10-1-00 8:22 PM Su

The newspaper took FOREVER to read today. My ability and desire to write are still miniscule. The weekend's pretty much over. We saw "The Exorcist" at the Chinese on Friday. I saw that chick Roxanne at The Bounty on Thursday. Whatever. We went to Bahooka Saturday. Had some Singapore Slings and Ko Ko Nuts and Zombies and Grenades. Then we went to La Habra to see Mike. He's pretty much at rock bottom. Crack bags and pornos littered the floor of his apartment. I've got Cornish game hens roasting in the oven. I doubled, walked twice, and scored two runs today. I had two assists from third. What else? I still can't do anything more than gloss over stuff. What's wrong with me? I've got to read some more Koran. Do a third person. Love and Other Demons. Work on Jim. Read Joy of Fatherhood. I also took A Death in Venice off the shelf. I could easily go to bed without dinner, but the hens had to be cooked. I have to be in the library at 7:50 tomorrow to meet with the principal for a "pre-education session." The dog is gnawing the T-bone out of the steak I had for breakfast. 

That's the old pepper, boy. That's the old pitching. That's puttin' it over the plate, boy. Give 'em the big league stuff. Watch me past this pat'etic palooka with...

 9-27-00 W 5:04 PM

I'm at home on the couch, the Dodger/Met game on TV. We gave the dog a bath with medicated shampoo when we got home. I went to the hardware store to try to find a screw post like the one missing from the crib. I found one similar that may or may not work. I don't know when I'll get a chance to try it out. I've got to leave to teach night school in an hour. [small school photos of educators] Laura was a smoking hot kindergarten teacher. This picture doesn't do her justice. She quit, though, because she is way too fine to put up with teaching. She makes more money tending bar in clubs for the wealthy. Besides, she didn't have to work because her boyfriend, Loyal, is rich. Glen's a good guy, plays basketball with us, works with the mentally disabled kids. I made one and a half peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunner. I could still go for making up a plate of leftover BBQ. Postnasal drip. When I'm done here, I've got to read some Joy of Fatherhood. What about the Cynicism of Fatherhood? Just kidding, Ada! What else? The pup is asleep on the couch. It's cool and overcast today. It's fall now. Ugh. What else? What about Jim? He gets back to the car and it's on the hook. He just needs a jump. How does he decide to head back? I have to write a third-person page. Watch the rest of that stupid "Ready to Rumble" movie. If the Mets win, the Dodgers will be mathematically eliminated. I could go for a smoke. I've got to get up early tomorrow. Got to put the crib together. Get a dresser. Get paint and curtains. Clear out that box by the bed. The junk in the hallway, Get to the bottom of that pile of papers on the desk. The Mets have taken a one-run lead in the fifth. Now Alfonzo has homered to put them ahead by three. I could go for a smoke. I wish I didn't have to work nights.

9-25-00

The biggest Lotto in state history had been won at the closest store to j’s house. Eighty-seven million dollars. J figured he had been to that store eighty-seven million times. He’d seen a glimpse of the inside of the store on TV and sat up straight. “Looks like L&E Liquor on La Brea and San Vicente,” he thought. “Nah,” he thought, “All liquor stores look the same inside.” But that was it. Thirteen employees of the Starbucks next to Burger Kind down the street would be splitting the jackpot. He swigged his chromium-b. He had math tests to correct. He had The Artist’s Way sequel to read. He’d had a slice of pizza for breakfast. His stepmother-in-law was at the house. He wasn’t going to be able to write. He needed a laptop. He needed to get out his credential.

