8-2-00 W 7:44 PM

I'm at my night school class at Los Angeles High School. My students are taking the Comprehensive Adult School Assessment System Test. It's just a pain in the ass. I'd rather be giving a lesson. The test is way too hard for most of them. They ought not to give the test to level 1A students. It discourages them, and they think they're being judged, not matter how much I tell them it's just to establish a baseline to measure growth. They should wait until they're level two. Whatever. 

The dog loves figs. Our dog is an omnivore. Figs and peach pits. And disposable razors. I found here chewing up a razor. Amazing. Shattered the handle and even chewed the bleed to the point where it bent and cracked. Her mouth was not bleeding. She must have gotten it from the tub. She also seems to think the toilet bowl scrub brush is her personal chew toy. She likes to gather all her toys into the center of the parlor, so the toilet brush is in the middle of the living room a lot. I try to get Rochelle to keep the bathroom door closed, but it doesn't seem to be in her nature. I may as well explain to the puppy not to chew the toilet brush. I caught her chewing up a book of matches the other night. She's like a goat. Our dog book says peach leaves and bark are poisonous. Apparently not peach pits, though.

I got new brake pads for my bike. They're in my pocket right now. 

I read an excerpt from the Colossus or Maroussi. Miller feels the ages in Greece, feels the history of humanity emanating from the grave of Agamemnon, and decides to dedicate himself to peace, believes that when mankind learns to give up murder, it will achieve immortality, like the gods, eternal life. [photograph of a doe in a cedar-line alpine meadow in Olympia National Park, June 1995]

After a winding drive from Port Angeles up to Mount Angeles, 6,454 feet. I'd like to tell you that I hiked days into the back country to get this lonely meadow, but I was only yards from the parking lot.

 7-31 M 12:06 PM

I'm tired and don't feel well. I forgot to take my vitamin this morning. I'm at Wilshire Hill. The day is almost over. I'll go up to the credit union when I'm done and deposit these checks. When I get home, I'll write some more thank-you notes. I'll drive Rochelle to work, and I'll use that Macy's gift certificate. I'll take a little nap, then I'll go teach night school. I've got Miller to read and a third-person page to type, and Jim to work on. I've been eating a lot of crap. I had a bacon double cheeseburger for lunch yesterday, had pizza dipped in alfredo sauce for dinner, and had three chalupas for lunch today. I deserve a heart attack. 4:19 PM I'm at home now. I've been sleeping and masturbating. Then I read some more Miller. A lot of hogwash from Black Spring and Mailer's comments on The Colossus of Maroussi, assessing Miller's place among the literary luminaries of the time and speculating on what insecurities of writer's ego impelled him to clean up his content in Colossus. Mailer believes it is a step back, a sell-out. I haven't read it, so I don't know. 

A bunch of grapes grow on a vine hanging over the fence from my neighbor's lathe house. The dog sniffs around the fig tree like a pig rooting up truffles. She rears up on her hindquarters trying to pull a fig down from a low branch but tries to scratch a sudden itch and topples over. She needs a bath. She has to have her stitches removed. I need to clip her claws. I have to leave in an hour and half to go to LACAS. [photo of a classroom bulletin board display with photos connected with yard to places on a map of California, surrounded by student maps and illustrations pertaining to California] When I'm done here, I'll read another of Robert Louis Stevenson's writing techniques. Then I'll write some more thank-yous. Then, I'll read a little Cheever. Then I'll do a third-person page. Then it'll be time to go to work. The flies are invading.

