A Fool in Angel City

2012-01-21T19:58:00.000-08:00

6-21 Sa 9:47 AM
Amtrak Coast Starlight bound for Portland, Oregon along the grafitti-colored, rubble-heaped, steel-girded, concrete gully through which flows the LA River, which actually looks clean and blue and healthy with grass and algae and silt on its cement banks. Next stop: Glendale. There's the back of the crumbling Van De Kamp's bakery. Thing and 'Shell dropped me off at Union Station. The Glendale stop looks like an old Mexican outpost complete with man in cowboy hit drinking coffee like a Tejano in a lawn chair. Soon I'll have to locate the bourbon on this train and decide when to eat my mushrooms. Last night, Shirelle, Christina, April, and I partied in the Hollywood Hills home of producer John Ziffrin. The walls were adorned with Picassos and a Warhol Mao. How original. It's hot in here. It's cloudy today. I've still go to read the paper. Last night there was a full moon on the eve of the summer solstice and the junkies were out howling and friendly and hustling up their fixes. Too bad these windows don't open. This train acshully chugs. I had steak and eggs and hash brown potatoes and thick sourdough toast at the Pantry, and I'm stuffed. A bum made change for us at the meter. I guess when I'm done reading the paper, I'll walk the train from one end to the other. I wonder if it will be hard to sit in the lounge car. I wonder if there could be a TV with the Dodgers and Giants on it later. Last night's game was what baseball is all about: Storied rivalry, pressure, extra innings, dozens of subplots. I'm tired behind the eyes. Trailer parks, weeds, barbed wire, industrial warehouses, flood channel, brown hills, wrecked cars, gravel pile, construction site, steel drums, pick-up-on-blocks, radio tower, satellite dish, ballplayers, decades of junk, swimming pools, Biscuits and Gravy, Country Kitchen, Spanish Tile roofs, horses, plastic siding, boulders, good place for an ambush, Chatsworth, tunnel, dynamite gorge. Long tunnel, black outside, only the feeling of motion There's a stubborn piece of steak fat lodged between my two most inaccessible molars. I'll do my 15 min and1 pg in the big book.

2012-01-03T12:48:00.000-08:00

Fri June 19 10:40 AM 1997
Feeling a little rush rush rush--Shirelle's driving while I write here in Vera's Chysler on my way to Stan's barber shop for a trim and a shave before my BIG interview at 2:00. We're going to drive to Westwood before that and get some mushrooms from a friend of Shirelle's which I may or may not take on the train. I'd like to fit in a bucket of balls at Rancho park today, too, but I may have to cut that out for the sake of interview readiness. After that I've got to pay my bills and call the registry for Mao's wedding present. I'm probably forgetting a few things. I haven't even mentioned all the writing I've got to do. Old Rawler is coming around four. I forgot what for. I've got to gather together a little portfolio of Stulls and stuff.
Now I'm at Shirelle's. In the time it took me to get my haircut and face shaved and walk over here, Shirelle wasn't able to warm her food at eat, so I'm waiting on her again.
I have to call Amtrak and Ideeho.
Now I'm in the office at Wilshire Crest waiting for my interview. There was a just a bunch of shrieking and laughter emanating from Principal Dinerstein's office because a big cockroach was spotted. Ms. Dinerstein came out and looked at me and said, "There's no decorum in my office."
"I'll fit in just fine," I might have said, but I don't feel like myself in a suit. I tell myself, I'm adaptable. I can fit in anywhere. I'm more excited that nervous. I'm happy about the prospect of working in my own community. I like Sharp, but now that I'm teaching Adult Ed at the LA High, I could realy use that hour of commute time for planning and preparation. It will afford me the time to make more of an impact after school. What kind of after-school projects can I get involved with?
I floored 'em, I'm sure. They're going over my Stulls and discussing my worthiness right now. When I get back to the house I've got to call Amtrak and pay my bills. And wash the dishes and pack and wait for Rawler. And drink beer and smoke pot and eat mushrooms. And type for fifteen minutes and type a page and do '92 and call for Mao's wedding present.
I had some good whacks on the driving range at Rancho Park today and just as many that luckily didn't kill anybody. This is the second pen to run out on my while writing thi

2011-12-30T07:43:00.000-08:00

Th 6-19 Noon
I couldn't get out of bed early enough to do my fifteen minutes before school as planned. Shirelle came over around midnight and spent the night. McGoo and I went to the Dodger/Angel game. It was a good homer-filled see-saw battle in which the Los Angeles team prevailed at the end on Billy Ashley's eighth-inning, come-from-behind shot into the bleachers. Zeile, Mondesi, and Salmon also homered. I had a brief conversation with a nice looking gal about my age and her friend. She said she lived in a loft downtown. "Oh, in a loft? Are you an artist?" she said she ways. I talked about Oliver a little bit. "So what's fun to do downtown?" I asked. "Nothing," said she. "We're going to the Tiki Lounge," I offered. "That sounds fun," she replied. "We'll meet you there."
When McGoo and I go there, though, the little lounge was full with a line out the door. We decided to skip it.
My camera started working on the way home from school, so I skipped the battery chore. I photographed a Hebrew National Wiener billboard and a seven-story Michael Jordan/Bugs Bunny Space Jam banner unfurled down the side of the Records Storage building on Highland. I also took a picture of a woman peddling oranges among the palms on the median. I got all my writing done and baked some pasta. Today I'll cruise down Cahuenga. I'll get margarita fixings. I need a cover to put my golf clubs on the train. I've got to call the registry for Mao's wedding. Tomorrow is my big interview. I've got to find a Pier One Imports or Robinson's-May to get a gift for the Ball wedding. I've got to pay my bills tomorrow. Thing says he'll take me to the station Saturday and we can stop at the Pantry for breakfast on the way. Tonight my students are coming to the house to celebrate the last day of class. I can't let them stay late, though, because I need to be sharp tomorrow. I have to turn in my attendance and time card tomorrow, too. Today I have to go to the LACAS office to pick up my class's test scores before class. Tomorrow, Shirelle's friend is throwing a party in a Hollywood mansion. I guess that'll do for now.

2011-12-23T15:35:00.000-08:00

6-18 W 11:37 A
I'm subbing in Mrs. Sunseri's class at Sharp Avenue in Pacoima. These may be my last couple days here. It looks good that I will get that job a couple of blocks from my house at Wilshire Crest. I showed the Disney documentary "Jungle Cat" after we went over the math homework. I read the newspaper while the kids saw a couple of jaguars harass sloths, crocodiles, peccaries, seven-foot fish, anteaters, monkeys, and a three-hundred-pound anaconda. Only the anteater escapes with his life.
I already typed my fifteen minutes this morning. Everything is on schedule so far. On the way home I'll stop at the batting cages, and get a battery for my camera. Maybe I'll spot a photo op as well. I still might drive down Cahuenga. Peter Lee may score some shrooms for me. I cleared my desk last night. I'll read Steppenwolf during lunch. After lunch, I'll take the kids out for a kickball game. When get home, I'll do '92 and my one page before class. We should get out early tonight after the test. Then what? Shirelle invited me up to a party at a mansion in Hollywood Hills where her friend Christina Cessna is housesitting. I don't know if I can take anymore of Shirelle's bats in my belfry, though. I almost put a whole nother page to Jim last night. Maybe I can get up to page twenty-nine tonight. Page thirty would be great to have done before I get on that train Saturday. Maybe I ought to get a travel bag for my clubs. What else? I'll sub again tomorrow. I'm going to need five or six hundred bucks to fix the steering on the Chrysler. I wonder if Mac will pay any of the money he owes me. Urg. What else? I went to McDonald's for a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit, a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, hashbrowns and an orange juice. Tonight I'll make spaghetti. What else? There's a button missing on my shirt. The sky is bright white. To infinity and beyond! It's not flying; it's falling with style. I'll skip lunch today. One more line. What can I say?

2011-12-06T15:25:00.000-08:00

6-17 Tu 12:35 PM
Time to finish another book. I'm at the McDonalds on Van Nuys in Pacoima. I just chowed a Number Four: Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, fries and and iced tea. The cashier gave me a cup full of may to dip my fries. I'm subbing for Sunseri who's out now because she has Alzheimer's. After school, I'll stop at Larchmont and pick up my asthma medicine. Maybe I'll drive down Cahuenga and stop by the pot shop. I'll type and go to class and type some more. Maybe I'll rent some videos at Blockbuster. I have to sub again tomorrow. I have to call Amtrak. Actually I have to decide if I want to spend the night in Portland or not. A guy is wearing a t-shirt that says in Biblical-style script: Blessed are the losers, for they determine the winners. I've already read the newspaper, but I haven't finished the crossword. I took from the shelf Annie Proulx's THE SHIPPING NEWS, Wallace Stevens's THE NECESSARY ANGEL, and a book by a woman named Bonnie Friedmann called WRITING THROUGH DARK. I read a chapter about "writer's envy", which I don't think I suffer from acutely, tthough I may bemoan my lack of progress compared to that of other writer's who've had success. Like I told Sharon that I was jealous that she was able to write, produce, and direct her own feature film. I envy her organizational skills. Organization is probably my biggest weakness. Ms. Friedmann says the only antidote to envy is to keep working. Does this count? It's ten to one. I better go and finish this at school. I picked up some free Hercules posters to five to the kids with the most stars. Nothing like Disney promotional giveaways to bribe good behavior from children. This might be the longest it's ever taken me to finish one of these journals. I'm letting the kids watch "Space Jam". Tonight the Dodgers and Angels play. What else? Julia said not to squander my talent. What else? I can't think with this movie on. I should have taken the kids out for P.E. What else? THERE'S A NIGHTMARE IN MY CLOSET by Mercer Mayer. It was in Spanish. Michael Jordan wins again. What else? What else? All this kid chatter--More bats in the belfry. I drove to school with the top down on the Chrysler on the way to work this morning. I had to buy a hairbrush at the liquor store where I buy my newspaper. I told Principa Cicada about my interview.

Hollywood Bullshit Kiss

2011-11-30T12:28:00.000-08:00

June 14 Flag Day 5:20 Saturday
west on the 10 freeway toward Santa Monica and Hollywood hipster luau. My horoscope said I would have sex appeal and be clicking mentally and people would say I should be a comedian. I'm hoping I can get a blow job out of it. Maybe when the stars come out, since it's there this future is written. "We're meant for each other and should consummate that as soon as possible," will be my opening line. I AM starting to feel that animal thing with the magnetism. I think I'll get rum drunk tonight. The old Mariner's way of clearing the sinuses. Navigatin' the stars under partly cloudy skies. BLACK MAGIC [says the journal in karate letters] It's fertilizer. I will be on. I said if I heard Shirelle's Mustang, I was running and hiding. A lady smiled at me as she loaded groceries into her Firebird. Thing ran into Payless to get tiki torch fuel.
The chaotic blur at the line where the sky meets the sea. "Get away from me with that Hollywood bullshit kiss--you want to kiss me, use your tongue," I say to the hostess when we are introduced.
8:15
The party sucked. Everyone there was addicted to boredom. I drank several Blue Hawaiians. Oscar De La Hoya is fighting David Kamau tonight. I suggested to Thing we scat and watch it, but he was playing Mama's boy and wanted to stay and help clean up.
I've been to the Tavern, the Circle Bar, some seafood/cocktail place and a couple of others. Now I'm at the Fish Co. and none of them are showing the fight. At least the Angels and Giants are on, but the Giants are winning six to one. Make that seven to one. One of Satan's minions just homered. I regret ordering a beer. It turns out there is nowhere for me tonight. My horoscope lied like a female.
A cab will cost twenty or thirty bucks. Murdering time. I wish I was on fire and not burning.
Polly want a cracker.
The holly green, the ivy green, the prettiest picture you've ever seen is Christmas in Killarney, with all of the folks at home.

Facing a Long Future of Getting Soaked

2011-11-27T08:29:00.000-08:00

I saw a woman with a child on her lap, deftly manuevering through the rush hour traffic and onto the sidewalk in her wheelchair.

6-12- 1:10 PM Th

I have a computer meeting after school, fuck. I have to rearrange my golf date for tomorrow so I can see the International Hockey League Finals between the Detroit Vipers and the Ice Dogs in Long Beach tomorrow. Tonight marks the historic first day of interleague play in Major League Baseball. I'm considering calling in sick so I can stay home and watch, but is it worth losing the sixty bucks I would make working tonight?

What else? Half-hearted, coitus interruptus this morning. Fell right asleep after gulping down a twenty dollar bottle of Sonoma Merlot. Brought roses and champagne; felt like I was getting soaked and was facing a long future of getting soaked and wondered what the hell is it that she contributes.

What else? I hope this interview happens soon. How will it work if I don't start 'til September? How will it affect my pay.

It's drizzly today. The kids watch Casper. There was a Jump For Your Heart thing here today at school to raise money and awareness for the American Heart Association, but no one in this class brought money or permission slips to participate, so we just watched. We read a story about a little Japanese hillbilly kid at his school in Japan. I had oven fried chicken and warm tortillas and salad for lunch. I want to smoke weed. I need to check on my bank account.

Que mas hay que decir? I have to e-mail Dan and call Ko and call the golf course.

My night school class wants to have an end-of-the-year party in my backyard. I said OK.

I'm looking through the slats in teh shades out the caged window through the school fence. A sparrow found a potato chip. I ate three double bacon cheeseburgers last night. I trod mill a half hour and watched another incredible Michael Jordan performance, this time not only defeating the Jazz on the road, but also a viral flu in his stomach. Will and desire, baby.

2011-11-14T17:44:00.000-08:00

What's going on? Not much. Shirelle says today is the anniversary of our first date when we went to see Jurassic Park at the Galaxy Theater in Hollywood, 1993. There were supposed to be four of us: she with her date, my roommate, Peachtree, and I with mine, Becky, a girl I'd met all coked up in Laughlin. But Shirelle and I both got stood up, so just she and I went. After the movie, Shirelle took me to the Palms, a notorious lesbian bar, and after that we went back to Pasadena and fucked on the balcony where you could see all the way to Catalina sometimes.

Yesterday I was sitting on the stairs outside Principal Linda Dinnerstine's office at Wilshire Crest signing my cover letter when she walked by and saw me there. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Just the person I wanted to see," I said. I gave her my resume and letter. She seemed pleased. She said they were going twenty to one in third grade and would need two new bilingual teachers. I have to go before an interviewing panel next Friday. It's a traditional-calendar school, so If I get hired, I won't start until September. Hmmm....?

Ugh. I ate two, count 'em, two fucking Jack in the Box burgers for school today. That definitely exceeds my fat allowance for the day.

Uh, what else? I have a wart on the fingerprint of my thumb. I have to make some copies before I go home. There are still a few school for me to visit. The kids are watching a "Recycle Rex" animated video. Maybe I'll puff and write until class starts since I have to go to Shirelle's after. Particulates are killing me. The inside of my nose is all torn up. Interleague play starts tomorrow. The kids are singing and dancing a recycle song.

Go! Go! Go! Little fat fuck Jonathon is crying cuz I made him stand in the corner for being a troublemaker. When I finish this he can go. I'll never finish. I better let him go now. I'm a skirter. Too bad I can't do no drinking tonight. Too bad I can't call in sick to night school.

What on Earth else? The sky is dirty blue. A kid is walking with a kickball under his shirt like one enormous breast. I worked in the Bebop file before school today. I found my Primatine Mist tablets on my desk. I have to return e-mails to Dan and Julia.

2011-10-30T15:40:00.000-07:00

Sa 6-7 2:10

UCLA Melnitz Theater. Shirelle and I are waiting for the premiere of Sharon Powers film "Taxi Dancer". I work with Sharon at the night school. Shirelle is already crabby because she had to drive.

I walked home from Sh'elle's house. I walked to Canter's and read the paper and ate some pasta for breakfast.

Mon. June 9 12:25 PM

I am eating at apple at Eve Sciupac's desk, the lady for whom I'm subbing today. The air conditioner isn't working. I haven't felt live writing at all. I'd rather be reading. I'm reading Hunter Thompson's book Hell's Angels. It's okay. I forgot my iced tea in the lunch room. The principal, Sam Pasada, wants to see me today. She probably wants to know if I'll be back in July or not. It's starting to look like I will be back. I have to call Idaho today, and Amtrak.

Tues. Jun 10 9:55

Now I'm eating an apple in crazy Sunseri's class. I got my tie on so I can drop off some resumes after work. The kids brought ice cream for an ice cream party. I need a cup of coffee at recess. I have a strong urge to go to Jack in the Box. I fought it off. I'm drinking coffee now. I haven't been sleeping well. I smoked a joint and wrote last night. I talked to my ad and his wife and parents in Idaho yesterday. I'm super tired. The kids are playing Body Bingo and Anatomy Apron and blowing up balloons. Elva Munoz came by and said, "Are we having a party yet?" There was a farmer had a dog and Bingo was his name-o. B - I - N - G - O, B - I - N - G - O, B - I - N - G - O, and Bingo was his name-o. I lost my Primatine Mist tablets. Maybe they're in Suipac's room or at night school. A little fat girl in a blue dress named Sarai brought the ice cream. They brought liters of soda but no cups and are pouring the soda into styrofoam ice cream dishes and sloshing it all over the place.

I'd really rather be reading. I'e been reading an account of the Hell's Angels motorcycle gang. Satyric. I've to get up in almost six hours. I took the lampshade off the lamp so that I would have a brighter light by which to hunt vampires in here. Blood oozes from sores in my nose. Anyway.

2011-10-20T19:16:00.000-07:00

Fri June 6 10:07 PM

Lying under the stupid bridal veil Shirelle hangs over her bed. I got like day fifteen of the grueling, non-stop, runny snots and a little buzzsaw headache from the two or three margaritas I had for lunch at El Coyote. I was typing at my desk when I hard what I though was the mail drop through the slot in the door. There was a manila envelope down there. Peter Lee had returned a script he'd borrowed from The Thing. There was no postage on it, just a note thanking Thing. I walked outside and he was pulling out of the driveway. He spotted me and pulled back in. He said he was going up to Hollywood to transfer some film. We talked a little and he drove off. I went upstairs and put on my short with the big pockets and put this journal in one of them and Hunter Thompson's Hell's Angels in the other. I took my vitamin and smoked weed through a pipe fashioned from a toilet paper tube and foil. I put on my sunglasses and headed out on foot to El Coyote, a couple of miles away, to meet Julia. I barely got to Olympic when I saw Pete coming back in his van. His appointment got bumped a few hours. I told him where I was going an invited him along. I hopped in and we drove up. We talked about the movie Hud, about it being a quintessentially American film, the conflice between the old way and the new way.

Pete and Julia hit it off. I said Jim Krak was about sex. I asked Pete about the first vagina he ever touched. He answered without batting an eye, "Above the clothes or below?" A distinction I'd considered. I said, "And coming out of your mom's doesn't count." I asked Julia when was the first time her vagina had been touched by a boy. She said she didn't remember and reminded me she was a grandmother. We talked a while longer and they left. I walked up to Shirelle's with my newspaper. We went to sushi at Ten Masa on Sunset. It cost fifty bucks. We came back to her place and I fell asleep watching the Bulls lose to the Jazz in Utah. Now we're watching "Cheers". Drip drip drip goes the nose.

2011-10-12T17:01:00.001-07:00

June 5 Th noon

From a chair waiting in the main office at Leo Politi Elementary School on Olympic near Hoover in the shadow of the downtown high-rises. I'm waiting for the office manager so that I can talk with her about working here full time or at least subbing over the next few weeks.

I've got a little dilemma with the car and the planned trip to the Bay Area. There's a little trouble with the rack and pinion and we want to take HWY One on the winding road on the cliffs over the ocean. Hardly the place you want steering woes. Shirelle is pouting like a baby that we may not go.

