7-7-97 M 10:26 PM
I'm going to bed early tonight so I can get a good night's rest so I can stay up 'til midnight the rest of the week even though I have to get up at six or so each day so I can sub at Leo Politi.  I wrote a half a page of Aaron's sex recollection.  Shirelle just waltzed in with a Big Mac and an ice cream and slapped on the TV while I was writing.  How often will I have to suppress the idea of strangling her?  I e-mailed Julia about my affinity with the coyote. I'm reading The Necessary Angel:  Essays on Reality and the Imagination by Wallace Stevens and The Shipping News by Annie Proulx and Writing Through Darkness.     Aaron's playing Twister with two teenage girls while cookies bake.  He can't get his holster off.  Puck the toy poodle is here. When Shirelle called, I said, "What are you bringing me?"  She said, "I'm bringing you the cootchee."  What else?  I'm lying in bed now.  She's in here now, too.  She said, "What's wrong?"  I said, "Nothing.  I just think you're a little rude marching in here with your McDonald's and slapping on the TV while I'm writing.  The bitch says, "Oh, so now I'm not allowed to eat or watch TV in front of you."  It must take some supreme effort, unmatched will power, for here to forget every day that I write.

I've got to set the alarm for six twenty.  Another coyote trap.  I'll do my fifteen minutes and eat watermelon for breakfast.  Today I ate a plum and thought of William Carlos Williams.  I wrote a letter of recommendation for Prinicipal Sasada.  I sent photos to my dad and grandparents.  Maybe I can get that 'ninety-two stuff out of the way in the morning, too.  I've got to do a better job at night school.  Tomorrow is the Major League All-Star Game.  I haven't missed one in decades, but tomorrow I have to teach.  I asked the Gip to tape it.  I should skip lunch and read and write instead tomorrow. Will Amber sit on Aaron's little penis?  What else?  Tengo hambre.  I can make PB&J for breakfast.  or a can of chili.  Why's the dog barking?

Naked Circus

"Well, you shouldn't do that," he said and left me.
"Well, you shouldn't do that out there," he said and left me in my room.
Monica and I had been on the side of the house by the gate taking turns looking down each other's underpants.  I don't think I was tall enough to reach the little hole in the gate where the cord went through to unlatch it. I saw some pudge with a line down it.  I don't remember how we got around to it, what was said, whose idea it was.  Next thing I knew, my dad had me by the elbow and he scolded us and sent Monica away.
Around that time, a friend of my mom's and dad's was in town.  I think it was Mickey Brophie.  He had brought a camper.  He was going to the circus.  I wanted to go.  My mom said I wasn't invited.  I pestered.  She said I was rude.  The guy said it was okay.  I got to go.  But when we got there, the circus was sold out.  I was disconsolate.  They bought me a plastic jeweled pirate sword, so I would be a good sport about it. 
Anyway, after that, I would draw pictures of the circus from what I'd seen in books, but after seeing the pudge in Monica's pants, I would draw all the people naked.  It was a naked circus.  Two circles with two dots in 'em were tits.  I draw a vertical line through a circle for the pussy. The ring master had a dick.  This was in the second grade.  Even then, we always found naked magazines in people's garages.  Ronny Martin showed us his dad's Penthouses in a box.  I had dreams about naked people in garages.  I told Keith about it on the way to school.  We agreed it would be good to see more naked people, as long as we could keep our clothes on ourselves. 
_
What else?  I sawr a baby squirrel make his way along the electric wires out the window.  A crow landed and the kitchen blew a fuse.  Shirelle made tacos.  After this, I'll shoot some hoops.  The phone rings.  Thing says, "Hey, Z, it's Shirelle."  I picked up the phone.  She opens with, "So why'd you kick me out?"
"Cuz I want to write."

The Breeze Easy in the Leaves

4th of July 1:38 PM F
The Subway sandwich shop in the parking lot of the Ralph's here by the house at Pico, San Vicente, and Venice. The women are all dressed down and horny, ready for their summer fucks. Not a cloud in the sky, blue as blue, but for the gray haze at lower elevations. All was still on the walk down; no one was on the sidewalk, just me and the breeze easy in the leaves. Too bad I'll be in a fucking suit. I can't imagine a dumber day for a wedding. When I'm done with a sandwich, I'll walk over to Ralph's for a six pack of beer. I'll drink it while I work on the '92 file. Then I've got to shower, shave, and suit up. Shirelle is bitter because she has to drive. The wedding is at Clarke Estates in Downey or something. I could go for another

