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1980 2 of 10

SATURDAY, 2/23/80: Note on J/O AT J'S #1: It WAS the old Triangle, with a white paper over the diamond-window, but the door was locked. I knocked, paused, tried the knob, looked around for another entrance, and when I looked back the paper was lifted and the door opened. "Here for the party?" "Yeah." Entered to find 5-6 people around the bar in various stages of undress: some nude, some jockstraps, some with leather vests or shirts or pants, some fully clothed, some in costume of shorts and boots. "Five dollars," said the clothes-checker, and others were taking things off and putting them onto hangers, leaning onto beer cases for removing pants. I was glad I'd put my watch, the twenty-dollar bill, and the check from Sherryl back into the lining of my coat, so I paid the $5 and put my last $3 into my shoe for drinks, and hung up everything but my shoes and shorts. Out into the bar to ask John for a beer, "Lite?" and I agreed, and he said "No charge," so I pushed my dollars back into my shoe as I moved about, but finally "checked" my shorts and $3 and stub on a table with my beer, so the bartender wouldn't clear it away before I'd drunk half of it and have to get another---merely a bad waste of good beer.
My stomach began jittering a bit as I saw some reasonably attractive men alone at the bar, and I smiled and we started chatting, and then came the words "Door's being locked" at about 9:30 and I reached down into his jockstrap to start kneading his cock into hardness as he was doing inside my shorts. We kissed, and I felt good knowing this was legal, too. Others started sucking, so that was permitted, but when we moved into a threesome when someone joined us, I was pleased that when a wandering hand came to a cock, the hand present slid away accommodatingly, and the evening took on the serene air of a slow-motion ballet with arms and hands weaving in and about the treasured cocks, most of which were adorned with studded leather cockrings, only some of which clasped tightly enough to make the cocks permanently hard. I know I had to wear something like this next time.
A short fellow started necking with over-ferocious avidity, so I moved away from him. Second favorite place was the tit, though everyone was free there to say whether they wanted the touch harder or softer.
Guys wandered around totally nude, not usually the most attractive ones, who added interest by maintaining belts, shorts, or jock straps. Vaseline and baby lotion and baby oil were carefully provided by the management, and these were used and happily covered the occasional smell of urine that lingered about certain cocks.
But no one really seemed committed to ACTION: everyone moved about tasting, tasting, testing, like bumper cars in an amusement park, and then there was Gene: about 20, broad shoulders and a 16-inch waist, blond head ready for anything, full lips ready to snarl fantasy-talk if you wished, and he talked about how much he wanted his ass eaten out until someone obliged him, and he arched across a barstool with such pleasure that indeed his wishes seemed to be fulfilled.
The over-avid shorty paced back and forth, cock at the ready, and a plumpish fellow with a long thin face of John Updike had shaved his cock so that only a scratchy stubble remained, but his erectness was so complete that it was a pleasure to suck and play with his rod, and his searching eyes and mouth found almost any type of kissing acceptable.
Two and threes and fours began clotting together, hoarsely whispering raunchy advice: "Do it, baby: JERK that cock; beat that meat, DO it man!" Other verbiage was more practical: "Let's move over into the heat, OK?" when the outskirts of the bare room began picking up the cold that whispered through crevices leading directly to the street. I'd gone downstairs beforehand to see the bare boards of wall and floor trying to duplicate a rural barn, but when things got started I didn't even bother to descend to see if adventures were taking place underground.
Others grouped around the benches at the side, where John had gotten relieved behind the bar and passed around an electrical gadget with a cord that you wrapped around your cock and turned on with a battery-operated power switch. A gentle hum from the machine harmonized with a guttural hum from the onlookers who stared intently at the results of the electrification.
Many cocks, bolstered by constant pressures, seemed on the verge of coming, and at times mouths would sag open, eyes would unfocus, and then a restraining hand would reach down and a voice would murmur, "Can't take any more now; leave it alone, I don't want to come yet."
For a bit it looked like maybe everyone would want to come last, but then in a corner the fervor mounted with grunts and louder shouts, and I went over to see an arc of semen leaving a tortured cock tip, followed very quickly by two or three other orgasms and the stimulation of the first orgasm supplied the very final touch to cocks aroused almost past endurance. One bearded man knelt back on the floor, cock fountaining into the air, and when he left his hand rest, I moved in my hand and began working his loose foreskin back and forth with its lubricant of jism, wringing out the last twinges of orgasm from his hard cock, so that he winced and strained and threw his head back and panted at the pleasure-pain applied as he softened after his orgasm.
I began to get to the point where I might come, and I could feel eager eyes surrounding my groin, but then I would let up and people would move off. Again another trio started to ejaculate, and I thought I could catch onto the end of the train, straining with my legs and thighs and hips and chest, leaning back against someone who supported me from the rear, but I wasn't quite to that point yet, so he tousled my hair and we moved apart.
Others gathered about the billiard table, and a few adapted their most macho postures: knees wide apart, torso bent to one side, fist encircling cock, muscles tensed, head turned to one side to emphasize the intensity of each movement, eyes fixed on cockhead, and the growls of the men around alternately urged him to tease himself more and to release himself from the tease in a jet of whiteness. Again a spurt of come would trigger two or three other spurts from around the table, white droplets gummy against the green baize surface of the table, and John would spread compound to stop it from hardening into a surface-ruining cake.
So many had come by now that there was almost an intermission, but still Gene prodded through the bodies with his stiff little prick, and he said he wanted to see me come, so we teased each other by working as if we were about to shoot. "I want to take it in my mouth," he said, and I wondered how the others would react to the jerk-off obscured, but as I worked on my cock and others began to edge forward to watch my climax, he got involved with a giant of a man with a titanic cock behind him, and when it appeared this enormous slab of meat was about to shoot, I was so desperate to come before the group dissolved that I gulped down a larger lungful of air and squeezed out the phrase "I can't hold it any longer," and the very air about my body electrified so that hands were drawn to my torso as I spattered bodies around me with my upwelling, head tossed back only for the first spurt, and then I looked down to see a stream of thin white fluid ejected from Gene's cock; it could have traveled a yard except that it met a thigh opposite and traveled upward a bit along it before its momentum was exhausted. Other in the group shot, the sawdust on the floor gulping up the moisture, and I thrashed back and forth as my hand tortured my cock, and then collapsed onto Gene's neck, feeling his unstarched cock, and again I ran my fingernails lightly up and down the sides of his body, which before had led him to moan into my ear, "You can do that all night, if you want to, it feels marvelous."
I staggered about getting paper towels to dry off my dripping body from sweat, saliva, and semen, collected another beer, and watched the next series of shots around the billiard table. A plumpish man hugged me with great sincerity, saying, "That was a BEAUTIFUL orgasm," and I smiled and replied, "I'm glad SOMEBODY noticed," and he came back quickly with "EVERYONE noticed, but some of them may be too involved to say anything to you about it." I told him he was sweet, surrendered to his encompassing embrace again, and then parted to watch another shower of semen onto the green surface of the table.
John stood off to the side batting his balls against the frame of the table, others stood on the table, maneuvering the hanging lamp so that it shone fully on some other cock being beaten off by someone kneeling on the table, and others grouped behind jerkers around the table, egging them into what may have been their third or fourth orgasm of the evening. Popper bottles abounded, some with caps permanently off so that the smell of amyl nitrite subtly invaded the entire air we breathed. Small straps were used to heighten circulating blood, whips were used to stimulate flesh, and I tried to get myself up for another shot but my legs were trembling so from the tension of my previous come that I felt it was useless.
When I checked my money I found only $1 there, so I figured someone took $2 and left me enough subway money. Checking my clothes, I missed my change purse, but all the other things: wallet, valuable pen, book, and Godiva chocolates from Allegra were still there. Later (having told John someone took $2 and my change purse) I put on my pair of shoes again and was chagrined to find that $2 had slipped down into the base of them, so I only put $1 on the table to START with, and reaching into my UPPER pocket of my coat, where I seldom put things, I found my change purse, so in fact I lost nothing but a load of come in exchange for at least a dozen beers and some hearty fantasy-fulfilling images that I would see for long periods of time afterwards. I kept shaking my head as I walked toward the subway, grinning to myself that I'd found something that was so ME.
Even a delayed subway couldn't stop my pleasure with the evening, though Dennis said he got there about 9:40 and thought the place was locked, though my legs for the next few days were sore to the use, though I didn't feel like masturbating for another three days afterward, so thoroughly was my cock worked out that evening.
But as I type this now, it's 7:15 on Tuesday the 26th, and I'm about to take a shower and get ready for my SECOND J/O party at J's, this time asking if they want to be publicized at WSDG on Thursday, when I talk to them about my JOYI survey, and circumstances are sometimes JUST INCREDIBLE!

BASIC is training in a basic scale of single notes sung individually.
FIRST ADVANCED's initiation is finding (or being given) YOUR note, which gives the individual emotional/physical/mental reactions: tears, sympathetic vibrations throughout the body, an elated state, a feeling of "right." Here each individual learns to manipulate the scale of ALL notes.
SECOND ADVANCED's initiation is finding (or being given) your CHORD, taking the skills of double- and triple-throated and -tonguing to sound MULTIPLE notes that COMBINE to intensify the INDIVIDUAL reaction to the sounds.
THIRD ADVANCED's initiation is finding (or being given) your PHRASE of chords, highly individualistic sequences of chords or single notes that take an additional component of breath and brain-control and perfect STABILITY of tone. There are also INTERPERSONAL chords with small groups making ONE chord and phrase-sequence, and there are occasional SYMPHONIC sounds with whole groups.
FOURTH ADVANCED's initiation is finding (or being given) your ORIGINAL COMPOSITION, the most highly individualistic to the extent that it MUST be given alone, really a graduation boost from the single-at-the-start to the group-effort-for-a-boost to the soul-note that is reachable only from this progression of inside, outside, inside again---maybe through a couple of cycles, maybe by having some individuals have to drop back and begin again with a different chord, as if the "ladder" they mounted from a base of ONE chord can now be replaced by a "higher ladder" mounted on the base of ANOTHER chord. There is aloneness in a RETREAT involved in resolving a multicultural music search.
FIFTH ADVANCED involved the Song of the World (here-now)
SEVENTH ADVANCED involves the SONG OF ALL UNIVERSES (all-time, all-place)
EIGHTH ADVANCED follows the simple-complex-simple alternation again by reducing the complexity of GROUP work until the group is harmonized on ONE note, raising EACH INDIVIDUAL to a higher vibratory rate DIRECTLY, at which point (like a launching platform) individuals can take off with THEIR SINGLE NOTE, which is an emanation of their essence, on which their life leaves their bodies for the next, higher, invisible initiation taking place beyond our Ken. (And the capitalization of Ken was NOT a mistake, though I don't THINK of "Acid House").