This office has a very nice aquarium. It's a nice office.

Yeah, so what else? Julia proposed meeting at El Coyote for lunch tomorrow. I e-mailed her about the Frisco trip; if I go, we can't meet. If I don't we can. Duh. I read the whole paper. Last night, I just sat at my desk and read about Israel and Proust on the CDROM encyclopedia.

Getoff and I are at The Living Room now on La Brea. It's one of those pretentious cafes where you're suposed to read and write. All my tragic little conflicts... I ate a scone. I wish I wouldn't have. I"m al burnt as usual. Getoff's reading through the LA Weekly. There's a painting of one topless French-Revolution-Era woman expressionlessly tweaking the nipple of another.

What the fuck else? Aagh I can't think of anything. I wonder what that girl is writing. She seems to be studying something. I'm quite sure I spent enough on the BBQ. I'm quite hapy with my contribution. Don't ask for any dough, Joe. Too bad I gotta work tonight. Fucking cars and paranoia. I feel like kicking the shit out of something. Ten after four. Too bad I can't get drunk. Too bad I have no personality anymore. What happened to my exuberance for life? Why am I such a scared square now? How can I regain some boldness? Where's the courage? I need one of those medals the Wizard gave the Lion in Emerald City.

Ask ick urg fuck. Almost there. Too bad I gotta work tonight. Girls Girls Girls.

2011-09-30T19:26:00.000-07:00

6-4 W 12:45 PM

At some sidewalk cafe on Beverly near La Brea. I read the Times here where I stopped on my walk to Shirelle's. The sky threatens a rare June thunderstorm. A guy walks by talking on his sell phone. FIve lines and here we are at a "What the hell else?" I'll walk home and be there by two at the latest. Wasting so much time with the newspaper is sort of a blow it as far as finding a new school to work at. I've got some phone calls to make, and I ought to dress and visit Hoover. Too bad I have to work tonight? How did I get by without the income before? How I'm barely making it now? I can't wait to have these dumb-ass credit cards paid off. I need to start more correspondences. Email publications. [scripted font, much bigger G extending below the others, all caps:]GOLD. I realy enjoy this McCarthy book. There is not a fucking thing going on within or without. It's muggy ~ There's a woman with a "Rosie O'Donnel" hat on. I don't think Rosie O'Donnell has any talent. My molars hurt. There's a nice looking girl with a notebook looking for a place to sit. She looked at my writing and smiled and walked off and sat somewhere else. A guy just walked by with a top hat and a suit and shirt and tie with stripes clashing in all directions. I need to converse more. I should have invited the girl to sit here, but I have no time, right?

I'll make spaghetti. [Script:] I CHanged.[] There goes a rabbi. There are yarmulkes all over, actually. What the flying motherfuck else? I have a

St. Paul baseball shirt on that Pablo Mariachi gave to Shirelle. I swapped with her temporaily because my Vancouver shirt was damp with sweat from marching the three miles or so up to her place last night. It seems crazy to walk across Los Angeles and Hollywood at such an hour, but the streets are well-lighted and the traffic constant. I feel no danger. I saw one hooker. Three and a half more lines and I'm done. I'm looking all around for what to write. It's just cars and concrete and stores.

2011-09-18T18:51:00.000-07:00

6-3 Tu 2:00

I'm sitting on a high stool at a high table on the sidewalk in front of Rita Flora. A meter creep was about to ticket a Saturn when the old guy who owns it came out and started arguing against the ticket because the meter was, he claimed, out of order. "You're out of order, too," I threw out hoping the meter creep knew it was directed at him, but I only offered it in passing. I'm waiting for a tune-up and oil change on the Chyrsler at the Firestone Service Center down La Brea. I called Amtrak today. The train ride alone will cost $379 to Spokane. Ugh. A girl with one of those trendy-ass tattoos showing on the small of her back, one that disappears down into her pants to the crack of her ass, presumably, is smoking a cigarette that the wind keeps blowing my way. The waitress just brought a menu and an iced tea. The guy at Firestone said my car would be ready around three, three thirty. What should I eat? Pasta here? Golden Bird? McDonald's? Home spaghetti? Nothing? There goes an ambulance.

[stylize drawing of] DIZZY HARD Los Angeles

They drop a sprig of mint leaf in your iced tea here. American [upside-down question mark]QUE[accent on the 'E']

There's an orange carnation in a round glass of water

[sketch in navy ink of flower in bowl of water]

No one else is sitting out here now.

[Some kind of Satanic little fuck-up will not allow me to change the fonts halfway through the entry]

There's an old Rambler parked at the curb with a bulldog painting in back. [the gas station logo:] 76

In class now several hours later. I succumbed to the siren song of Golden Bird. My belly distends a little further.

I'm already clenching cheeks against flatulence. What else? I'll walk to Shirelle's tonight. I'll walk back tomorrow. Tomorrow: Call Mary to let her know I want to work the next two weeks. Write, of course. Make spaghetti. Pray for the car. Work. Go to LA High with tie early. Go to John Burroughs. Go to Hoover. Go Go GO Fuck Fuck Fuck You step in front of a car. Accused of hit and run. Ninety miles an hour girl that's the way I drive. Tire Tracks all across your back.

2011-09-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

June 2 5:45 PM M

From the Pollo Loco at Wilshire and Wilton. I got the coffee jitters while I write and wait for my order. I had an interview at Marvin Elementary today. This Principal McClain grilled me. I mostly withstood, but I don't know how bad I want to work there. I'm trying to arrange interviews at some other schools.

Shirelle and I went to the Men's Wearhouse on La Cienega, and I bought a new suit with shirt and tie. It cost nearly five hundred bucks. Tomorrow I've got to take the Chrysler for a tune-up and oil change.

My students are studying the present progressive tense.

Damn! Not even the bottom of the first page and I'm already out of things to say. To write, that is.

I lost a tie. It's not hanging on the nail in the closet with my other ties. I remember using it for something, for my evaluation with my assistant principal and was going to wear it somewhere I went with Carlin and Raquel, I think--no it was the Dodger game with Lisa and Phil. I tore it off because it suddenly embarrassed me. I don't think I left it in her car. Maybe in Carlin's back seat. I'll have to ask around.

The pen I'm writing with was given to me as a gift by one of my students. It's a great pen because it's retractable and I can put it in my breast pocket without marking up my shirt; I did, however, manage already to mark up the shirt before I got the pen. It's inside the pocket luckily, not visible to the casual observer.

So when I get home, I'll type. I've got to do some dialog 'tween Jim and Adam as they near the girls' beach house.

1:43 From bed. I lay down. I closed my eyes, and music started up. Curtains parted and the room shook, the vertical needed adjusting his femoral artery twitched and sent a tsunami of deoxygenated anaerobic blueblood back to the heart. Everything turned purple. The two mixed adn there it was in his infinite eyelids. A bubble rose and popped outside a bird coughs Time travel is possible The pencil fell from my hands. I forgot what it was even as I held it in my fingers trying to remember, but it rolled up and the little thump of it hitting the paper opened my eyes.

2011-08-30T21:30:00.000-07:00

June 1 9:06 PM Su

I thought of taking this journal for a walk up to Shirelle's house and write somewhere along the way, in a coffee shop or something, but I seem to have chickened out. I could sure use the exercise. I killed a couple mosquitos, smashed 'em with a clap, but the corners of my eyes think they still see them dart.

I put a few sentences about Catholine Ebbetsfield's pussy to Jim.

Maybe I'll walk. Maybe when [here there is a blot of mosquito gore on the page with an arrow drawn from words labeling it as such] I get to the bottom of this page I'll put on socks and shoes and a shirt and walk out the door.

or maybe I shouldn't stop 'til I've done with the three pages. And maybe after that I should read my book 'til she calls and then walk over. A siren sings outside. Should I buy a suit tomorrow? Can I get my pants altered before one? Got to call Amtrak. Got to call Kathleen. Mr. Mosquito came back from the dead, and I killed his zombie-ass again, and washed his corpse down the sink this time.

Destination Unknown. Life is so strange when you don't know your destination something could change it's unknown and then you don't know your destination I need a good light suit for a hot summer day. Though one for my formal occasions may be more necessary. I should mention in my interview UCLA an Pepperdine. What else? If I start walking now it might give me something to fill this last page. Should I have a bowl of cereal first? Shirelle made some kind of teriyaki fish dinner, but she said not to come over until the two-hour first episode of some new prime time drama was over, because she didn't want to hear me making fun of it.

I let some bum shine my shoes last night and he fucked 'em up. I don't know what was he was using for polish. Said it was some moisturizer. What else? Can't see no moon, no stars, no clouds, no nothing in the ink but distant copters and airplanes. There's another siren. What else? Ocean cool tiptoes in on little fish feet. I told Shirelle we'd take a drive up the coast to San Francisco and Berkeley to vist Steve Hosebag. He said I'd hae to sleep on the floor, but Shirelle could sleep in his bed with him.

2011-08-23T22:30:00.000-07:00

May 31 Sa 1:15 PM

Thing and his friend from Fresno and I just returned from the Hollywood Hills Cafe. Last night we took a cab up to Dublin Whiskey Bar on Sunset. I was burning, though, and my pool game sucked, so I told the guys I was leaving. "I just don't have it," I said pointing to my head. I walked east on Sunset to Gardner. I rang Shirelle's bell, but she wasn't there. I pissed between a couple of trees with two little dogs nipping at my heels. I walked down Santa Monica and spotted Shirelle and Kristina coming out of the Formosa. They gave me a ride back home, and we passed a joint around, and they left, and I wrote some and read some more Cormac McCarthy and went to bed.

The Dodgers are playing at St. Louis on Fox. The guys are reading the newspaper. Mac called and said he was coming over. Hide the silverware. We were gone an hour or so , though, and we might have missed him.

Dick Trickle drives race cars.

There's nothing to write about.

Julie Gibson left E-mail about a writer's group tonight at seven. I wrote back half joking about using up prime drinking hours. I haven't heard back. My feet could use a bath. My writing embarrasses me. There was a tarantula, a big hairy brown spider the size of my hand, downstairs reading the mail.

What the hell else?

Sweated some driving to the hoop in the backyard. Mac called about driving to the marina to a BBQ at some girl's house. Actually, I know the girl, beautiful redhead, Keri something or other, but I resent her because she's out of my league, or rather, I'm not in her league.

The first game of the Stanley Cup Finals is about to start. We're all afraid to drive. Shirelle went to the beach with her friends. What to eat? Sh'elle just called looking for a ride to get her car in Pasadena. I said I'd do it tomorrow, but that wasn't good enough.

What If Jurassic Park Had Never Been Made?

2011-08-17T17:59:00.000-07:00

May 29 TH 7:55 PM

I saw "The Lost World" at the Beverly Connection with Shirelle at her urging. Its prequel was what had brought us together. Her date, my roommate didn't show, and my date didn't show, so we saw Jurassic Park without them and were boning on the balcony overlooking South Pas by midnight.

"Do you like white people, Zurn?"

"Huh? Yeah. Why?"

"Cuz you always seem to go away from them."

"It ain't like that."

I can barely think here at the HMS Bounty across from the Ambassador Hotel.

Non-Cosmo hot chicks.

Woops. I just tossed a mash in the ice.

It's Bob Hope's birthday.

Fuck the Westside, he figgered. There's nowhere left to go but east.

All: "My mommy...my mommy's sick."

He doesn't have a girl. It gives him less of a chance to blow his dough.

"I have no idea what anybody's doin' except myself," said the off-duty waitress.

2011-08-11T20:19:00.000-07:00

W 5-28 7:10 PM

I'm in my night school class. My students are working on some exercises to practice the conditional tense. I meant to have already written in the journal, but I'm a fucking sloth. The gardeners came and filled my house with noise and pollen. It was too hot to close the window, so I grabbed the newspaper and my book and journal and hopped in the car and put the top down. You might think this could make for a great day, but there's something wrong with me. I wound up driving east on Wilshire and then uptown on Union to Union Station. I thought I might be able to get some information on train fare to Idaho. All I found out, though, is that you can only get that information from an eight hundred number. It cost me a buck ten to park. The first ten minutes are free, but it took me thirteen to learn what I couldn't learn. I drove back past MOCA and Pershing Square and the Biltmore to Wilshire. I thought how one day I've got to ride the Metro downtown and see how much drunken trouble I can get into, maybe go to the library. On the way back on Wilshire, I spotted a sign that said FOOD and GROG. Grog? There was a place on the street to park in front of the door, but there was also a temporary tow-away sign. I found a garage around the corner and parked. A sign said $4.40 Max or something like that. A small price to pay to investigate rumors or grog. I walked to the door and went in. It was dark. An old man with wet red-rimmed eyes greeted me. I asked if I could sit at the bar. Some other oldtimers were sitting there with eyes on CNN reports of tornado devastation in Texas. I ordered an iced tea and got to work on my sports page. Luyendyk won at Indy. The crosswor was a bitch. I had a turkey sandwich and about eight more glasses of iced tea. It took forever to read the paper, even with no pretty girls walking by. I only remarked that the Body Shop strip joint was still open on Sunset, but that it was all-nude now, when an old man said he used to work there.

I watched Hud with Paul Newman. It reminded me of my brother. I guess I better check on my students. Two more lines, though. Josephina wants to take me for a burger. I'd rather have a beer.

2011-08-05T16:35:00.000-07:00

Tues. May 27 Noonish

A sidewalk table on Larchmont. The weather is foreign. I noticed it myself. Then while I was sitting here reading the newspaper, a woman walked in and remarked to the grocer, "What's with the weather today? It feels like Korea." "Have you ever been there?" asked the grocer, who I assume is Korean. "No," she answered. So I'm sitting here writing and looking up when it sounds like a girl is walking by. A girl I met a few weeks ago, and who came to our BBQ a few days ago, just walked by. We recognized each other, and she bent to where I'm sitting for a kiss. At one point I was wearing her sunglasses. There was a sticker on the inside that said, "Porno Star."

Two girls on the otherside of a small tree or a large plant I can't name are throwing around the word 'like' quite generously. "You know what? I, like, took a lot of vitamins yesterday, and I, like, feel totally better." Valleyspeak will never die.

Debra has gone next store for a coffee and may return for a spell before she must head up to the production job she's working on in Hollywood. Hmmm. Some commercial, she said. I bought a Kerns papaya juice. Debbie left. She said she was trying to quit coffee. A guy borrowed my newspaper. Another walked by singing "Buffalo Soldier". Last night, Shirelle and I watched "Dances with Wolves". Everyone looks Jewish today. I'm reading the book All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. A guy asks if I'm doing my morning pages. He asked about The Artist's Way. I said I'd read it, about a year ago. He spotted a buddy, called his name, and said. "See you later, man." He'd said he was a guitar player. Another girls sits at the table here now chatting with her friend about a coffee bar job for which she said the intervierw was like a cult recruitment. She has a diamond in her lip. I dreamt of being pierced last night. I forget where. Sounds latent homo. The other girl wants to know wha the money to the DMV is used for. The other is at a loss to explain. So the first has surgery next week. She say they'll be operating on her skull. She said she went through the seven stages of death. I forgot my watch. There's plenty more to do. That stupid parking ticket. Mail Jan's card.

Smuggling Crack into Canada on Accident

2011-08-01T19:10:00.000-07:00

May 24

Right now Johnny Bayless said proudly that, based on his religious convictions, he'd resisted the temptation of strip clubs for seven years, and about seven minutes later, Gip had talked him into going to one, and they just left. Gip had said something about the beauty of God's creation being apparent in the shapely form of woman, and he mentioned Eve, and said that in a completely innocent and sinless state, nudity was a return to Paradise. Something like that. I might have embellished it a little.

I was talking about when I got inspected crossing the border into Canada with crack and weed and knifes and syringes in the truck and they let me in anyway.

Thing says he feels like a geek. This, he says, is only the third time in four years he's smoked pot. And he's never been to Vegas. It's seems to be a failure he wants to rectify, him being a fantasy member of the Rat Pack. Shirelle says she wants to go if we go. I say, "No how. No way."

Thing says, "C'mon, Zurn, pop my Vegas cherry."

"Not if you're going to talk like that I won't."

Shirelle is at the kitchen sink now filling water balloons. What the hell is she planning? It's practically midnight.

I was freaked. I pulled into a gas station to try to sleep in broad daylight because I was still wasted from all I'd drunk in Pioneer Square in Seattle the night before. I had a bunch of half-smoked joints in the ash tray and somewhere along the way I smoked one of them, to try to take the ache out of my hangover, and I was having a little trouble trying to figure out which way to go. In Portland, the night before Seattle, I barhopped up and down Ash Street, listening to bands and trying microbrews. I was wasted and coming out of a titty bar and had the idea that some acid or mushrooms would be fun up there in the Pacific Northwest, and I started talking to some black dude outside the titty bar who said he could get them, but he was full of shit. All he had was crack. I was drunk. I said, "All right, just gimme the crack, then." and I gave him fifteen bucks and he gave me pebble-sized crystal. I had it wadded up in a piece of toilet paper mashed in with a bunch of snotty tissues pushed into the tube of a roll of toilet paper on the front seat of my truck. While I was driving among the tall cedars trying to figure out which way to go to get into Canada, I passed a Denny's or one of those and stopped to try to get my bearings and do something about my roiling stomach and drink a glass of ice water. I ordered bran flakes, thinking that might be healthy, but the milk was warm and it only made my nausea worse. I asked the waitress if knew how to cross the border. She said there were two places to cross and she told me to go down a road and turn here or there, and I walked out of the restaurant still clueless as to which way to go. I just headed what I figured to be north, but it was overcast, and near noon, and what little sun there was seemed to be right overhead, and I wasn't sure the sun went down due west that far north in the summer, but maybe it does. I just drove around until I stumbled onto the border crossing station. I'd crossed the border in and out of Mexico a couple of dozen times including with bags of weed on me and once with a keg flowing in the back seat without incident, and I guessed getting in and out of Canada had to be even easier. I pulled up to a kiost where a woman with a clipboard asked me some questions. "Do you have anything to declare?" she asked.

"No," I decided.

"Any weapons?"

"No."

"Drugs?"

"No."

"Drug paraphenalia?"

"No."

"Alcohol?"

"No."

She checked boxes on a form on her clipboard. She gave me slip of paper and directed me to park in a numbered stall off to the side and take my slip of paper in the building there. Maybe they were going to give me some brochures or something.

I did as I was told and was greeted by a young man who asked the purpose of my visit while I followed him out to the truck. I said I was "a teacher from LA looking to do a little fishing on summer vacation."

When we got to the truck, he told me to stand on an X painted on the asphalt just tot he rear of my vehicle, and then he snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

Uh-oh.

I had weed and crack in there and a case of beer and sheathed knives and shit,he was looking in the tackle box. There were syringes it my tackle box--One day going out to my car parked on the street in front of out apartment building in Pasadena, next to an empty parking spot on the curb was a huge tackle box full of drawers and platforms and niches full of lures and hooks and lines and sinkers and reels, really it was a magnificent collection of fishing equipment, and I thought about the poor bastard who was probably getting pretty close to the water and would soon be wondering what the hell he had done with his tackle because he sure as hell remembered bringing it out to the car, but why the hell wasn't it in the trunk or the bed of his pick-up. If I'd been a decent human being I would have held onto it and put up signs around the neighborhood about the found fishing gear, but what I did was put it in under the shell of my truck. Among all the other goodies in the tackle box were a few syringes. I've heard some fishermen use them to inject air into their bait to keep it from sinking, especially live bait, when they are targeting fish on the surface. But what was the customs inspector going to thing. By now I was sweating my ass off, and pretty woman came out to assist the first guy and donned her rubber gloves and went up into the cab of the truck where all the roaches were and the crack. Why hadn't I put that crack in my crack? I couldn't see them now from where I had to stand. I wondered if I would go to Canadian jail or American jail. Then the inspector came around to me. "You," he said, "have a nice fishing trip," and he handed me my keys. The girl smiled prettily. "Good luck," she said.