9-22-00 Possessed by the Devil

 8:52 PM F 9-22-00

I'm in the living room sitting on the dog. [school photo of the Village Chief's Daughter] Dirty couch, go the movie "The Abyss" on the tube. Rochelle will be home in about an hour. I typed fifteen minutes. Played guitar a little. It's raining on the last day of summer. That's the Village Chief's Daughter: A virtual stranger to whom I mean nothing, but who has had a major impact on my life. If not for her, I might be married to Shirelle right now. Whatever. I wish I had some weed. I changed the channel. Now there's a documentary on about Diego Rivera. What if I was drunk? Would I have something to say? I'm tired. I could just sleep. I still have the crib to put together. Still have scattered messes throughout the house. A third-person page. I wish I was a great artist. I wonder if I could have been. Whatever. The dog sleeps on the couch. How does he get his ideas? What can I sketch? [blue ink sketch of sleeping dog] Shall I put the guitar case under the bed? My teeth hurt. I wish I had some weed. I have some acid indigestion. What else? My head hurts. Maybe if I turn the TV off. Then, I'll be able to think. Then my imagination will roam. The trash cans need to be brought in [blue ink sketch of a martini] from the street. The dampened streets glow in the night. I think I have the hantavirus. I wish I had some weed. On one side of the house, the DJ neighbor is playing some hipster funk, on the other side of the house, some kid is practicing flute. Thing wants to go to the Roxy tomorrow to see Hank Williams III. Maybe I'll go. I miss being able to hit on women. I wish I had gifts, or, if I have gifts, I wish I knew how to take advantage of them. What is my fatal flaw? What is my major malfunction? The wild girls The wild gifts. Sierra Maria has been left at the convent, and the nuns, believing she has been possessed by the devil, have taken up gambling and liquor. I'll be up around six or seven tomorrow. Eight at the latest. I'll read the paper by nine. I'll put on some college football and put the crib together. I'll have to pick up some grub from the market.

9-21-00 Must Be Koranic Verse

 9-21-00 Th 1:18 PM 

I'm in a very low place. Going over reasons why would be futile. I wish I could just get some shit going with Jim. Writing is not one of my strengths. I ought to just give in to that, but to what, then, do I devote my creative energy? Shitty ass, namby-pamby, pansy-ass, whiney wienie. I haven't had lunch. I need a drink. I need a character. I need a setting. I made peanut butter and jelly on rye for breakfast this morning. Rochelle read some Of Love and Other Demons aloud last night. We're out of wine. She made chicken parmesan for dinner. I guess the county superintendent has restored his career. Rochelle skipped work again last night. I was bugged, but I knew it didn't matter. I didn't write. I just flipped channels. I biked here. Read the paper. It may as well have been blank pages. The kids had music this morning. The new music teacher, Miss Jones, is lame. After recess, we went to the Cabrillo Marine Institute exhibit set up in the auditorium. 

Sons and Daughters

For the daughter that laughs I am hurt

For the son that cries I am grieved

because the two have made me the beehive of the soul  all open and ardent

Because the two have made that tooth with life bite and poison my key More poison between the vein and returned me the incandescent spook Because the two are fountains of hope Because the two they will ask me for morning a crumb of peace that can't be reached  Because I will have to give them the bell of death, of hate and vengeance and nurture their voices with human blood.

Maybe Jim has a scar at his hairline from a tow truck driver's wrench. Maybe he got locked up for stealing his car back. How can I make people care if I don't care? I still need to tune my guitar. Put the crib together. Kiss my ass good-bye. I should give Gil a call. Stone said I look dapper. The Giants clinched. So did the Cards. The playoffs are wide open. I need weed. What else? I guess I can hop on my bike and head home.