FRIDAY, 2/29/80: ROLF ON TRANSOHIO: Asbestos went to 7 3/8 today, with 7 1/2 as a new HIGH, though it went up even to 9 when we talked 2/27, even with the Canadian dollar moving up to 88: $12,672. He said people are REFUSING to buy bonds, so there's a COLLAPSE in the U.S. Government bond markets for 13% bonds, since the prime rate has gone up to 16 1/4 %, the highest in history, and it will go to 17% soon. THUS, S&L's (who take in depositor's money and pay $10,000-minimum short-term interest at 13%, compared to the legal maximum of 5 1/4% on passbook balances) are finding that their COST of money rises faster than their INCOME from people. So they're in an enormous profit SQUEEZE, since no one will long-term finance at 14%. So they are selling OFF: TransOhio has a book value of 28, a high of 19 1/2, income at 19% (since they're using all their money to buy up DYING S&Ls that the government is letting go "belly up," some of which are mom-and-pop operations of small size, while TransOhio is one of the four or five biggest in Ohio, and they can make more money picking up these bargains than they can be investing their money even in the stock market), and a low of 10 5/8 and it's not 10 3/4---so I say to put in a buy order for 100 (he doesn't want me to go any lower, and in fact on their invoice I see that they charge 12.5/share for any odd-lot sales DIFFERENT from 100 shares, if the stock sells for less than $40, and 25/share if it's above 40, so 50 shares, which I'd sort of wanted, would have cost $6.25 MORE than 1/2 the current commission of $33.90) at 10 5/8 on the 22nd that actually SUCCEEDS on Monday, when he wants me to put in an order for 10 1/8 and I stick with 9 7/8 since it DOES seem to be going down, there's little chance that I'll MISS this particular bus for $2000-$3000). He went out to see them Tuesday and has confidence in them. When I ask how the GOVERNMENT will back them, he says if the government announced CONTROLS, it'll BOOST S&L's by 20%, and that all S&L's are FEDERALLY chartered, hold $500 billion in assets, parallel Federal Reserve system, and would thus be one of the very last things to GO. I think to tell others about it, but maybe I'll wait until it starts on the way UP with me IN and let the others catch the RISING star rather than the falling one---and then they'll surely not LOSE, since it's ON the way up!

SATURDAY, 3/1/80: KATHRYN FALK CLASS 4 (2/23): I decided to TAKE 1) Connoisseur, 2) Ultimate Mandate, 3) Future Therapy, 4) Come To Me.., 5) Tell-Manhattan, 6) Enryakuji Temple-Mountain, and 7) Bicycling in Kathmandu to 1) try for more meetings and 2) cover up that I didn't work on the things SHE wanted me to work on: 1) the indexing query letter and 2) outline of "What Is an Indexer" article. And she WILL see us again!
Lyle Engle and Marla Engle are the packagers.
Last year 90% of the bestsellers were nonfiction (diet, finance, biography, cookbooks), so it IS better, now, to start trying to sell nonfiction.
DO: SCAN Publisher's Weekly---has good data in it.
In "fiction" parent can sue for "invasion of privacy" if true and "libel" if fictionalized, so you need a RELEASE from people whose lives you use.
Ten query letters at a time is fine. Type "QUERY LETTER" outside envelope.
DO: GET letterhead and return-address envelopes. Publishers don't phone, usually send written responses: KF doesn't WANT rejects, if you want response, SASE.
Royalty periods usually April and October.
One SIMPLE book for indexing is just FINE---first chapters beginners, others advanced.
No FEELINGS in my stuff---NON-SEEING STUFF needed; close your eyes---what do you FEEL? (But she HAD been reading a book on Seeing and Writing, which she gives to me.)
DO: Write PREFACE of Index Book---be persuasive and feeling: Job / money/ time-ease.
My OBSERVATIONS are fine, but get a STORY with CHARACTERIZATION---not enough of that for the Fire Inspectors in the Les Mouches piece.
Characterization includes things you DON'T like about them, more of PEDESTRIAN things. What feeling-vibrations do they give out---where they come from and where they're GOING.
STILL have to have driving plot---NOT THAT FAR from traditional views, NOT Barthelme.
DO: WRITE three character sketches: Grandma, Aunt, Mom, ala "Acid House" OK, and MAKE THEM COME ALIVE---what feelings do they bring across to you---use ACTIVE verbs.
Writing exercises involve NOT thinking: DON'T EDIT; THAT'S THE benefit OF IT. Dig INTO YOURSELF. Don't even write formal sentence, THAT'S a form of editing.
Query letter is a SALES PITCH. Keep remembering that FICTION DOESN'T SELL UNLESS TOPS!
Meeting again next Saturday at 2 pm---Amy and her group meeting WEDNESDAY nights!

SUNDAY, 3/2/80: CHARM OF JUST DOING: Starting Saturday February 16th things just WENT: from class to reading to Ballo on TV to the Times to bed, not even CONCERNED about tomorrow's dinner, and the IMMEDIACY and NECESSITY made the shopping easier even if they DIDN'T have fresh mushrooms, pitted sweet cherries, pressed ham in the grocery store. Sunday moved along with the brunch preparations and continued lovely all day with Dennis and Avi and Robin, automatically going with Dennis to the Village Vanguard for a successful Yolande Bavan. Monday slept late and got up in time for Margery at 1, Louise Brooks festival at 3, leaving Dennis cruise to get a five-minute phone call from Amy and then have Dennis call so we can go to Atlantic Avenue to eat, then hot fudge, then to his place for the j/o tape and bed. Tuesday continued through the IF, the indexing meeting, the Louise Brooks festival and the j/o bar even THOUGH there was a fire at the Thalia that delayed the performance 25 minutes---by now even crowing to Alice that life seems to be WORKING! Wednesday finished "Firmament of Time," got to the tank, did errands picking up EB#11 maintenance material (which I haven't used yet, more than a week later), Louise Brooks finale, eating in two different awful dives, and class. Thursday I'd planned for better things, but Arnie called and off I went to "American Gigolo" and "Up in Smoke" on 42nd, after hassling 15% with Andre, then coordinate and dinner at Dennis's, all still without really THINKING what's next, just DOING. Friday swept through Amy's at 2 for chat and body, banking and laundry. "Snow White" at Radio City and nice dinner at Marty's for Dolly Dawn and hep-cab-driver back for an $88 evening, and Saturday with class and good "Elixir of Love" and Times and more reading. Sunday was spent on TV for 10 hours with the close of the Winter Olympics followed by chili at Dennis's---no, steak this time, and bed. Chili was LAST night, when I bedded after him and left before he got up. Monday I SHOULD have worked, but I phoned lots of people and finished "Too Far to Go," which felt OK, but reading all "The Coup" on Tuesday seemed a bit much, the j/o party flopped Tuesday night with Dennis, though I DID get my gamma globulin shot at 5 with Gianinnotto, and Wednesday I cleared away Sherryl's index in 50 minutes, finished "Time and Again" and chatted with Pope, and got to Don's at 7 for dinner, then type this until 10:20 Thursday, waiting for Dennis to call to look at Don Cohen's outline for the WSDG talk tonight on JOYI!

MONDAY, 3/3/80: Note from J/O AT J'S #2: Fewer people at the start, and even the barrier to the checkroom seemed less sensuous than taking off clothes with two or three other guys in the back. Both Johns seemed happy about the talk on Thursday, giving me fliers for "the better" people and both said they're going to show up, and there are some nice new faces, even the check guy says "I think I'm in love" when a humpy number doffs his shirt. People sitting around, Dennis looking uncomfortable in his shorts, and when the door closes at 9:30 I take to the hairy leg to my left, playing and then sucking on a nice hard cock, but Gene comes to the side and I'm distracted to someone else, and then the cutie Richard gets my cock for his softish cock, but his black tee-shirt isn't that sexy. Lots of 5'2" 150 pounders with too much hair, too much waist, and too willing to show off to anyone for my satisfaction, and I don't really even get UP. The Updike-like guy gravitates to me a couple of times, chewing on my tits and sucking my cock, and he's still stiff but he's not NEW, and there's more of a selectivity going on and less open friendliness this time. I even wander downstairs to see if anything's going on, but only the stove-gas hissed gently in the background that's a bit too cool. Back up and John and another guy get onto the pool table, but the tongue's not very sexy ala Kiss, and his FEROCITY makes him look EVIL, not animal or intense or sexy. Then he leaves with his match-stick lit cock and the dark-eyed Giannini-type joins John, who comes first, followed by the sexy guy, and no one else joins around, which is too bad, and Dennis leaves, saying it's not so great, and there's a shooting match when Gene comes, the Giannini-type again, and a few others, and then there's no reason for ME to stay around, so I leave about 11:30, which isn't that great, and there's a vague air of disappointment about the place, and some of the taciturn guys I sucked on at the start left VERY early, though there was a nice scene where people spaced off around the back room and just LOOKED, but there was too much concentration on the cuties, and Dennis admitted that the table-scene was great, but there wasn't much else to recommend the evening, and I'll probably go again, but if it continues to bomb like this, the whole thing will die from lack of interest and imagination.

