It Didn't Take Long

Henry Elkin--Stanley?

Aaron must be the trouble maker until tomorrow morning.
First line has to hold the promise of something special.--Not necessarily.
Embrace confusion?
October 4 Friday
I was just typing a handwritten journal from 1992 when I was twenty-four years old. Thoughts competing. The Yanks and Rangers again. I smoked some. Having a hard time engineering a logical train, not that it has to be necessarily, but...Man, The GIP has got me on the phone again. It took a few minutes, but he is gone now. It seems maybe I've matured some and my writing, too. I still suck, but I'm way more consistent and disciplined. My journals from 1992 embarrass me, as I'm sure these will in a few years or minutes. It's no wonder the old man couldn't stand me.
Martinez came up the stairs again, this time for the rent check. I laughed and remarked on the juniordom of my moniker on the checks.
A kid got run over near school yesterday. All the newspapers had been stolen when I arrived at school today. So I bought one here at Seven Eleven when I bought wine coolers. It had a Metro section instead of the Valley section, and I didn't see anything in there about the runover kid. I spoke with my maternal grandmother, Vera Cosgrove Eaton Norfolk. My mother is in Hawaii for the week and asked me to call on my grandmother while she is away.
-I just walked into the bathroom where I pinched my face until maggots squirmed from the pores. It didn't take long.
-The assignment due next week is five to seven first lines and two short stories about ourselves, one true, one false.
-I ate at Carl's Jr., a double western bacon cheeseburger with lettuce and mayonaise for breakfast this morning. When I got home, I toasted and ate two slices of shepherd's bread with peanut butter, one of my grampa Zurn's favorite staples. I'm hungry again. I've got vapor lock again.
-Ok ok let's go hurry it up move along. Watch for the crossing guard. Walk the treadmill. / How'bout an outdoor lesson? Got to Got Got got to go to the DMV. The Thing just came home. I told him someone called asking for The Thang. He said, the other day some homo called asking if he was the same Thing listed in the personal ads last week. He said, "I said, 'no'. but my roommate is."
-Now The GIP calls and says, "Let's see the movie 'Flirting with Disaster' at the New Beverley for two fifty." I relented. Now I'll have to go put a shirt on.
What about my typing?

So There!

Oct 3 Thurs
     The truth lodged (for the winter) in his throat like a foreign object.  She thought of performing the Heimlech.
-
I'm at the Hollywood Athletic Club pool hall in University City at the bar in front of game 2 of the Dodger/Brave playoff game awaiting my Introduction to Fiction extension class in an hour at 7:00.  At the last class they asked us to tell what we joped to accomplish by taking the class.  I hope to edit the fifteen pages I have and add another quality 10 pages.  I think I mostly need help with character development beyond my main character.  Immediatley I am trying to create dialogue between the main character and a character who has just been introduced, and I don't know what to have them say to each other.
-A lecherous-looking, white-haired, must be the manager makes wolf in sheep's clothing eyes at the barmaid.  Will I be any different?
Sam Beckett's oddly older companions took him out partyin' on London's west side.  What mean the bottle he has got stuck on his finger?  Alcoholism, most likely.
-Completed my alcohol class last night.  I have only a follow up interview and then I'll be free of it.  'Twasn't so bad
-It's crappin' time again.
A visitor to LA from Ireland just bestowed upon me a Hamlet cigarette.  It was good.  Can't get them here, he says.
-
Bebop skadiddly wop, blimps dance on TV.  Ray Milland hallucinated rodents and bought a gun with thoughts of suicide.  The beautiful lover postpones with thoughts of a miracle when the bartender arrives on the scene with Don's (Milland's character's) typewiter, saaving the day and presumably the future.
-A crew of Amazons in here is promoting a Brazilian beer "Rio Cristal".  I fuckin' bought one.
-I'd like to eat but the food here's too pricey.            Hopefully, maybe I'll catch a few flicks at the theater near here after school while I wait for my fiction class to begin each week.  Hopefully maybe I won't just drink every time. 
The Irishman assumed we smoked Cuban cigars and was at first surprised to hear they were illegal until considering the political climate in Washington toward Castro.
-Meanwhile, Juan Castro has taken over for Delino DeShields at second base, answering the prayers of Dodger fans.  Fred "Crime Dog" McGriff just homered to tie the game for the Braves.
Almost there~~Stay on target~~~Almost there.
-Now rookie Jermaine Dye has parked one to give the Braves the lead  Muffhuggin eexcruciatin'.

So there!

