Tu 4-15 7:30 AM Tax Day!
On the pot taking a crap. Don't care if I'm late. By the time I got to writing here yesterday it was late, and I fell asleep without writing a word. There was nothing to write about anyway. So can I crank this bad boy out before it's time to go home?  Today, I definitely have to stop by LACAS to turn in my time card. I'll check my e-mail today. A woman in a lime green day-glo dress is talking about creating an army of multicultural proponents (I'm out of the crapper). Apparently the way to do this is to vilify white people. I agree with them in principal, but they continually go against everything they want by screaming Racism! Racism! Racism! and it seems they only perpetuate the problem. My friends and I drink and smoke and play and watch sports together and we make fun of each other, race included, and that is multicultural harmony. But I'm a white man, say the leaders of this institute and so am incapable of understanding. Here, they make no mention of non-violence. They use words like 'army' and 'fighting racism'. Whatever. Today is the fiftieth anniversary of Jackie Robinson's first Big League game. I don't even bring it up with this crowd, but Jackie's a huge reason I'm not a racist. I played baseball with kids of every hue and we worked toward the same goals and laughed and joked and didn't give a shit what race anyone was and we were embarrassed by our parents backwards attitudes. What else? Nice day. Butterflies flit past roses. When I'm done with this I'll do the crossword. Day-glo says we need to create a better human being to create a more harmonious Los Angeles. As soon as her generation is out of power and my generation is in, the Civil Rights Act will start to change things for real. Racism will die. We'll kill each other over color-blind income issues. Lot of semi-bigwigs wander through this thing. I need a pencil sharpener. Marta is explaining the next activity. My roll at night school is a mess. There's an attractive new woman in there who's about my age. I probably shouldn't go hitting on my adult ed students. Right? I can't think of her name right now. I wasn't a very good teacher last night. I felt a little distracted. The CRAP from this retreat stays with me. I've just reviewed my curriculum for racial inequality. Didn't find any. Woo-who! If I were at school, I'd be leaving now. I smoked a quarter j before I drove here this morning. Took Ventura slow and watchful; didn't sweat my tardiness. I just swiped the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance off the shelf of the "Holy Spirit Library". We had tuna salad croissants for lunch. We ate outside. It's only Tuesday. One month and one day from today I begin my vacation. Priority number one will be to find a school to work at closer to home. I don't know if I'll be teaching night school in the summer yet or not. They're going to let us know next week. I've got to figure out about heading up to Idaho or not. Carlos is expecting me to go to Guatemala with him, but I don't think I'll be able to swing it. Will I be involved in a new romance by then? Can I get to page fifty in fuckin' Jim? We shall see. It's taking me forever to read Youth in Revolt, even though it's pretty breezy. What else? Big Deb commended me for having the discipline to write these three pages every day and noted that her son does the same and is a Gemini, too. I said I had to meet him. Big Deb is black and we whisper jokes to each other about how lame this retreat is.

oops this book's all out of order. Carlin says, "Some artsy folks think they're so much better than anyone else, they don't have to take a bath." An over-the-top feminine superiority. They were talking about genitalia. Who has more? Ugh. Urk -- what's up? She's laying on my couch in the stream of sunlight that falls through the window while we wait for The Thing. We're going to Dublin's to watch the De La Hoya/Whittaker fight. What the hell else? He looked like a biologist. They had to take computer programming and the teacher was Japanese and brilliant and no one could understand her.

Sa 3:25 PM 4-12
Let's see. Uh, what have I got? The day's NBA highlights slow me. It' sunny out there. I'm afraid to write to Lisa. Ugh Urg what else? God, give me the animation, please. I need a woman to help me find clothes and a watch and a house and a car. What else? I've got nothing to say. I typed two pages of nothing and now I'm handwriting three pages of nothing. I guess when I'm done I'll treadmill. Thing's going to have a glass of wine. Ackickurk. Maybe if I went out to the backyard and sat at the table...I've been thinking of writing a multicultural manifesto. What else? I lay in bed and read about thirty-five pages of Youth in Revolt. I've gone from reading four or five books at a time to just one. I I I I oh why--
Carlin is looking at the Aenied on

She said, "I'm not attracted to women. I think women are attractive." She asked if I've ever seen "The Last Picture Show". I said I had. "Who wrote it?" she asked. I said, "Larry McMurtry."
Tough to find that in-between.
Invited to a party. Said, "Thanks for having me." The girl said, "I haven't had you yet." But it didn't work out.
"Thing, how'z if feel to be waiting on me for a change?'
Carlin is talking about her Palestinian friend. She lost her best friend because of the Palestinian boy. She thinks she wanted to pork him. "She's so stupid."

4-10 Th 3:00 PM
On the shitter in the Holy Spirit Retreat Center/Concentration Camp. This place is killing me. We're not getting paid for it either. What else? I'm tired. If I go home I could try to make to make arrangements to go out to the desert to see Hale-Bopp. It's hard to think. Rosy, who I always feel doesn't like me, said I was a "neat" person. Neat? Obviously, she despises me. I see now that it's because she's a virulent racist and nothing to do with me being a jackass. Actually, I got some nice compliments today. Whatever. I'm not getting any exercise at this place. Every hour is accounted for. Rosy asked me where I was going after I had eaten dinner and gotten up. "What do I have to tell you for?" I didn't say. I said, "I'm going to look for the comet." "Oh, we'll come with you," she said. So, Yuri Iguana and Lin Aokay and Rosy Fujimoto followed me outside to look for the comet. There it was, a blurry blob in the sky, bigger than the stars, but not as big as the moon. Yuri said it gave her a feeling. "Like wonder?" I said, but she said something indicating doom and superstition.
Hiddly-ho. I told her about being alone on Palomar mountain after having seen the pictures of all the galaxies, and how if you could see something that was millions of light years away, and if you could fit something that was millions of light years across in a picture, and that when distance becomes time and time becomes distance, that when you look at stars, you look thousands of years into the past, that what you see today is not how it looks today, but long ago, then you sleep alone in a sleeping bag under the sky, not only do you get spooked, you become irrevocably changed. "Oh," she said. "Anyway, I think you've got enough air in your tire to get to the gas station and have it patched without ruining your rims." It's a rear tire so her steering shouldn't be affected much.
These conferences always have the same affect on me: I get bored and start looking at the women and wondering what it would be like to bone them. It's too hard to think here, and that's odd because it's a RETREAT. There's no stimulation and no potential. I got a joint in my bag, but no matches. I'd probably set off a smoke alarm anyway, and the place would be evacuated, and I obviously can't go outside by myself. It's like rehab.
What else? I'm struggling with this, and I still have fifteen minutes to type. I want to read my book still, too. I'm tired, though. Maybe I should just crash. I haven't showered today. This dude named Jeff, a muscular and evil-looking dude, said he saw a line of ducks at the pond taking turns gangbanging another duck, "just pushing her head down and going at it." I need consent and desire, myself. Yeah. Ugh. Just writing any old thing. Blah blah blah. I wish I could do my e-mail.
All of a sudden there are all these girls I like. How do I pick one and go for it? Conduct interviews? I wish I was home working on this problem right now. I wonder if what I've been saying here is terribly inconsistent.
Debbie and I did a male/female role reversal skit. Debbie was trying to read the paper while I was trying to show her a new pair of shoes. We had spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. I had two helpings. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I fucking hate this! What else? Get it over with. Finito. Termine. Get there. GO go go go go go go to bed, fool. I ratted on my father here. I'm done. Game over. Out of here. Adios. G'bye.