Dance of Death," and decide there's a good double on at the Bleecker Street Cinema with "Stolen Kisses" and "The Bride Wore Black." We debate about what to do for dinner, but end up eating here and subway down to Broadway and Lafayette and walk up to the Bleecker. The streets are filled with bums, and one of them accosts us for money, but we push through, and Mom hopes we don't have to walk back home through here after dark. Both movies are good, though we miss just the first few moments, which is good, because the place is jammed and everyone's scrambling for seats for the subsequent showings. Out and she feels like walking, so we wander up MacDougal Street to 8th Avenue, but she says she doesn't want the deli, and we look around for someplace else to have a snack, and end up on 6th and 7th St., rather lost, and then I drag her back to the 8th Avenue Deli for a chiffon pie and celery tonic and root beer, and it's a nice place, because she can point to the strange people sitting with us. I'm getting more and more tired, so we grab a subway back home and get to bed at 1.


MONDAY, JULY 21. Up late and she doesn't want to do anything, so I work on stamps until she gets tired of looking at me, so after lunch we go up to the Cole exhibit by taxi to the Whitney, and she likes him, but tires quickly, and doesn't care at all to see the modern stuff, and won't even bother to remember the names like Johns and Lichtenstein and de Kooning and Warhol and Indiana to say she saw back in Ohio. We walk a bit back to the park, but she's tired, so we cab home. She thinks she might want to see "Hello, Dolly" tonight, so I suggest we go to eat at Hide, and she likes it, and then she changes her mind, so I suggest we walk down 8th anyway. She refuses to look into the magazine shop windows, and when I see "Man of La Mancha," I decide I wouldn't mind seeing it a second time, and she wants to see it, so we empty both our pocketbooks for the pair of $9.90 orchestra seats in the fifth row, just off the aisle on the side, and she complains for the rest of the evening about the air conditioning, and I can't help her because I'm wearing only a short sleeved shirt and my sexy pants, which she likes a lot, so she's really changed. Since my hair was short, she really couldn't say anything about that. The play is good, benefiting from being done in one act, and the fellow in the cast is a lot better singer than Jose Ferrer, and the comedy comes across well, and the seats permit an impressive view of the stage. We get out at 11 and I drag her down to 42nd Street, and the sights and sounds last long enough for her to get up to 53rd and buy a handful of 24 postcards, which thankfully were still there, and only then did she start complaining about how far we were walking, and then we were practically home.


TUESDAY, JULY 22. It's still raining, so it's impossible to think about going to the beach (she didn't bring her bathing suit, anyway), or to the Shakespeare in the Park (which happened to be "Peer Gynt"), and I manage to persuade her to go out to the Metropolitan Museum for the Primitive Art. (The Met was closed yesterday due to the moonwalk, it seems they always manage to close on their free day). We took the acoustiguide tour, Mom of course getting an earpiece that didn't work, and so we changed, and sure enough, mine didn't work very well, either. Impressive collection, and we could even sit awhile looking at the slides and movies of some of the items. Museum open till 10 tonight, which is good, since we were still going strong at 6. Out looking for a place to eat, and she passes up an elegantly adequate Starks in favor of a greasy-spoon deli, and when I order the London Broil she does too, and then they don't have it and I switch to something called Roumian steak, she does too, and as a result we both have a lousy dinner. It's cheap enough for her not to complain too much about it, however. Then we're out, but she refuses to walk, so we take a taxi back home. She lays down and there's nothing on TV except classical music on 13, so that's on and she demands to play a game of Scrabble. Fine, she enjoys it and I enjoy it and it takes up time and it's something we can do together and it isn't expensive. She's already said that she expects me to entertain her all the time, to think of everything to do and every place to go "Because I don't know New York," and then she also insists I pay for everything, too, because she paid for all the food and furnished me my bed when I was in Akron. It was good it was cool and we didn't need the air conditioning on in the evening, or she would certainly have pushed me out of the bedroom so that she could have the more comfortable quarters, despite the fact that this happens to by MY apartment. Play a couple of games, and then it's time for bed, and she complains because there's nothing to snack on in the place.