TUESDAY, 3/4/80: LIMITLESS SCOPE OF IDEAS: Eiseley's ideas help me not at all in my efforts to be practical. I read "The Lethal Factor" in STAR THROWER and hear one of my fully baked ideas served up to me in a half-baked way: "In one of those profound morality plays with C.S. Lewis is capable of tossing off lightly in the guise of science fiction (curse Eiseley for dismissing science fiction as LIGHT!), one of his characters remarks that in the modern era the good appears to be getting better and the evil more terrifying. It is as though two antipathetic elements in the universe were slowly widening the gap between them. Man, in some manner, stands at the heart of this growing rift. Perhaps he contains it within himself." And then he permits the idea to dwindle away without advancing the thought, as I did (as did Watts in THE BOOK), that greater evil MUST come with greater good, just as greater dark MUST be a concomitant of greater light (as in Stapledon's DARKNESS AND THE LIGHT), just as a higher mountain peak NECESSITATES a lower valley. As goes the old song "You can't have the one without the other" (and the fact that the DICHOTOMIES in the song were love and marriage opens up a whole new field of thought that I can't plumb now---though even "plumbing" is punning, here). Then, later in the same essay, he says "He has the capacity to veer with every wind, or, stubbornly, to insert himself into some fantastically elaborated and irrational social institution only to perish with it.
"It may well be that some will not call this last piece of behavior adaptation." The ambiguous semantic relation between these last two words epitomizes the difficulties of reading Eiseley (surely NO one will call (in the sense of "challenge to make good on a statement") this last piece of behavior (as an adjective) adaptation (noun) since that would have to come after the "perish," at which time there would be no one left to "call."). YET the foretold perishing of social institutions at the turn of the millennium may be combated with mankind) or more properly, Humankind) rising in an almost discrete step from matter-necessary to energy-necessary, an even larger leap than that from the oceans to the lands which took place, possibly, when some OCEANIC catastrophe depleted oxygen (so necessary to life THEN as matter is NOW) in the water so that some of the more advanced (or far-seeing?) aquatic forms were FORCED to become terrestrial.
Then the shock of seeing such an Actualism-predicting statement that "It is almost as though man had at heart no images, but only images."
Just prior to that, just as I was THINKING about it, I come across "Man's hunger for experience became unlimited too."
Following that, he leaps into the observation that our galaxy is dying, trillenia in the future, reminding me of Hugh Downs' "The Longest Story Ever Told," in the March Omni, which extends over the brief period of sixty-seven billion years.
As I read I find my mind skittering up and down that familiar roller coaster: rocketing to the edges of the universe where science just detects echoes from the space-warping energies of black holes, in which the quantum mechanics that govern our misnamed "basic" particles merge with Wheeler's geometrodynamics, possibly to eject his hypothesized "geons" at Second One of Big Bangs from white holes in universes whose dimensions of "otherness" have so far eluded scientific verification---that narrowing to humanity whose mystical "As above, so below" required EQUALLY "other" dimensions which would PERMIT survival of Chardin's Noosphere after the time-space Armageddon.
The dimensions so branch that "broad" and "narrow" hardly apply. Our minds may find segments of Itself more amazed than Dr. Gamow's Mr. Thompkins in a Wonderland in which the direction of Tomorrow may be as trivial as Northwest.
So I read rather than write, leap off cliffs of thought before I'm sure my wings are fastened on tightly, scatter to the winds before pollinating a single fertile patch of earth.
Yet, there's the "isness" without which I wouldn't be the person I so value. Trammel my thoughts and the shoots of my imagination die in a vacuum.
Then, as so often before, looms the concept of immortality. Not merely an incorruptible body but an everlasting MIND that outlasts each degenerating firecracker of matter devolving into energy. But what thoughts would a mind have in a no-verse in which there is no-thing? Even if there are other minds sharing this Devil's Island in the Ocean of Void, how long will these infinite beings be content playing cosmic Match Penny?
Even the question is wrong. Where there is no-thing, there is no-time, and questions of "when" or "how long" are meaningless.
Yet another basic question lingers: even WITH omnipresent omniscience, how can some-thing come out of no-thing? How can mind objectify itself---unless the whole of creation is only the reliving of the time-space life of the universe in the "instant" before the death of the mind of the universe, leading back to THAT nautilus comprised of life-chambers walled off before life-chambers walled off before---and what IS in the center of the nautilus?
But before checking EB (The Circle of Knowledge again), remember the puzzle of the axolotl---not for nothing must my fingers have sought Auer, Leopold, and Auber and stumbled upon axolotl twice in the past two days. Why DOES the tiger salamander only SOMETIMES emerge from the larval form of the axolotl?
With a sense of depression I recollect the equally regressive system of answers to any "Why" question. Why does the body? Because the cells. Why do the cells? Because the chromatin. Why does the chromatin? Because the DNA. Why does the DNA? Because of the leucine. Why does the leucine? Because of the hydrogen. Why does the hydrogen? Because of the proton. Why does the proton? Because of the quark. Why does the quark? Because of the next-lower particle (hardly to my infitron of 30 years ago) which more and more and AUTHORITATIVELY more are beginning to think ARE CREATED BY THE QUESTING MIND OF UNSATISFIED MAN.
Which is what all the philosophies that Huxley could find for his "Perennial Philosophy" said, "Reality is not what you think it is; reality, in fact, IS PRECISELY that which you think reality is."
Which leads to the investigation of the Kingdom of the Mind and the Will, not the Kingdoms of Energy and Matter and Biology and Science. The Study of Light, not the study of light.
Despite the assurance of "All paths are the right path," there's still the fear of being conned. Neatly, this is the mirror argument of life itself: beings reincarnate to experience more, yet more experience leads only to sadness, which only leads to WANTING more, which only leads to more reincarnating souls. Fearing being conned (or WHOLLY ABSORBED??), man waffles in his flight to the Absolute, which by mere DEFINITION should mean "that which must WHOLLY ABSORB."
Back to THAT cycle: so what? Say one DOES figure EVERYTHING OUT. Then what? Well, I suppose then you have time to take a good shit and wipe your ass clean (if you've been perverted by Western civilization) and look around, hoping your fingers aren't smelly, to see what you'll tackle NEXT.
Thinking is not the SAME as doing, and though you CAN think while you're (somewhat imperfectly) doing, you can't do too much while you sit (or shit) wrapped in thought (or shit).
The higher the mountain, the lower the valley.
How long would ecstatic happiness last, in a world ruled by time-space, before the person would be conscious of being absolutely totally abjectly miserable?
Yet these are only words, yet. (She was shot in the groin and the bullet's in her yet.)
In trots laughter---right after the trots.
Supercharged dynamism must alternate with recharging passivity.
Is music and reading absorbing---it does absorb me at times---or expelling. What I feel from "taking in" these external stimuli isn't the actual PRODUCT of these stimuli, which I feel is the actual efflux of MY OWN SYSTEMS: my feelings from MY organs and secretions, my thoughts from MY head or gut or heart or wherever they come from: memory or computer storage or synapse or akashic record. So it's only my attitude that determines whether I "take in more than I give out."
Then the typing slows. Is that it? Do I live in another way, other than tapping my fingers in an inefficient tattoo across keys designed to SLOW the typing fingers?
Is there another way to live? By one definition, the way I live IS the way I live. If I COULD live another way I WOULD live another way, and THEN the way I live IS the way I live.
Change the calendar.

THURSDAY, 3/6/80: WSDG TALK ON 2/28: That morning I fill out 3 cards with OUTLINE, OBSERVATIONS, and DISAPPOINTMENTS.
1) How JOYI started---me personally interested
2) Mechanics (Advocate $1, quest 1, responses, quest 2, responses, final responses---Dennis introduced as the OBSERVER, then the club formation.
3) Book problems, anyone who wants to publish it let me know, then next chat.
1) J/O sometimes a way to AVOID people and emotions.
2) it's RISK-FREE---you GET your orgasm
3) Idea: NOT getting orgasm but DELAYING orgasm
4) People fixed on it more than ME, which is a relief.
1) Not REALLY juicy fantasies---no movies launching into J/O, no kids "collecting" an adult to j/o, no meeting like THIS into j/o, or spontaneous activity on subways, in elevators, in business meetings.
2) not REALLY able to DESCRIBE the orgasm well
3) Poor (paranoid) response to CLUB.
4) Really got BORING, as j/o sometimes does.
5) Didn't get book published. Dennis said not to CAPITALIZE on the disappointments. Don Cohen (fairly awful) met me at the door, Dennis being there already, and we talked with our introducer, who had to wait while the extra-heavy crowd filed in, and Don moaned that the 45 excerpts he xeroxed wouldn't be nearly enough, and I retorted, "I TOLD you the program would be popular!" They questioned who saw my name in the Village Voice, Wisdom's Child (Amy did!), Gaylines (some creep from Grace Court or Garden Place did), or a few other places. Cuties standing in the back DIDN'T request my card, and lots of awfuls DID. Jules a REAL loser, Boyd CUTE. Some asked about positions and breathing, which I didn't ask about, and someone said his prostate doctor recommending NOT holding off but going RIGHT THROUGH maybe coming a second or THIRD time, but DON'T fool around when you're ABOUT to come. Questions started slowly but kept up through the evening, Dennis liking it and making more acquaintances that I did, Dennis from downstairs reporting to John, who's forgotten, and it was a nice success, though it's now a WEEK and I've GOTTEN NO $5 from ANY of the people who took my card!

FRIDAY, 3/7/80: IDEAS EXPLODING IN HEAD LIKE POPCORN (2/29 6 AM): Woke about 5 with head exploding with ideas---like popcorn. Every position of my body seemed a hieroglyph of significance---channeling? Preparing for body session in 7 hours?
1) AGAIN the idea of VERSE for Pilgrim's Chorus of Tannhauser or Ride of the Valkyries of Die Walkeure. Now I can play THAT and TAPE my voice merely DRAMATICALLY READING the verse, OR the descriptions of drawings or films that COULD be made.
2) Thought to taking an ad in Publisher's Weekly BEGGING for an editor, followed by the thought to HIRE Kathryn Falk! Amy called: ask HER about what she thinks about it; INVITE Kathryn over to see REST of stuff IF she likes what she's SEEN already (DID this, and she said to concentrate on what I have going NOW: the indexing book, the JOYI stuff, the Gay Love Story.).
3) Such VAINGLORIOUS thoughts of Actualism---seducing Stan, me HELPING Alice earth cranial IF's, their RECOGNIZING me, me going ON faster. And my next class was SO bad that I went to the NADIR of thinking I really didn't BELONG anymore. Mountain high/valley low again.
4) DICTATING pages for that which I seem loath to TYPE and giving them to Dennis's TYPIST! For THROWBACK or even GRANDMA'S BAND. TRY it!