(EXIT) (THIS DOOR TO REMAIN UNLOCKED DURING BUSINESS HOURS) (SUBWAY(with arrows leading out of the of the southwest of the S and the northeast of the Y)) (GNIKOMS ON (backward letters))sandwich but maybe I ouught to wait for the food at P
the wedding. I feel a little disenchanted. What the hell else? I'm U
nowhere near the end. I'll get a loaf of bread at the market, too, so I S
can make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. There goes another H
one: The occasional firecracker pops. The radio plays a string of Marvin Gaye tunes in an alphabetical countdown of Motown's greats. I wonder if there's time to drive up Cahuenga? When will I learn that deal doesn't go on no more? Thing and Carlin went to the noon showing of "Men in Black" at the Cineramadome. The walls in here are papered with a black and white collage of New York City structures. A page to go still and an empty brain: What else? The Place Where Fresh is the Taste TM
I'll do more later.
(Not a bad drawing of the 32-cent Mighty Casey Stamp, with his turn-of the-century handlebar mustache, stadium pennants flying in back)

5th of July Sa 10:03 PM
Tim Salmon just tied the game for the Angels against their division-leading rivals, the Seattle Mariners. I got my pictures back from the trip. Almost a whole role is blurred because I had the wrong shutter speed. I like the picture of a crab in a tank in a restaurant across from the Kingdome.
(a drawing of a misshapen man staring up, from down and below his right buttock)

“Well, you shouldn’t do that,” he said and left me.

 

“Well, you shouldn’t do that out there,” he said, and left me in my room. Monica and I had been on the side of the house, taking turns looking down each other’s underpants. I don’t think I was tall enough to even reach the latch on the gate. So, we didn’t even go into the backyard. How do six-year-olds know to look for some private place for such things? I saw some pudge with cleft running down through it. I don’t remember how we’d gotten around to it, what was said, whose idea it was. Next thing I knew, by dad had me by the elbow, and he scolded us and sent Monica home.

Around that time, a friend of my mom’s and dad’s were in town, Brodie Murphy and his wif. He had brought a camper from Back East. He was going to the circus. I wanted to go. My mom said no, I wasn’t invited. I pestered. She said I was rude. The guy said it was ok, and I got to go. When we got there, the circus was sold out. As a consolation, I suppose, the Murphys bought me a plastic jeweled pirate sword, so I was a good sport about not going to the circus.

I drew pictures of what I imagined the circus was look from images I’d seen in books and movies and on TV, but I drew them with naked people. Circles with dots in them were tits. I drew a circle with a vertical line through it for the vulva.

The ringmaster had a top hat and a dick. This was in the second grade. Even then, we always found “naked magazines in peoples’ garages. Ronny Michaels showed us his dad’s Penthouses in a box in their garage. I had dreams about naked people in our garage. I told my friend Kevin Yamamoto about it on the way to school. We agreed it would be good to see more naked people, as long as we could keep our clothes on.

___

What else? I sawr a baby squirrel make his way along the electric wires. A crow landed and the kitchen blew a fuse.     Shirelle made tacos. After this, I’ll shoot some hoops. The phone rings. Thing calls, “Hey, John! It’s Shirelle!”

“So, why’d you kick me out?” she asks.

“Cuz I wanted to write.”

7-3-97 The Best-Dressed Parking Meter in Town

7-3 2:30 PM TH
The patio at the Cat and Fiddle on Sunset. I pulled up to the parking meter with a sport coat draped over it. The dial had an hour on it. I went into the bathroom at the Hollywood Athletic Club and took a twenty-minute crap while I read the LA Times. When I came back out, I checked the meter. It still showed an hour! Lucky boy! Lucky day! I got the best-dressed, most generous parking meter in town.
On the other hand, I picked up my two rolls of film from the developer. The first was all fucked up and blurry because I had used too long of a shutter speed.
I have to pick up Shirelle's dress from the dry cleaners on the way home. I've been at Pierce. Cleared out the last few things from the room. The new teacher "picked my brain" about how to handle fourth grade. I've been reading LA Weekly about Robert Mitchum and about the difference between suburban and inner-city gifted students. What else? When I get home, I have typing to do. A paragraph at least for Jim. I may reach page thirty today.
Circles of light wind in and out on this page as the sun rays fall through the gently swaying leaves overhead. The red-headed waitress is bringing my check. I had fish and chips with peas. I thought of drinking beer, but there's beer in the fridge at home. I wish I had some dope. What else? There's a planter with a bare-limbed tree hung with buckets of plants. [sketched in black ink on the page] There's also a fountain and a wood pub sign with a red-coated cat playing not a fiddle but a cello. What the hell else? Aaron's got a story to tell about the babysitter. I just can't have it read like a Penthouse Forum letter. Agh. What else? Jimmy Stewart has died. An army of ketchups and steak sauces stands by.