 9-20-00 W 12:54 PM

I'm having a hard time. Rochelle was bawling last night because I don't seem to really love her. What could I say? I tried to comfort her. The truth is too terrible. For better or worse, that was the agreement. What am I to do? I have no spark. No passion, not just for here but for anything. I wish I had some weed. Maybe I'll get a sub tonight. But I'm going to need a lot more sub days in the near future. I wrote about nine minutes yesterday. All shit. Shit like this. The video of Costa Rica came back. It sucks. That's not just being negative. That's the way it is. I still couldn't make love to her, even after all that.  [ink line drawing of a man holding a gun to his head] My dad and stepmother are here from Idaho. My brother is such a phenomenal loser. I ate Cheerios for breakfast. I had a vitamin with grape juice and a glass of cold coffee. The Angels lost. The US Olympic team beat the Netherlands after the Netherlands had beaten Cuba. The Olympics are a bore. I had solar-heated turkey and stuffing at lunch. The kids read their parent interviews, presented oral book reports, and we did some problem solving. I feel the blade of Rogozhin pressed against my throat. It's my throat that feels vulnerable. Not my temple. Not my wrist. Not my insides. The wife works four to twelve thirty tonight. What else? We saw the movie "High Fidelity" on the plane from San Jose (CR). I have to do a third person when I get home. The whore and the kingpin. [Continental Airlines ticket stub from San Jose, CR, to Houston] Read more De Bravo. Tune my guitar. Work on Jim. Fuck that. I dread Jim the way I dread sex with the wife. I wish I had weed. I forger it just filled me with wrong. Or did it? I going to read a story to the class called Grandfather's Dream. I feel awful. What can I do to change this? I want a smoke. The tow truck? The keys? A tedious waste of time. Your smell makes me grand suddenly like a wall of lime and stone, and it enveloped the face like a sweet blanket, and there was a savage wind that tore the earth. Under this smell, we fall knotted.

9-18-00 Just a Function

 

9-18-00 M 12:53 PM

I typed a third-person page. It was fragmented bad poetry. But it was something other than nothing. I’m trying to get going again. I read a few pages of Garcia Marquez’s Of Love and Other Demons. I cleaned out the filing cabinet, weeded out all the pre-’97 financial documents and torched ‘em in the BBQ. I baked some ribs in honey sauce. Lulu worked a bone. I didn’t get to the Koran or do any exercise, nor work on Jim. That’s the killer. I’m unable to work on Jim. I wish I had some weed. I’ve got to persevere. The Angels lost. The Bears lost. Rochelle brought home an address book. The camcorder should be there when I get home today. Except I don’t remember [Hotel and Casion Del Rey Identification car] seeing the slip on the door letting the guy know to leave it. I’ve got to put the numbers in the address book, move the amp to the bedroom, put the filing cabinet behind the jennyhill chair. I wish I had some weed. I have to go teach night school. I didn’t have time to type this morning. I showered and dressed, had a vitamin and OJ. Put sunblock on my forearms. Brought a frozen dinner to school in my backpack. Pedaled to school. Got a paper. The Bruins are #6, Washington #8, and USC #10. The kids wrote in their journals this morning. I cooked my lunch by leaving it in the sun. We corrected the math. When I’m done here, I’ll read a story. I have to write their homework questions on the board and give them time to write them. They moved Naelly to another class. Her mom thought my class was too easy for her daughter. She’s insane. One of those insane parents. They moved her to Lizarda’s class. Ha ha. Wait ‘til she gets a load o’ that. What else? I wish I could drink beer. I wish I had another life. A real life. I’m just a function. I’m an addend not a sum. I’m a mule at the gold rush. I’m the anthill. They burrow into me. I am the shelter. Maybe I should be proud, but I am joyless. I am resentful. But it’s a secret. I pretend that I’m not selfish. What else? I got a new kid today. His name is Miguel Camaro. I’ve got to read more DeBravo poems. I can feel the rope under my chin like an itch but not itchy.