I wiped the sweat from my brow and got dreamily into the truck and drove up the road.

I never did catch any fish on that trip.

Thing's Vegas Cherry

2011-07-24T03:51:00.000-07:00

May 24

Like when John Bayless announced proudly that he had resisted the sin of titty bars for seven years, and then the Gip talked him into going to one about seven minutes later. I was talking about when I was inspected going into Canada with roaches, crack and syringes in the truck and they let me through anyway. Thing says he feels like a geek. This is only the third time in four years he has smoked pot. And he's never been to Vegas. It's something he seems to want to rectify. Shirelle says, "I want to go with you guys." I say, "No way. No how." Thing says, "C'mon, Zurn, pop my Vegas cherry." "Not if you're going to talk like that I won't."

Shirelle is at the kitchen sink filling water balloons. I was freaked. I pulled into a gas station to attempt to sleep in broad daylight, cuz I was still wasted from the night before in Portland. I smoked myself out somewhere along the line that morning to try to take the edge off my hangover. I stopped at Bob's or Denny's or one of those and tried to get healty with a bowl of bran flakes, but the milk was warm, and that was turning my stomach. I felt lost and high and asked the waitress how to get back to the border. She said there were two places to cross, and she told me to go down a road and turn here or there and I still hjad no clue how to get over the border. So I just started driving in what I figured must be the general direction judging from the partof the gray sky that was most light and thinking it must be before noon, but I was way the fuck norht so I didn't know if west would be where it was related tot he sun back in LA. I stumbled upon the crossing anyway. Back in Pasadena several years earlier, I had found a big tackle box full of drawers and compartments full of hooks and weights and reels and lures and lines just sitting on the sidewalk. If I was cool I might have just left it for the poor dummy who had forgotten to load it in his car on his fishing trip. That must have sucked to get all the way to the water and discover he hadn't packed it, thinking "I'm sure I brought it out to my car." I should have put up signs around the neighborhood: "Lost Tackle Box". But instead, I took it to Canada with me. It was in the back of the truck. It had syringes in it. I think fisherman use them to inflate bait to keep it near the surface for targeting certain fish. So I got crack and syringes and knives and beer, and when I got to the border kiosk they asked me if I had any drugs or drug paraphenalia or weapons like guns or knives."No," I say. The rock was wadded up in a piece of TP mixed in with some other wads of TP crumpled with snot in the tube of the the TP roll, sitting right up on the middle of the front seat. I stopped to

2011-07-22T02:56:00.000-07:00

May 20th 7:22 PM

From Adult School again. Seems like another wasted day. I woke up around seven or so, but I just lay in bed, not even thinking, for about an hour, I got up and pissed and walked around the house desparing for a plan.

May 21 7:05 PM W

My twenty-ninth birthday. I don't know what's wrong with me. My eye twitches. Isn't this the age that Morrison and Hendrix self-destructed? My life is too tame to compare myself to them. Why am I so blah? I'm on vacation. I should be reaching a productive high and the exact opposite is happening. I lay on the couch in a sober stupor for hours at a time. This is the third straight day of it. I'm doing a pretty lazy-ass job of teaching tonight.

May 22 7:34 PM Th

This is pathetic. This is the least I've writen in a great long while. There's nothing to say. Shirelle was pointing out everything today, not unlike a child. It was endearing. "Look at the park," she would say. "There's the top of the hill." We were hiking Runyon Canyon. On the way home, some roofers were dropping debris from the top of an apartment buuilding. She said, "Look, they're droping stuff from the top of that apartment building." I said, "Well, you're just the Queen of Announcing Your Observations today, aren't you?" She said, "At least I notice what's going on around me, unlike you, buried in your ownself all the time." I said, "Ha! I note everything and I record it." "You ain't recording now." "I will, though, and I won't just float it out on the air an let it dissipate, either." "What the fuck does dissipate mean?" I gave her a kiss. "Evaporate," I said. We showered and ate at Acapulco on Sunset. Then we went to my place and lay in bed. She was right about me. And my little scribblings less than her announcements of what she sees. I suggested a sixty-nine, since we were like a snake eating its tail. I am anyway.

2011-07-19T13:30:00.000-07:00

May 19 Mon. 6:10 PM

I'm writing from my night school class. Class started ten minutes ago, but there are only a few students here so far, so I'm going to wait about five minutes to call roll. Today was the first day of my vacation. It mostly sucked. Shirelle called over and over. I told her, "I love you, but our relationship sucks, it doesn't work and it's a sad waste of time." She begged me to give her another chance, to give her five more days. I said, "We've had four years to figure it out. You can't change four years in five days." I had to take the phone off the hook, even though I was waiting for a principal to call. I typed a little, read a little, watched Slingblade, jerked off a few times. I want to hurry home after class to see the end of the Rockets/Jazz game. I gues I'll smoke some even though my lungs are are all fucked up, and then I'll write a page. Maybe I'll go up to Blockbuster and rent a movie. I think it will probably be a pretty dull fucking night. I fell terrible about Shirelle. I haven't been able to write much at all. I'd like to go out and drink and shoot pool.

My little happy Room to Write book says to not worry about failure. Even when we don't produce what we want, as long as we produce, it's not failure because we learn and build from it. It says to write a page of crap and not worry about it. The book doesn't realize that that's all I ever do is write crap. This pencil is becoming a colon, the led, an anus, this book, a toilet and the writing shit.

2011-07-17T02:52:00.000-07:00

Su May 18 11:36 AM

I took a five hour nap today, and I'm still tired and wasted from all the alcohol I drank last night. THing and I went to a place down Pico in Santa Monica with a neon martini and cigarette blinking over the door called Liquid Kitty. Then we went to a Mexican restaurant called Lira's and sat by the window with a nice view of the McDonald's across the street. I talked a little with a Flamenco guitar guy at the bar and watched little Mexicans fight. We had dinner with some girls from Thing's work. I had chicken tacos adn threw a few Dos Equis on to of my rye and bourbon. We went to a screenwriter's party in Venice. I drank Heinekken and Bushmill's and talked to a blond who reminded me of Jersey Yokonoshizu of all people. After the party, Thing and I ventured into the Scorpion Bar. A big Mexican with a big handlebar mustache and a big gun patted us down. I won a couple of pool games and drank a couple MOdelos. Then we went to the liquor store and I got a twelve pack and a porno mag. Raquel and Carlin were here. We played Pictionary and GEtoff came home and we talked on the porch. I was supposed to go to a Reggae cruise in Long Beach Harbor with them all, but Shirelle started acting like a baby bitch, so I didn't go. I told Shirelle I wanted off the roller coaster. She did a lot of sobbing and moaning and left, finally. The phone rang, but I didn't pick it up. The Redwings and Dodgers won. Today, John came and we drove out to Pacoima to tow the truck to Placentia. I slept on my mom's couch. Mac brought me back. All the stories on all faces in all the cars we passed, in the windows of the big buildings and old houses...I read my Bible. I'm on page three hundred and eighty. Almost done with Kings. I Spain the Sunday bells are ringing.

2011-07-14T03:59:00.001-07:00

5-16 7:04 PM F

Alan Benes just lost his no-hitter with two out in the ninth. I screamed when it happened. And the game is still zero-zero. Life can be cruel. The Knicks and Heat are tied in the fourth despite the ludicrous suspension of three key Knick players for coming off the bench when PJ Anderson threw Charlie Ward into the stands.

Sports sports sports. My life is empty. Shirelle and I saw the horror movie "Scream" at a smelly, bum-filled Fairfax cinema. I ate lunch at the Bear Pit BBQ in Mission Hills. Place of wood, sawdust on the floor, the sign said, "Missouri Style". I had the "Combearnation" lunch with a sandwich and a rib. Now I have Jeopardy on. Who is Nelson? Got it. Who is Franco? This college tourny is too easy. Who is Bradbury?

I just went to the washer to switch my clothes to the dryer and they were covered--I mean COVERED--with lint. I pulled the shirts out and the wire spiral from one of my little notebooks fell to the linoleum. I killed it. All the little notes that I was burning to write in bars, in the car, all those lines that had to be writen immedicately--obliterated. It feels as bad as when I left that journal in the taxi when I got out of jail. It's possible that one's still alive in a lost-and-found box at some cabbie station, but clearly there's no hope for this one.

You know what though? There was sixty bucks in the washer, too. I don't remember losing that. So I lost a journal, but I gained sixty bucks. Can I consider it a sale?

I just jerked to the notorious Playboy of my first orgasm all those years ago. Carlin invited me to a reggae cruise tomorrow night. Raquel's sending me some seductive e-mails. Carlin also asked to go to Versaille, the Cuban joint down Pico. I just smoked. Maybe I'll play chess or Space Ace. Maybe we can go out for pool. Shirelle's supposed to be coming over. Shit to do, lots of shit to do.

My mom and dad say that I used to say "hel-i-cop-ter" when I was just learning to talk, and "leedleleedleleedleleedle" and "ap-ple sauce". That I could name all the animals in a Noah's Ark set. Stupid Kid Tricks. Remember the circus train. The change on the floor. The night they went to see "Earthquake". The first foreign language I ever heard? Isn't your first language foreign when you first hear it?

2011-07-11T22:51:00.000-07:00

5-15 Th 7:46 PM
Now the Rockets are coming back on the Sonics. Mike's on the couch looking for a job. The Room to Write book says to remember--Oh, who cares what it says, but it makes me think of the Sears sign on top of the store at the Cerritos Mall, giant red letters up there. I'd passed them before not realizing what they said. One night, I realized I could read with no teacher around. That's the first word I remember reading.
Another story is that when we were little and misbehaving my mother would say she was going to take us to the orphanage. She would get on the phone and say, Alright I'm calling the orphanage. That worked for a little while. We would cry and beg her not to call the orphanage. Then one day she actually drove us to a big white building and told us it was the orphanage and my brother and I wailed and pleaded with her that we would be good, please don't take us to the orphanage. We drove past that building often. You could see it from the 91 freeway. About halfway through kindergarten one day, I looked out at the white building that was the orphanage and read the letters at the top of the building: JC PENNEY.
I just now went downstairs and took the thermostat of the Chrysler. It was almost dark. I dropped a bolt down in the engine somewhere and couldn't find it. Hopefully it won't like jam a gear or something.
When I get my writing down I need to make a list of things I need to do.
I should have personally invited--whatever.
Shirelle came over last night to smoke out. I loaded her pipe. I laid across the bed and wrote in red ink in this journal on the floor.

2011-07-08T20:06:00.001-07:00

5-14 w 11:45 p
Still laggin'. Shirelle's s'pos'd to be be coming over. I drank two Bud Lights and two wine coolers and smoked some dope. I hear her car. She's going to want to smoke. I forgeot to bring this book to school or I would have already done it. I didn't bring either of the the books I'm reading either, so I didn't get to read them.
Shirelle is showing off Polaroids of her legs, before-and-after shots of like a year ago when she was in some show and now that she hikes every week. Her legs in the most recent picture are just musled and bone and she likes that better. She wants me to like that better, too. As usual, one of us doesn't get it.
I said, "Are you spending the night?" She said, "I don't know. I have to work tomorow at nine." I said, "I have to work at eight." I said, "Why don't you smoke your hooch and climb into bed and rub my back." She laughed.
Now she spotted a note that a woman from my school put in my box at work that says, "John, if you give me good directions, I'll do all the driving." Shirelle asked what it was. I said, "I dont know. I think this lady at work is trying to hit on me." Shirelle said, "Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it." I said, "I don't know. I'm not really attracted to her. I might still call her, though. Just to be polite." So Shirelle says, "Oh, well, then I shouldn't be here." And I just don't have the energy to correct her bullshit leap. Stupid bitch nailing her own lid. "Adios, Stupid-ass," I say as she storms down the stairs. Her car just rumbled her dumb ass down the street. I have to piss. After this I'll read. I said, "Fine, then, go, cuz I don't have the time for your stupid games. And leave my pot." So she bailed. I have a tumor on my throat. I'm hungry, but I ate tortilla chips that Getoff brought to the porch. There was a knock at the door. It was probably Raquel maybe. I gave Josephine a ride and listened to her prattle in Spanish while the temperature guage in the LeBaron crept up. Bitches. Dumb Bitches. What else? Tomorrow. Queso grande or Missouri BBQ?

2011-06-30T22:06:00.000-07:00

5-13-97 TU 7:25 PM
Dang, I'm still not meeting my goal in this book. I'm so pressed for time. Raquel sent some e-mail saying she was confused about Getoff cuz she was thinking of me, then sent another telling me to disregard the first. Women. I predicted this. She played right into my clutches. It's too late now. Too bad for everybody. Oh, well. How will I increase Jim?
Tomorrow's my last day with my class. I gotta go grab prizes for lunch. Today I went to Arby's and ate three, count 'em, three sandwiches and fries for lunch. No supper for me tonight. Maybe I'll tread. While I was choking on the crossword, Getoff knocked on the door and invited me down to play guitar. We played about half an hour. I didn't mention Raquel's e-mail.

Skip It

2011-06-27T15:35:00.000-07:00

5-12 7:30 PM M

I'm in night school class. I'm teaching the present tense. They have an exercise to work on for fifteen minutes. It's getting that twilight glow outside. With the kids today, we cleaned out the class and turned in our books, so I didn't get to read the paper or do my journal entry. I read the paper at my desk at home after I replied to email. I didn't quite have time to get through the crossword, though, because the Pepper cam over flush from his Tombstone trip with a boner to show one of those cheezy black and white oulaw pictures he posed for. "Can't you get those at Knott's Berry Farm," I said, and he told me to shut up. He's going to talk to Danny about delivering Rawler's pool table to our house. When I was signing in at school today there was an envelope with my name on it. I opened it and lo and behold, it was check for two hundred and forty-six bucks! Maybe I can get a stereo for the car with it. I don't know what the check is for. What else? I still haven't cleaned off my desk. I still have my fifteen minutes and one page to do. Am at an impasse with Jim. The girl characters loom horrifically.

There was an article in the paper about the coincidental release of ne works by Pynchon, Roth, Bellow, and Mailer. It questioned their import in the radical nineties as if every new age wasn't considered radical. It supposed the "Great American Novel" is acutally impossible to write.

2011-06-24T14:55:00.000-07:00

5-9

Carlin and I are stopped at the Mobil on Beverly and La Brea while she fuels here vehicle. We're going to some club on Las Palmas to meet Raquel. "Live a little--Beefeater," says a sign in arched letters by a girl with nice big tits. A red pegasus flies over us. "Move it, assholes," sings Carlin, pulling out on to Highland. "Move it. Move it. Move it." The Police are on the stereo. "Turn, assholes," she sings.

5-10

Lost my pen and couldn't go on. Not an auspicious beginning for Book Sixteen. Shirelle's in the bathroom getting the shower ready. We're goin got eat breafast at the Yukon Mining Co. and then look for clothes. Maybe I'll buy my basketball hoop today.

5-11 Su 5:14 PM

Well you can see I'm not exactly kickin ass on the three pages I'm supposed to be doing. I've really been lagging. All I've done today is lag. This weekend has been a total washout.

I've just been lazing around, sleeping and watching sports. Last night, Thing, Carlin, Shirelle, and I headed out to see Old Peculier in Covina. I thought it would be fun to go in the covertible. Carlin wouldn't ride with us because we were going to pick up Shirelle, and the night previous Carlin was in the room during a phone conversation in which Shirelle intimated that there was something going on between Carlin and me. Utter foolishness, of course, but Carlin mentioned she was on her period, and therefore even more powerless against idiocy than a woman usuall is. So Thing backed the LeBaron out of the driveway, and I got out to shut the gate. While I did that, THing picked up a tape that my sister had left on the center consol and put it inot the tape player where he had forgotten that tapes get stuck and render the stereo useless. Eventually I got the tape out with a couple of screwdrivers, but whatever I did, the radio doesn't work anymore and tuens were the essential soundtrack to my vision of the evening. We went up to Miceli's on Cahuenga, a loud, steamy Italian place. Shirelle's and my dinner and drinks cost me sixty bucks. I had two Kahluas and coffee. She had two Malibu rum something or others and two glasses of red wine. The dinner rolls looked like tits. On the way out, Victor Arceo from Sharp walked over to say hello. Ana was with him. I always wondered who whe was boning. When we got out to Covina, Shirelle couldn't get in cuz she's left her ID at home. That was the topper for me. We loitered on the sidewalk a while and then went home. Getoff just called me to come down for a smoke. I said okay even though my lungs have been all shitty lately. Aghk.

2011-06-14T11:08:00.000-07:00

5-8 1:37 PM Th

This is going to be hard. I'm tired. I didn't get to bed until midnight. Carlin knocked on the door to give us flyers for the Memorial Day weekend BBQ. Somehow we got into the whole Maine story. I must have blabbed for an hour. I did my fifteen minutes and I typed some '92 stuff that seemed like poetry, but by the time I got back to my desk I was too tired to do my page or give Jim anything and besides, Shirelle showed up, so I went to bed. She's trying to get me to marry her. I say I'll wait 'til I know we're on the same path. She implies that I shouldn't "get" any sex because, "you won't buy the cow if you're getting the mild for free." I go, "Oh, are you selling a cow?" and we both laugh. I tried to play with her, but she was dry and lifeless. I didn't get much sleep. I stayed in bed about a half hour after the alarm went off. I took Primatine Mist to try to jump start my fatigue-wracked body. When I to to school, Rosa Marias, the kindergarten teacher, clutched me by the biceps. "Mr. Zurn," she said anxiously, "are you okay? I had a dream last night that we were at a workshop and you collapsed." Last night I was paranoid about my health after I smoked my j. I thought how I need a check-up. How I might hav throat or lung cancer. Now this. I poured a cup of coffee. There were muffins for the ladies who are having babies. In class we went over the homework. Then was psychomotor. I did some cums and read my paper and went into the bathroom and jerked off. After recess the kids finished their sentence illustrations and then I taught a math lesson of adding mixed numbers.

Biddy Kathell is visiting right now. I'll probably need a nap when I get home. Whoop here it is! The end of book fifteen. Over a thousand pages. Sure, it's mostly crap, but so what? Tomorrow, there's no school cuz we teachers ahve to go to some workshop in Glendale. Hoolia Mooreyeyez is here to type something on my computer. If I nap when I get home, I cant stay up late and not worry aobut what time I get up tomorrow. Maybe I can even go out and have a minor hangover installed. I've go to clean this room, send back stuff to the media lab, send back books, decide what to take home. I wonder who will be using this room. I've got to take this chair with me. I'll have to sneak it out. It's about time to go. Book Fifteen, it's been nice knowing you. Wish me luck in sixteen.

2011-06-07T00:57:00.000-07:00

May 7 W 12:19 PM

Oh, I need to hurry through this so I can sart on my cums. My desk is an embarrassing mess. I've got--what? I forgot because I heard Fernandez open a Pepsi after I told him not to, and sure enough he has spilled the sticky shit all over the floor. I drove to Carl's Jr. at lunch. My boss saw me getting into the car when yesterday I told her I'd be leaving the school for one closer to my house because my license is suspended.

"Hel-low," I said with a smile in my ass-kisser voice. "Hel-low," she answered back in the same voice and smile.

