7-5-01 9:35 AM Th

At the Safeway in Chico, the checker asked where I was going. When I told him Lassen, he asked if I had reservations. I hadn't. "You might still get a spot." Oh, geez. I tried to find a titty mag at three more places. I guess they don't carry 'em in that town. So, I took off up HWY 32. As far as a hundred miles away, lava rocks that were shot from the volcano lay strewn about in beds of yellow grass. Soo I was in the forest, conifers rising along either side of the road. I spotted Deer Creek. It looked like a good place to fish, but since the cashier at Safeway indicated I might have trouble getting a campsite, I pressed on. I had to stop by a bait shop and get a license still, anyway, and I was running out of gas. I turned down 89 toward the town of Chester where I got some new lures and lead weights, a jar of Power Bait, hooks, swivels, leaders, insect repellant, lantern mantles, etc. I arrive at the park entrance around noon. I passed some geological curiosities, sulfur and steam vents, boiling springs, a place called "Bumpass Hell," but I did not stop because I wanted to secure a spot. I ended up with a very nice site at South Summit Lake. The lake is about a hundred feet from where I sit, down a path, through the trees. Many campsites are vacant, though a few families have gone, and a few have come in. I set up camp and read and wrote a while. Voles and chipmunks, and many birds, swallows, finches, and jays, scurry and flit about. I wished I knew the name of one black bright yellow fellow with a red head. Insects, of course, abound, especially those brilliant turquoise dragonflies--are they mayflies? Many of the tree trunks sport coats of fluorescent lichens. I relaxed for a few hours before saddling up again. Summit Lake is right in the middle of the park boundaries. I drove through a place called "The Devastated Area," though it is quite rejuvenated. I hiked up to Manzanita Lake where there is a store and visitors center. I bought a field guide to North American birds and a biography of the native, Ishi, who lived here. I thought of fishing Manzanita, though there are all these regulations about using only artificial lures, and it's catch-and-release. I talked to a ranger who recommended Hat Creek, about twenty miles further outside the park. "World-renowned," he said. I fished its cool water all through the dusk. Caught nothing but a buzz. Drove back under a nearly full moon.

7-4-01 Lassen

That fucking laptop's battery doesn't last thirty minutes. Bullshit. I'll have to call about that. Fuck.

He ended up finding a room at a Days Inn about 12:30. He walked up the street and found a bar with some people in it, a couple of bored miniskirts, a pool table. He considered chatting up the skirts but rejected the arrogance of their boredom. The place started to empty out, so he went out to the sidewalk for a smoke of tabaccuana. He noticed some steps leading down to a door. Maybe the skirts had gone that way. He descended the steps, swung open the heavy door, and beheld a glorious sight: a roomful of pool tables--tournament-sized, a big, square, oak bar, leather chairs, several TVs--big screens, tuned to baseball highlights, between shelves and shelves of books! Not just lame-ass restaurant prop books no one cares about, but good books. I sign near the entrance read SPE AKEASY. He was too high and drunk to remember the titles of any of the books. He knew he would not remember when he realized he hadn't brought the tools to write. Fool! ~~~Premner's Writers' Guide and Index to English? Armageddon. He watched people play pool. Excellent pool. He finally sat at the bar.

 

7-3-01 Tu 10:45 PM

I’ve got some chicken grilling over the volcano. Haven’t caught any trout yet. I left Homer. Fled him, practically. He doesn’t seem unhappy, but how could he not be? But doesn’t that make me the worst kind of arrogant prick? As if I were superior, my life better. I left rather than spend the night. His half sister had just gotten married, and so his sister and brother-in-law and their two kids had been staying with him. He had pinkeye and a sore throat. He had a milk crate for a coffee table, with piece of cardboard over the top, stained by spray paint from the model cars and airplanes he glues together. The ozone was thick. He had Guitar Magazine posters of Ace Frehley, Randy Rhodes, Angus, and more taped to a wall, along with some Nagel prints. Also his own pencil drawings from Playboy. An old TV was hooked up to nothing. Dishes were piled in the sink. A large box full of  empty beer bottles sat in a short hall area where you walk in. His dead mother smiles from photos around the room. He loves the son of his best friend as his own. Johnny calls him Skippy. He cut up some tri-tip left over from the wedding and served it with bread on a plate from the sink. He has some cool guitars. Shoes frayed. He makes sword and top hats form scrap at the plastic box making facility where he works. Around ten, he decided to take the boy back to his father. I said I would go. I said it was good to see him. I said I wished he could come but I understood about him needing to fix his car. I told him I would take care of everything if he wanted to come to Lassen. I couldn’t get a good read. I didn’t know if he wanted to come or not. The boy invited me back to his house with them. I had already decided to check out Chico where is located the Number One Party School in the Nation, according to Playboy Magazine ten years ago. I headed east on 32. Twenty miles later, I turned in to downtown Chico. It looked dead. I saw a couple of miniskirts walk into an empty place. I kept driving. I had seen and ad for a place called Centerfolds on 99, five miles north of Chico. I drove around looking for 99. I found Historic Route 99. I followed I for about ten miles before guess it had to be the wrong 99. More later.

 

Sa 11:00 PM 6-30-01

That Billiards Congress of America book is useless. I typed fifteen minutes in Josh’s garage. Hohum. The wife and I went to Red Lobster in Brea. My sister, Mardi, works there. I was already full from eating cheese, salami, crackers, nuts, chips, and salsa on the patio while I waited for the wife to get ready. Ugh. I had not spirit. I ordered a pina colada and lobster. The wife had halibut and king crab. She would have liked to have “gone out” afterward, but I was party pooping.