Sat Tu July 1 5:05 El Cid
The pen feels tiny in my big clumsy hands. It's a definite pull-off-your-clothes-and-run-naked day. The waitress' hair is a present with carrots and jicama. The trees look like erections. ENISIUC XEM
CLOSED CERRADO (rough line sketch) MARTINI LOUNGE Zumaya

7-2-97
I'm at Domenico's in Pasadena. Picked up the credit card I left here two weeks ago. I had Chinese at the Hong Kong Cafe next to the pot shop on Cahuenga. The car is fixed. It cost four hundred dollars to get the window and rack and pinion done, which is a hundred dollars cheaper than it would have been just for the steering at Firestone. I have to hurry cuz the meter is running. Maybe I should down this beer and write the rest in the car. It's hot and smoky in here. I've been reading the Times and playing NTN. I wonder how bad the traffic will be on the way back. I'll cruise past the pot shop again. The Rockies and Rangers are on. The bartender is running my credit card. I hope I don't get a ticket. When I get home I'll do all my typing.
I'm home now. I'm waiting for my computer to boot so I can do my '92 pages and my third person page and my Jim paragraph. Then if there's time, I'll pick up my film and go to a bar. Shall I walk or drive? I feel young. I feel like having some teenage fun. Maybe go to the beach, look for the fun girls. What else? I'm afraid to take a crap because GIP of the bloody underwear and butt pustules sat in there on the toilet twice yesterday.

 
This part of the world is still a couple of hours from spinning away from the sun. The summer feels liberating. I'm going to buy some black and white film. Maybe I'll crush some stems and try to round up a THC high. I need to buy some bathroom disinfectant and some black and white film and some bread. No one sends me e-mail. Jimmy Stewart died today.
What else? What else? Some day I have to read the Inferno and Paradise Lost. I feel like I'm getting dumb. I don't even know how to converse with people. What else? What else? Maybe I'll drink a beer. Oh, come on. Anything, anything, any old thing. My writing sucks.

Maybe the Pigeons Will Get High Blood Pressure

6-30 3:25 PM Mon.
I'm at La Cocinita on Pico near Crenshaw. I just finished reading the sports page and want to start walking home soon to see some good interleague matchups in baseball on tv. A round Guatemalan with a round Mayan face just brought my second Gallo beer. I had three enchiladas and rice and beans for lunch. I drove Gramma's car to Lou's Garage over on Venice and Fifth. One of my students, Joel, works there, and they are going to fix the power steering and the power windows. It's sunny and clear today. I walked past ghetto barber shops and liquor stores. Pigeons keep sneaking into the restaurant to forage. One of them just shit on the floor. The signs on the streets are in Spanish, Korean, Hebrew, maybe Chinese, and English. Iglesia Cristiana Jerusalen; (Here I copied some Korean). I like this place okay. I did my fifteen minutes this morning and a page from the '92 journal. I did a load of whites. I did my adult school attendance and turned in my time card. I've to talk to Mark. I'm supposed to see him in Pasadena and pick up the credit card I left at Domenico's. What else? I have eight scabs and two blisters on my hands. I would take pictures of the gumball and little toy machines here, if I had my camera. My back hurts. The heartache and longing in the Spanish songs on the jukebox...A woman rests her head on her fist. What else? She looks mean. (Here is drawn a sketch of Mike Tyson, after biting off an ear)

 A Dope on the Ropes Mike Tyson is fighting mad after being disqualified for biting Evander Holyfield. The graffiti on the brick wall is (Here is drawn an approximation of the grafitti; it might say Aig)...What else? I need to get to the bottom of the next page before I can quit. There's nothing to say. I count fifty-three palm trees swaying outside the window. The pigeon has sunburned pink feet with black nails.  Framed photographs titled "El Salvador" hang on the walls in here. There's a bottle of Tapatio salsa picante hot sauce on each table. Each table says, "Thank you for not smoking." There are posters of lust-inspiring women in bikinis on the wall. Plastic fancy rings cost 25 cents. They must be wondering how long I will sit here, what am I writing about, why do I waste so much time making such bad drawings (Here is a drawing of a bottle of Tapatio)?  O K, bla bla. There's a spilled salt shaker on the floor. Maybe the pigeons will get high blood pressure.