Monday Jan 2o
MLK holiday, no school. Mac called around 9:30 to golf. I said I would come out to the Valley. Maybe we could get nine in at Van Nuys before it started raining. I stepped out the door and it started raining. We didn't golf. The movie "The Land That Time Forgot" is on. I remembered that Grandpa Zurn had taken me to see it at the Alondra Six Theatres when I still lived in Cerritos, before 1977. German U-boats going under ice caps to a land of dinosaurs. Stuff like that. A refrigerated chicken truck has overturned on the freeway. I'm going to shower when I'm done here. Peach is coming out to see his sister record at a studio in Santa Monica tonight. He called to tell me. I might go. I feel a little sick, though. My mind is weak now. I was only able to put two sentences onto Jim last night. I didn't read any Bible yesterday. I want to go on Jeopardy! soon. I have to shop for cars this week. I've got some e-mail to compose. We shall overcome. I had some tea downstairs with Getoff just now. We opened the kitchen door to the backyard and sat on the stoop with the clouds travelling across the sapphire sky, the moon winking through the early twilight, turning the grass an impossibly vibrant green.
Mac took me over to Eddie's to see the hydroponic marijuana garden in the closet. You can smell the weed out on the sidewalk in front of the house. I said that to Eddie. He thought I was joking. A guy named Harry played video basketball the whole time and spoke not a word. I sang, "I'm just wild about Harry". That got everyone looking at me funny, even me.
Laurence Austen, the lovable old flaming queer with flaming red-dyed hair, was robbed and shot and killed at the Silent Film House that he operated in the Fairfax district, where I saw my first Buster Keaton films on a magic night on acid where there were ghosts all around and plastic flowers out of Oz. I ain't kidding about the ghosts. It's the only silent film house in the world. Who will run it now?
I should tread before that shower, but it has already been thirty-six hours since my last shower. Getoff's mom and dad are coming to take him to the Bel Air Hotel to celebrate his mother's birthday. He says the last time they ever came over to visit him anywhere was when we were living together in Newport Beach and his dad told him we were living in poverty. That was the same instance that my father told me I was living like a nigger.
I should quit smoking for a while. I bought The Joy Luck Club and a hardcover Accidental Tourist and French-English translation book and some music at the yard sale our next door neighbor was having.
MLK holiday, no school. Mac called around 9:30 to golf. I said I would come out to the Valley. Maybe we could get nine in at Van Nuys before it started raining. I stepped out the door and it started raining. We didn't golf. The movie "The Land That Time Forgot" is on. I remembered that Grandpa Zurn had taken me to see it at the Alondra Six Theatres when I still lived in Cerritos, before 1977. German U-boats going under ice caps to a land of dinosaurs. Stuff like that. A refrigerated chicken truck has overturned on the freeway. I'm going to shower when I'm done here. Peach is coming out to see his sister record at a studio in Santa Monica tonight. He called to tell me. I might go. I feel a little sick, though. My mind is weak now. I was only able to put two sentences onto Jim last night. I didn't read any Bible yesterday. I want to go on Jeopardy! soon. I have to shop for cars this week. I've got some e-mail to compose. We shall overcome. I had some tea downstairs with Getoff just now. We opened the kitchen door to the backyard and sat on the stoop with the clouds travelling across the sapphire sky, the moon winking through the early twilight, turning the grass an impossibly vibrant green.
Mac took me over to Eddie's to see the hydroponic marijuana garden in the closet. You can smell the weed out on the sidewalk in front of the house. I said that to Eddie. He thought I was joking. A guy named Harry played video basketball the whole time and spoke not a word. I sang, "I'm just wild about Harry". That got everyone looking at me funny, even me.
Laurence Austen, the lovable old flaming queer with flaming red-dyed hair, was robbed and shot and killed at the Silent Film House that he operated in the Fairfax district, where I saw my first Buster Keaton films on a magic night on acid where there were ghosts all around and plastic flowers out of Oz. I ain't kidding about the ghosts. It's the only silent film house in the world. Who will run it now?
I should tread before that shower, but it has already been thirty-six hours since my last shower. Getoff's mom and dad are coming to take him to the Bel Air Hotel to celebrate his mother's birthday. He says the last time they ever came over to visit him anywhere was when we were living together in Newport Beach and his dad told him we were living in poverty. That was the same instance that my father told me I was living like a nigger.
I should quit smoking for a while. I bought The Joy Luck Club and a hardcover Accidental Tourist and French-English translation book and some music at the yard sale our next door neighbor was having.
posted by johnz at 4:12 PM
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