Su 9:27 PM 7-1-01 Ugh. What’s new? I hate my baseball team. Oh, well. We lost again. I fucking tapped into a double play to the pitcher with the bases loaded. Ugh and fuck. On the first pitch. I never even got to play in the field. Twelve guys batted. Stupid. My second time up, I worked a full count and fouled off a few pitches before walking to load the bases, but the guy up after me struck out to end the inning. Then I struck out to lead off the bottom of the ninth.

I’ve been looking through old journals, trying to remember whey it was I went to Ucla, so I can request transcripts. My journal writing seemed fresher then. I guess there’s an expiration date on introspection and observation. After five thousand pages, there’s not much new to say. Or maybe the reason I wrote better then is because I was in classes.

[postcard of Tower Bridge in London with military ship in foreground]

Tomorrow, I leave for Lassen. I haven’t really thought it through. I’ve dug up my tent and lantern and fishing poles. I need an ice chest and lantern mantles. I have to remember towels and pillows. The sleeping bag is in Rochelle’s closet. I’ll have to remember my map. I’ll have to leave some cash with Rochelle, though I could maybe leave her a check. I’ll need cell phone and a laptop. I wish I had a backup battery for the laptop. I guess I’ll try to make Orlin by tomorrow night. I can stay with my stepbrother. I’ve got to bet back by Friday so we can go to the Hollywood Bowl. Sunday, we have got to Rawler and Andi’s to see their new baby, Brigitte. 

 

6-27-01 12:19 AM W The Frolic Room

I keep my mouth shut too long. The juke box asks about staying or going. Shrinks. A big nasty bruise on my side where I got beaned. Feel like abandoning the pronoun I for a while. Roller Coaster of Love sings the jukebox. The Ohio Players. Don’t want anyone to hear. Ballin’ up a napkin in the fist. Devils scowling, enticing, on stickers—a Cheshire Cat sticker shares a bucket with a scary devil sticker. Worried the bartender thinks you’re queer. “What’s up then, Reb. D’jyour games hit today?” The knee. The knee always going. I think the bartender’s working with the gal Goldcastle was hoping to talk to. Boardner’s is actually nuts on a Wednesday morning.

1:09 PM

The Cubs are on at Wrigley. Hurray. Wish I was there. I have a headache. Rochelle’s going to see a counselor at three. Whatever. 4:22 PM I took the baby for a walk in her stroller up to the park and the library. Now the Bosox are playing a team called the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. I have to get a TB test. I wonder what’s up with renewing my credential. Lassen? Summer school. I feel lost. I let Lulu eat some leftover Chinese, and now she’s cutting horribly stinky farts. My teeth hurt. I haven’t brushed them yet today. Nor showered. A fucking lawnmower or leaf blower seems to going around here all day, every day. I have to send a money order to my brother.

10:02 PM

I haven’t been able to get much done today. I have had two naps, and I’m still tired. I’ll leave for Lassen on Monday, I guess. I have to go to the district office Friday morning, I guess. What do  I have to do there? What else am I forgetting. 6-28-01 Th The That’s John Bayless 6:17 PM [polaroid of man at entrance to Washington’s Headquarters National Historic Park in Morristown, NJ] who was arrested in Israel as a terrorist. I visited him in ’94, I think, when I stood outside St. Patrick Cathedral in Manhattan in a blizzard to meet Coppola at an “On the Road.”

Looking West to Shasta from the Top of Lassen Cinder Cone, Fourth of July, 2001

 #57 6-24-01 Su 10:52 AM

Snot drops on the [psychedelic, kaleidoscopic image reminiscent of some cosmic eye staring daggers down upon a serpent in ink] page.

  That’s how it is. The leaves jingle outside. Blakes at MOMA, and his watercolors, too. I saw it on CBS. Read about the crucifixion at Golgotha. I’ve stuffed toilet paper in my nostrils so no more snot drips on the page. I have nothing to write that complements the magnificence of the stained-glass window I tried to reproduce. In fact, I can’t wait to be done writing this shit so I can read the newspaper. I should really go somewhere to write this, but it’s not worth the wife’s feelings of abandonment should I leave, though I suppose this too is a form of abandonment. I suppose my stained-glass window will become smeared before I have filled this journal. I ate a bagel this morning, but I’m still hungry. Another explosion just rattled the neighborhood. I guess it’s just some kids doing a pre-Fourth of July fuckaround, but these have not been firecrackers popping. Somebody’s experimenting with weapons of mass destruction. ~~~ I’ve got to call Getoff, Ball, and Thing. I have so many books to read. I want to go to Mount Lassen. I have to call Mt. SAC tomorrow. What can I eat right now? I took a Zyrtec this morning. Rochelle is feeding the baby. “Hi, poopoo bear good girl. I know. I know. I know. Say, ‘I love vegetables and chicken, coocoocachoo. I’m the champ! I’m the champ! Three more bites!’ Like that. Tomorrow, I have to straighten out my room at Wilshire Hill. Should I get a car for Mrs. Yale? I have to write on the calendar that I’ve made it to age one hundred fifty-nine. Pretty close to page one sixty. I told Stone I’d give him a copy. My nose feels sunburned. I never read the newspaper Friday. Whatever. I hope I do well at my game today, and at the same time, I don’t really care. Augh. What else? What else? It’s cool today, but the sky is clear and blue. UghR.