SATURDAY, 3/8/80: Note on J/O AT J'S #3 (3/4): Got there just at 9:35, and John said I just made it, so I took off all my clothes at the start, which seemed nicer. Tall blond attracted me with nice legs, but he had a tiny cock which would NOT get hard, though he sucked on my head and tried working on himself and I sucked on him and we necked, and later he got involved with Michael, who kissed him goodbye. But I never did see if either of them came off over each other. The first group action was a furry fellow lying on the table and jerking off with the "comer" sitting on him and coming off. I ALMOST made it, but no one followed, so they just got off the table and the small groups continued. I began to feel that I wasn't participating enough, so when the next dozen circled the table and seemed not to want to start, to the point of people beginning to turn away, I groaned and shot, a big plop and a few little spurts around the corner pocket, none of which went a large distance, and a few, including JV, gave out their hoarse sound of approval, and then someone to my left came, and then a few across the table, and they left, leaving the fellow to my left with a Dennis-like cock still working away, so I played with his tits and talked him off, and he said that was nice, so the next time Mark (whom Dennis says is NOT Mark Barton) got on top of the table, with John V. giving off with his unimaginative patter, I started in, and Mark stared down at me as if to egg me on, so I kept talking, somewhat louder, but he didn't come, and then someone to my right came and I tried talking to the fellow right next to me, but he didn't come, though he said he liked the way I talked, and I chatted with a few of them and Dennis told John about WSDG and John thought it might work down HERE, which I left open, and then at the end many came and many left and the last few were in the john jerking off (I guess there still has to be some sense of UNPLEASANTNESS to turn people on to coming??), and I left about 12:05, a nice middle session: not as magical (and new) as the first and not the disaster of the second, so I told Dennis they might ALTERNATE: Next might not be so great but the FOLLOWING will then be dynamite, and I'll continue to go back as I've been doing. Maybe I SHOULD add some kind of topper, since EVERYONE seems to be getting into it. Gene, the guy Dennis thought was pushy, and the guy like John Updike were missing.

SUNDAY, 3/9/80: Note on SECOND DIP IN TRANQUILITY TANK (3/5): Sat looking at the sexy Bob reading a Lilly book until he went into his room, and the assistant (Tod wasn't there) bustled around apologizing for the lateness of the woman in the tank I was to take, and then the secretary for Holistic Health across the way chomped her way through simultaneous lunch and telephone conversations and some honcho got VERY annoyed with her for "Not letting me know when they were LEAVING," and I got bad vibes about the whole place. Finally got in at 12:25, quickly showered with the sliver of soap, and took in the headrest through he said he'd added more salt, and it fit nicely. Started with my arms up, but then THAT got cramped and I could feel discomfort there, so I put them back at my sides, and AGAIN my legs (though they weren't sore from last night as before) felt that they should be BENT a bit. Didn't have nearly the amount of stuff going on, yet my mind managed to find things wrong: last time was too much humidity and warmth, this time was definitely cooler; I could FEEL the air on my skin. My asshole stung a bit from over-wiping, so I was glad I'd put on the Vaseline. Blankness came and went, but then I kept feeling that I HAD decided that I wouldn't come back, that it wasn't all that it cracked up to be: far from being sensory deprivation, it was itchiness and temperature consciousness that SURPASSED the mount of busy-ness to occupy the mind that I was used to merely lying in BED. And I certainly, with the discomfort of the tub, didn't want to work my way up through 10-15 hours to try to get an EVENING of sensory deprivation, EVEN THOUGH I suggested to myself that I MAY have been coming to something but my mind shied away from it. So when it became a hassle I sat up gently and let the water drain off the back of my hair, as recommended, so it won't get in my eyes, and with my head near the door of the cabinet I can hear the attendant first softly calling my name OUTSIDE the door in case I happen to be naked and out in the room, THEN opening the outside door and knocking on the cabinet. So I get out, sorry to see that he DID allow me an hour and it's 1:45 when I get out of the shower, but I get to the corner at 1:55 and Dennis arrives AFTER that, sorry to be late.

TUESDAY, 3/11/80: IMAGINARY REMARK: I can't take responsibility for YOUR being unhappy---I scarcely take the responsibility for MY being unhappy! On the other hand, I'm quite willing to accept gratitude for making you HAPPY, as I accept ME easily for MY being happy.

GUATEMALA TRIP - 3/20 - 4/1/80

THURSDAY, MARCH 20, 1980. Up at 5, shower, and frenzy of packing before car buzzes at 6. Airport by 6:20, get ticket, good front window seat at 7:50 over a Manhattan SO spectacular I forget I have a camera! Great Neck, Hart and City Islands, George Washington Bridge, Riverside Church, Columbia University, Central Park, midtown skyscrapers, East River bridges, Brooklyn Heights, Red Hook, Staten Island and Upper Jersey VERY clear and FABULOUS. Clouds at end of 1:30 flight to Raleigh-Durham, southern accents, and I wander airport and at 9:32 off for Miami, cloudy at first and then clear Florida coast LOVELY, boats dragging their tadpole-tail wakes. Land at 11:10, get tourist card for $1, NO good window except over wing, fly at 12:12 over clouded fantasy-city and incredible VEINS in new-forming islands south of Florida. Can't resist trying camera. Captain says 2 hours 20 minutes to Guatemala over Keys, Cozumel, Yucatan, Belize, and Guatemala, so right is RIGHT! Start writing this at 12, $1 Tuborg cooling to dry throat. Lost roll of toilet paper in toilet bowl as I changed from hot red sweater to light blue short sleeve shirt, packed too deep, and phoned Rita collect to say "maybe April 17-29," and she said STAY. Yucatan road ALONG coast, ALL snorkelable! FLAT! But road along coast ENDED. Occasional STRAIGHT dirt roads, to sea, Bay of Chetumal. Turn inland just after: coast here is VERY like off Florida Keys: green and shallow. LONG john wait as pilot says "at left horizon is Honduras," now over Guatemala at 2:15. Hills, no longer grassy but BUSHY, which I guess are trees. Square farms interspersed. 2:20 start down, MOUNTAINS ahead. Tin rooftops twinkle, off NO roads at all. It's 79 outside and is the volcano SMOKING? WILD rocky twisting landing at 2:35. Lovely Guatemalan lady with boy and Roman insurance-selling husband says last time in rain was REALLY rough. Pick up Posada Belen folder, no problem with customs, and taxi for $6 to woman who STARES at me and then says I remind her of someone. She gives me enclosed room 10 and I unpack and read stuff and she maps out my WHOLE trip. I ask for place to sit and watch people, and after walking crowded, noisy, dusty streets, foul smelling with bus and motorcycle exhaust and get TIRED (maybe from the altitude?), I sit at La Mesa Reconda and have SMOOTH Indita con coca, and two tasty bean tostadas for $1 from 4-6, watching Indians and Salvadorians and Mayans and chinless British ladies and big-boobed European women and shorted American men and whorish city women and blank-eyed natives and a cripple who walks on rubber knees and flings his spastic begging hands around. People sit and chat and loaf 2 hours over coffee, so I don't feel TOO guilty with only one drink---two would SOZZLE me. So the CITY is old and scrappy (but for a few modern multileveled cinema-shop complexes in Zona 1 and modern hotels down in Zona 9 and some government buildings in Zona 4), the people poor and dirty, and the rich ones incongruous in dark suits and loud racy cars. Back to Posada and shower and have GREAT dinner 7-8:30 with an oilman from Connecticut with his British wife (AWFUL meat for dinner), and down in a CAMPER from Belize, saying road IS impassible with AWFUL truck ruts, and it DOES rain up there year round, and AWFUL night ride they had to Rio Dulce. They recommend Xunantunich, missed Tikal, and recommend Angel Falls. The Dutch couple, the Brinks, talk of Mauritshuis in their Hague, trips to Sikkim, and I tell of Borneo and Catholics when she talks of Celebesian Catholics. We'll share Quetzaltenango and El Alto, and I'm to bed at 9, tossing a bit before needed sleep and putting in earplugs.

FRIDAY, MARCH 21. Wake for a few times and up at 6 to pack and out at 6:40 for sullen girl to leave (she turns out to be a daughter) and solo two eggs ASEDO (over) breakfast. Guy I DON'T care for from Maya Tours (who turns out to be the HUSBAND!) comes in to say I'm on FOURTH flight at 10:30. I grumble, check jacket and tie, catch up on these notes and determine to lightwork now at 7:35. Have good session (interrupted by search for tourist card and a shirt) until 9:05 when I pay my bill and make reservations for Jungle Lodge for $15 (primitive rip-off, she says), but I pave way for NOT coming back by asking about Uaxactun and Xununtunich and Sayaxche and other stops. She gets $15 for night and other tour things, and I take sweater (cool in AM) off JUST as Roberto comes at 10 and says we're ready. He doesn't know the name of the fabulous light lavender-blue tree, but I start in on Spanish. Plane at 11, they say, and I find ALL Inter-Peten flights are $10 and there is an airport MARKED at Lacandon for Piedras Negras but no FLIGHTS listed, only for Dos Lagunas, Carmelita, Uaxactun, Paso Cabillos, and Naranja for $25 one way IN WEATHER PERMITTING---and MarieElena said there have been NO flights the last FOUR MONTHS to Tikal? (Verified later, they said they were paving the runway!) Plane arrives at 10:50 and unloads lots of people, and they open BOTH doors of the newly painted Aviateca DC-3 that LOOKS pretty good, but WALL clock seems to be OFF; MY watch had it load at 10:30! Air NOT quite clear, but it's a PINKISH brown of DUST rather than smoke or smog. 11:25 STILL standing at door, disgusted, and a second yellow (but with wing ABOVE) Fokker comes in and it appears THAT goes to Tikal---but so LATE! Board at 11:50 and find it's stopping first at Flores, so there's even MORE of a delay. American woman who farms and had an eye infection that kept her in the hospital 7 weeks (less than that poor kid on the plane with the malignant melanoma that made his face bulge out), and married a Guatemalan and "will die in Peten---but not soon, I hope." They bought these planes two years ago and STILL don't know how to handle tourists. People talking English, French, German, Spanish, and we board FAIRLY quickly. I was thinking of avoiding lunch, but sadly I'm getting HUNGRY. Off at 12:05 and over TOWN at 12:15 and perpendicular road to road linking LARGE town just before going to plains. IS NOT bad-looking from air. Fields get greener at 12:35. Newly built roads IN MIDDLE of nowhere---oil derricks? South of rivers. Start down at 12:40, rivers like lime-green PAINT, NO traffic OR rapids, and WHITE valleys before WEREN'T rapids---but salt? Photo 3-8 at 12:47, land at 12:49, LOTS of construction (new large runway?) and earthmoving equipment and a few private planes. Must be nice. Rev up quickly and off the ground AGAIN (5th flight ALREADY) at 12:59! Land at 1:11 and pilot must have flown DIRECTLY over ruins, since it seems to have been seen from NEITHER side! LOTS of construction. Shout to Jungle Inn, holler when he seems to say no afternoon tour, ask for English-speaking companion at lunch and get sat at table with moody German who hardly talks, and then out on porch to watch local bus from Belize drop off hippies, and finally the safari bus comes around 3:30 and we're into grounds, where we start from Central Acropolis and confusing building complexes and at 4:30 I get to climb my first temple, Temple II, great view of plaza but IV is lost in sunset light and trees, so ONLY good view is toward I. CAN go AROUND it somewhat below top. Then clamber up Temple I when those who have to leave get taken back to bus, taking lots of pictures, and then drive to Temple IV where the sunset is so spectacular that Guatemalan guy and I agree to STAY up there for it, lovely chat with Sigrun Magnusdottir and Tryggvi Felixson from Reynimeg 72 Reykjavik ICELAND. Down to bus in growing dark and jostle back to dinner in total darkness, playing backgammon with Canadian couple overlooked by Cleveland boy, and for dinner (when Canadian couple are 4 at a table for 4) ask to join a bunch of guys from Ohio and women from West Germany, stewardesses whom the guys picked up in Belize City on various cays scuba diving, who then hired a guide-driver to bring them here. End the evening talking about Palenque with couples drinking cider, till they say lights go off at 9, and I dash to shower and unpack but lights stay on until I sleep at 10.

