Sa June 24, 2000 3:52 PM

Gag. Fuck and whatever. The pizza party was fun except for the flood of snot pouring out of my nose. Lina came in all smokin' hot acting all sorry she wasn't going to see me anymore. Is it my imagination? Am I being tested? Who knows? Ugh and fuck and whatever. It's not safe to write. I went to Kendoll's room. We decided to go to El Coyote. We told Charlene Robbie, Rodney, and Jackie. Florelle had to go home and get ready for Sergio's party. Kendoll said she was going home for a while first, so I went home, too, to wash off the sweat and snot. Rochelle was in bed. She said she left work early because she wasn't feeling well. The shakes and sleeplessness: pregnancy, I guess. She said the birds keep her awake at night, and I keep her awake in the mornings. I assembled the fan, closed the windows, drew the curtains, closed the doors and said she could rest because I would be out a few hours. I rode over to Miss Kendoll's. She invited me in. She had on a real sexy dress. We drove up to El Coy. Charlene and Jackie were there. We got a booth. Talked about all I ever talk about: the rigors of marriage. Whatever. Had a screwdriver, an iced Kahlua and coffee, and a margarita or two. Then we drove to the museum. Art Davis was strumming on the terrace. It was great. I had a smoke. Art Davis's face was immortal. He had the expression of a Buddha. His bass was profound, He bowed it at times. He had a piano/sax/drum back. The light joy of a flute over the profound joy and my buzz filled me with a private ecstasy. I got a couple Heinekens. It felt like I was on a date with Miss Kendoll. I was enjoying myself, but I knew it had to end. "I gotta go back to reality," I said. Kendoll's dad, Neville, was there.  He was with a guy called Virgil. He was Latino, so he pronounced it like "Virile." "Virilre," I said, clenching my fists, flexing my muscles, and thrusting my loins. "Exaclty," he said. "Hi, Virile," I said, "I'm impotent." One of the women with them said to Kendoll, "He's good." Then to me she said, "You're good." "Off one joke?" I asked. She laughed. Whatever. When I got home, Rochelle was not here. She was out looking for me. She had been worried and was angry.

 

6-22-00 11:44 AM Th

Tomorrow is the last day of the school year. The playground was festooned with balloons and ribbons for fifth grade graduation. My class is trying to clean out their desks and straighten up the room, but their chaotic natures are getting the better of them.

I’m at Papa Rico’s now. Having a little lunch. I woke up too late to type this morning. I made one minor change to Jim last night: deleted an extraneous space.

There’s going to be a going away party for Shirley Feldman at El Coyote after school today. I don’t particularly care for her yenta-ness, but I’d like to have a Maggie at El Coy if certain other teachers are going to be there.

I have to give the final at adult ed tonight.

I ate four flautas for breakfast. Here, I’m eating my steaming hot wings.

Florelle’s having a party for Sergio Saturday. Maybe I can go with Miss Kendall. [photo of kids in the mobile swimming pool at Sharp Ave El in Pacoima.

 

6-21-00 W 10:56 AM

I’m at class. The kids are watching a multiplication rap video. I’m hungry. Maybe I’ll get a burger at lunch. My leg still hurts. I read the newspaper. It wasn’t all that informative. When I’m done with this, I’ll read more Bukowski. I’m wearing a shirt with a palm-tree pattern and shorts. [blue ink impression of ?] Got to do a third-person page when I get home. Write a check for the gas bill. I have to do some more report cards. The kids have put the Laker victory parade on the TV. I had a glass of wine at breakfast. What else? Sunny, clear skies, Three is a magic number / Somewhere in the ancient mystic trinity / The past and the present and the future / A man and woman had a little baby / Yes, they did / They had three in the family / That’s a magic number.

I have to go to LACAS after school today. What else? 12:30 Fattened further at JITB. The kids are reading an interview of our principal Gay Yale. Now we’re reading some student poetry.  The [blue ink line drawing of Tommy Pickles from “Rugrats] sirens have been wailing for days. Bukowski just write prose vignettes with poetic-looking line breaks. I almost wrote some imitation Bukowski high at home last night, just for fun, to show that I could do it, but I didn’t. Fuck. What else? I can’t think of anything but sex thoughts with new women. “It must be hard to be a man,” Florelle said. No shit. Urgh. Ack ick fuck whatever what else? Rochelle has to work four ‘til one tonight. [blue ink and colored pencil cubist sketch of little boy Picasso with his butterfly net] What else? What else? Play softball. This fucking journal is taking so long I won’t get to any report cards today. This might be the longest it has ever taken to finish a journal.

 

6-20-00 Tu 11:15 AM

I don’t have any enthusiasm for this anymore. Grind it out, right? Whatever. I typed a third-person page after school with my Achilles tendon wrapped in a cold pack. I rode my bike to Pio Pico. Put on the Laker game while I taught my class. Deysi said the three women at her table loved me. I flushed and shrugged and said I loved them, too. Why are we only supposed to love one woman? I don’t get it. Whatever. After class, Cheryl, Kelly, and I stayed to watch the Lakers win the NBA championship. I rode home on my bike while the cars on Pico were all honking, and people came out to the sidewalks to shout. When I got home, Rochelle said she was worried because I was late. We talked about going out to celebrate with the rest of LA, but we just stayed in and watched the mob on TV attack limos, incinerate police cars, and overturn media vans. I didn’t feel like working on Jim, so I put a heating pad on my tendon and read Bukowski until about a quarter to twelve when I turned off the light. Anna haunted another dream. She was cuddling with Graniel. It seemed like they were in an airport lounge. A guy wanted to play darts with me. He was very happy when I assented. Turned out he was deaf. Then I woke up. It was morning. I showered. My back is all rashy. I ate some toaster pastry. Rode to work. Was late to the student award assembly. Read the paper. My leg’s feeling a little better. Went to lunch with Graniel and Gonzalez came with. I didn’t say anything to Graniel about the dream. We talked about the drawbacks to monogamy. Whatever. I have to write a thank you note to my cousin. Rochelle begins some class at Santa Monica College tonight. I’ll read more Bukowski next. My life seems very confining. Whatever. I’ve got to try and put a line to Jim. Ugh. The letter? I wrote down some page numbers of some notes that might be useful. Ugh. I have report cards to do. The register. Whatever. The Laker parade is tomorrow.