9-14-00 I Feel Awful About It

 9-14-00 Th 1:58 PM

I'm at school. Whatever. Tortuguero. The jungle cruise. Caimans, and monkeys, and sloths, oh my. POURING RAIN. Pigs. Apocalypse Now. Neon blue morphos butterflies. A little room. Creole cooking. Coconut milk rice. Why can't I give this complete thoughts? Why no details? Thirty minutes 'til I can leave here. I haven't eaten but crackers today. I'm hungry and tired and feel pressured for time. I've got to get the house straightened out and do something about those baseball cards. Have to do something with 

Jim. 9-17-00 Sun 8:55 AM

I'm out in the parlor at home. Ants had swarmed the dog food. I Raided them. I found them in the big bag of food on the service porch, too. Thousands of them were set to storm the bag, but they were first working on the stray bits of kibble that had fallen around the bag, so I was able to rescue most of it. I got a plastic trash bag and sealed the food in there. I wish I had weed. Yesterday morning I went to the market. Is that my liver hurting? We saw a movie called "Almost Famous," about a young writer. We had gone up to the split-level in Studio City Thing is house sitting for his friends. Big place, pool, lotsa space. The couple that own it are in their thirties. He's an anesthesiologist and she's in creative development at some production company. I seem to have completely botched my life. I have to write checks for bills today. Call grandma. UCLA beat number-three Michigan. I wonder where they'll be ranked now. I have no desire for my wife. I feel awful about it. I have to type a third-person page. We leave Puerto Viejo de Talamanca. I have to bath the dog with medicated shampoo to treat her mange. We had In-N-Out lst night. I think I'll have a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Read the paper. Read more Jorge De Bravo. Start a new spending moratorium. Sweep up the dead ants and poison. Tune my guitars. Bills. Don't forget the bills. Figure out what to do with that filing cabinet. Clean the closet. Throw away old clothes. Tuna for lunch. Exercise today. Call Gil. Bench presses. Light bench presses. Read some Koran. The kids thought the sunrises at the palm tree every morning when my lesson was done.

Not As Hot as Mutiny-Makers

 

9-11-00 M 9:25 AM

9-13-00 W 2:00 PM

Ugh. This new batch of kids are pretty low-watt bulbs. I wish I had some weed. I need to get a CD stand and a few more sports card pages. Got a shitload of straightening up to do around the house. Got to call Rawler and Tim. I need a day off. I still haven’t finished writing about Costa Rica. I have to put a line to Jim. The DWP has been mischarging for the last six months, and now I owe them three hundred and sixty dollars. I have to take car of that jury duty hassle and pay off my credit card bills. Ugh. I haven’t had to write that sentence for a while. I paid the rent. Picked up furniture for the baby’s room from Riverside. I cleared that First USA card so that Rudy Wilson can charge us for the boat we chartered for the sailfish down in Tamarindo. [Ticket stub showing the smoking crater of Poas Volcano] So, we went snorkeling in Puerto Viejo. Bumped along south of town to a sweet little jungle beach with a few bikini-clad nymphs, the likes of which caused Mr. Christian to mutiny. I put on fins and mask and snorkeled along toward a few rocky caves in the rocks where the jungle hung into the cove. I saw a few dull fish. Rochelle was afraid of sharks. I was afraid of a swell dropping me on the reef and scraping my chest and stabbing me with urchins. The water was not very clear. A nearbv stream carried in silt to cloud the water. Water leaked into my nose through my mustache. After a while we got out. Rochelle apologized for not being as hot as the mutiny-makers. I pretended not to understand to what she was referring. A couple ex-pats sat sipping beers on the beach. Happy bastards.  They accepted death and thereby ended their capitalistic enslavement. We bombed along past palms, too a left at a fork in the road and stopped at Puna Uvas. More mutiny. The beaches were deserted but for a nymph or three. Only nymphs. Inexplicable. And one manatee. Mutiny on the manatee. We snorkeled around. The reef was extensive, the formations somewhat more remarkable. Brain coral and sea grapes—uvas. After about an hour we headed back. Drank Heinekens in front of the hotel room. Talked with a couple of girl tourists from the states just back from Cuba. The sky thundered and lightninged. We has some pizza with gorgonzola and some nasty wine. Then back to bed in sandy sheets that scraped my back, sunburnt from snorkeling.