A True Fart Story

Oct 2 Wed.
I'm in a duct-taped booth at Powerhouse Cocktails on Highland, just down the street from alcohol school which I must attend in a little less than an hour and a half. Stevie Ray Vaughn is singing "Sweet Little Thing" on the juke box for the small, down-and-out-looking clientele. The bartender and I are the only ones with collars. I'm waiting for the start of the Ranger/Yankee playoff game. The Dodgers lost again today. I watched that one on the TV in my classroom. I'm smoking another lung damn cigarette. I don't know what's gotten into me with the tabacky lately. I went down to El Rincon Taurino at lunch today and got a torta de pierna. Wolfed it, and a little taco de pastor, down in the car as I drove back to school. Tomorrow one of my extension classes starts. I think it's the novel writing class. It's at the Universal City Walk. The one at UCLA starts Monday. I'll go there by way of Van Nuys courthouse to get the abstract I need to get squared away with the DMV. Hey! An oldtimer with a tie and one of those 1920's driving caps just teetered in. Boy, if Ray, the alcohol school instructor was to walk in right now and see me with this beer, he might send me back to court.
Jim Jim Jim and Aaron what the hell will their conversation be. I need an agitator, a tempter for them. Another character maybe. A phone call, a girl or something? What?
I have to take a crap. The bathroom here is probably not the best place for that. Man I had some stinky STINKY nasty gas today. I filled the classroom as I read the sports page before the bell rang this morning, and even I was disgusted with the odor. I walked up to get the kids, leaving the door open and walked them back slowly to let the smell dissipate. The girls' line was straighter, so I let them go in the room first. Some reward. Shrieking and stampeding, they came pouring back out the door as if the room was on fire, holding their noses and complaining of rotten eggs and dead fish. Then little Suheidi gagged, gurgled, and puked her breakfast peaches onto the floor. True.
-
Sam Beckett was conned by Polly and the false promise of sex nude into used bathwater and a shot of cologne which knocked him out. Something like this could happen to Jim Crack.
-
Juan "Going Going" Gonzalez just ripped one into the stands near the foul pole which a fan reached into fair territory and caught. The ump ruled it a homerun.
-
My watch winks green and red neon reflected on its face.
-The last sentence is hard to come by. Two more lines to fill. With what? I dunno. How about, "shit."?

Light is and Electromagnetic Wave

Tuesday October 1
What about today? First day of playoffs in Major League Baseball. I just lived in the Dominican Republic for six weeks in November and December. The Dodgers gave me room and board and $400 a week to teach at their school down there. It's hard to think with the baseball on the TV. I ate too much again. At 8:30 I need to tread until nine. I'll read the Garagiola book while I do it. The game on now is Texas vs. New York. Rodriguez pounds his glove. I cold just write whatever the TV commentators say, use their thoughts as my own, better than the nothing in the void. Watching dummies run away from a mad bull makes me think about buying a new Chevy pick-up truck. Tim Raines just flied out. Didn't he want to be called Rock at one point? Shirelle asked me for ten dollars to buy pot. She was miffed I wouldn't go with her to Westwood to her friends', Wayne and April, to get it with her. I said maybe after the game. Apparently that wasn't good enough. She left. I could go for a bourbon. There was a TV version of Shirley Jackson's The Lottery on the other night. It was lame. This is so difficult. I can't think of anything to say. What is there? God help me. Maybe if I read Maughm's journal to see what he wrote I'll feel better like the way Camus helped me. There was a faculty meeting after school today. A dumb meeting to introduce ECAL grant. Texas won. I switched the TV to a Nova biography of Einstein. LIGHT IS AN ELECTROMAGNETIC WAVE?!

Phillipe's and the Holy of Holeys

Sept. 30 Monday
The last day of September. There's something alarming about that. Why?
Because I'm reminded of how preciously short is one's lifetime. Not that everyone holds their life precious; only if there is something they want to do other than die. Anyone whose desire is to create, bitterly loves their short little life.
I'm getting flabby. How old was I when my father was my age now? I was seven. I had just started second grade. He and my mother were about to divorce.

