6-4 W 12:45 PM

At some sidewalk cafe on Beverly near La Brea. I read the Times here where I stopped on my walk to Shirelle's. The sky threatens a rare June thunderstorm. A guy walks by talking on his sell phone. Five lines and here we are at a "What the hell else?" I'll walk home and be there by two at the latest. Wasting so much time with the newspaper is sort of a blow-it as far as finding a new school to work at. I've got some phone calls to make, and I ought to dress and visit Hoover. Too bad I have to work tonight? How did I get by without the income before? How I'm barely making it now? I can't wait to have these dumb-ass credit cards paid off. I need to start more correspondences. Email publications.

[scripted font, much bigger G extending below the others, all caps:]GOLD. I realy enjoy this McCarthy book. ~~There is not a fucking thing going on within or without. It's muggy ~ There's a woman with a "Rosie O'Donnel" hat on. My molars hurt. There's a nice-looking girl with a notebook looking for a place to sit. She looked at my writing and smiled and walked off and sat somewhere else. A guy just walked by with a top hat and a suit and shirt and tie with stripes clashing in all directions. I need to converse more. I should have invited the girl to sit here, but I have no time, right?

I'll make spaghetti.

[Script:] I CHanged.[] There goes a rabbi. There are yarmulkes all over, actually. What the flying motherfuck else? I have a St. Paul baseball shirt on that Pablo Mariachi gave to Shirelle. I swapped with her temporarily because my Vancouver shirt was damp with sweat from marching the three miles or so up to her place last night. It seems crazy to walk across Los Angeles and Hollywood at such an hour as I did last night, but the streets are well-lighted and the traffic constant. I feel no danger. I saw one hooker. Three and a half more lines and I'm done. I'm looking all around for what to write. It's just cars and concrete and stores.

6-3 Tu 2:00

I'm sitting on a high stool at a high table on the sidewalk in front of Rita Flora. A meter creep was about to ticket a Saturn when the old guy who owns it came out and started arguing against the ticket because the meter was, he claimed, out of order. "You're out of order, too," I threw out hoping the meter creep knew it was directed at him, but I only offered it in passing. I'm waiting for a tune-up and oil change on the Chrysler at the Firestone Service Center down La Brea. I called Amtrak today. The train ride alone will cost $379 to Spokane. Ugh. A girl with one of those trendy-ass tattoos showing on the small of her back, one that disappears down into her pants to the crack of her ass, presumably, is smoking a cigarette that the wind keeps blowing my way. The waitress just brought a menu and an iced tea. The guy at Firestone said my car would be ready around three, three thirty. What should I eat? Pasta here? Golden Bird? McDonald's? Home spaghetti? Nothing? There goes an ambulance.

[stylize drawing of] DIZZY HARD Los Angeles

They drop a sprig of mint leaf in your iced tea here. American [upside-down question mark]QUE[accent on the 'E']

There's an orange carnation in a round glass of water 

[sketch in navy ink of flower in bowl of water]

No one else is sitting out here now.

[Some kind of Satanic little fuck-up will not allow me to change the fonts halfway through the entry]

There's an old Rambler parked at the curb with a bulldog painting in back. 

[the gas station logo:] 76

In class now several hours later. I succumbed to the siren song of Golden Bird. My belly distends a little further.

I'm already clenching sphynx against flatulence. What else? I'll walk to Shirelle's tonight. I'll walk back tomorrow. Tomorrow: Call Mary to let her know I want to work the next two weeks. Write, of course. Make spaghetti. Pray for the car. Work. Go to LA High with tie early. Go to John Burroughs. Go to Hoover. Go Go GO Fuck Fuck Fuck You step in front of a car. Accused of hit and run. Ninety miles an hour girl that's the way I drive. Tire Tracks all across your back.

June 2 5:45 PM M

From the Pollo Loco at Wilshire and Wilton. I got the coffee jitters while I write and wait for my order. I had an interview at Marvin Elementary today. This Principal McClain grilled me. I mostly withstood, but I don't know how bad I want to work there. I'm trying to arrange interviews at some other schools.

Shirelle and I went to the Men's Wearhouse on La Cienega, and I bought a new suit with shirt and tie. It cost nearly five hundred bucks. Tomorrow I've got to take the Chrysler for a tune-up and oil change.

My students are studying the present progressive tense.

Damn! Not even the bottom of the first page and I'm already out of things to say. To write, that is.

I lost a tie. It's not hanging on the nail in the closet with my other ties. I remember using it for something, for my evaluation with my assistant principal and was going to wear it somewhere I went with Carlin and Raquel, I think--no it was the Dodger game with Lisa and Phil. I tore it off because it suddenly embarrassed me. I don't think I left it in her car. Maybe in Carlin's back seat. I'll have to ask around.

The pen I'm writing with was given to me as a gift by one of my students. It's a great pen because it's retractable and I can put it in my breast pocket without marking up my shirt; I did, however, manage already to mark up the shirt before I got the pen. It's inside the pocket luckily, not visible to the casual observer.

So when I get home, I'll type. I've got to do some dialog 'tween Jim and Adam as they near the girls' beach house.

1:43 From bed. I lay down. I closed my eyes, and music started up. Curtains parted and the room shook, the vertical needed adjusting his femoral artery twitched and sent a tsunami of deoxygenated anaerobic blueblood back to the heart. Everything turned purple. The two mixed and there it was in his infinite eyelids. A bubble rose and popped outside a bird coughs Time travel is possible The pencil fell from my hands. I forgot what it was even as I held it in my fingers trying to remember, but it rolled up and the little thump of it hitting the paper opened my eyes.