WEDNESDAY, JULY 23. In the morning we're out to the supermarket to shop for whatever she might want, so she'll quit complaining, and I out-guess her at the checkout counter when I insist that her bag is as light as possible, because by the time we get back, she's complaining about her load. Then the phone rings and it's Norma, saying that she's still on 58th, and would I like to see the place, and Paul's coming for lunch. I tell her openly that my mother's here, and she says well, come anyway. I ask Mom if she'd mind, and she says nothing, so off I go, saying that she's bringing people from work, that's why I couldn't invite her along. She's silent as I leave in sexy trousers, telling me to come fix the TV set, but it would just put me in front of her view for comment, so I refuse, saying SHE knows perfectly well how to adjust a color TV set, anyway. Out and they're late in the rain, and Paul's not terribly handsome, though his dark face and mustache are pleasant enough. He has a copy of Beecher's book, which he didn't like, so we ate our sandwiches while Norma fussed around for coffee and we talked in some detail about the book. I kept saying gay people weren't nearly as sick as Beecher kept insisting they were, and Paul sort of took a devil's advocate stance on whatever I was saying. Norma got less and less interested in the conversation, and then he pulled out his advertising ideas on Basil, the "first man's scent," and we talked lengthily about the cocky look of the "B" on Basil, what was good and bad about it, and ways to improve it. Then Norma really blew up and ordered everyone to undress, whereat Paul leaped up and proceeded to take her at her word, dropping clothes all over the place, and his whole body was dark and nicely hairy and pleasantly muscled, particularly when he self-consciously flexed his abdominals, which were very nice indeed in a bulky defined sort of way, and I began to think the afternoon wouldn't be all lost. Norma undressed slowly, apologizing that it was the first day of her period so she couldn't do much, but she'd love to watch. We went into the shower, and Paul was glancing over at my naked body, lengthening his cock, and holding his shoulders, so that I began to get hard at the sight of his pleasure, and we began to grin at each other as Norma fussed around saying "Oh, isn't this exciting," and "Doesn't he have a nice cock, Bob?" to which I whole-heartedly agreed, and reached out to touch it as it leaped into my hand. We rubbed bodies for a bit, and then we got into the tub, separately, as I stood around, waiting for things to start. Paul and I sort of groped each other, and Norma and I kissed, and we fell into bed, wondering how to work it, sitting in a triangle, and I was all eyes for Paul, solidly erect now, sitting on his knees looking at me. We kissed a bit, and he did so very nicely, while Norma wanted attention, and he begged her to let him go down on her, and he did, so I started kissing Norma between her groans and twists and moans, and she groaned louder and louder and gasped, and then Paul stopped, so I suppose she either came or he just got tired. Then she rolled over to the side and Paul and I started kissing harder and harder, and then wrapped around to 69. I was rather soft, but kept working on him until he said he could come anytime, which got me a bit harder. We 69ed some more, and he again said he would come, and I said he should, so as he laid atop me I sucked and sucked as he came, and then I whacked away at myself until I came as he bore down on it, causing more exquisite sensations, and I thrashed around for a full glorious minute as both marveled at my orgasm. We were all very wet, took another shower, Paul and I started exchanging glances, we left, talked on the corner, and he had my name and number, he asked if I was annoyed I didn't have his, which was the first time I thought of it, and we parted, I getting back at 3:30. We had pork chops for dinner, then went down to get me, anyway, a ticket to "Oh, Calcutta" and sat through "The Hoofers," good when we moved to the first row, and subway home.