I had my double bacon cheeseburger grubbed by the time I got back to the parking lot at school, and was about done with my fried zuchinnis when I saw Cristina, who used to work here, coming from the teacher's lounge with her baby. She looked pretty good.

The kids are watching the Jetsons video right now. I made Levi send his Pepsi back because Francis asked if he could have and and Levi said fuck you. Mrs. Spalla is the one who gave some of these kids Pepsi and not others. What else? I put some more on Jim, though not a lot. I have more I can do tonight. I e-mailed Rachel this morning. I've got to get my ESL book from Lisette again. It would be nice to smoke when I get home, but I don't want to be all logy at night school like last Thursday. What else? It's going to be time for P.E. before I get to those cums. What else? That Room to Write book is pretty lame. The girls are making cards for Mother's Day with consturction paper and yarn and stuff. They've got to clean up now. Now Casper is on. It's the first ever Casper cartoon. His debut. His origin.

Oh, what the heck else?!? I can't think of anything. Sports in So Cal sucked last night. Dodgers, Angels, Lakers and Duck all lost. I gave Josefina and Florencio rides home last night. Poor Casper. Everyone is afraid of him. Mario has a t-shirt with the red Pegasus Mobil Oil logo. The kids were making fun of him because he had a booger on his forehead. Oh, good. Casper found to little kids to play. Burger belch. That'll do, pig.

2011-05-28T14:37:00.000-07:00

Tu 5-6 11:13

Today is minimum day for Teacher Recognition. The parents are going to cook up a big buffet for us. I wonder if there will be a day after the kids are gone to square away this classroom. I've to to get those cums out of the way soon, and I've got to make those copies today. Report cards, clean room. There's a Leadership Council meeting today at three. I've got to sneak out before then or maybe I should just stay that long and get all this crap out of the way. I put about half a page of official writing to Jim, and I can do another half page today. I read the whole thing sober last night and I liked it. I need to put in an explanation of how Jim gets the the job at Disney through his dad the security guard. Maybe make a scene of it. The new stuff has got to be edited still, too. Emmanuel said, "Man, you write fast." I said, "Yeah, you can write this fast if you practice, and with your imagination, you could write some wild crazy stories." So now his sitting next to me writing "Terrorizing Spiders."

I told Chris Butler I'd show her how to use her CDROMs to research Albania. I said I'd come by at recess, but I forgot.

We just got back from playing basketball. It was fun. My team won twenty-three to six, but we had a distinct height advantage with me at center.

2011-05-23T15:48:00.000-07:00

cinco de mayo 12:19 PM lunes

The kinds watched "The Big Green" this morning. Now we've got "101 Dalmatians" on. I finished my student achievement cards and read the newspaper. I'll finish this and finish the Updike interview I'm reading. Then I'll get going on report cards. No. I'll wait on those. I"ll do my cums first, and I won't start those 'til tomorrow. We'll play softball when I'm done here. I've got to figure out what to do about my truck. There are several options. One is they'll let me leave it there one more week, I may have to pay for that at like $10 or $15 a night though. Another option is I have it towed back here to school and hope no on strips it while it sits here for a week. I might be allowed to leave it locked up overnight in the school lot, but how will they tow it in there with all the teachers cars in there already? If we can't come 'til Saturday to get it out the gate may be locked, but wait, I think there is Saturday school. I could have it towed to my house, but that will cost over a hundred bucks. I think I should try to have it towed here. I'll talk to Richard, the custodian, about it. I have to get my attendance into the LACAS office, too. I haven't any new ideas as to how to teach my night school class. What am I forgetting? I need to call Katie Nishikala at Harding about an interview, too. Chris Butler asked me if I could help her locate info on Albania on the internet. I've got to return those videos today. I've got to start moving my stuff out of this classroom. What else?

He'd never bee one to desert a dessert. Oh, he'd deserted that sinking ship and been stranded on that desert islan. I've been through deserted deserts, never on a horse with no name, though. It's been good to get out of the rain. Now the kids have put in "Three Ninjas". Tomorrow we have a minimum day. Friday there is no school while we go to a training at Red Lion Hotel in Glendale. I'm supposed to walk my kids to the dismissal gate. Dismissing them from the classroom door is "not acceptable". Augh. What else? There's nothing, not a phrase in my head except to write about how there's nothing to write about, and I flashback to driving the Hi-Times truck around Fountain Valley delivering alcohol.

2011-05-17T07:43:00.000-07:00

Su May 4 9:21 PM

ononI just popped in "The French Connection". I've never seen it even though it's been out for almost thirty years. I just finished off the Sunday paper. I got back from my Mom's house about an hour ago. My step niece was christened today. I had to get the LeBaron again, too, cuz I fried the motor on my Toyota Friday morning on the way to school.

I had to turn off the video cuz I couldn't watch it and write at the same time. Now there's some CNN news special on Russian heroin addicts.

There. Now I turned it off. I have a lot to do. I need to find the copy of the police report on my stolen car so I can Xerox it and show the city the parking ticket is not my responsibility. That will save me almost forty dollars. I also have to Xerox my latest Visa bill so I can send them an explanation as to which charges are not mine.

I've got to turn my LACAS attendance in tomorrow, too. It was due Friday. I have to go get my truck towed off that mechanic's lot, too. Hassles, hassles, and more hassles. I'm losing my enthusiasm for teaching. I still have to read my Bible tonight and tupe for fifteen minutes and check my e-mail and type my page and I probably won't even get to work on Jim and Shirelle is expecting me and those videos are due tomorrow. Maybe I can watch FC after class and get it back to Blockbuster before midnight. Mac called me a donkey for some reason or other and Lynn said she could think of another reason why I was donkey. All I could think of was that I am well-hung. "Because your a Democrat," she said. "I just meant you're a jackass," said Mac.

"Same thing," said John.

There were these floating fish candles in fountain. The Lakers lost. The Ducks lost in triple overtime. The Dodgers won, but so did the Giants and Rockies. Thing and Carlin and I ate at Denny's this mor

I Haven't a Thing

2011-05-05T18:00:00.000-07:00

May 3 Sa 11:17 AM

Shirelle and I are in another one of her dad's old Mustangs. "What year's it?" I asked. "Sixty-four and half," she said. "It was the first year they were made." It's gold and primer, and loud.

At the Red Lobster now, Shirelle ordered a Sunset Passion Colada Lighthouse. The waitress asked, "Do you want alcohol with that?" Shirelle snorted water out her nose. "Yes," she giggled. I said, "She don't know you very well, do she?"

Home now. The guys downstairs are singing songs on the porch with guitar and tambourine. I can barely think. A car is getting towed out front. Ritchie Valens practived on his porch. Girls down there speak of Cuban food.

Why can't? Don't?

What's going on in the sports world?

I'm on

I need to buy a new couch. Get me out of the scene. I invited Shirelle to watch videos. I haven't a thing to write, say, or sing.

Liars Never Fall in Love with Each Other

2011-04-25T12:34:00.000-07:00

5-1 11:38 AM Th
Mayday! Mayday! She's breaking up! I can't hold her.
Actually, I just finished the paper. I got the Dodgers beating the Phils four-zip on the radio, and I'm getting paid, and it's almost lunch time.
I ate a turkey sandwich and a corndog and a salad and drank an iced coffee. I fixed computers for Mrs. Blakesly, Mrs. Spalla, Mrs. Sanchez, and Mrs. Rojas, and Mr. Shockly Grey today. I still need to do Mrs. Natarelli's computer.
I didn't sleep too well last night. Had some funky dreams, restless--what were they? I got high last night and couldn't write my page. I had a depressing telephone conversation with Shirelle. I typed Mac's resume for him. I squirted Italian dressing on my pants.
Lie- can mean to rest your body horizontally or tell an untruth. I don't lie very much. I pride myself on accuracy. I'm often lied to, though. Liars never fall in love with each other. They always find truth junkies like me to deceive.
What else? I'm tired. Lie. I'm wide awake. There goes the bell. We'll pop in a video. I'll have to fight to stay awake. I think I have to sleep at Shirelle's tonight. She asked me if I would beat up Christina's roommate, but wouldn't tell me why over the phone. She's just trying to mix in some suspense with her drama. Pisses me off. I told the kids we will watch the movie after the floor is clean. Elizabeth brought the Jim Carrey comedy "Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls." The kids all want to see it, but it's PG13. I could get into some trouble if any of my bosses find out I'm showing it.
That would be cool if I got fired. Then I would become a dedicated artist or a sportscaster.
Yah.
What else? There ain't nothing else. Esteban Gracias called and said they were going to celebrate Tom McGilla's birthday somewhere in Santa Monica on Friday night. What else? Sandra Hernandez gave me a handful of Hot Cheetos.
Lies, lies, lies, yeah-ah, they're gonna get you. You lie like a fly with a booger in your eye.

Cleave

2011-04-18T22:29:00.000-07:00

April 30 W 8:32 AM CLEAVE
Isn't it odd that cleave means to divide by a sharp blow AND to cling closely? Split or stick together, the same word has opposite meanings. Isn't it eerily appropriate, then, on the first page of the Bible, God decrees that man and woman "cleave unto" one another. I remember discovering that in the library at the University of Maine at Orono. It cleaved my sould, cleft my spirit, clove my heart, my mind was cloven, it clove to my brain like barnacles.
This little book of writing exercise I have says to copy a work with a double meaning: bear, cleave, lie, sewer, tear, and desert. (I id bear on the computer last night.) Then without stopping for any reason, write to the end of the page. Making sense not important. Speed and endurance are. If you get stuck, repeat the word until something new spills out. Ha! I've one-upped them, though, because I've been doing it all a long for three pages, not just one. Cleave cleave. I need to cleave unto the toilet now that that coffee is coursing through my veins. My kids are looking up words in the dictionary.
Why is it the more urgent the need to crap, the more difficulty you will experience getting the paper seat liner? First you've got to get it out of the dispenser without ripping it to shreds, then you've got to tear the perforations around the hole you shit through without ripping it to shreds, then you've got to put it on the seat and get your pants down without it falling in, and if it does then you've got to start all over, and you're usually juggling something at the same time, too, because you don't want to leave it your books or whatever out on the counter in the public shitter; all for the thin piece of mind between any trace of stranger urine residue and your ass cheeks. Cleave unto me. Cleave into you. Then there's the condensation that forms between the cold seat and your warm cheeks. Some time I'd like to go through a woman's cleavage like I' seen in some videos. That looks like fun. Shirelle says we don't give enough of a shit about each other. She expects me to drive across town, high, on my suspended license. Her selfishness knows no bounds. At times, I guess that's the bound. I read a story by Jane Shaprio about adolescence and parenthood called POLTERGIESTS. It sort of fizzled out at the end.

2011-04-10T11:21:00.000-07:00

Apr 29 Tu 2:20 Staff meeting in Cathy Ravel's room. Squeezing my butt cheeks to hold back potentially embarrassing fart. I have a painful hang nail and some irksome bug bites on my finger. I spoke with Pam this morning about my leaving, and she was very nice about it and said I can count on her support though she doesn't want me to go. Uh, now what? I printed up some stuff that will be suitable for furthering the next scene of Jim. They're waiting for my desk to be plugged in. I still haven't located the original entry I was looking for that was written four years ago or so. Judy is presenting a survey of a grant our school got. PBS is here filming a documentary. Now I'm at night school class teaching English to newly-arrived mostly Spanish-speaking immigrants. Most of them are here illegally, likely. They wait after class to ask me all kinds of questions. They really respect teachers. They see me as a lawyer...I asked Joshephine why she came here. She said, "A conocerla," which is like "to experience it." I have to admire that. They're working on an independent translation exercise of matching sentences. There's still almost an hour to go. There's five minutes to work on this exercise, then we'll go overr it together for ten minutes. Then they'll have fifteen minutes to answer the questions. Then we'll spend about fifteen minutes going over that together. Then we'll read a story. There's not much to write that I didn't already write during my fifteen minutes. Maybe I should go walk around the class to see how they're doing. A helicopter buzzes overhead. What else? The days are getting longer. Getoff says let's get together and write and record some songs. Why does that sound so foreign to me? Florencio said that I'm a good teacher. Pam said she would support my with to chance schools. I'm feeling a little emotional about it.

2011-03-28T16:20:00.000-07:00

5:45 PM I've got fifteen minutes to kill before class. I left the book I'm reading at home, so I guess I'll just write here to kill time, although I'm not feeling too enthusiastic about it. As I drove up, there was a group of little cholos on a jungle gym mooning an old woman as walked up to school. Listening to the Dodgers suck on my little flashlight radio. I see some of my students walking to class. The traffic files its ways along Arlington. A dog sits obstinately on Fifteenth Street. Life's pretty dull. Not much to inspire. Ten minutes to go. What else? I had peanut butter on my face, and my belt was undone while I turned in my paperwork late to teach summer school and was summarily warned by the Asst. Principal. I didn't notice myself until I was back out at the car. I wonder if they noticed. My fly was done while I went to get lunch today, too. No one said anything. Maybe they didn't see. Plastic pink flamingos stand idly above the weeds in a fenced yard with a hand-painted FOR RENT sign.

2011-03-25T07:16:00.000-07:00

M 4-28 12:08 PM
What a shame that this has just become something to get out of the way during random minutes of free time. I'm at my desk. It's lunch time. I told Muniz I"d come by to see if I could figure out why her printer didn't work, but I got lunch and worked on the crossword puzzle, and now I'm doing this. My wrist has been sore lately. There's a big lump at the joint. I bet I have repetitive stress syndrome. A metacarpal tunnel injury. The bell just rang. I have pick up the kids. I can finish this while they do their math.
I have to call my grandparents when I get home. Clean my desk, pay my bills. Go to the LACAS office to turn in my time card and summer school verification. The Dodgers are on TV at 4:30. I can watch the first few innings. I've got to finish my household chores at some point. Laundry, bathroom needs cleaning. We need to hire a cleaning lady.
I had a chicken patty sandwich for lunch. I squirted two packets of mayo on the bun. I was bummed there was no ranch dressing. I had to use disgusting thousand islan.
I saw Mario wasn't practicing his fraction-adding skills. I said, "Mario, if I look up again and see you wasting time, I'll have to put you under the sad face."
He said, "But Zurn, I'm under the happy face."
"I'll erase you then."
"Okay."
Twenty seconds later he went across the room to goof off with Alejandra. I erased him. I said, "Mario, you better get on a baseball team..." I weighed what I was about to say with slight hesitation, "...because if you have to use your brains for a living, you might not get very far." He went back to his seat. He worked about half a minute and then started playing with a top.
What else? I've got Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. When I'm done, I'll read more of the Frey essay. Mario gave me a sticker of an imitation Wiley Coyote, clutching an imitation Road Runner by the neck, holding a mallet, and the caption says, "Yurass."
We saw a play called "Dos Amigos" about how a Spanish-speaking immigrant from Mexico and an English-speaking white American become friends.
I've got to clean off this desk here at school. Think about leaving. Tomorrow I meet with Pam, the Principal. She wantsw to persuade me to stay. It's much better for me if I go. She has to let me go.
Twenty minutes to PE. We'll play softball. I guess that does it for today.

2011-03-06T22:17:00.000-08:00

Su April 27 6:55 PM
The GIP and I are sitting here on the sperm-drenched sofa watching the Dodgers blow it to the Marlins. I just finished the Sunday crossword. We're going downstairs to BBQ Carlin's left overs for dinner.
I had pasta with rabbit last night at Twin Palms for mom's birthday. Mardi mad the cheerleading squad. Too bad, I say. I gave KD and McGee twenty bucks each. Isabella is adorable. Oscar and I had some Spanish conversation. I was telling Jean about the significance of the gate in the wall and she proceeded to tell me about how she didn't like Koreans. So much for my little cultural harmony illustration. Mom got a little weepy when she read the card I gave her. Wes said the bracelet I gave her made him look bad. After we ate, Mac, and his date Lori, and Bernie and Ryan and I went to the Thirty-Fiver. I wond the dart game on a masterful two shots for triple twenty and red bull to defeat my boastful brother. There were a couple of dicks playing pool. When they finished their game, it was my turn. But they had their own names on the board three times in a row: Gick, Gus and Cesar. They expected to play three games in a row. I explained to them that the proper etiquette did not allow for two players to play each other consecutively with people waiting to play. Otherwise, I said, I could write JZ on the board over and over again and control the table all night. They were unswayed by this information. My adrenaline got up. I couldn't stand the dick's face. I said, "Now, I've got to decide whether or not it's worth kicking your dumb ass so that you might learn something that'll help you grow up." He shrugged. The bouncer came over. The dicks bailed, flipping their cigarettes at the table.
I rode home with Mac and his date in her state-of-the-art Suburban. The BBQ party here was dead. Mac and Lori left. Bernie and Ryan looked through my photos. They stayed the night. I went downstairs. I was schooling thre room in Pictionary when Shirelle showed. There was the ususal drama. She couldn't just chill and let me finish my game. She got in her to leave. I said, "Why don't you just chill and have a beer?" "I thought I was just picking you up," she whined.

A Good Pair of Five-Dollar, Imitation Cop Sunglasses

2011-02-21T13:14:00.000-08:00

Sat Ap 26 5:36 PM
Shit. I didn't get this done again yesterday. Giggling comes in throught the window. Carlin's having a BBQ in the backyard. I'm sitting at the kitchen table waiting for sister Bernie to pick me up and take me out to Twin Palms in Pasadena to celebrate my mother's fiftieth birthday. Gip drove Carlin and me downtown to Los Angeles Street and I got my mom a gold bracelet, fourteen karats, for one hundred and seventy-five dollars. I wanted to pick up a couple new shirts, but the GIP was having some weird anti-downtown trip, so we went home after we got the bracelet. Blah blah blah. A dozen boring details. Magoo and I went to Burger King. I ate a double whopper and read the sports page and marvelled at the girls in their spring dresses.
The Dodgers are beating the Marlins. Someone downstairs is playing some horribel rave music. The GIP just walked up. He said, "Zurn, there's a cute Hispanic girl down there." I went to the window. There was an arguably attractive Hispanic girl down there. GIP went to the bathrooma and left. I'd like to smoke a joint, but as part of my mom's birthday present, I won't. It's hot and sweaty today. There's nothing to say. I would have like to have kissed Granny Gibson and invited her in when she dropped me off last night.
The Pepper is back. He's looking for ketchup now. I found some in the fridge. He said, "Hey, Zurn, there's a lot of good food down there. You should eat here and save some money on dinner with your mom. Just drink." I said, "I'm going to just sit there and get drunk while everyone else eats at my mom's birthday party." "Well, that's what I would do." He went down the stairs again. "Exactly," I said.
Now I'm at the gas station with Bernie and Ryan in Ryan's little red sports car. Ryan got his 'burns, his human-fly-climbing-the-Empire-State-Building-goggles sunglasses, his shirt and pants look like he's been reading Vogue. He seems like an okay guy, though. I said to him, "What you need are a good pair of five dollar imitation cop sunglasses.

2011-02-16T19:52:00.000-08:00

F! Payday! April 25 10:19 AM
I'm at my desk at school. The kids are watching the Casper movie on the VCR. I just typed a letter of resignation to submit to Principal Cicada. I have to call someone named Niki Kashikal to arrange an interview at Hoover. On the way home from school, I have to buy a new headlight for the Toyota. This morning, I had to jump it with Karlyn's car. I've got to get milk, peanut butter, jelly, wine, beer and cleaning supplies from the market. I've got to do my laundry. I've got to e-mail Flora and other people. Julia will be cruising by around six so we can meet some other writers at a restaurant in Brentwood. Maybe I should do my attendance and go by the LACAS office today, too. Tomorrow I should buy some new clothes and a present for my mom for her birthday. I sort of feel like a hamburger from Carl's Jr. for lunch. The teachers are clamoring to have their computers looked at. I maybe ought to call Hoover from here.
What else?