SATURDAY, MARCH 22. Up and breakfast with the man from Cleveland who went to Uaxactun with his 10-year-old son, real HORROR story of too-long trek and too-sad ruins, so I cross THAT off my list, and decide to WALK to Temple of Inscriptions to see things on my OWN. Pleasant walk, lousy inscriptions, but I feel I miss people, wandering off onto fading paths with no one to bail me out, and take photos and then at 9:40 continue notes: watch ant-trail bearing leaves as truck passes and causes chaos. Hard to see what makes a causeway a causeway---no "stone rails" and no "flooring" and no mounds lining sides, just rutted roads and, following a cut to the left, concrete troughs for draining rain---one of the potholes has moist mud at bottom. Only from mist this AM? (When I woke to TREMENDOUS rattle of parrots outside that I'd rather hoped were howler monkeys, reminding me of Clevelander's tale of being pelted by them, and then running out of water and having to BOIL it for hours and letting it cool, which it never did!) Sole Japanese takes his own jeep, driver, and guide to Temple of Inscriptions. One 4-INCH blue dragonfly on side trail from Maudsley Causeway. SUDDENLY ALL THE DRAIN WAYS AND HUGE TRENCH NEAR CAMP hits me: they're draining the rain forest to try to solve the WATER-supply problem! But how MUCH will it change the WEATHER? If rains don't soak into soil, will forest die out? If it goes into reservoir, will it evaporate faster than usual? If it evaporates AND is used, will it change clouds, temperature, weather, heat, and thus hasten destruction of the very ruins that caused the spillways? As "causeway" rises, I wonder, could THESE have been spillways? Complex G: I wander up a ladder to too-steep climb, find other way up from INSIDE. Lots of work going on: plastering, digging, covering, putting up blocks, piling up blocks. Large door says "Prohibido" and I flash light down on a SKELETON, brown as dirt, with a mirror under his jaw to show something about jade-inlaid teeth! Guide SEEMS to say both tunnels are connected, and I clamber to top and write, looking at single rooms dug out on TOP of an acropolis as yet untouched. Hideously, a hum of HORNETS makes the acropolis of group H HUM! And across the side, a swarm of FLIES in the sun echoes the hornet hum and shadows a stream of ANTS across a pillar under a TERMITE nest, and I write as I hear a BAT squeak from an inner room! Meet two guys from Dayton, one from New York, one born in Guatemala, who I think are gay and we chat and climb Temple V and get Jungle Lodge bus back to lodge at 1:30, and guide Dutch couple to museum after they don't have much lunch and have to fly off then, and return to ruins to pick up northern section, falling in with the German guy, who says they won't let him into BELIZE! We meet and part, there's another sunset from Temple IV with Americans spouting macho banalities at each other---there's a squirrel going up a tree!---and no clouds at ALL to give sunset-drama. Down and walk out increasingly dark road from 6:10-6:40, lots of people still in ruins, and pass a number of places I still haven't seen. Shower after a WELCOME beer and to dinner with people from Greenpoint, LI. Nice chat (lucky in this except for FIRST silent lunch with German: camper New Yorker from Wisconsin and group of 6: 3 American guys and 3 German girls with guide from Ambergis Cay in Belize, breakfast with Cleveland man and Adam as they tell me of water-processing walk to Uaxactun, lunch with two guys, dinner with LI, and then get to bed QUITE quickly at 9:30, surprised as lights flash on, as I'd been jolted out of bed when ROOM lights flashed back on at 9:30---I hadn't shut the switch ALL the way. Quickly to sleep, tired but not TOO sore, feeling only slightly sunburnt on forearms, liking Tikal enough to stay 2 nights.

SUNDAY, MARCH 23. Wake at 5:45, having needed just over 8 hours sleep, sad to hear no squeaky-toy parrot chorus this AM. (Forgot shock of flashlight from museum guard as I sauntered into clearing to see BRILLIANT stars and 1/3 moon last night). Dress and pack and sit on porch at 7 to write this, and proprietor comes out at 7:15 to check me out, verify that the bus to Flores is at 1, and says breakfast is served. Horrible croony music sweeps out of kitchen and I down 8 pills with canned orange juice as German couple from Temple IV last night sit across from me. Happy Sunday, one week before birthday, 3 of 13 days gone. Start breakfast alone and joined by Dutch couple, he ending up saying "I envy you"---and I STILL like to, but didn't yet, get their address for Joe. DID get the Hess's address on Greenpoint when we both got to entrance at same time and I found to my chagrin that I'd left my wallet in the red pants that I'd PACKED. She gives me $1 and their address, saying "Come visit," and I take off for Temple III, where I cut my right palm, sit on top of the North Acropolis, talk to lovely Arnie until Anne whisks him off, and at end search and SEARCH for East Plaza and Complex F, which I FINALLY find by bushwhacking and take a final picture, only 2 reels to go. Back at 12:15 to water-wash face, then unpack to get wallet for $1 for beer, then get soap and REALLY clean up. Have an orange drink and a lime drink and the German puts on a bandaid so I get one from him for my hand. Then manager says "Maybe the bus stops down below," and I go down and there it is! Load up, squeezed in back, and we go around village and get to starting point at 1:30! Down new dusty bumpy road (hear airport was closed because they were blacktopping it---making this an international airport now) and after an hour stop for lunch for 20 minutes where I just have 2 sodas. Back in bus that gets fuller and fuller and American voices macho curses and bellyaches and talks of Belize City and Cocker Cay and the Mermaid and renting scuba stuff for $30, including boat. The awfulness of the road (though we have to take detour---ANOTHER bus that got permission to go across the new airstrip into Flores got there in just under 2 hours) makes the trip almost 4 hours. Cab to airport for $1, guy waits, charter and nothing else to Guate, then cab for $1 to Patio, full, debate lugging to Flores, decide on Maya International, and find it's $10, $5 for dinner and $2 for Marie Brizard Cherry to watch sunset. Shower and change and walk to Flores, GREAT picturesque island, and boat back, and walk rocky road to hotel at 7 for dinner with Larsens of Oregon with Mara Nazda, Christ is Risen, flights with Seventh-Day Adventists (they're having fruit only) and they tell of Peptun and AWFUL 14-hour drive, and I get to bed at 9, tired, having been told tours to Sayaxche filled up. Lake is rising, only one inch below my floor, and first floors of "duplexes" became boat docks!

MONDAY, MARCH 24. Wake a few times, once at 3 to shit moistly and take my medicine, then up at 5:45 and dress to watch sun rise to change to pink to orange to yellow to white between 6:04-6:20, and pheasants squack and yellow-winged blackbirds wade on grasses growing from lake bottom and birds fly around and fish bubble for flies and cat wanders and dogs bark and cocks crow and maybe a few mosquitoes buzz---frog on road last evening. Breakfast with Francisco and Astrid from Secaucus, but they don't bite on 2-day tour to Copan and Quirigua. Wait to 8:15 for boarding passes at 8, then we're escorted to airport to meet guy on way back and write this at 8:35. About 100 people waiting for HOW many planes at 9? And who knows who goes first? Well, it turns out that the RED tags go first; SOME sense! Sit next to Denver woman taking Spanish at Chichi, who refers me to January Atlantic Monthly for the best article about Guatemala, talks of cheapness of living ($30 for course with $2/hour for PRIVATE tutor, and $25/week to live with a family, including food and laundry), and says NEWSPAPERS don't publish much---this regime doesn't want to be as BAD as Somoza, but hired killers are from EVERYWHERE. Francisco says I can call him for a trip to Copan if I can't get 2-day trip to Copan and Quirigua. Get into taxi and taxi stops for someone else and guess who it is---them! They're in the Camino Real, the best in town, and driver soaks me for $5 when I really want to give him $4. Madame grins at me and asks if I liked Tikal. She starts planning other things and I really PUSH for 2-day tour, saying I'll go with OTHER couple if it's only Copan ALONE. She's willing to wash clothes for tomorrow, which is nice. She says Popol Vuh is open all day, take bus $2 on 8th Avenue. Long wait for a 2, get on one, got 4 blocks, piercing bang and whistle: flat tire! Off and woman looks at another $2 with something in window, asks "Avenida Bolivar" and gets negative. I get on next 2 which takes a LONG time to come and ends up WAY out in Zona 5, trying to tell myself this is interesting. I'm seeing the city and the people and how they live, but I don't convince myself. Guy says "Tre-see" which I THINK is 3, then see a 13, and check to find "tre-see" is 13, so then NO bus comes. After half an hour (start at 12:15 on this excursion) I debate crossing STREET for 13's going THAT way, but finally a 13 comes, people put out hands, it goes past---behind schedule? I look for taxis, A in license, and see NONE. Another goes past, empty; a third, full, and even the other hand-wavers are exchanging expressions of disgust with me. Two MORE pass and one stops, and I have to repeat "Museo Popol Vuh" three times before he says yes. Stand, take seat, at last turn onto Bolivar, and I look but not ALL streets CROSS or have SIGNS. Finally see 14th and figure stop after next---it stops, at 15th! I bang bell and he goes way to next stop and lets me off around corner. Thanks. Over to Popol Vuh steaming at 1:30, over an hour on the road for 10, to find hours are 9-12:30 and 14:00-17:50. DAMN! But she had the right DAYS, anyway! Sit and write this till 1:45, verifying that a 2 does go UP 8th (though heaven knows where it ENDS) and listen to grating burr of mopeds and smell awful exhausts and watch busses and cars pass and only BEGIN to feel hungry. She says she'll find out if my trip goes by 4, and the Lazatins are meeting friends at 6:30, so I should hope to have time for planning if I have to. WOW! In at 1:55 and I don't CARE for it (see notes on sheet. It's academic, not spectacular, too folk-artsy, ill-lit, and none of it sexy). Buy books and out at 3:10 to AGAIN wait for 2, and ring bell too late and go WAY around a corner again. Botanical garden is somewhat depressing with lack of plantings, but still the fragrant bells of the Plumeria, branching up multi-fingered like coral, the lagarta-barked Ceiba with its fat blossoms, fallen, so THICK they feel like a crushed rodent underfoot; and the towering acararuna that's a monkey-tail run wild, scattering its base with scaly whips that it would be a PAIN to be hit on the head with. Old gray mistress talking amorously with shiny-faced sexy Guatemalan teenager, for what reason I'm not sure. She could be only giving orders for gardening but she LOOKS like she'd like to get laid! Youngster probably cruising, sitting spraddle-legged on bench, while a solemn bookman pores over his loves against one wall. LOTS of traffic noise, but with a breeze and not such a hot day it's not BAD at 4:10. Back to Posada to try eating out with the Brinks, but they're tired for the day so I latch onto the teachers from Seattle and their friend the auto repairman. Beat the economics teacher with two games of chess, then they agree to local restaurant, then we're up to La Mesa Reconda via a slot-machine place where they BOTH win jackpots, where she loves the marimba, and then we're to the top of the Ritz for drinks, good view, then by jitney to the HUGE marimba palace, drinking more, and the people are just AWFUL with their insults and then lavish purses, and then we're down to Camino Real (where I'd called to say I'd GO with the Lazatins) where I finally leave them, falling into bed about 2, leaving a note for the Brinks.

