10-28-01 Su 11:45 AM
On the home crapper. Haven't and won't write anything good, especially not if this pen won't work. Rochelle, Ada, and I went up to Farmer's Market and met Slim Phantom for breakfast. Maybe if I had gone up early by myself for a little while I would have become a writer among the people and the multitudes of their expressions and voices. Since my pen died on me, I'm now writing with a CREME LIPLINER I found in Rochelle's makeup drawer. I hope it doesn't smudge. The girls are coming to my game. We'll go when I get off the pot. 6:51 PM Home again. In bed. Johnson is throwing a gem against the Yanks in Game 2. Our game was in Azusa this afternoon. The other team sucked. We won 14-4, but I was 0 for 4, popped up a bunt. struck out, popped up to short with the bases loaded, and flew out to left. Also missed a bounced throw from third and threw wildly home, allowing two runs to score. I read a couple surahs; the name of one is translated as "Iron" and the other as "The Woman Who Will Not Be Put Away" or something full of woe to the unbelievers. Ugh--Sunday night already. Another lost weekend. Johnson threw a complete-game shutout. I could have written in this journal on the way home from the game. I don't know why I didn't. I guess I'll read the paper after this. We had spaghetti for dinner. The movie "Reds" is on now. Whatever. What else? I'm back to thinking Jim sucks shit. I wish I had balls like this Jack Reed fellow. But I don't. I have balls like--I don't kinow--Doris Day or something. The fucking helicopter is shaking the house again. What have we wrought?     Ten days that shook the world. We turned back the clocks this weekend. What else? What else? Who cares. Go go go. What else? I'm impotent. What are the vital people doing with their lives? The people with balls and brains? What are they doing? What kind of business can I open? What else?