2011-02-10T19:15:00.000-08:00

April 24 Th 9:07 AM
I'm at La Subida elementary school in Hacienda Hts. for a teacher training called The Dimensions of Learning. It's the first half hour of six hours and it's already boring me to death. Me and my righteous indignation. A Philistine at a multi-cultural retreat. yeah yeah yeah Shirelle called last night while I was doing a few measly sit-ups and watching the Dodger game. She has some that edgy girl hysteria that I can't tell if it's phony or not. Her car stopped in the middle of the street and wouldn't start. She claimed to have called a tow truck driver who took fifty bucks from her and drove off. "Okay," I said, "I'll be right there." She was on Gardner just north of Sunset. I drove up and charged her battery with my jumper cables. Got it running and drove it to her apartment. I left it running and walked to where she was in my car across the street. I said, "Why don't you grab your things and follow me to my house and we can let it finish charging in the backyard without worrying about it."
"I don't want to sleep at your house two nights in a row," she said.
"Okay," I said and made for more car to leave.
Her Mustang stopped rumbling. "It' dead," she moaned.
"Why does God hate us?" I wondered aloud. A bit much, I know. We weren't sure what to do. We decided that we could take care of it when I get home from work today. I started to drive away, but I saw that she was crying against her car. I backed up. "What's wrong?"
"You're leaving me."
"I gotta go to work in the morning and everything I need is at my house."
She decided to pack a bag and come along, but she wasn't too happy about it. When we got home we went to bed. Didn't bone. Not in the morning, either. In the shower she started harrassing me about not inviting her to my mom's birthday party. I told her that for reservations of more than fourteen peopleat Twin Palms, you have to rent a banquet hall, and my mom's already got fourteen people. Shirelle started trying to get a word-for-word replay of what my mother and I said. She fucking pissed me off. There we went again. Nothing fucking changes. I couldn't deal with her anymore and told her so. She called a cab and waited for it on the porch, crying. I checked my e-mail and did a half-hearted fifteen minutes. I went to the window when the cab came and watched her morose face drive away. A while later the horn for my carpool honked. On the way here, Phyllis and Sara were trying to deepen my divides like a couple of gossipy teenage girls. I played along non-commitally. Or I didn't play, but I didn't disagree.
Flora saw me cock my thumb and blow my brains out with my finger. I didn't tell her it was just something I do when I'm exasperated.

Bad Clams

2011-02-02T19:20:00.000-08:00

4-22 W 8:16 AM
Let's try to get this done. My poor old brains are still scrambled. I'm at school. The kids are playing Spello. Levi has taken on my job as emcee. I didn't get a chance to write here yesterday. I need to be more fierce about it. I slept at Shirelle's and woke up there yesterday morning to her fucking hero, Howard Stern, on the radio. Shirelle has been hinting that there's something missing from my foreplay repertoire. "Have you ever eaten anybody's ass?" she asked.
"I don't know. Have I ever eaten yours?"
"No."
"I guess not then."
Then she started telling me about some bad clams she had eaten and the nasty runs they gave her. I had had a hard-on until that point. In the shower she gave it a few listless tugs. "You've got a lot of nerve asking me to eat your ass in the same year you tell me you eat bad clams that gave you the runs, and then I can barely get you to accidentally brush against my penis with your hand. It's this godam Howard Stern perv you listen to's got you talking about ass-eating, isn't it?--Thanks for helping me out with my boner. You could've sent me to work in a good mood. I guess I'll just whack off in the bathroom at recess now." Her whole M.O. is to lay there and get fucked with no effort on her part other than providing access. I finished dressing and drove to school. The whole day pretty much sucked. I don't have the will to teach much lately. I looked at my newspaper. We saw a fun play of Rumplestiltskin. I sat on a table in the back next to Mrs. McFerrin and fought off a boner. We practiced for Ritchie Valens and watched 101 Dalmatians. I ran into Flor Fujimoto in the parking lot on my way home. She asked me about the retreat. She seemed to want me to make some conciliatory comments. I pretended like I didn't thinkt the retreat was a steaming pile of shit. She hugged me and asked me to put an evaluation in her box. Fugh. I went home and sent an e-mail to Lis and Julia and typed my fifteen minutes. I made some tacos. Peter Lee came over. I did the dishes and smoked one of his hand-rolled American Spirit cigarettes. Pete and Bayless talked about the same evil wine I had been feeling. I read them the Marquez story of the Tremontana. I rolled a j. Eric Tse Tung called to say he was getting married. Rawler called to say the time is right to applay at his school. I went to teach my night class. MTA was there to publicize their intention of constructing a subway line.

Some Sort of Evil Blowing Hot and Angry

2011-01-29T08:14:00.000-08:00

4-20 Su 9 PM
Why didn't I write here yesterday? I

4-21 M 10:50
Why didn't I write to here yesterday either? What a fucked-up crazy weekend. There is some sort of evil blowing hot and angry, shaking the trees demonically. No one understands anybody else. Love has blown away and left only the Godless fuck, hot and nasty. Those of us who did not believe are trapped here in it. We make our mistakes and indecisions and eventually the wind will burn us; it is now; the flames grow and eat the world.
The electricity is knocked out. I bought a candle with a prayer to St. Michael to banish Satan, sword raised high, the monster Satan cringing below. I have only to write it. The headlines scream, a boy found butchered, a girl missing.

I'm at Shirelle's new apartment on Gardner and Lexington fo Santa Monica. We went to IKEA furniture store in Burbank to pick out a table and chairs for her little dining room. I assembled it for her. It involved sixty different screws. I did half of them with the wrong kind of screwdriver before it pissed me off. We got int he car to look for a hardware store. At the end of the street is an auto parts store by a liquor store. I said, "How many times have you been to this liquor store in the week since you moved in?"
"Never," she said.
"Yeah, right."
"I swear to God."
"Hm."
In the auto parts store, I found the right screwdriver for a dollar fifty-nine. I finished the chairs and table while Shirelle went to Astroburger and brought back some patty melts with grilled onion, bacon and avocado. We ate at the new table. I hurried home then and got my stuff and dropped off my time card at the LACAS office. I taught my night school class. It was a good class. I have a real high enrollment. My boss said she heard I was doing good things. So I wrote my page in third person when I got home, but I didn't work on Jim. Carlin and I had a talk about Saturday. She was more disgusted than I was. Peachtree called to talk about how weird it was, too. I told Getoff he was a chick-jackin' swoop-dog motherfucker. Shirrelle stole by back scratcher and tied it a tree like a hostage.

2011-01-21T15:15:00.000-08:00

4-18 10:25 AM F!
Well, I'm doing this in class again. I gave the kids "quiet time" so I could finish reading the newspaper and write these three pages. It's quiet time, but the noise level keeps creeping up. I had my evaluation with the Assistant Principal. It was positive. She commended me fo my rapport and for sharing my technological skills. I didn't have the nerve to tell her I would not be back. I have to switch a couple of computers from one room to another at lunch time, so I'll have to eat fast. We'll play softball after lunch. There's three and a half weeks left with this class, then I go after a job at a new school near the house. Two or three years there, then I move to a new house and a new school. I didn't get a chance to do my pork chops yesterday. So I'll do 'em when I get home. I've got to clean my room, too, and drink my beer and wait for Phil and Lisa while I type. Hopefully, they'll want to meet Carlin, Rachel, and Barb in Pasadena. Carlin and I will nail down a time and place to meet after the game. My life is nuts. There's still fifty minutes until lunch and almost four hours until I can go home. What else? It's hard to think with all the chatter and movement these kids generate. The weather is nice. I can't wait to go home. I can't wait for the school year to end. I can't wait to be retired. I wore a tie today and corduroy pants with a soft denim shirt. I need a change. I've got to make copies fo the programs Robin gave me. How will I get to the bottom of the next page? Luis just scraped red chalk over a page of notebook paper. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Masterpiece," he said.
I should have about four hous free time before Lisa and Phil show. I don't think I'll treadmill tonight. The kid grabs his buddy's wrist and closely examines his buddy's watch. "Is this watch waterproof?" he asks. "Yes," his buddy replies. "Good," he says and spits on it. The kids are cleaning the room now. We have half hour to go until lunch. When I'm done here maybe I can read some more Youth in Revolt. We're going to finish the Time For Kids article about Jackie Robinson.

2011-01-05T20:12:00.000-08:00

4-16 W 8:18 AM
Here we go again. We're watching a rip-on Whitey video to increase our awareness of multicultural diversity. Thank god today is the last day, and then we can go back to school and I can be with my cool-ass kids.
Killing me. This shit is killing me. They just showed a video of "minorities" complaining about the "racist dominant white culture" in America. Nary a white kid was interviewed for his perspective. I guess it's just assumed that white people are predominately racist. I said, "I live in LA and work in Pacoima; sometimes days and days will pass before I see another white person."
I mention that this is racism, too, singling out one group for blame and then non-representing or misrepresenting them or generalizing them all. This falls on deaf ears. Here, people are preoccupied with the worries of their own people. People here seem to want revenge on whites.
What else? Here comes that white geek. Can't stand this dude. I want to tell these people, "Look! The guy I dislike the most here is my own race. It doesn't matter what color you are. It's whether or not your cool."
I see no future. It's work, write, work sleep; work, write, work, sleep. Come Friday, who knows? This life is so ordinary. I wish there was something to think about besides this fucked up racism shit.
Marti says, if a Mexican marries a Mexican, you give a three hundred dollar gift, but if a Mexican marries a non-Mexican, you only give a hundred dollar gift.
Don't tell me where I can and can't go. You can't hold me here against my will. I'm going to bail early for sure. I'll read and write myself into my little dead end. Too bad I can't get drunk. What the hell else? It's sunny. The traffic on the one o one sucked again. I forgot my little tape recorder. A Morris the Cat clone with a loose belly hanging down wanders around the grounds here. Fuck fuck fuck. The tile is green. Somebody brought jello dalmatians. Rosa is the biggest racist in the room. Worse, she propagates an attitude of victimhood rather than one of empowerment among the races she wants to promote. She makes everybody weaker. She is dissolving the intra-racial bands that have already been formed.
I feel empty again today. My life is empty. It's not mine. If it was, maybe I could fill it up. What else? What else? This is boing the crap out of me. Fuck it all. I'm not going to be able to write anything that doesn't include the word fuck. Jeff is going fishing in British Colombia with his dad this summer. I'll be teaching summer school. I might have a free week or two to wander.

2010-12-29T16:11:00.000-08:00

Tu 4-15 7:30 AM Tax Day!
On the pot taking a crap. Don't care if I'm late. By the time I got to writing here yesterday it was late, and I fell asleep without writing a word. There was nothing to write about anyway. So can I crank this bad boy out before it's time to go home. Today, I definitely have to stop by LACAS to turn in my time card. I'll check my e-mail today. A woman in a lime green day-glo dress is talking about creating an army of multicultural proponents (I'm out of the crapper). Apparently the way to do this is to vilify white people. I agree with them in principal, but they continually go against everything they want by screaming Racism! Racism! Racism! and it seems they only perpetuate the problem. My friends and I drink and smoke and play and watch sports together and we make fun of each other, race included, and that is multicultural harmony. But I'm a white man, say the leaders of this institute and so am incapable of understanding. Here, they make no mention of non-violence. They use words like 'army' and 'fighting racism'. Whatever. Today is the fiftieth anniversary of Jackie Robinson's first Big League game. I don't even bring it up with this crowd, but Jackie's a huge reason I'm not a racist. I played baseball with kids of every hue and we worked toward the same goals and laughed and joked and didn't give a shit what race anyone was and we were embarrassed by our parents backwards attitudes. What else? Nice day. Butterflies flit past roses. When I'm done with this I'll do the crossword. Day-glo says we need to create a better human being to create a more harmonious Los Angeles. As soon as her generation is out of power and my generation is in, the Civil Rights Act will start to change things for real. Racism will die. Will kill each other over color blind income issues. Lot of semi-bigwigs wander through this thing. I need a pencil sharpener. Marta is explaining the next activity. My roll at night school is a mess. There's an attractive new woman in there who's about my age. I probably shouldn't go hitting on my adult ed students. Right? I can't think of her name right now. I wasn't a very good teacher last night. I felt a little distracted. The CRAP from this retreat stays with me. I've just reviewed my curriculum for racial inequality. Didn't find any. W0o who! If I were at school, I'd be leaving now. I smoked a quarter j before I drove here this morning. Took Ventura slow and watchful; didn't sweat my tardiness. I just swiped the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance off the shelf of the "Holy Spirit Library". We had tuna salad croissants for lunch. We ate outside. It's only Tuesday. One month and one day from today I begin my vacation. Priority number one will be to find a school to work at closer to home. I don't know if I'll be teaching night school in the summer yet or not. They're going to let us know next week. I've got to figure out about heading up to Idaho or not. Carlos is expecting me to go to Guatemala with him, but I don't think I'll be able to swing it. Will I be involved in a new romance by then? Can I get to page fifty in fuckin' Jim? We shall see. It's taking me forever to read Youth in Revolt, even though it's pretty breezy. What else? Big Deb commended me for having the discipline to write these three pages every day and noted that her son does the same and is a Gemini, too. I said I had to meet him. Big Deb is black and we whisper jokes to each other about how lame this retreat is.

2010-12-15T12:20:00.000-08:00

oops this book's all out of order. Carlin says, "Some artsy folks think they're so much better than anyone else, they don't have to take a bath." An over-the-top feminine superiority. They were talking about genitalia. Who has more? Ugh. Urk -- what's up? She's slaying on my couch in the stream of sunlight that falls through the window while we wait for The Thing. We're going to Dublin's to watch the De La Hoya/Whittaker fight. What the hell else? He looked like a biologist. They had to take computer programmin and the teacher was Japanese and brilliant and no one could understand her.

Sa 3:25 PM 4-12
Let's see. Uh, what have I got? The day's NBA highlights slow me. It' sunny out there. I'm afraid to write to Lisa. Ugh Urg what else? God, give me the animation, please. I need a woman to help me find clothes and a watch and a house and a car. What else? I've got nothing to say. I typed two pages of nothing and now I'm handwriting three pages of nothing. I guess when I'm done I'll treadmill. Thing's going to have a glass of wine. Ackickurk. Maybe if I went out to the backyard and sat at the table...I've been thinking of writing a multicultural manifesto. What else? I lay in bed and read about thirty-five pages of Youth in Revolt. I've gone from reading four or five books at a time to just one. I I I I oh why--
Carlin is looking at the Aenied on

She said, "I'm not attracted to women. I think women are attractive." She asked if I've ever seen The Last Picture Show. I said I had. "Who wrote it?" she asked. I said, "Larry McMurtry."
Tough to find that in-between.
Invited to a party. Said, "Thanks for having me." The girl said, "I haven't had you yet." But it didn't work out.
"Thing, how'z if feel to be waiting on me for a change?'
Carlin is talking about her Palestinian friend. She lost her best friend because of the Palestinian boy. She thinks she wanted to pork him. "She's so stupid."

2010-12-06T18:23:00.000-08:00

4-10 Th 3:00 PM
On the shitter in the Holy Spirit Retreat Center/Concentration Camp. This place is killing me. We're not getting paid for it either. What else? I'm tired. If I go home I could try to make to make arrangements to go out to the desert to see Hale-Bopp. It's hard to think. Rosy, who I always feel doesn't like me, said I was a "neat" person. Neat? Obviously, she despises me. I see now that it's because she's a virulent racist and nothing to do with me being a jackass. Actually, I got some nice compliments today. Whatever. I'm not getting any exercise at this place. Every hour is accounted for. Rosy asked me where I was going after I had eaten dinner and gotten up. "What do I have to tell you for?" I didn't say. I said, "I'm going to look for the comet." "Oh, we'll come with you," she said. So, Yuri Iguana and Lin Aokay and Rosy Fujimoto followed me outside to look for the comet. There it was, a blurry blob in the sky, bigger than the stars, but not as big as the moon. Yuri said it gave her a feeling. "Like wonder?" I said, but she said something indicating doom and superstition.
Hiddly-ho. I told her about being alone on Palomar mountain after having seen the pictures of all the galaxies, and how if you could see something that was millions of light years away, and if you could fit something that was millions of light years across in a picture, and that when distance becomes time and time becomes distance, that when you look at stars, you look thousands of years into the past, that what you see today is not how it looks today, but long ago, then you sleep alone in a sleeping bag under the sky, not only do you get spooked, you become irrevocably changed. "Oh," she said. "Anyway, I think you've got enough air in your tire to get to the gas station and have it patched without ruining your rims." It's a rear tire so her steering shouldn't be affected much.
These conferences always have the same affect on me: I get bored and start looking at the women and wondering what it would be like to bone them. It's too hard to think here, and that's odd because it's a RETREAT. There's no stimulation and no potential. I got a joint in my bag, but no matches. I'd probably set off a smoke alarm anyway, and the place would be evacuated, and I obviously can't go outside by myself. It's like rehab.
What else? I'm struggling with this, and I still have fifteen minutes to type. I want to rread my book still, too. I'm tired, though. Maybe I shold just crash. I haven't showered today. This dude named Jeff, a muscular and evil-looking dude, said he saw a line of ducks at the pond taking turns gangbanging another duck, "just pushing her head down and going at it." I need consent and desire, myself. Yeah. Ugh. Just writing any old thing. Blah blah blah. I wish I could do my e-mail.
All of a sudden there are all these girls I like. How do I pick one and go for it? Conduct interviews? I wish i was home working on this problem right now. I wonder if what I've been saying here is terribly inconsistent.
Debbie and I did a male/female role reversal skit. Debbie was trying to read the paper while I was trying to show her a new pair of shoes. We had spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. I had two helpings. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I fucking hate this! What else? Get it over with. Finito. Termine. Get there. GO go go go go go go to bed, fool. I ratted on my father here. I'm done. Game over. Out of here. Adios. G'bye.

2010-11-29T12:42:00.000-08:00

April 9 W 10:30
What a night. Where do I start? It was one of those rare nights where y0u know the girls are going to go home and jack off to you for a change. I should have invited them to spend the night and blown off this godamned retreat. When we got to the Whiskey, I was a little high. We got a parking spot right in front of the door. I even had change for the meter. Thing eased her right in. There was a hot, hot, hot little numberr groovin' to the music at the front door. She didn't work there, but she said she had to frisk me when I walked in. She patted me down. I said, "Who's frisking you?" She raised her arms over her head, only one button on her blouse fastened. Her stomach was flat and smooth and soft and hard. She danced a Salome around me to Hotel California on the jukebox at the Coach and Horses later. She was writhing all around me, grinding her ass against my crotch, her hair was in my mouth. I ran my hands up and down her sides and over that beautiful tummy.
The Gutierrez brothers' band was good. They looked and sounded good, but Rawler seemed a little nervous, like who could blame him for having things on his mind with a kid on the way and a new house to move into and pay for, etc. I had a Bud Light at the Whiskey and spoke to Joel and Duke and Pete and Stevo and An. Stevo pointed out a group of girls among whom was the vixen from the door and said he heard them say they wanted to dance with me. I took it with a grain of salt, but kept an eye on them. Then I decided to butt in and got the vixen's name: Anita. She was sexy and wild, but she reminded me of a white Shirelle. A girl that hot had to be trouble. Still after the show, we lingered out front together, and we told them we were going to the Coach and Horses, and I didn't expect to see them again, but they wandered in around my second drink or so. I put 'em through the inquisition, got names, ages, hometowns: Kelly, Amy, Amber were nineteen and twenty and lived in Orange County and worked at Starbucks. They said Anita was engaged to a guy from Def Leppard, but she was running around giving out hard-ons with her dancing. I waited. I acted smug for a few beers, handed out jesting denigrations. She went nuts with my inattention and came overr and I did her right. Mike Welch bought me a beer. I asked if anyone knew Sanyo Manson, cuz a crowd there went to school with her. Jimmy Nivy said he knew her. I dropped to my knee and clutched my heart. I said, I loved her, and my best buddy was blowing it with her, but I didn't think I should get in the middle yet. They said, "Fuck your buddy! Go get her!" Lisa Bailey gav me her e-mail address. I said I'd send her long weird e-mails. She seemed pleased. She seemed attracted to me. I walked her out. I said good-bye to Amy, Amber, Kelly, and Anita, naming each one. Kelly said, "You're good. You are really good."
Some nights are better than others.