 7-29-00 Sa 2:56 PM

The Angels and White Sox are tied five to five. Seattle is losing to Toronto by a run. I don't seem to know what to do with myself. Listening to Blood, Sweat, and Tears. Got a marine layer going outside. I should go for a bike ride. I seem to be procrastinating until the ballgames are over. The Cubs are beating the Giants by a run. I'm clogged. My brain is clogged. Spiritually clogged. I didn't read any Koran last Sunday, and here it's already Saturday. Kennedy just homered for the Angels to break the tie. I feel like playing poker. I'm jammed. I'm artistically jammed. I'll play a little guitar. I feel lazy. I smoked a little this morning. Should I call Tim? Should I call GIP? Should I call a prophet? I don't know any prophets. [Drastically underexposed photo] Here is a picture from the suite in the Luxor at Peachtree's bachelor party. The camera shows a dimness that was not apparent to the bald eye but could be sensed in the flesh and marrow. I've been drinking cheap wine today. I read a short excerpt from Black Spring about walking past the house of the girl he loved every day while staying with a different woman out of the pity of hurting her. Ug ackick urk. I don't know if I'm clogged or empty. It's the seventh inning stretch. It doesn't seem to be helping. Maybe I should drink a beer. Maybe I should drink a beer. My writing has become rote. I wish I could go to the batting cages today [black ink sketch of Marlowesque gumshoe in fedora and trench coat, holding gat over the newly fallen body of a gangster] What would I be doing today if I was a free man? What else? I'm dying to know what else? What's for lunch? I could have some canned peaches.

 7:45 PM Th 7-26-00

Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle states that it is possible to know a subatomic particle's position or its momentum but not both. The very act of observing changes the behavior. (?!) Mindblowing. I'm at LA High. I teach here now instead of Pio Pico. I think we're going to the Bounty tonight. I'll have to call Rochelle. I typed fifteen minutes today. Then I read some of Mailer's musings on Miller's supposed surrealism. No doubt, Miller sometimes wanders into the surreal, but Mailer hardly touched on it, preferring to quote Nin's diary entries about her opinion that Henry lacked a philosophy. 11:36  F 7-27-00 I'm in room fifteen at Wilshire Hill where I've taken on an Emergency Immigrant English Program for third graders. I had a hard time sleeping last night. Rochelle takes the dog out every hour and then calls and calls for her to come back in, but she won't come, so I have to go get her. I keep telling Rochelle that if we feed and give Lulu water on a schedule, she won't have to go out at night, and that what she is doing is training Lulu to go out and shit and piss all night long. She ignores me and the dog ignores her. Whatever. It's Friday. I haven't eaten today. I read the news. I was right about the daughter in the Pico Rivera murders.  I went to the Bounty last night. It was boring. I'll have lunch when I get home in an hour. I might smoke and drink and write and take a nap and send out more thank-you notes and fiddle with that camcorder. Maybe I'll go to the museum tonight. Or maybe I'll take Rochelle out. Or maybe I'll go out with Thing. Who knows? Whatever. I'll put a photo here. [under exposed photo of Carlos and Agatha on parlor couch]

 

11:49 PM 7-25-00 Tu

I just read a seventy-page chunk of Sexus. Some of it gave me a boner. I envied the freedom of it. I envied its lack of jealousy. Ha! I should be getting to bed. I have to get up for work in seven hours. I’m supposed to help Rochelle wash the dog after school tomorrow. Henry made me want to call Kendall. I have to finish writing thank-you notes. I have to buy stamps. I’m in the living room. The clock ticks. Crickets chirp their legs. The sounds of the “Tonight Show” come from the bedroom where Rochelle watches, waiting for me. I’ve got to go to the grocery store tomorrow. I’ll drop off Roach at work and use the car to go to the market. I typed fifteen minutes. I ate a bowl of cereal for dinner. Roach poured me a glass of wine. I sipped at it, but it did not sit well on top of my cereal and milk. What else? I should read Chandler next, but I’ve got to go to bed. I read “The Finger Man.” Next up is “Goldfish.” The King of Mediocrity. The Viscount of Mediocrity.  We were in the store Linens N Things. It was a danger to the soul. It was like Superman in a kryptonite cave. I never read the Koran last Sunday. Nor any Bible stories. I haven’t lifted weights for a few days. Never went on a good bike ride today. The scab on my forearm itches like a motherfucker. But how does a motherfucker itch? Like a flea-bitten bastard in a patch of poison oak at the height of mosquito season just before sundown, naked but for wool underwear and a beard and freshly shaved pubic hair [color photo out the passenger side window of a moving field at a central coast vineyard, golden hill in the background] I-5 on the way to Vancouver, Central California, June, 1995. Roach is almost asleep. Henry almost got me horny enough to try something.