THURSDAY, JULY 24. Mom refused to go out today, so we played a few games of Scrabble to pass the hours, and she actually wins one. We watch the Galloping Gourmet, but I'm getting tired of him, and she dozes during the day and I keep at the stamps, exhausting the folded hinges and getting into the last of the non-folded ones as the number of countries to be transferred drops to zero and I'm beginning to soak the Greek stamps, and Mom disgusts me by stepping over them and pawing through them and taking some out for Greg, asking about each one, and it's all I can do to talk civilly to her. It would be perfect if she came for about three days twice a year, but when it stretches into a week, she gets tired of going out, tired of sitting in. I tried to tell her to go to the Bingo game Tuesday night, but she said she was tired after the Museum, and the only thing she now said she wanted to do was go to Coney Island, but it looked hopeless, as it was raining lightly all day today. Cyndy called and we made arrangements to meet at her place, and Mom practically revolted on the walk up CPW as I couldn't make it clear to her that 80 CPW was NOT at 80th Street, any more than 309 W. 57th Street was at 309th Avenue, but she couldn't listen to me, and when we finally got there, she said something to the effect that if I would have TOLD her it wasn't far, she wouldn't have complained. Oh well, only a few more days left. Rita said she would be home by Wednesday, and here it was Thursday already, though she had called to make an earlier flight on Saturday, giving me the evening, she said, to see my girls. Cyndy was a gracious hostess, and she and Mom seemed to get along, though neither said a single thing about the other when I talked to them alone. We had a bit of sherry and cabbed down to Rincon Argentina for dinner, which Mom hated, and even my sweetbreads weren't well enough done. Up to the theater, full, and a too-loud, too-fast, overly familiar, clichéd "Great White Hope," played with enormous energy and conviction by James Earl Jones. Again we walked up 8th, Mom complaining, and she demanded that I walk Cyndy home. Did so, and we looked at the jogging path, and I met Arno and talked for awhile, getting in at 1:15, giving Mom the certainty that I was balling Cyndy, probably, which is just as well.


FRIDAY, JULY 25. Up to a cloudy day, but Mom insisted that it was nice enough to go to Coney Island, so we went down on the subway. Had to wait about a half hour on the Sheepshead Bay platform for a local to Stillwell Avenue, then down through the dirty boardwalk to the beach. She had to sit down finally on a bench at the fishing pier, and I walked as far east as I wanted to see the new skating rink and exhibition hall, and all the old baths closing, but still the boardwalk and line of street lights continued, so I went back to find her looking for me. She was hungry (it was about 2:30), so we made a bee-line for Nathan's, and it was empty until we got there, and then it filled up. She wanted clams or shrimp, but ended up with ribs and then complained about them. I ridiculed her for not getting what she wanted, and we ate it all and went back to the amusement section. I managed to get her to the top of one of the slides, and she enjoyed it, but no matter how much I coaxed her to try to get her onto the Bobsled or the Cyclone she simply refused to go. We about exhausted the possibilities after playing skee-ball and ended up with 31 tickets, for which she got a little deck of cards for Rita and a piece of bubble gum for me, and it turns out that I hadn't lost the touch. Then we got into Astroland and she agreed to ride the Spire to the top for a look around, and then she consented to the Flume Ride, hollering all the way and I think enjoying it, even though we did get just a bit wet. Then down to the beach, where she took her shoes off and paddled in the Atlantic, picked up numerous shells, talked to a little girl who refused to talk back, and then grumbled about the sand in her shoes for the rest of the afternoon. Then we were at the Aquarium, which she'd never been to, so we looked at the whales and fish and display cases and seals (cute, they were) and terrible souvenirs and outside fish exhibits and penguins and sea lions, and then she was tired, it was 6 pm, and we decided to eat at Nathan's again, finding no other place as nice. Some murderess was there with her nurses, livening it up, and Mom finally ordered shrimp and crab after the colored nurse said it was good. Busy place. Then we were out and across to the subway at 8, getting in at 9:30, too late to do anything else but play a game of Scrabble before bed.


