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.