TUESDAY, MARCH 25. Up at 5 and out with a lucky cab-call at 5:30 to meet the Lazatins at 6, driving over AWFUL roads to Copan, which is quite a disappointment with smooth-surfaced multicolored walls looking newly reconstructed though they're from the 30's, a humpy tourist who causes me to gnaw at my heart, and HEAT that exhausts us after 2 hours there, so that we're ready for the middle of town and the museum better than Tikal's, then at 2:30 over the terrible 14 kilometers to the border, over in jig time compared to the half-hour getting through, and back to Auto Mariscos for dinner and I catch a jitney back to the Posada, rather exhausted from the whole day.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 26. Back to the Camino Real at 9 for the long drive to Puerto San Jose for Camarones del Rio, having them after taking a detour to Likin for the $2.00 ferry to the black sand beach and NO river shrimp, but a sexy-suited Spanish coming from the pool to talk to us, then back to Las Mariarro for the lobster-like creatures, then drive back through what seems to be a volcanic eruption to Lake Amatitlan, quite destroyed, and then back to hotel and dress for the Ritz for dinner, getting the last meal at 9 pm, and wander street looking for the cruising I'd seen on Monday, but I'm still tired so I get back to the hotel to sleep for tomorrow's trip.

THURSDAY, MARCH 27. Bus late to Camino Real but we make good time to Chichicastenango, having a lavish breakfast in the Brinks' hotel, where I leave a note I'll meet them at 11, and we see them in the market, then I take pictures and get bored with the market and meet the Brinks and we get out to chat and drive to Huehuetenango and to Zacaleu, where it clouds up as if for rain, and then drive to Quetzaltenango, where I write the following notes: They're tired (Syka and Joop Brinks) and leave me at 6:15. I go buy BOOTS after trying about 5 pairs on and taking the only pair that FITS for $35. He insists banks are open till 8 and I find a busy one (after I thought he was lying) and write this while waiting for a $50 check to be cashed. Guy ahead has about 2" of ones. Strange dark quiet city, though SOME people could be cute. Wander dark arcade with no fear. The HAIL was the big thing of the day, taking photos of it and exclaiming over it with the Brinks. Huehuetenango rather a bore, but Zacaleu good for a few shots under darking skies. Take a hitchhikerette to town center and get lost in Quetzeltenango, or Xela, pronounced Shela---SheLAH? Haven't done a full lightwork session in DAYS. Interested that being ALWAYS with the Lazatins or the Brinks will NOT meet me NEW people---but maybe ugly professors of "the night out" turned me off. Chichi good ONLY for NICE hotels and market, next to San Francisco el Alto. Last few days at Atitlan have been CLOUDED, they say. Find the brooding volcano we've seen so much of is Santa Marta. ALSO passed the Natural History museum at 7:05, open till 7, and go up to see NICE fabrics (?) and lots of shards and bits of things by turning on my own lights. Took about 5 minutes. Will give boots to Brinks to give to MariaElena: they volunteered. Now for a BIG bag for SOUVENIRS! Blankets for $25, hangings for $10, shirts for $5, COULD get one of EACH---and something for Amy and Dennis and Mom? Think only of ME, which seems bad. Someone who SEEMED to be behind me just shook hands with the teller, so now I'm last, standing after 10 minutes. Getting rather tired of Guatemala, but will have to see if the trip turns out positive on the whole or not at the end. We eat in tacky hotel dining room and I get to bed, maybe to come with feeling.

FRIDAY, MARCH 28. Up early for breakfast, filling, and he gets car and we drive (partly wrong way down one-way street through next town) up to San Francisco el Alto, where I have SENSORY OVERLOAD! Sights: colors of cloth, acidity of plastic sheen, plume of smoke from Santa Marta Volcano, sunlight through sunshades, candles reflecting faces in church, abraded backs of piglets in rope halters; sounds: scuff of bare feet on stones, wails of miserable babies, babble of Indian dialects, flops of chicken wings, grunts of passing people, pleas of vendors, squalls of terrified pigs; smells: onions, fresh vegetables, stale animal shit, piss from "sanitarios" which don't seem too sanitary. NO smells from people; more sights: papooses munching mango seeds, vendors in church selling in pews. Then back to car about noon, having had QUITE enough, not having bought anything, hoping to get stocked up in market in Guate. They cart me to Los Encuentros where I try hitchhiking to no avail, but a quick bus takes me (with a hippy who says she's lived in Panajachel for a month) through the market swirls of color in Solola down to the backfire-rattling slopes down the mountainside to the delta on which Panajachel is built. Don't get off the first stop, but follow the hippy girl off at the second, to find myself in the "center of town" so I check into the Maya International Hotel for $7 in a windowless room with hot water, unpack, and wander to Soup Kitchen for lunch with two bottles of soda and the 25 indispensable guide to Lake Atitlan. Dash down to the lake to find the boats for San Pedro filled already, so I wander roads and write postcards (no, this is the NEXT night) look at people passing the Poco Loco until 6:30, when it's dark, and I go inside, amused at the Oregonian owner and his Guatemalan lover, then the evening flip-flops as I meet Lennart Roos and Osten, two Royal Swedish Navy numbers who are just about to celebrate their first anniversary of a trip around the world that started with an incredible 16 BORING days on the Siberian Railroad, working in Australia, and other adventures until HERE, where I started with $54, bought $4.40 film and $3.60 cards and $1 stamps for $9, and LEFT with $33, so $12 spent on their drinks---an incredible evening in Poco Loco, Risian, and Japanese place TRYING to make them and they're on the make (and not to mention STRAIGHT) and I have about 6 beers from 6 pm-12:40, and I might have ended with a MEXICAN podgy fellow with mournful eyes or the cute CHARLEY! Despite Len's seductive "Whatever you do, we'll have our---consummation"! AND my premonitory "I could REALLY enjoy EACH instant, knowing it may be the last."

SATURDAY, MARCH 29. Wake and get down to Hotel Tannjuyu for luxury breakfast for $3 and then onto boat, meeting Erv Shukoff and Lynn Miller for the second time, enjoy semi-sunny trip across lake, washers in Santiago Atitlan, bargaining for beads, beers for resting after wandering back pathways, then back to boat for sunburn-time coming back, looking at blond-red-haired guy who ends up at Poco Loco with woman. Wander with them through town, then encounter Len and Osten again, who invite me for beer, and I figure there's NOTHING here, so I leave and write cards and buy stamps and see church and figure to leave tomorrow. Didn't watch dubbed "Love Duet" (or whatever) with Dick Van Dyke last night, but watch "Charge of the Light Brigade" with Gary Cooper that's NOT dubbed tonight, with the couple, after sitting with them watching the bargaining this afternoon, and they treated me to Chinese dinner for my birthday tomorrow, and I was so tired I left them at 12:05, anxious NOT to get sucked into the Swedish nets again! But surely the Poco Loco must be the most interesting bar in Guatemala!