SATURDAY, JULY 26. Breakfast for the last time here, I cooked eggs for her again. Still counting the hours until Mom leaves today, and finally, by dint of the sheer boredom she feels by sitting around the house alone, fortified by my incessant stamp-handling, she agrees to go up to the Museum of Natural History, but disgusts me as she lies on my bed hollering questions like "What's the exhibit about?" and "What are we going to see in this museum that's different from the other museums, art or sculpture or painting or what?" I shout back that if she comes into the living room I'll gladly talk with her. There's a stony silence for a bit, and then she comes into the room saying she's ready to go. We catch a bus uptown and pass under the statue of Teddy Roosevelt and she asks for the dozenth time what the name of the museum is, lapsing into an "Oh," as she reads the name on the side-plaque. We climb into the pseudo-space craft, up a ramp that reminds of nothing more than a World's Fair, and sit on the carpet to watch the filmstrips, that deteriorate in quality until you can't watch them for too long. It does get louder and hotter, and it's also nice the way the ramp starts sloping downhill when mankind reaches its "apex," but the message is sort of vitiated by the clamor and clangor. Then we wander through the halls, I want to see the undersea life, but we're sent up to the second floor for Man's Environment after we see the Hall of Africa and listen to the good sounds. Then to the basement for undersea, and we try waiting in the service-less restaurant and end up in the cafeteria for a snack, then subway home where she has so much time to pack we play Scrabble until 4:30, then dash out for a cab. To terminal and airport, and she emplanes at 5:40, and I leave, thankfully, and walk into the Masque for a lousy $5 "Mary's Trade" which is depressingly the same and, save for one, rather sexless. Then home and put some things away, surprised to find the Times at 8 pm, and read it all, and work both puzzles, and eat a snack just before bedtime at 2. Oh, yes, I also came exhaustively with a rubbed sheet thanks to my enforced celibacy and my horniness over the film. It's raining, so I can't go out. Bed very tired, but can't sleep, so come again, um.


SUNDAY, JULY 27. Up about 10:30, and sit for Camera Three and a program about pornography which emphasizes my point, since I'm FOR pornography, the GUY who's for it seems logical and likeable, while the Prosecutor from Nassau County seems stupid, obtuse, stuttery, and totally unlikable. That's the way it goes. Call Joe to see how he is, and call Norma but get no answer. Call Cyndy who doesn't have a phone yet, but she calls me later but doesn't want to see "Dance of Death," but since I made arrangements to meet Joe at 5 for "Peer Gynt," I decide not to go down to the other show. Pile up an enormous pile of 237 sheets of paper which I have to fill with typing before I can call myself even with my schedule, and even get into six or seven pages, resolving to get more than ten for today and tomorrow tomorrow, if you follow. Then grab a lunch about 3:30 and read more of the Times and fix more of the apartment up and even exercise and wear contact lenses, and by the time I get out, I feel that it's been a good day already. Stand in line while the girls in front want to talk, and the nice-eyed guy next to Joe seems interested in us more than his Swedish language text. A blond in hacked-off blue shorts wanders past and there's an ease in his walk, a hairy sheen to his nicely muscled legs, a suggestion of sensuality under his easy-fitting tee-shirt, and a kindness about his face that makes him totally desirable, along with a coral formation of arteries fanning from the inside of his elbow that promises he might be an exerciser or weight-lifter, and that there's actually a nicer body underneath than the casual clothes might reveal. He passes two or three times, but never looks our way. Others do look our way, however, and it's a pleasant wait, made suspenseful by gathering clouds and increasing winds. Into the theater and dash down for better seats and after a slow start, the production snaps into greatness at the appearance of the Troll King, eight feet tall, stately walk, flowing caterpillar cape manipulated by his trolldom, and glaring eyes with tongue darting in and out, adding the perfect counterpoint to the clanging hissing music they've composed for his electrifying entrance. Olympia Dukakis is perfect, a belly-dancing Maureen Stapleton, at each of her four appearances, and the blue-cloth waves are a magnificent touch. Over at 11:20 wrapped in his girl's arms (there were women behind him --- yeah, pushing him OUT), and we walk home through a dull ramble, I taking my plants back, and do nothing around the house but get to bed only at 1.