2010-11-23T16:37:00.000-08:00

4-8 Tu 11:40 AM
I've got a shitload of crap to do today. It's so tedious. I don't even want to go it. We had our Shake 97 earthquake drill. I was on a team that had to do a mock search and rescue of the school. I couldn't find the button on the walkie-talkie to talk. It was pretty embarrassing. I proved my ineptitude to all involved. We're supposed to have emergency cards to hang around the neck of each child. I have zero. I've got to set up a dozen computers in room two. I'm going to send my kids to PE with Ms. Ortega while I run around school moving computers to room two to set up the lab. Then I've got to go to the Shake 97 follow-up staff meeting; you know that will last forever with idiots turning minor concerns into hour-long debates. Meanwhile, I've got to ask the Tech Ed guy to take a look at my computer. The class goes until five, but I can't stay that long because I have to teach my class at six and it takes a half hour to get from Pacoima to LA. Plus I've got to pick up my prescription today, no matter what. And I forgot I have to make some copies and get lesson plans ready for both subs because I have to go to a stupid-ass five-day retreat to talk about racial, gender and cultural issues which I don't give a damn about. I've to to spend the night there tomorrow and Thursday. Ugh. Tonight's the thing at the Whiskey with Rawler's band. I'm fucked. I'll be a wreck the rest of the week, and when I come back to those kids after five days it will take two weeks to re-establish order. I've got to make up five days of lesson plans, plus two for night school. When will I learn to say no?
I woke up thinking of Rochelle. I want to invite her to a Dodger game. And I already detailed the Bowl ticket quest. No that I'll be in jail for the next two day, I'm handcuffed to plan my weekend. Ack ick urg blat fuck. The kids are copying a chapter. I was going to show the Hank Aaron video, but they were talking and I got a short fuse today, so I assigned them this to do instead.
I just want to smoke pot. I'll go through withdrawals at this stupid retreat. Like jail. Ugh. Too much shit. How can I write with this much bullshit to think of? My resentment looms large. Kathleen called. I was on the treadmill listening to the Dodgers, watching the Angels, talk to Kathleen with the newspaper in my hand and I overheard Bayless and Carlin remark that it was amazing. "Look, he's listening to us, too," Carlin said.

2010-11-15T22:35:00.000-08:00

I think this is book number fourteen, but I'll have to count them to be sure. I still have to tell my principal what pupil-free days my track has selected. After school I'm thinking I'll go by the Hollywood Bowl box office and pick up some tickets for a concert so I can bring Rachel. Should I get two or four? Classic or Jazz? I've got to hang up what laundry I've done and finish the last couple of loads. I"ve to go to the LACAS office and turn in my time sheet and attendance. I've to go to the library and check ou the Jackie Robinson story to show my kids. What else? It's sunny today. Mr. Grey's seeds are starting to sprout in the garden out in front of the class. I've got the sports page open under this journal. The Yankees lost. The kids are writing pretty intently. Just ---
Monday April 7 9:09 AM
The kids are writing in their journals. Few whispers here and there. What else? I've got to go to the bathroom. Tomorrow I have to organize a computer training. I'll have to put a bunch of computers in a room. Then I've got to teach my night school class. Then I've got to see the Gutierrez brothers' band Ol' Peculier at the Whiskey.
I feel alright today. Should I thank Rachel and Carlin? Actually, that girl could lead to a lot of heartache, but don't they all have that potential? I just want to get settled into a home with a trustworthy woman. - OK What else? I get a lot of funny looks around here at school now. There are some rumors going around now, I think, thanks to my lunchtime performance with Marti at the Sheraton last week. Maybe I should get a--what? I don't know. I'd like to lose about five pounds. Maybe I should weigh myself in the nurse's office. I was telling Mrs. Kaplan, Mrs. Guellar, Mrs. Gordon, and Ms. Gonzalez that I smoke pot almost every day. Marti pinched my thigh under the table and opened her eyes wide at me. Later she pinched me when I wasn't saying anything. She made like she wanted to bone. "I you going to get us a room," I said. She said, "I would if you had blue eyes. Get some contacts."
I had a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast. I had a sausage in a blanket when I got to school. There will be chicken patty sandwiches for lunch. Maybe I should wait until after school and got a torta at that Mexican place on La Brea I've been meaning to try. What else? The kids have gone to recess. I've got to plan today's math lesson.

2010-10-27T16:37:00.000-07:00

April 5 Sat 6:05 PM
Now what? There's a reading of The Great Gatsby on CSPAN 2 right now. Joseph Heller and Garrison Keilor read the first chapter. I haven't heard of any of the other four readers. I'm trippin'. Thing's sleeping. I've walked into his room to talk to him while he sleeps. "Mrs. Ravel walked up to me and stopped to ask if I was growing a beard. 'Constantly,' I said. 'Even when I'm shaving.'"
Feeling like Farmer Ted all nervous and shaky to be going out with a couple of girls tonight. I've been envisioning certain witty scenarios starring me, followed by abject geekiness and fear. How do you like them apples? How's Koi boy? What the fuck else? I may have used up all my small talk at lunch.
Sun 10:26 PM 4-6
I still have some reading to do, so I'm just going to ram through this, so I can bed done with it quicker and get to bed so that the alarm won't be a shock in the morning. I'm writing in bed. I've got to read the Bible. My brain is already alseep. I can't think of anything to write. Here's the last page of this journal. I think I'll be moving onto volume 14 after this. How long will it take me to fill a hundred books? My life is no longer a wreck. It's now a disaster. A train derailment in the Cajon Pass leaking a deadly poisonous cloud with Santa Ana's blowing it straight to LA. Tuesday is the damn computer class. Someday I'll move. I wonder when and how. It seems like I should stay at Sharp for two more years until I'm ready to move. Tomorrow might be a good day to go by Hoover Elementary. What else can I possibly say? I want to put up a basketball net on the garage.
Mmyeahhhhitsapossibility.
Help! I've just got to finish this so I can go to bed. See? Witness my dedication: I refuse to just give up and sleep. Someday my princess will come. I'm not much of a letter writer, per se. Could it be the actual physical act of putting it in the mail that daunts me? I don't mind writing e-mail. Hmmm...What else? Help. Bless me. God help me to feel well-rested. What else? I feel like I finally know what I want. Now if I can only find it.

QUALITY TIME by Gail Machlis
Using a wordprocessor instead of writing longhand allows a writer to to replace whole paragraphs without having to go through the arduous process of rewriting them and having to weigh the value of each word versus the physical labor. So, instead carefully honed prose you have literature that is overburdened with excess verbiage...

2010-10-21T18:28:00.000-07:00

4-4 F! 12:51 PM
From an Arco station in Rosemead with Mariachi and Gracias, on the way to the Dodger game. Surly, dishevelled. Urg. Uk. Just want to finish this. Maybe what I feel is incompletion from not doing this. Pablo said, "That dude could not speak English to save his life." after walking back from the cashier.
A girl around twelve rand downt he street to greet a tottering old woman. They walked back arm in arm. Pablo had sex with Sanyo twice this week, he says. He's all giggly and "feeling chipper." Ross Porter on Dodger talk. "Who gives a crap?" Gracias says. He had a crappy week. He said he might have had a part in a guy getting fired.
Upper Deck, Aisle 1 Row B Seat 107. Pedro Astacio just gave up two runs to the lowly Pirates. An underalded kid by the name of Mark Johnson just hit a run-scoring double. Kevin Elster got a cheap RBI off a broken-bat groundout to short. Royal Alfonso and a guy named Jesus and another guy came. We saw unused seats down closer to the rail and moved there so we all could spread out and see into the Dodger dugout. Today I loved Veronica Huerta. Butler just grounded out. A rookie named Wilton Guerrero is up. Ball one. The guy Gracias fired was a newswriter. They hand him a tape and he writes what the voiceover will say during the broadcast. A $60,000 a year job. Guerrero lined to short. Mondesi hit a long fly foul out of play, then flew out to right. What else? Kid looking through binoculars. Vendor yells, "Peanuts." The organ between innings. Did I mention I was in love today with Veronica Huerta? Last night Zuly asked me, "Como se dice 'Estoy enamorada de ti?" I said, "Nos dice, 'I love you' pero podrias decir, "I'm enamored of you,' pero aquel es raro." I've got the New York Times rolled up in the back pocket of my jeans. I was in the middle of my fifteen minutes when Gracias knocked. I managed t0 pull myself together and we had an extraordinarily traffic-free, five o'clock, rush-hour drive out of the city. I could kick myself for going to McDonald's. Too bad about the Sanyo Bible situation. Astacio is wild tonight, but he made it through the inning unscathed. Should I get a dog? I'll go joing the guys up there along first; they've moved again.

She Said No, She'd Eaten Some Bad Mussels

2010-10-11T22:57:00.000-07:00

4-3-97
I'm not exactly burning to express anything today. I'm feeling like a dumb-ass for drinking at the Sheraton yesterday when I was supposed to be at a lecture on literacty standards. I let the devil call the shots and horror of horrors, I drove home with about forty ounces of beer and a shot of bourbon in me.
I should have just slept, but Shirelle made a surprised drop-by to retrieve her mirror from the garage. I had to move the car out of the way and carry it out to her truck. Then I carried a big potted plant downstairs for her. I said, "What was the point of moving the mirror to the garage? Just making sure I don't use it?
"I was just going to come and get it out of there without bothering you," she said.
What could I do but smirk?
I shut the door and locked it. I went back to the couch and suddenly couldn't nap anymore because lost-love anxiety kicked in with a vengeance. In about two minutes, I had broken down and paged her. She called from Seven Eleven. I said I wanted to talk to her. She said, "Uh-oh, I hope it's nothing bad."
"No," I said optimistically.
She said she was going to drop the stuff off and then she'd come back. (To be continued)

I tried to sleep while I waited. It was useless. An hour or so later she knocked on the door. It was close to time to go to work. I called downstairs, "The door's unlocked."
"No, it's not," I heard, muffled through the door.
I descended the stairs and opened the door. It wasn't locked. We walked up. I collapsed on the couch. She sat on the La-Z-Boy. I asked could we kiss. She said she guessed so. Neither of us moved. After a while I got up and went over and kissed her awhile. She's got a superlative kisser, though she doesn't quite use it to its full potential. We stopped. I went into my room and lay on the bed. We lay together a while. I asked if she wanted a blow job. She said no, she'd eaten some bad mussels. So we batted some blame around until we were both disgusted. I couldn't stand to hear how wrong she is about everything. "Just go," I said. "Go on." I waved the back of my finger as if to shoo her away. She screamed and threw her purse down the stairs and then her keys and started a curse-filled tirade to herself.
"Good-bye, Shirelle," I said. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she said. "Too bad I'll never see you again," and she slammed the door.

This Is a Good One

2010-10-02T10:33:00.000-07:00

4-2 Tu 9:41 AM The Universal Sheraton - Literacy Standards. Ooogh my head. Thing and I went out after I got out of class and trodmill. I had qualms from smoking pot. I was afraid to deal with the crowd at Luna Park, so I asked if we could go somewhere smaller first. We went to the Coronet Pub on La Cienega across from the vagina bar. I sat at the bar and it felt like I had never been in a bar before. To get my beer to my mouth was a clumsy, unnatural motion. I couldn't even do left-handed. I was afraid I would knock out a tooth. The girls next to us "danced" across the street. Thy were talking to some sleazoid porno producer with a fay voice and a line about his wine cellar.
We left after one beer. We had to park a few blocks away from Luna Park. There were a few hundred Africans waiting to get in, and I scoffed at Thing's notion that we would ever get in. "We're on the list," he said. "I've heard that before." Sure enough, though, we asked enough questions to get in the back entrance. It was a cool dark bar with a sunglassed and fedoraed singer fronting a jazz/blues combo. I paid for a coupla bourbons and stood nailed to the same spot as the crowd whirled around me. A number of girls stood by me and seemed to want to talk, but I had nothing. I switched to wine and rubbed a few elbows and managed a few comments. Thing called me over to a table were he sat with some people. I said a few funny things, but I don't remember what they were. Something about, "You can tell a lot about a man by what he sayss about the the movie "The Rock"." After a few minutes I went back to my corner by the bar. I thought of something I wanted to write, and I pulled out my little notebook, but alas, I had no pen. I remembered how I could produce a pen from thin air, so I looked and wished and there was a straw on the table in the dim. I made one end pointy where a girl had chewed it, and as I stared at it, I created the possibility that it could be a pen, and I went over to it, and by the time I got over there, the transformation was complete, and now I am writing with that same pen.
The place was crawling with women looking for someone to call the shots. Rare, indeed, and of course it was one of those nights when I had nary a shot to call.
At home I have Bayless a long, well-thought-out lecture on Jesus and God and depression and doing and job-hunting and not living off others, taking the reins, etc., etc.. It was like Ward lecturing the Beaver. Bayelss has got a religious doomsday philosophy, and I tried to present him one of hope and I suggested he take the trash out.
Oogh my aching head.

2010-09-28T21:44:00.000-07:00

4-1 Tu 8:3o AM
If I hadn't been so fucking stupid and drunk and stoned and careless all those years after high school, I might really be somewhere now. If only I had listened to my asshole father. I might have some profession I could respect. It's not that exactly, though. I respect teaching children, but I was capable of more, but when the time came to prove it, I wasn't mature enough. I was carrying-on line an ass, wrecking things and scaring the people I loved. Now I work for people I can't stand when I should be finishing up a PHD on scholarship somewhere.
It's not too late. First think I do: I work my ass off for a few years and go from 15g in debt to 15 in the black. I think a professional woman is integral. I'll work until she finishes her doctorate, then works while I finish mine. Then I work while she nurses our baby. Something like that. Can I get that far in ten years?
I dreamt of her last night. I have the fleetingest memory of her image only. I can't see what happened. I woke up at 4:25 AM and again an hour later. Each time I said, why not get up now? Why not get an early start? But I answered, just sleep twenty minutes more. Get your rest. I fell back to a deep sleep. When the alarm went off at six, I could barely move. My alpha waves had turned back to beta waves. I could have slept another three hours or so. I laid there for 15 minutes, the inane chatter on the radio going through my ears. I managed to get to the shower, but I felt drugged. I got dressed, but I sat on the end of the bed, unmoving for twenty minutes.
The kids are looking up a list of words in the dictionary. Oddly enough, it is something they seem to enjoy. I'm glad of that.
Baseball season starts today. I was supposed to go to the opening game at Dodger Stadium, but I got buttfucked by some totally unnecessary, state-mandated training.
What else? I've got to stop by the credit union and deposit this forty dollar check. I've got to cancel my subscription to the New York Times. I've got to inform the manic, Jesus freak on my couch, whose chick is digging him and whose about to be dumped, the bum, to pay up or move on. I played a little guitar before bed last night. I need a new nine-volt battery for my tuner. I gave the Jesus Freak ten bucks to bring back a book of stamps and some double-A batteries for the clock in the kitchen, but even with the batteries in it now, it still will not tick nor tock. I got a bran muffin and a quarter pint of orange juice and twelve ounces of coffee from the cafeteria. Sandi Olguera and Shelly Kumaus said I should have gone to the game. Roy said the best bilingual teachers would have to teach kindergarten and first grade next year. I said I would quit first. I said being bilingual shouldn't LIMIT what I can do. I've got to call Tech Ed again today. I'll look in my bag for the number. I have to poop. I have to work tonight. Last night's class turned out ok. Emmanuel says, "How much did you write today?" I show him these three pages. I say, "How much did you write today?" He says, "None." I say, "You'll never be as smart as I am." He said, "You're a teacher; You're supposed to be smarter than everyone." I said, "No."

2010-09-23T11:20:00.000-07:00

3-31-97

I'm bummed. I am a slave. Nobody cares. We're born to be fucked. The Devil is winning. Evil rules. Armageddon approaches. Happiness is the illusion few can afford. Ignorance is the only way out. For me it's too late.

Sounds like a suicide note. I want to live, though. I want to make good despite the odds. I think the opportunity for a lengthy, mostly happy life still exists for me. These years coming will be the test. Next year I turn thirty and will have no debt. Less than two years after that we go into the new millenium, and I will have a woman to love and trust for the rest of my life.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I'll write best-selling, internationally-acclaimed, Nobel-Prize-winning novels, recognized for their deep humanitarian insights.

What else? My mouth tastes like old coffee. I'll skip lunch today, but I want to go talk in the lounge to find out about the ramifications of missing the Early Literacy Certification Training Module One, Component One: Another Big Giant Bureaucratic Fuckaround.

Sandra brought her Game Boy to school. I was playing. There's no way to make up tomorrow's training, so I'll have to miss the Dodger game.

Estamos leyendo del agua, los que estan leyendo, pero hay muchos que prefieren aprender nada. Mi actitud es tan negativo hoy. Alas, how can I save my psyche? It looks so hopeless. Why do I feel this way? Is it because I've been drinking and smoking so much? Because I got no love? Because the world sucks? Is it because of the Hale-Bopp comet?

Yesenia reads beautifully. I ate a BBQ chicken filet sandwich and salad with ranch dressing, green beans, and an apple from the school cafeteria. Karla reads pretty good. There's still half an hour until we can go outside for softball.

What else? Sandra reads aloud well. If I ask any questions, though, no one can answer well.
I definitely have to look for owwrk at another school. I can't stand this place anymore. Life is not supposed to be this way. How did life get to be so unnatural. I want to put my head through the wall, my fist through the glass. I want these kids to think.
When I get home, I'll do my desk. I'll call Paul. I'll go to the LACAS office and pay for the books. What kind of lesson will I do tonight? If only I hadn't fucked around so much in college, I might be teaching something substantial somewhere.

2010-09-15T18:28:00.000-07:00

3-3- Su 9:10 AM
There's a black cat on the sidewalk in front of me. I sawe a patch of white on his chest, so I shall fear no evil. I'm writing as I walk up to the Bob's Big Boy on Wilshire. I read the front page of the Times while I walked. I'm going with the Gip to the Dodger/Angel game in Anaheim today.
9:40 PM
Shirelle never called back. I was mean to her on the phone when she called this morning. I could eat right now, but I ate so much this morning. I've got to do some shopping soon. In the Bible today was a story about a guy who bore false witness against another guy, told the other guy that the Lord had come to him and said that he should return with him which was contrary to what God had said to the one guy, so God had a lion eat the guy who believed the other guy's lie instead of God's word, and had a lion and an ass stay by the body for travelers to trip on.
Should I call Shirelle? I've got to go to bed soon. I hope I do a good job teaching tomorrow. Between classes I'll clean my desk and do some accounting. I haven't written in cursive for a while. Que mas? Estoy desfeliz. Estoy confundido. Estoy trippando en la diferencia en el degrado de permanencia en las formas de "ser" and "estar". Dormi dos horas cuando regresamos del juego. Mi casa en Tujunga--Tengo que buscar un trabajo alla tambien. Sera un dolor viajar a trabajo to commutir, no? desde alla todos los dias y a ir a escuela en Ucla o algo, tambien sera dificil. Debo llamarla? Ella no vendra. Nuestra amistad esta acabado. Manana, despues de clase, voy a hacer mis compras, a shoppear, en el Supermercado. Casi terminado. Mi vida chupa. Sere feliz cuando he pagado mis bills de credito. Tres lineas mas. Una oracion larga para parar. Ole! Es todo.