It's hard for me to think cuz I'm gettin' hungry. The retard Dodgers lost the third game of the series against San Diego to be swept from the Division Championship and now must play Atlanta as the wild card. Gip and I stopped by his parents' place on Van Ness so he could pick up a clean pair of shorts. His dad was on the couch in their living room reading the Times. We drove up Wilton to Sunset and parked outside the stadium parking lot to save five bucks. It was a hike to our seats on the top deck. Before that we went to Phillpe's on Alameda up the street from the Pueblo at Olvera, across from Union Station. Rumor has it it was once a brothel, and now it has long wooden benches with sawdust on the floor and people waiting in long lines between the benches to get the best dip sandwiches in the world. A girl sells gum and newspapers from a cage. And there are nooks and crannies with tables and stairs leading to little rooms and pictures of old LA on the walls. We waited in line and ordered sandwiches and potato salad and coconut cream pie and lemonade. The Giants were upsetting the Vikings on the TV over the bench where we sat. A sixty-four-year-old woman held a stool for whoever was waiting in line to order their food. I unfolded the funny page. Miguel said that what we did in La Paz stood out more than what we did in Cabo. The lady's like-aged companion alit alongside the stool next to her. He said, "Hello, fellows. Are you going to the game?" We said as much. He said, "My wife and I were at church, but the minister wasn't there, so we said to hell with it." I said, "Maybe he's going to the game." He asked, "Where are you from?" I wondered aloud if he thought I was from the Midwest, like so many other people say when they meet me. Then I said, "I'm from right here. I was born in Hollywood. How about you?" "The Midwest," he answered. "That's where I'm from Iowa." I said, "What brought you out to LA?" "Hollywood," he said. "You wanted to get into the movie business?" "Well, yeah. I was in acting before I was hurt in a car accident." "He was in the originial 'Oklahoma'," his wife added. "I had just finished a picture for Universal when I got in the wreck. Couldn't walk for a long time, let alone dance." "What are you going to do for good luck, so your team will win," asked the woman. I indicated my "holy holey old World Series shirt from 1988" that my nipple pokes out of.

Gwynn Sits on his Fat Ass Out in Right Field

Sept. 28
It seems to all come down to having? finding? coming up with a worthy sentence. The Dodgers have now lost three in a row leading into the final game of the season. Netanyahu speaks of dedicated Zionists. I called KABC last night on a cel phone Peach kicked, looked down, and found on our way out of the stadium. I was a little nervous about talking on the air, asking why they didn't use Dave Hansen to pinch hit during a crucial at-bat late in the game and Ross Porter agreed, "hindsight being 20-20."
I'm sitting now at my desk in front of Jim Crack. Adam looked at Jim. They'd known each other how long? I have two tickets for tomorrow's game. Who should I ask to go? Freedomz what e wants. I have a half a brown and chewed cigar stub Mariachi gave me new yesterday to be smoked after a victory that never came. We smoked 'em anyway. I'm so without ideas I may just finish smoking it. There's this lame rule that a ballplayer vying for the batting crown doesn't have to have the minimum number of plate appearances to qualify for the title; he can actually still qualify if he is charged with no hits for the number of at-bats needed, and his batting average is still hihger than the other hitter with the highest average. That's lame. If you're not durable enough to get the MINIMUM number of at-bats, then no title. What's the point of having a minimum, if not? Piazza catches, gets banged up all the time, and still gets the required number of plate appearances while Gwynn sits on his fat ass out in right field and goes on the DL, and Gwynn's gonna get the title over Potsie when he can't get his fat ass to the plate enough to qualify? Gay. If you don't have the endurance, you don't deserve it.

Whatever

Sept. 26
Righting and lefting our way across Los Angeles. A picture of a baby in the window of a Korea Town shop flipping you off in sunglasses. There will be a lunar eclipse tonight.

Sept. 27
Shortly before death Fitzgerald said, "In our 30's we want friends. In our 40's we know they won't save us any more than loved did."

Painting on the Wall

Thurs.
I haven't written three full pages in over ten days, and what I did was all crap. I've stopped off at the Banana Bungalow which is the hostel here in Hollywood on Cahuenga. Out back of the cafe is a nice deck; rhododendrons and fruitless banana trees grow below the cliff under which I'm seated. A girl in overalls came out with a Cup o' Noodles and proceeded to hum and lay down sheets under a mural of the the plant life she's painting on the wall. Another girl, a redhead with a British accent couldn't get the change machine to accept her bills. I had plenty of coins in my pocket, so I changed them for her. It's 5:06. Cool. The sun is already behind the cliff. I have to be to alcohol school down the street at 6:30. I ate nasty Carl's Jr Bacon Star. I'm not very hungry, but I'm so bored and without ideas that I want to eat. I find some similarity in Skin Trade and Jim Crack in style and monologue and close third person.