MONDAY, JULY 28. Up at 10, determined to do great things, and type three pages before I exercise, and I've already successfully moved up to the second level in my slow effort to get back to where I was when Mom came, or even back to where I was before I left for Spain, that glowing, straining, benefiting level 5. Then I type three more pages and eat breakfast, and back to actually finish the 1959 diary, which feels great, and then decide to launch into the DATEBOOKS before I can debate about it any more. That's the trouble, once I get something into my mind, I have to do it. Thank goodness there's nothing ELSE around of comparable density to retype, except notes in books, and then I vacillate for a lot of the afternoon deciding whether to throw them out or not, but the idea of throwing them out seems reasonable, since I'm never going to re-read most of them, didn't like many of them even as I read them, and it'll set off the GOOD books I have more if I can say that the books I actually HAVE are a SELECTION. It's as if I insisted on having a perfect memory for what I've read by keeping ALL the books. But some say that perfect memories are as much burdens as blessings, because you have to cart of MUCH MATERIAL around with you. How much better to have a selective memory, giving emphasis to "the right" thought (none?), and can't that go over to books? Maybe it's only rationalization in my disappointment at NOT having a perfect memory, or of living forever, but I DO think I should throw out many books, if only to give room for MORE. Start typing the datebooks, and it goes quickly, and then begin on some of the 1958 diary, and THAT goes fast, and eat lunch somewhere around 3, and continue typing until I find I've done 40 pages, and couldn't be more delighted. Then Brian calls and I invite him over for Wednesday, and I read somewhat over 100 pages in "Couples," and have worn my contacts for 5 hours, so I feel greatly relaxed when I get to bed at 1:30, things are going well.


TUESDAY, JULY 29. The morning is very dark, and it continues to rain and be terribly damp, and the mint stamps from my three companies who replied yesterday are beginning to curl slightly. Struggle with the third level, but can't quite get it under ten minutes, so I'll have to do it again tomorrow. Decide I have to get re-started on the diary, so I sit down, with all the lights on, and do these last three pages of diary, since Saturday, today by the lovely hour of 11 am, good for me. Get breakfast out of the way and begin typing the 1959 diary, and by that time it's time to get dressed for the Museum of Modern Art, which I leave for late, assuming that it won't be crowded, but I'm amazed to find a non-ticket line stretching into the ground floor entrance room. Down to look at the Katharine Hepburn pictures, the idea of sneaking into line forming in my mind, and when the line moves I "find myself" in the corner near the elevator and begin moving along with the crowd, and no one says anything, and there I am, inside the auditorium! The first seven chapters are great as the audience's reaction to the character introductions change with each chapter, and Dale Arden is really a nothing blond. Out at 4:20 and right onto line, then excuse myself from the blue-eyed Frenchman to get upstairs and have a tuna salad and cherry cheese for $2.25, fantastic, and back to go to the john and curse the urine spot on my tan bells due to underwearlessness. Just make it into the auditorium (fewer seats available at 5:30 than 2) for the resumption of chapter 8, and it goes through a triumphant chapter 13. Out at 7:30, and Norma calls --- I call Norma, and get over to her place after eating to find that John's called, and he enters and we chat about his misery, and he sits stonily uncommunicative and forlorn, not even physically attractive, let alone mentally, and finally Norma says she DOES want to see the film, and we get off to the end of "Lonesome Cowboys" by Warhol, and there's a lot more flesh, though most of it's Viva's, and he saves the NICEST cocks for later, and there's only a long urination and some older cocks hidden halfway under shirts. Out at 11:40 and have coffee and griddle cakes while we talk about our adventures, and I'm home at 12:45. Read a bit of Krishnamurti, and get to bed at 1:30, but I'm up to type again (LIVING COSMOS) and again, and it's 4:25 before I fall into an exhausted sleep.