2010-09-08T18:49:00.000-07:00

3-29
Twenty dollar incense and a free bag of weed. The light made diamonds. John said, "That's a really powerful smell." He was sniffing my marijuana. The Gip was treating spring training like it was the World Series. The Virgin Guadalupe says Nicandro from class who's on the phone. Gustavo Padilla fearin' crime. He's still on the line, but I can't think of anything to say. I called the GIP, anxious to go out, but now I've lost my gusto.
Charlamos. Como platicar. Yo estaba par atras.
He said if I got a brainstorm to call him. I said, "It's the doldrums." Doll drums. What the fuck. Thing and his afraid and pissed-off girlfriend just bailed. John said Thing ironed her shirt for her. I didn't notice. Things have grounded to an utter halt. Unemployability. Sincerity is bunk. I guess I'll just ramble through this. Finish it and get to bed. It's not going to be easy. There's a TV tray set up with a couple of bottles of Lite, a Camel cigarette matchbox, some stems, a little bag, foil-wrapped incense, and two remotes. John's burning hard on the couch. Comets as God sperm. Ugh. This is degenerative. I feel tired. Sapped. Bummed. It's good I'm staying in. Not a damn thing. I hear footsteps downstairs. You can hear the buzz of the helicopters. Long way to go still. When Roy came into my class the other day, I had just put my feet up. What the heck is plastic? I think I'll go look at a house in Tujunga tomorrow. Altered gravitational pull. Study the heavens. What's heaven? It's good I'm getting air tonight. What else? I haven't really eaten yet tonight. Let's see. I ate that pork with some tortillas and two PB and Js. No cereal. No fruit. Someone is playing music downstairs. Crap I feel so beat right now. What'll I eat? Or should I just go to bed without eating? There's chick music down there, and I heard talking which usually involves a second party. What else? Should I go to the bottom of this page? Or the next? It was hard just to get to here.

2010-09-04T10:20:00.000-07:00

3-28
Doh! I didn't finish these three pages last night. I'm lying in bed right now, burnt out, but unable to sleep. I wanted to take a nap before going out on the prowl. I think I was still drunk when I got to school. There were only nine kids today because it's Good Friday. I let them do whatever they wanted. They put in videos and did games on the computer and painted and build things with interlocking cubes. I was too drunk to read the paper at first, but I did kind of get started on it after ten for a while. I dozed off a bit. At lunch I drove to Taco Bell. First I went to the bank. I got paid today. My gross was almost $4,000.oo this month. On the way home I stopped at the pot shop. I haven't smoked any. My lungs are still tarred from the Camels I smoked at Dublin's Whiskey Bar last night. We had a crazy Korean cab driver, all enthused about Guatemala, laughing that I was a teacher. On the way back, we had a Ukrainian better suited for bodyguard work. What will I do tonight? Just sleep? Nah. The Derby, mebbe? What else? What else? Youth in Revolt does not measure up to Fante. My legs shake fanatically. I shake them. Letting my Parkinson's do its thing. I've got to call the Gip and make sure he hasn't killed himself to join the UFO behind the Hale-Bopp comet. I still haven't seen the thing. I need new clothes. How can I be so tired and filled with static energy? What else? I jacked twice today. Once in the ____ at ______. Que mas? Treadmill? Fuck. I wish there was a pill you could take that makes you feel like you've just awakened from a refreshing three-hour nap. I'll check my e-mail after this. Maybe I ought to dump the whole nap idea. Maybe I should just get high.

2010-08-30T22:08:00.000-07:00

3-27 Th 12:20 PM
I didn't do any typing yesterday, thanks to Shirelle. I left school feeling pretty good. I took the lid off the LeBaron and rushed through the cool air. Sax and piano complemented the drive. I finished ASK THE DUST. I drew many parallels between Camille and Shirelle. I read bothe papers, or I was halfway through the LA Times when Shirelle showed up two hours early. It would be tedious to illustrate the scope and depth of her selfish idiocy. I paid thirty bucks for Thai food she ordered. We ate it. We went to bed. Some guy paged her. I couldn't stand any more of her lies. I went downstairs to get extra blankets. She suspected I would sleep on the couch, and so she packed up and left. I followed her down the stairs and locked the door behind her and shut off the light.
Maybe I'll go out drinking tonight, see if I find a female who is not deceitful at heart. Definitely I'll do some typing. I thought of a pot shop stop, but it will have to be tomorrow at the earliest. I started reading YOUTH IN REVOLT by CD Payne. Sort of a Jim Crack thing, but more simply stated. I've got to treadmill tonight. I've skipped the last three days because of depression.

2010-08-26T21:18:00.000-07:00

3-25 Tu 10:41 AM
3-26 W 11:20 AM
I couldn't write yesterday. I was too depressed. I didn't write a word. I wanted cheeseburgers. I felt my back pocket's emptiness. I had forgotten my wallet in the morning. I dismissed the kids to lunch early and walked up to Victor's class. I asked if I could borrow five or ten dollars. He didn't have it. I saw Jane Naterelli. I told her I had an embarrassing favor to ask. I asked for five dollars. She said, "No," but she was joking. Shirley Spalla handed me a five. I don't know how she knew. She must have overheard. Jane gave me five, too. I drove up to Jack in the Box and spent it all on cheeseburger. I didn't think while I ate. I was lost. I had no ground. I couldn't care about anything. Nothing mattered. I drove back, my stomach working on the pit of grease in my gut.
I didn't read a word either. After our staff meeting I drove home with only the rattling labor of the engine in my head. I tried to read the LA Times when I got home, but it was no good. There was a message on the machine from Shirelle. She misses me; she loves me, it says. I suspect the depth of her feeling. I paged her. She didn't call back. I went to my bed an planted my face in my pillow.
My mom called. She wanted to know about the car. She wasn't too enthused about giving the car to Shirelle. I said I hadn't heard from Shirelle in a week. There was beep. It was the other line. It was Shirelle. She was going to come over when she got off work at Paramount. My edge was so jagged. I asked Johnny if he would five me a ride somewhere to get a drink. We went to Tom Bergin's. I drank an Irish coffee and a Jameson's and a Harp. I told Johnny he was a ture artist and spiritualist, unconcerned with material matters, like Van Gogh was. As long as he had enough to subsist on and could draw and reflect on Christ, he had all he needed. I said I was envious, that I often thought about quitting my job and trying to make my living as a writer, but my debts. My $15,000 gambling and alcohol and traveling debts. We went home. Shirelle knocked. I said she looked nice when she walked in and gave her a short kiss. I offered her something to ear or drink, but she wasn't happy with the selection: no alcohol. She said she was tired. Said there was always work and parties. I said she could shower and rest at the house if she wanted. Without saying anything, she went back downstairs, went out, got in her car and drove away.

2010-08-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

3-24 M 7:31 AM
All I've done since leaving off here last night is sleep and wake up and get ready for school and here i am at my class. I read a couple pages of Ask the Dust. Arturo went down to the Columbia Buffet to flaunt his story money in front of Camilla. I woke up at 5:40, before the alarm went off. I thought about getting a head start on the day, but went back to sleep for twenty minutes instead, when the alarm went off, and even then I lay there a while before getting out of bed to shower. I washed my hair and brushed my teeth in the shower. I left the shampoo on my head while I brushed me teeth, letting he Head and Shoulders go to work on my scalp. Then I rinsed and turned off the water and stepped out and dried off and dressed. I ate Cheerios and read the front section of the NY Times. The Israelis' treatment of the Palestinians really bothers me. The opressed become the opressors. I couldn't find my belt this morning. Kayo is supposed to come to my class. Afterward I'm going to guide him to the District Office to see about getting him hired as a teacher. There's kid knocking on the door. Carmina needs me to install MSWord on her computer. I have to post a sign up sheet for the compter training that is in two weeks. It's overcast today. I guess I better skip lunch today. What else? My LA Times weren't waiting for me at school today. I'm a disorganized slob. I haven't seen Shirelle in over a week. I have stinky rotten farts. I have a styrofoam cup with coffee in it. I haven't been able to get online these last few days. Last night it gave me some message about resetting the parameter RAM, which I did, but it kept giving me the same message. I didn't wash my cars this weekend like I had planned. What else? Does my life suck? Am I a dumb-ass? Will I ever have love and a family? Why am I tired all the time? Should I wait 'til Friday to visit the pot shop? Should I give it up altogether? Why are Jeff and Pablo emotional wrecks? I wish I could call Sanyo. What if I did? I better get up to the playfround and bring the kids down. What else? Two more lines and I can stop. Here we are.

2010-08-16T14:25:00.000-07:00

3-23 Su 9:55 PM

What is there? A child's voice from the street comes in through the closed window.

Why do I feel like such a geek-ass dork-boy?

What are we going to do at school tomorrow? I've got to meet with Kayo after school tomorrow.

I've been wanting to learn how to get by on six hours of sleep a night. I'm out of it right now. It just feels like a hassle to have to do all this writing. And I'm not even close to being done. What else? My vision is blurred. The same few little thoughts keep echoing around in my head. I truly cannot think right now. I'm that high and tired? Rochelle talked about a guy with a coi fish tattoo. I made fun of coi. I said they were bottom dwellers, big, bloated, scum-sucking, shit-eaters. I was wearing my trout slippers. I said, "Now a trout! That's a fish. They're hunters, sleek, they leap from the water. Coi don't do any leaping. Coi are so dumb, you can catch them in your bare hands and put them into what amounts to not much more than a puddle of a pond in upper middle class landscaped backyards. A trout would die if you subjected it to those confines. It needs the m

This Stupid Pencil Has Nothing But Mindless Trivia to Drivel on About

2010-08-12T17:48:00.000-07:00

March 22 Sat 12:30 PM
Doh! I forgot I hadn't finished this yesterday. I'm so ashamed. I hat this pencil. It's a Berol EAGLE USA HB 2 and the lead is much too soft. I'm boiling some water right now so I can steam open the envelope I sealed to send the registration for grandma's Chrysler to the DMV. I woke up this morning and my first thought was I realized I hadn't put the check in the envelope. I ow God for that one, I'd say. I ate some leftover chicken and mojos from Shakey's last night and a bowl of apple sauce and drank a soapy cup of coffee for breakfast. I'm about to partake of a glass of wine I poured and din't finish before going to sleep last night. I've got to put one sentence to Jim. I need manila envelopes. I've got to get some new duds. Maybe when I get paid next month. The clock on the wall's batteries ran out one five minutes to five and thirty-seven seconds, though AM or PM, we shall never know, nor the date.
I'll have a short puff when I'm done here and do my typing. I've got to wash my cars before Monday. I'm going to Hermosa Beach for a while later this afternoon. A little KLON jazz laigherns the room.
I wonder if I"ll get on that sorry treadmill today. Mebbe during the UCLA game.
John Bayless is doing one of Van Gogh's peasants in colored pencil on the couch by the living room window. I'll call Kathleen when I'm done. Charlie Parker's blowing in from the window. The bird chirps. What else? I should break this stupid pencil. It doesn't write well at all, and has nothing but mindless personal trivia to drivel on about. I read a couple more chapters of Ask the Dust. this morning. People had recommended it to me as something perverse. I don't understand this reckoning. It's really quite touching and gentle.
I imagined a love letter to Sanyo. The best truest love letters are composed for people to whom we can never send them. Mebbe it's just me. That bird can blow! I've got one more load of laundry to throw in here, and then I should be good for a week or so. My clothes don't come out much cleaner, and they're all wrinkly.

2010-08-04T15:05:00.000-07:00

2-21-F 12:19 PM
On the pot in the faculty restroom. The boys are playing soccer on the playground. The girls stayed in the class with Mr. Acevedo to use the computer and write on the chalkboard. Mario Moreno and Vitorio Ledezma and I went to Lenchita's for burritos. Vitorio's wife left him for a young man. When he sees her with hickeys on her neck, he wants to beat her.
One day I'll have to swear off the "what else?"'s. Or maybe it's a great driving question. We played Dragon's Lair after lunch. I finished bot Times today. When I'm done here, I'll try to get Sandi Ojeda's printer going again. When I get home, I'll tread, then I'll puff, then I'll type, then I'll call Catherine Howrad, then I'll prepare that package for Skye Lerner, then I'll play my guitar, then I'll read, then I'll write some letters. Then I'll go to bed. Tomorrow I'll wash the cars. Sunday I'll ride a horse at Griffith Park with Getoff and his brother, Erik. I don't have to teach night school nest week because we're on spring break. No such luck at day school, though.

2010-07-30T09:43:00.000-07:00

3-20-97 Th 10:45 PM
"His alcoholism contributed to the disintegration of his marriage, and he and his wife separated in 1955. But they never divorced, and she remained his close friend and colleague, maintaining her own house near his in East Hampton until her death from cancer in 1989.
After the separation, De Koonig, who was always attractive to women, moved in with commercial artist Joan Ward. She bore his only child, Lisa, when De Koonig was 52. He went on to other liasons, but both Lisa and her mother remained close to the artist, later maintaining separate homes near his. They were also friendly to Elaine."

As it should be. Well, we got the car with relatively little hassle finally today. I had to stay after school late a while to talk to Emmanual Fernandez' mom about his lack of effort. When I got home, GIP was here. He got off work early to help me. He and John and I went to Wilshire Division and they buzzed us into the Detective's Office. The whole place seemed designed for bloody holdouts against armed rebellion. I felt my arm being twisted. Dealin' in pain. The Detective had the right answers.
I myself stated a vision. Now I'm trippin' on he effectiveness of well-coordinated radio communication. How did they identify him as one to do dirty work? Fearlessness from utter fear.
Here come the blessmysouls.
Oh, you get howlin' in the city it finds its escapes
I'd like to go back to that IL Literature book store and get the book of the stick man even though I haven't even started the last two books I got there.
Where was I? I asked Richard and Jose if they had any guns. Neither did. There's another chopper out there. Time to close the window. Got no shirt on.
How would you get eyes so wide? It sounds like someone skipping rope outside.
Maybe I shold always call him Mr. Pugh, instead of Dennis, since he hired me, and he always wears a tie and walks around stilted and aimlessly, but I don't want to say 'Pugh' because that's the sound we make when something smells bad.
It's already elven thirty. I got through most of both newspapers, but I haven't read any of the Fante yet today. I like what I read about Willem De Koonig, the artist of whom I had never heard previous to reading his obituary today.
I haven't tuyped the one page yet, but I've typed fifteen minutes and trodmill a half hour. School went all right. I was a little looser I think tonight because I got my truck back. Doris has a gold tooth. I'm falling asleep at my desk. Maybe I better just enter blab mode so I can finish this before tomorrow. I think I'll just go to bed. I hard a car idling in the street outside and got suspicious and went to the window. It was only the Domino's guy delivering next door. Sounds like a good drug story. Just a few more lines. Amparo and Doris walked out holding each other around the waist. What would I say to Cathy Tomorrow?

2010-07-20T22:17:00.000-07:00

3-19-97
Nobody would believe the fucking runaround I went through today, or maybe actually, it's all too typical. When I drove up to the house, Jersey Johnny was on the walkway with a grin and a thumbs-up. "They found your truck," he said.
My response was guarded. "What's left of it?"
"They said the stereo's gone, but other than that, it's okay."
"I doubt my golf clubs are in it."

Yeah, yeah, anyway it's a quarter to twelve now. I have to sleep. GIP is going to meet me here after school tomorrow so that we can talk another crack at trying to get my car from the bureaucracy that's as bad as the thieves that stole it. I've already accounted for most of what happened in my typing file. The cops couldn't do anything because those hardworking detectives go home at three thirty. I didn't get to tread today. I scanned throught he papers just now and sped through the crossword. I did my fifteen minutes and wrote two pages in my page-a-day file and still didn't cover the entire pain-in-the-ass it was not getting my car back today.
The cop put us off to help a woman who came after us. He expressed a need for a "stolen identity form" , but didn't know how to go about getting one. He scooted around on his chair and opened a few drawers. Then he typed a few numbers on their ancient computer. "It's very slow," he advised us. I had determined within a minute that he could not help us, but we hung around for forty minutes before he came to the same conclusion. I have to bring a checkbook to school tomorrow to pay the tax man. What else? I need to sleep. I didn't get high. I ate a bagel with peanut butter for breakfast. I had a school lunch and a fet alfredo microwave tray and want to bone a little gold-toothed hussy and made some ravioli and coudn't get online.

2010-07-18T19:17:00.000-07:00

3-18 Tu 9:22 AM Airtel Plaza Hotel, Van Nuys
Dry, droning, technical jargon, but I feel good today. Spring is coming. I caught a nice buzz last night, and I have no hangover this morning. Women talked with me last night. I was charming and conversant for a change. I don't remember how Cahty's and my conversation started. I told her she reminded me of Catholine Ebbetsfield, who was my girlfriend in high school. She, was it she? or someone else asked me where my accent came from. I went through being born in Hollywood and told her part one of my life story. She told me hers. Forty-year-old divorcee from North Carolina with teenagers who didn't like California and went home. I talked with her about my mother's guilt and offered reassurances. She accepted a chardonnay. I teased her about the age difference. I started calling her Mrs. Reis. She gave one of her cards to some guy. I told her I had been feeling clammed up. She said what did I mean. She ran down a list of what I could mean: 1. I wasn't in the mood to talk. 2. I wanted to talk, but couldn't 3. There was no one worth talking to. I told her it was a combination of things including guilt about cutting my night school class to go out drinking. She gave me a card. I walked her to the door. Then I sat with a Jewish comedy writer and smoked a clove cigarette. A tall, leggy brunette, beautiful despite a bent nose, smiled at me when I looked at her but declined a conversation, indicating the foulness of my cigarette. For some reason I asked a girl at the bar if she was a lesbian. She said, "You're either very rude or very drunk or very blunt and straightforward." "All those," I said. She said she was writing about pornography. I told her I'd send here some of my work. Her name is Skye Lerner. "A lovely name. So literary," I slurred. She wrote her PO Box number in my little notebook. I danced with a big, round, full-bodied blonde. We went to Taco Bell. I left my coat in GIP's Montero. There are so may lovely girls. I've got spring fever. I want to marry two in this room here and have dozens of children and live long loving lives in the Utah wilderness.
"I got my ass kicked by buses and trucks and red lights and shit-heads all the way here."
"I love women! Even though I can't stand them. They're so lovely. Mayra and Jennifer, I love you both!'