An Absurd Thing to Think

Tuesday Sep 24
It is dramatically, suddenly, fall.
The sun sets farther south. The sky's blue is grayer. The air is a chilling breeze, timeless; it makes me feel equally close to birth and death. The Dodgers are down to the last six games of the season and are still only half a game up on the Pads against whom they'll play the last three. Right now they're hosting Frisco. I have tickets for Thursday night. I'm reading Joe Garagiola's memoir of his career in the National League during the 40's and 50's. It's called Baseball: A Funny Game. It's a quaint recollection, nice to read. Better so far than Jim Bouton's Ball Four. I'm also four chapters into Adventures in the Skin Trade. It reminds me of Joyce. Thomas must've been cognizant of the comparison, penning Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog. I thought Skin Trade might be some 30's and 40s' exposee on his time as a screenwriter in Hollywood, but now that seems an absurd thing to think. Last night I read Act III scene vii of Richard III aloud to Shirelle before we humped. She rubbed my weiner while Richard duped Buckingham into suggesting he assume the throne. John Method gave me a book about the alleged UFO crash in Roswell, New Mexico.

Gave Up on Giving Up

Fri Sept 20
"It's just a picture of Derb. What do you want it for?" I guess the Gip doesn't see the rainbow diamonds circling derb out there nor the cacti glow golden behind him.


Mon. Sept 23
so fuckin wot ya no

Spent the weekend in Fullerton at my mom's. Gip and I drove out there Friday. First he needed to stop at his parents' house to get a clean shirt. His mom put out placemats in front of us at the table and insisted we have omelets and black beans and warm tortillas. The Dodger game, which I had hoped to watch at the Alligator Lounge where Kirsten works, came on while we sat there. The the Pepper refused to follow my directions to Orange County, and we sat in traffic on the Five well into the late innings, and I never did talk to Kirsten. Fuckin Gip. We waited at my mom's for my sister to come home. Then we went to the Lava Room in Costa Mesa for Stevo's birthday. Greg Johnson's band Lidsville played. Rawler and I won a few pool games. A girl named Dolores with an eye-grabbing chest ended our streak. I blabbed buzzedly to Wilbur about my life. I told the interlinked credit card scandal/dui arrest story and of the camping trip culminating in the drunken stunt fight between my brother and me in the parking lot of the Whiskey Creek Saloon in Mammoth. I didn't buy any beer, but I drank three I think Gip and Jen bought. I said, "I gave up giving up drinking because nobody likes me sober."

As we were leaving the Pepper's parents' house, I excused myself to the bathroom where I unfolded the bill with the pulverized ephedrine tablets, and I rolled up another bill and snorted up both nostrils, stinging, burning my eyes turned instantly red and watered. I walked out mumbling something about soap in my eyes, and was already paranoid enough to think Mr. Martinez knew I snorted in there. I sneezed and blew snot all night after that.

The girl whose heart was in the right side of her chest.

Trying to String Together a Whornet's Nest

Thurs. Sept 19
Okay here we go. I'm not sure of anything, as usual, but I'll try to string together a few sentences. Like: In an attempt to shake my lethargy, I've decided to stir up a hornet's nest of estrogen. Shirelle still lives here with me on Keniston. As if she, Shirelle, weren't enough trouble, I asked Carrie from alcohol school, the one with the pierced eyebrow for her phone number. Tonight I called Kirsten, my mom's friend's daughter--That's right, mom's friend's daughter--and I invited them all to Stevo's birthday party tomorrow.

From the Roof of Alcohol School

Tues. Sept. 17
The Dodgers and Padres have been tied in the standings for weeks now. They have been within half a game of each other for 11 games with eleven games to go. It's raining in Denver as I chomp down the last crust of a honey peanut butter and boysenberry jelly sandwich. I wonder if it's not the remnants of hurricane Fausto. I belched cilantro.
It's a commercial now. The Adventures of Jim Crack is written for channel changers.
Streamlined head.
Wed. Sep. 18
From the roof of the building where I do alcohol school at Franklin and Highland. A hazy view across Hollywood to Los Angeles' pathetic skyline. I'm sure Camus would be unimpressed. Even though I couldn't afford it, I had a beer and the hot turkey sandwich over at Musso and Frank's on Hollywood while I read the paper.
Hideo Nomo threw a no-hitter in Denver last night. It was a great game. I taped the third installment of the latest Ken Burns documentary, "The West". It was about the 49ers and the rush to gold in California.
I wish I had a joint up here, but what would that change? Would I be any more imaginative? Would it give me any ideas? I'll walk to the ledge of the building and look down.
There's a Mexican kid in a wife beater tank top at an unused lot by himself practicing his wind-up, throwing a ball around.
-Sometimes you think if you lived in New York, life would be more compelling, easier to write about.
-
There's something old-world about the way the houses are set into the hillside, rubbing shoulders with their Spanish tiles and porticos, Greek and Italian balconies.
I say we take those donut-eating CHPs into an army of drivers to drive us drunks home. The elimination of those accidents will lower the body count and save the tax payers money.