WEDNESDAY, JULY 30. Wake up at 10, and get out of bed for a wrong number and stay out to exercise and down for more stamps and poke around so much glancing through Scientific American that I eat breakfast while watching Graham Kerr. Then I shower and wash my hair, and telephone about joining the Henry Hudson, and talk to Doug for a long time, and then it's before 3 and I get down to a talkative haircut as we discuss weather, Coney Island, and my haircut. Get groceries, talk to Don and Joe, to 5. Then I continue typing the datebooks, finishing 1960 and 1961 at six pages each, and as I flip through 1962 it seems that they're getting longer and longer, which is unfortunate, since I shouldn't be doing them, anyway, but what with typing "The Living Cosmos" last night, the number of pages behind has fallen to 199, less than two hundred, and I can't wait to get the total down below the hundred page level, where it never should have risen above, anyway. Then I scurry around fixing up the apartment for Brian's coming at 9, and finish with everything except my dinner, which I'm eating, when he comes in at 8:45, and I finish in front of him, what else can I do? He sits smug and still irritating, and the ideas I had of having nice open sex with him completely leave my head, particularly when I say, jokingly, "Take your clothes off," and he looks at me with feigned indignation and says "I most certainly will not take my clothes off." His clothing was still rather ragged, though he wore some better trousers than the faded blue jeans he had worn the first night, and he smelled, so I sniffed myself and said that I was going to take a shower and that he should join me, and again he said indignantly, "I just HAD a shower, thank you," and that was all I could do. So I showered as he read through my Stamp Album, and as I read through his Rex Reed's "Do You Sleep in the Nude?" for Peter Fonda, who hated his father, which I didn't know. We had nothing to say to each other, and he seemed content to sit until the end of time, so I said that Bogart was on in "Sahara," and he said I should put it on, and I did, so we had something to watch for the next two and a half hours. when it was over, we watched the final news and even a Star-Spangled Banner which had been re-filmed to show troops in Vietnam, cheerfully killing people of a different color, and I thought it was awful. He had taken off his trousers to sit in the chair, and I looked approvingly at his legs, sturdy and hairy, but when we undressed for bed there was something unappealing about him, so I feigned sleepiness, lay down, and didn't touch him, and as I expected, he didn't touch me, and very quickly I was fast asleep.


THURSDAY, JULY 31. Woke about 9:30, and he made small overtures of moving closer to me, and though for a moment I had an erection, and thought it might be nice to work it out with him, his laziness soon put me off again, and I was more indignant than he was. I lay there fuming at his presence, wishing he were gone, and I decided that the only thing I colud do was act as if he HAD gone, so I bounced out of bed, opened wide the drapes to his shouts of dismay, and went into the bathroom to clean up. He was still in bed, moaning, so I went into the living room for breakfast, and finally he entered, almost entirely dressed, feigning surprise at my presence in my living room. I offered him oatmeal for breakfast, but he didn't bite, and I finished and announced I was going down for the mail. He followed me down and out, and then we gave each other very cold goodbyes as he walked, forever, out the door. There were two more packets of stamps, and the one from Frasek was staggering in its goodness for the $2, so I hope their approvals are good enough to patronize, the other was from Zielski who rather offended with the requirement for a $1 minimum, which is a bit much, and I'll probably tell him so. But the Frasek, as I glance through them, are really spectacular. Get to the typewriter to wrack out 11 pages, but I just don't feel like typing, and I'm off to the Henry Hudson at 2 for Steve, who turns out to be just lovely, innocent face with wide-open eyes and a lovely body under a dress shirt and tie, and he says that I'll undoubtedly like the place because I'm so "sensitive." My sensitivity made me wince to see all the mirrors and chrome and thinly-disguised sweat-smell even under the air conditioning, and the tired, "using," inquiring stares from everyone led me to think I'd find the same people everywhere. Their regular fee was $299, but since July was so slow, they reduced it to $225. I pleaded poverty, and he quickly went down to $200, seemingly his minimum, saying I'd have to reply THAT day, the last of July. I debated using Don's ticket to the Y, which I picked up last night with Brian, picking up my books at the same time, but didn't, deciding NO. Spent the rest of the evening fussing with stamps, just about through now.