SUNDAY, MARCH 30. Notes: Kid wants to hold Daddy's hand, about 3 years old, father slaps away hand "Camino comme hombre!" "Hippie" walks through market with bag of mangos, oranges, and stalks of celery. "I could possibly live like that." He climbs into a dirty Mercedes and races away. Remembered the WEDDING procession the previous evening. Wake at 5 to two voices singing raucously---glad I left bar at 12:15 and found them NOT there. No conflict on their attraction now. Wake again at 7 and out to look at Mass at 8, priest good microphonic voice, and cute tourist watching. Sit on shady wall and take pictures and look at view. COULD I live like this? Then decide to leave, pack and leave at 9:15 to wait for bus for Patzun. Seems I DID see bus for San Andres, but NOTHING passes but typical Solola. At 9:40 decide to wait only until 10:15, and then a vendor tells me there ARE no busses to Patzun, Sunday market or not. I reluctantly believe him and go across for the next mini for Solola. Then BACK across (how I WISH I'd stopped the car from Minnesota that was going the "right" way) to get on an EMPTY bus for the marketplace again, and it quickly fills up for Solola and I have a decent seat for the spectacular ride out of Panajachel. Wish I had about a dozen photos of various views from the road down to the towers, the water skiers, the now-visible DOUBLE volcano that I think was obstructed yesterday, and the clear view of the single one. Views of the "double" volcano should be VERY spectacular from lakeside villages, and I can see the road along the south and figure they'll connect Aldea to the BOTTOM delta and connect the two deltas for a super-spa. With smaller (though still there) haze, photos would be good down over the tree-shaded roads and lanes of Panajachel. Into Solola and have to change buses. He asks for 30 and I have 1/2 note and he doesn't have change. "Thirty centavos?" he asks again and I dig out purse to show only 5. "OK, 5," he says and I smile and shrug and dump 5 into his hand. Bargain for a bus! Again get window seat, though on only wide RIGHT seat, since I really can't take a seat so narrow my knees can't fit into the space. Write to this at 10:55 as people grunt and crawl in back and sarcastic American female voice from front laughs and says "We're sardines" and "I gotta sit on the floor?" and "Want me to work some of the pedals (KM 104 on CA1, right side from Pana---waterfall with nude male bathers!) for you?" Side isn't bad anyway, and get to Las Encuentros to thumb for a bit and have CHEAPEST Crush ever: 18. Bus shouts for "Guate" and I get on GREAT empty bus that tootles over CA1 to Chimaltenango at 1 pm---face feeling VERY windblown and sunburned and start thinking about trip with Andre (if he's well) April 17-30, AVOIDING overnights. Why NOT Merida/Puerto Rico/Haiti/NYC? Leave "off" places like Guadeloupe and Trinidad for OTHER trips---LONG time in Guatemala OK. Hoping to get to Antigua in time for lunch, but with sunburned face, windblown hair, road-dusted shirt and jeans and boots, I'm NOT presentable for Palacio de Dona Leonora. But bus starts up at 1:07, GREAT! Into Antigua at 1:45, STUMBLE onto Tourist Office, where GREAT guy gives me map and hours and locations, and dash to Palacio de Dona Leonora and DON'T understand what they say, but ask for lunch, leave bag, and go upstairs to have them MOVE table out of sun and they serve BEST meal in country for $6 and 50 for mineral water and $1 tip = $7.50. Great LIMED BROWN SUGAR on cantaloupe; GREAT oxtail soup with egg yolk and white pieces, LOVELY strong taste; beef roast with carrots and celery replacing gristle, GOOD pieces of meat, PEPPERED mashed potatoes, good squash (overcooked) and GREAT cinnamoned and creamed banana fritters baked GREAT, and coffee in a crock. Dash out at 2:45 to the Aurora to find THEY are full, and leave bag to get to La Merced and HOPE Dona Leonora gets WATER, so I can stay THERE, finish this at 3:20, broiling in sun but with cool breeze, waiting for procession to start. After stunning tableaus of purple Arabs, orange-red Romans, green-garbed Christ, and black-veiled women with the female Santas, run into Arnie Bernardette, the sexy guy from Temple III, who gives me his address on East 89th Street and says he'll continue telling me about political situation. Back to Aurora and find they DO have a single room for $7! Unpack and walk to farthest restaurant after not finding anyone to eat with in Barbara's, but it's closed, so BACK to Barbara's, passing parade numerous times, for a good meal for $10+, then out with Sophia (or whoever) to see flower-carpet, and back to hotel exhausted at 12.

MONDAY, MARCH 31. 8 am wake weary of travel, decisions, doing, going, thinking, deciding. "Lament" for my conversationless yesterday: only after-midnight goodbyes from Irv and Lynn, morning chat with vendor on buses, talk with tourist director, hotel manager, restaurant captain around Dona Leonora, long chat with edible Arnie, talk with U.S. tourists in Aurora on restaurants, and talk with Grace and Barbara from Chicago at Barbara's. But that's not being WITH! I ask myself what I WANT and out pops LOVE first. Yes, Dennis and Amy and Pope and Spartacus. But I also want LUST, but FILLABLE lust (not Arnie, for example) of BEING with someone more and more---that delicious torture of "I can't get ENOUGH of you, can't get close ENOUGH to you." So then filters in "contentment." (Not money, though I DO think of making a will, say $10,000 and what he wants of THINGS to Dennis, rest of THINGS to Arnie and Pope, and rest to Mom, if alive, or Rita, who with Denny shouldn't NEED it. Funny how gays whose lives are spent ONLY on themselves and lovers leave all to FAMILY whom they might dislike, RATHER than lovers and friends. As for "contentment," I guess I DO want to be home. Then I find I NEED session (not really a FULL one since the first in room 10 at Posada Belen!), so finish this and start at 8:06. Thinking too much leads to ultimates: What IS the ultimate reason for travel? But that's like asking the ultimate REASON FOR A DELICIOUS MEAL? You enjoy it! You DON'T do it to be able to say "I did it." You don't do it (except for Lutece and La Goulou) to tell others about it, you do it for PLEASURE. Being with people relieves me of the pressure of THOUGHT. Being alone SUBJECTS me to it---only as I ALLOW it, true, but I DO allow it. Stop at 9:15. Out after packing and OUR dining room is EMPTY. Around a number of corners to Posada Don Rodrigo, a NICE place where LOTS of people are still eating at 10:15, and order Sandia, to find it's WATERMELON. $3.50 for ham omelet and lots of toast and coffee for first half of day's consumption. Out to Capucines to find, gratefully, it's open Mondays and buy THE book on Antigua for $4.95 and walk rather listlessly around taking pictures. I'm glad the trip's over and ending, but Antigua IS unique. Over to find the flower carpet BURNT and swept up, so back to hotel to check out and lug heavy bag to bus station, thankfully THIS side of HUGE new cement-block market being built. More ruins than you can shake a viewfinder at, and they DO suffice. Sun comes and goes in clouds and radio in bus is Spanish disco, ruining it AS the transistor radios and mopeds and screaming kids ruin the tranquility of Antigua. Off at 12:15 in fairly empty bus that USUALLY fills WAY up as we go. Would LOVE to have an OVERHEAD view of city into those walls over which BANKS of red and purple flowers cascade. Stop for diesel fuel and it's only 99.5 compared to $1.92 or so for regular gas. My nose feels SCARRED from burn---awful! Gets just over 21 gallons for $21+. To crowded bus station and try to find local bus, but end up taking cab to Posada, and back to room 11, and get down to market to find they won't cash traveler's check, so I have to walk WAY back UPTOWN, where it starts to rain, and I meet Erv on the street, and then down to buy lots of stuff, back to show to Irv and Lynn, and then we change and get down to Palacio Royal for Chinese food, bothered by kids at next table, and drink wine and beer and jitney back and fall into bed early.

TUESDAY, APRIL 1. Wake and write notes, Yesterday not as lacking in companionship as Sunday: dinner at Royal Pavilion Chinese with Irv and Lynn for $8 and then down to MacDonalds for THEIR good coffee and MY shake and manzano (apple) pie. Back on old jitney and to bed at 10:15, to sleep INSTANTLY. Did a GOOD session yesterday and settle down after shower (and solarcaine bothers my eyes) to good session at 7:50, when I write this. Janic, the British cloth EXPORTER (she SELLS, not buys; talks ONLY to government people) tells me of 10 am procession at La Merced. Procession, sawdust carpet, and mucho shopping later I'm back to the Posada with MORE material and a HUGE rope bag, which I hope will be small enough to carry on. Then, at 12:30, decide I CAN see Kaminal Juyu. So the bus takes till 1:30, the back-and-forth finally COMPLETE tour takes till 2:30, and get back to hotel at 3:15 for a BIG fuss---they insisted I stayed the 23rd, when I was in Flores. But they ALSO put "$48 refund" on my bill, which I said was the Shukoffs'! He writes receipt, calls cab, and I pack HUGE bag! Plane due off at 4:54, cab comes at 3:54 and we get to airport. Must CHECK bag with release for "poorly packed": release for damage AND loss of contents. I put a sigil over it, hoping (nothing is gone). Then $5 exit fee, he won't take check. Down to cash $20, pay fee with LAST paper quetzals but for souvenir OLD one, and cash ANOTHER $20 for a $6 Cherry Marnier 26 oz and extra for cab, if I need it, not to mention CASH. Rush down hall at 4:45 for seat assignment and find it's DUE to leave NOW at 5:10. GOOD. Get left front window seat, as desired, and finish this wishing for piss at 5 pm. Though stewardess says we're boarding in 2-3 minutes, I get down NEXT stairs to find a seatless, paperless, everything-else-less john and am back at 5:07, STILL waiting to leave---JUST as rows 23-27 start boarding! On, snacks, stop in Miami to lug bag through customs and endless corridors, see a reasonably good "Hero at Large" with John Ritter in a lot of flesh, and over brightly lit cities until we land JUST on time at 12:15, and I spend whole time in solo cab looking for KEYS, which I can't FIND, so I buzz Dennis and look at my stuff and talk until I'm REALLY exhausted, to bed about 2:45 am!


Restaurants from the Lazatins:

Peking House on Mott, instant Peking Duck.
Pengs, 44th St., off 3rd, General Chou's Chicken Lemon
30th and 6th GOOD Korean restaurant
Siamese Garden---53rd and 3rd

Sigrun Magnusdottir and Tryggvi Felixson / Reynimeg 72 / Reykjavik / Tel. 24037

Bill and Caroline Hess / 395 Gillette Dr. / East Marion, N.Y. 11939 (sent $1 4/7/80)

Mr. F.L. Lazatin / 160 Sandcastle Key / Secaucus N.J. 07094

Arnie Benardette / 221 E. 89th St. / N.Y.C. 10028 / Telephone in June (Pediatrician finished interning at St. Vincents and wanting a practice of his own---married (?) to Anne (?)

Prices: 2 pieces: shirt and HUGE piece which "cost 20," $24

2 tablecloths, started at $12 each, ended for 2 for $16

Amy's shirt "cost" $6.50

Black hanging, started at $12, probably biggest rook: $7

Three pieces HAND-sewn, $30

Blanket $30, though he thanked the Trinity in prayer afterwards, NOT a good sign!

Erv Shukoff /Lynn Miller / Apt 60L; 141 Somerset W. / Ottawa Ont K2P2H1 / 234-9480

That BOOK for taking notes cost 69 in Florida!! 60 3x5 sheets!

Financial figures: spent $1238, or $95/day for 13 days:

1. $30/air ($385+5 exit tax)
2. $10/Tikal ($95 flight + 30 Tikal nights)
3. $15/hotels (probably evens out)
4. $20/souvenirs ($150 material, 45 books, 35 boots, + beads)
5. $10/food
6. $10/miscellaneous (film, boat rides, drugs, boozed, etc)

8 flights

1. NYC - Raleigh-Durham
2. - Miami
3. - Guatemala City
4. - Flores
5. - Tikal
6. - Guatemala City
7. - Miami
8. - NYC

SUNDAY, 4/20/80: DENNIS'S HEPATITIS AND ME: Note taken 3/14/80 from Mr. Gianninotto from Brooklyn HIP:
"For Type A hepatitis, gamma globulin works IN 2 weeks; for Type B, it doesn't work at ALL."
Dennis's doctor: (Doctor Bernhard: 852-3033---He had to tell DENNIS, not ME!) Dennis had Type B, not blood-transmitted, negative antigen.
Symptoms: nausea, loss of appetite, pain in liver, dark urine, light stool.
If symptoms, rest, no liquor.
I should COME BACK May 15 to repeat tests; in meantime, high vitamins and high protein and low alcohol may help.
Incubation period 60-145 days: Dennis got back January 6, diagnosed January 26, so 60 days before THAT must have been HERE, not California!
So my incubation period may be March 6 - May 30, midpoint being middle of 145-60 = 85/2=43 days after March 6, very approximately TODAY.

MONDAY, 4/21/80: NOTES FROM NY PUBLIC LIBRARY: Notes taken 4/9 when I spent the day there reading and studying:
1) Jan, 1980 Atlantic Monthly: Guatemala: Secret Anticommunist Army important. 40,000 people killed since 1954; 4000 killed since bus fare riots in 10/78. 1954 coup engineered by United Fruit Company and CIA! 60% of rural population earns less than $80/year. UGLY SITUATION: people for PEOPLE killed to keep US support!
2) 1974 (last) JLL 75-110: International Directory of Computer and Information System Services gives ADDRESSES of Educational and training institutes, universities and college, government establishments, research institutions, consultants, and service bureaus. Not useful to me.
3) JFD 75-3512: Anglo-American Cataloging Rules by American Library Association, Chicago, 1973: x means "make a see reference from---"; XX means "make a see also reference from." Probably good for VERY technical NAME and corporate body alphabetization and use. MAY be cited as REFERENCE, or for non-book materials like manuscripts, collections, maps, motion pictures, music and pictures, "phonorecords," etc. Good Appendix II for Capitalization in foreign languages; Appendix III for Abbreviations in foreign languages.
4) JSP 75-508: 1974 membership list in Computer Programs Directory (JUG/ACM (last!)
DECUS - Digital Equipment Computer Users Society
EDUCOM - Ein (Educational Information Network)
EMR - EMR Computer User Society
FOCUS - Control Data users (3000 and below)
GUIDE - IBM large-scale business computer users
NCR users
SEL users - System Engineering Lab 62. Literary Data Processing
SERCUS - Raytheon computers 62.7 Text Editing
SWAP - Wang Laboratories 62.9 Text Manipulation
USE - Univac Scientific Exchange
UUA - Univac Users Association
VIM - Control Data 6000 series users
SWP T.36 Alphabetizer: Alphabetizes 98 words on Wang
VIM SO CODA CDCKWIKA: Keyword index produced for titles for CDC 6000 series
DCS 10-151: KWIC, using MACRO-10
DCS 10-083 UTILI in PDP-10 BASIC: INDEX: makes an index for a book, written
by Dartmouth BASIC Library
FO3 SO ITEK KWIC 32: CDC 3L00, using F-32 and SORT and MERGE
For DCS programs, newsletter DECSUSCOPE,
DECUS Program Library Distribution Center
Digital Equipment Corp.
Maynard, MASS 01754 (Sent 4/11/80)
5) JSP 78-168 (1977) ICP Directory for BIG stuff like IBM 360/370; $20,000,
$500/mo. 98 timesharing services listed
IBM 360/30,40,65; RCA SPECTRA 70/35,45; COBOL, ALC
From Computerized Publications, Inc.
1011 Arlington Road, Suite 318 (Sent 4/11/80)
Arlington, VA 22209
(703) 243-5300 (Still in phone book for 1978 and '79)
6) Publishers Weekly, Jan 11, 1980, through March 28, 1980
Bantam publishes now New Age Books for speculative nonfiction
Delacorte Press sells hardcover gay books
And/Or Press, Berkeley California, for LSD book
Burroughs advertised Blade Runner by The Subterranean Company, I ordered
January 25, 242 pages of Spring announcements for ALL MAJOR PUBLISHERS,
incl. university presses
Heinlein "Number of the Beast" coming in July, 1980
BOWKER MAILING LISTS, but then I GOT a copy of their CATALOG!!!

Bart La Rue made film in 1975, started with old reports of ark:
Earthquake June 20, 1840, ark reappears, in glacier, 3 rooms exposed
Survey team in 1883 hears reports of it, explored rooms, stalls for animals, IRON BARS on cages.
1892: John Joseph, Parliament of Religion in Chicago, told of finding, studying, and measuring ark: 500 feet long, 300 rooms, Iron bars on cages, "stricken from official minutes of conference," and laughed out of town.
1916: Andre Rouskevitsky saw ship. Photo sent to Czar Nicholas, who sent 150 people who reached ark winter of 1917 at 14,000 feet, photo and samples and measurements. Rouskevitsky wrote of it in the 1920's, when Armenians killed.
1952: Fernand Navarra led expedition with 100 soldiers from Turkish army, first of three expeditions, with CONSTANT avalanches, ALL rocks loose. Egri Dag = PAINFUL Mountain.
1953, second trip, when Rafael was 11. East of Lake Kop, found timbers 50 feet long, hand-tooled, square corners, carbon-dated at 5000 years ago, made of Krakus (?) oak, used for ships. Climbing rough because of bears, panthers, wolves, snakes, storms, ice.
1969: "most qualified since 1916: Fernand Navarre and Jr., July 23, 1969, in Otulu. Turks cooperated, Kurds as porters. Base camp at 12,800 feet. Avalanches begin at noon. Constant rumble and change due to extreme DAILY temperature variations. "Timbers 14 years earlier, in 1965?)" AT nearly 14,000 feet July 31, 1"x3"x14" piece; second found August 2, 6 more pieces later. That was the LAST expedition.
1974 Bart La Rue and cameraman went through 20 days of red tape, took 7 days to get to Dogobyazid Hotel, not enough money to start climb; 30-day wait for $12,000, then $500 to Colonel to climb the mountain, $3000 for 2 weeks on mountain. They LOST the 1969 base camp, waited for a guide from then who was jailed because government thought they were spies on the Russian border-advances into Armenia, and they kept messing around at 15,000 and 16,000 feet for some reason, "filming the crevasses from above for the first time" and then having to leave the mountain to avoid arrest (and they can never go back) after 60 days of frustration and trouble. So I guess I won't find the ark myself.

WEDNESDAY, 4/23/80: Note from JO AT J'S #4 (4/15): In again at 9:30, John seeming not to remember me, though Dennis does, and the crowd is quite different. Balding fellow seems attracted to me and I keep pushing him away and he keeps coming back. Shortish blondish hairyish guy is fun to watch, and he allows me to support him as he works on himself, but he's not totally hard, and the john gets too busy so I leave. Sitting on the bench when cutie reminding me of Ken Miller strolls over, says "Everyone I like is named Bob" when I say my name is Bob, and we start necking and think we'll never stop. His name is Jerry Crown from Crown Heights, now at 7 Park Avenue, at 34th, where he describes the 9-room triplex marble-stairwayed penthouse apartment in his building that went for $550 a month until she moved out. Still we neck and kiss and fondle, and his shortish cock turns up sharply and stays VERY hard, which is nice, and his tiny tits stand out and get gooseflesh in the aureoles when he's hot, which is usual with me. We watch some of the ass-reaming on the pool table, but he seems to be into my ass, which is a pity, but he says he'll be in Brooklyn Heights to visit a friend who lives in Cadman Plaza so why don't we have lunch on Thursday. We do and he says he's getting double unemployment for double time (52 weeks) since the company was put out of business by foreign imports. He has to find a job by July and like Bob Rosinek, also a Seventh Avenue worker, has kidney stones. He intends to exercise, is older than he first looked, dresses very nicely, and DOES submit to being mauled by me, and after an initial period of shyness I allow MYSELF to be brought off nicely, which he loves, and then he comes a second time after I switch from left hand to much-lubed-salivated right hand, and we say we have to do this some more, though by Sunday he hasn't called me yet, though I've NEVER called him at ALL. Phone him NOW and he's busy all THIS week, so we both put on our calendars that he'll phone me NEXT Sunday and set up something for NEXT week. Being WITH him changes the whole idea of J's, and we're probably shamelessly exhibitionistic with our fondlings and huggings and neckings, and I don't care a bit---there should be lots more of THAT and less FUCKING!

THURSDAY, 4/24/80: Note from FALK CLASS #8 (4/18) 7-9:15:
85% of buyers of book are WOMEN, and for them, Historical Romance is IT!
People want ESCAPE, SEX, ROMANCE, to get AWAY from the present
Gay survey CRIES for frame: to catch a murderer, to save the world.
Amy: Open you mind and get the solution.
Kathryn: Brother killed in NYC, police find SPERM in ice cube tray. Do it in THIRD person. I'm the bungling brother trying to FIND murderer. Make it REAL. Outline a chapter at a time. Make is SERIOUS rather than funny.
I suggest father advised by mother, and she says "No, identify with BROTHER or FRIEND to make it REAL."
Then she hands back Connoisseur, saying it starts omniscient but then Mr. Alexander said to himself, then Grimes couldn't something the clock. There's "trouble following pacing." Alexander sighed with relief---he thought---he had visited Mr. Alexander---his theory---it HAS TO BE FROM GRIMES'S POINT OF VIEW. More description---what does the SHOP look like, where are they SPATIALLY. Amy thinks it's a PERFECT LAST LINE, though.
Next class, Tuesday, April 29th, and bring all the old SHEETS to class for FOLDER.
#5 (3/1) 2-5 pm---ONLY going over my indexing letter and getting Writer's Digest address
#6 (3/2) 2-5:30 HERE, mainly going over trying to find a PLOT for JOYI, also Class 3 (Notebook 215)
#7 (3/13) 7-9---FINAL version of writing query letter, draft of outline of INDEXING (& talk of other's outline).