A Rush to Get It Tonight

2010-07-14T12:09:00.001-07:00

3-17
Miguel's mom's dinner smelled great. You need a permit to park here. Back where we started. John, this sucks. Some people are in a rush to get it tonight, be it drunk or pussy or security. I ditched work to drive like a tornado. Where Biggie Smalls got what he thought.
The Pepper is going into Jack in the Box. I asked, "You won't be offended if I stay here and finish this?" He said, "No." I wasn't sure."
I feel sick. I need to brush my teeth and shower. What am I going out here with my lips stuck to my teeth again? I should have taught tonight. Look over your shoulder. I'm thirsty and nervous. Aiyaiyai Help! What else? Hurry up and finish and help Miguel have some fun. I got high and had a complete turnaround. A U-turn.
Ate a BBQ lamp sandwich today. Lamb, that is. Got to hurry. Time's a wastin'. Giddyap. Aooyaaa. Beer, only slow and easy. Be friendly. Talk to people. Ignore the rest.
I've come into Jack in the Box. The light in here flickers in the fans. Is that an Ultimate Cheeseburger?" I asked. There's a baby practicing her cords in short notes. It's like a song. I love it. "Dah!" he shouts out a baby shout. My mouth is dry. I don't want to celebrate alchohol. GIP would rather find and Irish whore. Who can blame him? His burger is done. Here we go.
"Girls fucking girls are there any good ones out there is it workth looking?" We're in the car driving not long. "Here we go!" We've parked again. The door is open. GIP is going to wait in line. I said I would be right there. A woman walked by. She had no love. I only took a glimpse. A bald girl walked by mean and came back humming. The face of the crescent moon stared dreamily at a star that could not have been there between it's horns where it is not the sky but the shadow of itself, promising fortunes told, five for twenty-five dollars, and bear advertised two-way radios. Another girl walked by and sneezed daintily. "God bless you," I mumbled.
Waiting to get rolled. One more line. That's all folks.

Like That Would Really Spruce Up a Veggie Burger

2010-07-09T16:09:00.000-07:00

3-16 Su 4:20 PM
Let's get this one. No excuses. Then I should treadmill even though the counter doesn't work anymore. Then I'll type a page in the one page file and copy a page from the '92 journal and finish Neruda. Maybe I can watch The Simpsons tonight. Maybe while I tread. I just ate an orange. When these maudlin Jesus tunes Bayless likes go off, I'll put on side two of that Pavorotti tape. I've got a couple phone calles to make. I need to move from this thievin' neighborhood. Where? Studio City? Wyoming? Prague? Costa Rica? What will I eat tonight? A Garden Burger on toast? We haven't got much in the way of condiments. There may be some lettuce in the fridge. Like that would really spruce up a veggie burger. I should call Jen. What else? It's gray out there. What about typing those college Alaska stories? Sounds like Bayless is heading up to Kinko's. Getoff is recording Laura Cohen today. I read about the specifics of Solomon's Palace for the Ark today. The NY Times crossword beat my ass today. What else? Girl is gone. Forget about it. Modern love walks on by. Gets me to the church on time. Beats my ass. Embarrassed myself in front of Josh Wesley dangling that bag in front of his face on the evening of Vera's memorial. Mind wanders back to Kristen, looks like relative safety, practically anyhow, the heart, however, can always burn. Maybe I'll watch some porno since Bayless is in the shower. It's the first time the room has been free in weeks. Now I'm writing in front of the TV, some old guy in a new suit trying to say Chinese have bought the President. Pst. It's Orrin Hatch. What is Newskete? Something on PBS about monk dog trainers. The massacre of the sea. Geneaology over the net. Running up the juice bill leaving the computer on whiel I don't use it. Gorton's fish fillets? There are some in the fridge--er--freezer. The local news. Is this The Last Emperor? Some rich Chinese. It looks pretty cornball. She doesn't need the umbrella. I think it is the 1989 Best Picture winner. It's looking pretty dated. I found some bleu cheese to put on my veggie burger. I could eat more. Now what? Hasta luego.

2010-07-06T02:42:00.000-07:00

3-15 Sat 1:05 PM
Laying in bed. The Dodgers just beat the Orioles in Tampa. There are closthes all over the floor, but the pillow cases are fresh. Shirelle's dad thinks I stole her car. I read the LA Times. The story on Arab/Isreali relations depresses me. Despair is on the rise. These sheets need to be washed. I feel drained. Shirelle just walked in and saw I was writiting and walked out, then in again, and out once more. Getoff and I had a little jam session yesterday. The Dodgers have great individual talent, but they're not much of a team. Rick Monday is talking with Todd Worrell about muscle mechanics and accuracy to within eight inches. Shirelle's pager just went off. I washed the dishes. My mom just delivered my treadmill. I've got to use it definitely before school starts. What else? I'm falling asleep. Shirelle is going to need help buying a car now. I guess I'm going to have to ride out with her to Monrovia in the Chrysler. We're on our way out there now. If my writing gets bumpy, blame it on the road. The top is up, but we're piping in a little Cuban rhumba. Dark brother doin the Walkman up Crenshaw. I did my fifteen minutes of typing. I feel like brain's been stole, my spirit sapped by unrighteousness. It's a nice day. You could almost see Gabriel descend from the wisp in the blue. Stop and go freeway wheezes through downtown's paltry skyline. The traffic is making us late. Historic Arroyo Seco Parkway is covered in grafitti. Now where in Pasadena. Anarchy in Albania.
I need to whip through this now. I can read Neruda poems all the way home. I've got to read Kathleen's story soon, too. What else? There's just nothing to say. Shirelle has some cop-killing rap coming over the radio now. Tell 'em a hooka-smoking caterpillar has given you the call. Feed your head. I hope we're not too late.

2010-07-05T07:34:00.000-07:00

3-14 F
I was crabby today. I am sorry. My guitar has lost some of the fluidity it had a week ago. Rosa's computer. What else? What else? What's up you fuckin snivelin Hollywood sychophant. Hit me. Hit me again. Stay.
Pretty well off Mad, Glen was, cuz the girl couldn't come. He rode off drunk down the street fast with his friend the scooter fixer, who fixed the brakes. The other guy cut in front of him. He was in a coma for five weeks. His head swelled beyond the size of a basketball. He was unrecognizable. The girl went to see him. She was pregnant by his friends. She had a little baby. He underestands. He was pretty bad.
"Your hand's been like that since birth, though, right?"
"Yeah," he answered.
I said, "Glen, you were a wild and crazy rebel-man were't ya? Don't you need two hands to ride a scooter?"
"Yeah," he conceded, and shot himself in the had with a gun he made from what good fingers he has.

2010-07-01T03:35:00.000-07:00

3-13 Th
We did, but she was high and tired, and it wasn't that fun. It feels over. My life doesn't seem like my own lately. Lately--how rare it is when it does. I'm in my night school class right now. They're working on a worksheet. When I get to the bottom of this page, we'll go over the worksheet. I feel like I'm wasting my life. I never work on stories anymore. Today we had a minimum day at school. I still didn't finish the newspaper because busybody Rosa called for a meeting that accomplished nothing other than she got to hear herself talk. I napped on the couch this afternoon. At school today, the girls tempted the boys to chase them. The boys obliged. Levi caught Sandra and knocked her head against the wall. Jackie grabbed him around the throat and choked him in vengeance. Mr. Seeger came to class and lectured us. I put their play areas on the board. I have to remember to bring my tax info, what little I have, to Jose Smith, CPA, after school. I have to remember that Ishi video.
Home now, burning, bombarded by others, false dialogs, spin cycles invading my brain. Bless my soul. Bless Shirelle's soul. Bless Thing's and Glen's and Johnny's souls. And our bodies, too. Thanks. What else? Trying to get online. O for one so far. Violence and crime glorified. So what. I hear the short quick wheeze of the dying. The rise and fall of the dying's chest. It takes longer than we think. What else? Got to type after this. The fuckin tv. a rusted nasty nail, a screw with candy stuck around it from working with her dad. Try not to feed too much sweets to the little one. There's a CAT IN THE HAT BEGINNERS DICTIONARY on the floor here. It's in English and Spanish. The Jetsons came on. Glen says, "Oh! Let's watch this." Then he said something about the Munsters, and now there's some fucking rescue 911 emergency procedure documentary surgery show on. Shirelle called. She'll be here around three tomorrow to spend my money. I ate an Italian sausage sandwich.

2010-06-26T23:36:00.000-07:00

3-12 Wed.
The little old round Hawaiian lady, Diana Watanabe, is blabbing, holding us up from bailing. I'm feeling zonked even thought I slept plenty. Got to teach again tonight. I just go in there and wing it for two and a half hours. I haven't puffed much lately. I don't want to get high before teaching night class, and when I get home, I'm tired and not creative and figure it will only knock me out and be a waste. This Saturday can be Write-All-Day day. I'm taking Shirelle to Yamashiro's for a 7:45 reservation Friday. There might be some true nature in this format learning styles. I got Gramma's car smogged yesterday. It only took about fifteen minutes or so.
Phyllis Scantron was kind enough to pick me up for the drive out to Torrance today. We're going to drive back to LA now.

I'm home now. Shirelle just called from Christina's. I said I'd tuck her in. She said she'd be here in about twenty minutes. Maybe we'll bone. Glen said, "God." I said, "What?" He said, "I can't find my shit." I said, "What shit?" He said, "My shit." I said, "Oh." He said, "Exactly." I didn't say anything. He said, "My vodka." He said, "Please don't tell my brother." I said, "OK." I guess I'll have a beer since Shirelle is coming over. Maybe I'll have that puff, too. Will I be able to read at all? Damn o damn. What else? I just typed my fifteen minutes. It was trouble writing that much. I called my sister back, but she was on the other line to someone in Florida. I'll go have that puff. Maybe something will come of it for the next page. Probably this stupid movie will suck up my thoughts. Shirelle's bug just buzzed up. What'll it be? There's a little dick in my class with a bun who made me edgy. Bliss from a popsicle.

2010-06-23T02:50:00.000-07:00

3-11- Tu

Here we are at old La Subida elementary school wasting a lot of time on semantics. I'd really rather not be writing in the environment, but I should get it out of the way ASAP, because I've got to take the Chrysler in for a smog check today between jobs. I don't know when else I'll be able to do it. I don't recall any dreams. I've been awake for two and a half hours, so there's not much to report. No stimulation. No inspiration. I did some laundry this morning and read the first section of the NY Times. Mr. Bennigan just dropped me a copy of today's LA Times. Diana Watanabe is giving a cloudy lesson on the declarative-ness or procedureal-ness of different teaching strategies. I don't understand what good knowing this is.

"You bet your sweet bippy." "You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy." I have to crap. We talked about movies and college bassketball and racism in the car on the way here. Phyllis and Sara picked me up. If I was high my wheels would turn. I'd have something to say, even though it might not make any sense. Sitting at my table are Sandra Clippinger from Indiana, Geraldo Cubias from Guatemala, Hagar Gomez from Pacoima, Phyllis Scantron, from Woodland Hills. I haven't eaten anything but a tangerine in the last twenty-two hours. I've got to call AIS today. I'm wearing green corduroy shorts with a green Polo-style shirt and white sweat socks. What else? Sandra has a niece off Broadway in New Yord who she says is perfect for me. She showed me her picture. The girl was good looking. Another actress. I said she was out of my league. Sandra said she wasn't. Dick from Minnesotais teaching us about "Reciprocal Teaching." Ho-hum. "It alerts the hippocampus," he says. It's still an hour and a half until lunch. I finisheda bunch of Neruda's odass last night. I like them. I wonder how much of the~~~ I don't what I was going to say. I remember! How much of the paper can I read during this lame workshop. Oh, be nice. It's time to finish this up. That's all folks

You'll Never Find a More Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy

2010-06-19T11:29:00.000-07:00

3-10
Here I am at the night school class I teach at Pio Pico Elementary at Pico and Arlington. I've just come from the library. I checked out a video of "Ishi, the Last Yahi" to show to my class this week. I haven't done any handwriting since Friday. We went to Rosarito, B.C., Mexico on Saturday. We went in the LeBaron. It was silly. This Cuban Jersey deadhead dude named Roberto, who the Thing knows from his comic book shop, came. He was a little irritating. I typed about him yesterday, so I won't go into it again here. The main dumb thing was, I, me, I let a puta have a hundred dollars. I wound up getting played by still another and the first one took my dough. When the cab first dropped us in Rosarito after the Jehovah's Witness driver gave us a brief history of the different cultures in Mexico, like the Tarascos, and the Chiapenos, we went to the bar at the Hotel Rosarito. They were refurbishing he one bar I like, so we settled for another where a Santana-like band was coaxing couples to drink. At this point, I'd already had several beers while we were playing Monopoly back at the condo. To these I added two margaritas at the bar while making small talk with a woman who was frank and unperturbed that her eighteen-year-old daughter was upstairs banging her boyfriend. Thing, Berto, and I moved on, popping our heads in one place, then the next. Ate some tacos, fish, chicken and carne asada at a sidewalk stand. Rock n' Roll Taco was the hip, bumpin' spot, loud and hard to see in with dark and ever-changing multi-colored lights. We didn't stay long, but I had another nasty margarita. Then we went to Papa's and Beer. I had a scotch and a few more beers and played pool on a scarred table with some Navy people and some cool fucks whose jugulars I wanted to tear out. I kept having my quarters snaked due to my own lack of attention. Though I did finally play six games. Won three, lost three. We went to another bar and had nasty maggies and danced to dead eighties tunes with chicks who didn't know we were there. We moved on. We went to a place called Cuatro Caminos because the guys wanted to go where there were whores. The place wasn't to out satisfaction, so we caught another cab to a place called Endless Summer where they wouldn't let us in, but sent out una puta gordita, who, you know, took my dough. She came with us to another bar, but none of us wanted to talk to her.
The hangover the next day was vicious.

2010-06-13T16:50:00.000-07:00

F 3-7
Well here I am at school. The kids are doing their standardized state testing. It's pretty much kickback time for me. We did go to the Goose last night. I had a couple bourbons and a couple of beers. Gip bought one of my bourbons. On the way there, I told the guys how smashed I got at that titty bar in Manhattan when I fell off my chair. We had been taking cabs, but somehow we ended up in my car driving wasted around Manhattan looking for an open liquor store at three fifty in the morning before it became illegal to sell booze at four. Once we had beer, Drew said he was going to get me a hooker. I said I wouldn't get a hooker, but I still drove us around looking. Doing that I made a right turn at a red light which is a no-no in New York. We were laughing our asses off drunk, and when the NYPD flashed their lights, our laughter was not diminished. There were cars parked all along the sides of the street, so there was nowhere to pull over. I just stopped in the middle of the street. Even as the cops approached the car, where we were both sitting with open tall boys our legs, we laughed. I showed them my license and they noticed the picture of my father in his LAPD uniform with the American flag behind him.
"Who's in the picture?" the officer asked.
"My father," said I.
"Where's he work?" asks he.
"LAPD," I say.
"LAPD!?" he says. "Follow us."
They led us to a place to park my car and told me not to drive it again until the sun came up. "Go get some bacon and eggs," they said.
Drew and I wandered the streets, checking out the twenty-four hour sex shops, and somehow we got separated. For and hour or so I couldn't find Andrew or the car. It was drizzling, but I was hot and sweaty from the walking, so I took my shirt off and was walking Times Square with no shirt at four thirty in the morning. The sky was graying int he East when Drew and I ran into each other in front of Madison Square Garden. Then we stumbled upon the car after another hour of walking around looking for it and drove back to his pad on East Ninth.
John B. came with us last night. He said he's resisted titty bars for seven years, but Gip talked him into going last night. A big nast redhead approached me about a table dance. I told her I'd love it but not to waste her time with me. She pouted. I said, " I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you."
She said, "That's your excuse?"
I said, "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."
It's hard enough (pun intended) to keep my dick from exploding at a distance. Who knows what would happen within touching range.
I woke up thinking about Sanyo Bricklayer. I'm suppposed to be going to Pablo's tonight. I wonder if there's any chance of seeing her. We're going to watch the Hunchback of Notre Dame today. What else? Esmeralda just offered me a word search.

2010-06-07T17:50:00.000-07:00

3-6 Th
A cricket is stuggling weakly against the sides of the tub; he seems to be on his last legs, though shapely they may still be.
I'm crapping. It's night. One-eyed, one-handed, gimp-legged, gimp-brained Thing 2 has just arrived from Union Station. We got a full house.
Today's workshop was in Hacienda Heights. Phyllis and Sara were late picking me up, but I didn't read much of the paper because I thought I was too tired to get up earlier than I did, even though I wasn't. GIP is on his way here. He wants to go to the titty bar Wild Goose. I said Maybe.
Class went well tonight. I had energy. The class was content and laughing. They're starting to ask questions. What else? Now I'm pretty tired. Bayless drove us in Gramma's convertible to Molly Malone's. I spent twenty-five on Jameson's and Amstel. The singer was gorgeous and knew it. It was driving me nuts. I regret going. I should have stayed home and saved my money and read and slept. Who are the girls? Rememver the one-inch eye frame. Get from the ATM to the girl's house. Well-to-do. She lives with her father.
I would like to call Sanyo Masonic. Pablo says it's over between them. I've been imagining conversations. "I know this is weird. We weren't exactly friends as much as acquaintances, but I liked you the moment I met you, and it's a shame to think I'll neer see you anymore now that Pablo isn't." Is that sleazy? What else? Thing's playing the new U2 album. The Kings are hosting the Rangers and making them feel right at home by giving up five goals. We did some tongue twisters in class tonight. I still have to type and do some e-mail. Call that accountant. Get the VIN number off the Chrysler. What about that Methodology class Saturday? Will I enroll at UCLA? U. of Phoenix? What else? I'll stop by the pot shop tomorrow. It will have been two weeks. Steph Gracias is going to pick me and take me out to Pasadena tomorrow. Ug What else? I napped on the couch under the window this afternoon. I read some more Neruda. I'll e-mail Linda soon. Que mas? Just a few more lines. I had a fat-ass Monte Christo t Bennigan's for lunch.

2010-06-04T20:12:00.000-07:00

3-5 W
I wonder if I can get this done before lunch. Hi, Craig. No reading over my shoulder. You might not like what you see, and you risk boring yourself to death. Diane's telling a story about a lady who had a stroke. I haven't been listening well enough to know the point. We did a cool exercise. We drew a Picasso sketch of Stravinsky upside down while listening to Pachble's Canon in D. The exercise is designed to let the "left brain" take over. It worked like a charm on me. Very peaceful, my breathing got that crying hitch. My eyes thawed. I could have done it all day.

There was a little traffic on the 10, but the 405 was smooth sailing, which is rare. "...there's plasticity in the brain," says Diane. This kind of talk does little for me. It's not how much intelligence, but what kindd. I'll have to find more drawing projects for Emmanuel ande Jesus. What else? I have a wart on the fingerprint of my thumb. I tried to burn it off with a stoveflame-heated paperclip, but it has grown back. Everyone's going to luncch. I caved in like an abandoned mine shaft. I'm writing this as we ride int he car to whereever we're going. My boss, Principal Cicada, is driving. I think we're going to a Japanese place. We're talking about how to utilize laptops and create a computer lab at school.
So now we're in the lobby of Marie Callendar's. I got in the wrong car for the Japanese restaurant. Judith and Gustavo are talking in Spanish. I'm not going to eat. Where's Rosa? She must have gone to the sushi place. So now we're back at class. I had Monterey Style Idaho Rainbow Trout for lunch. We're about to brainstorm the names of as many classroom activities we can think of. They said, pick someone who can write fast, and I volunteered. It's warm in here. I've read section A of the LA Times. I need to figure out how to transfer to antoher school closer to home. What else? Aurgh. It's hard to think in here. The sky is blue. I rode back here in Judy Iguana's car, the one I drove to San Diego. I'll ust babble through these last lines and be done.

2010-05-27T20:35:00.000-07:00

Tu 3-4 (actually We 3-5)
It's after midnight. I had some french roast this evening. I did some fifteen mintues and typed some e-mail. Tomorrow to Torrance. Tomorrow night, Largo. The blinds are horribly dusty. How do you clean them? I'll ask GIP. Maybe I'll go to Molly Malone's after class before Largo.
I was talking a little fiction and story and film with Sharon Powers, the teacher next door at Pio Pico. She's working on a thesis feature for UCLA film school. Sven, the one-eyed, one-handed, limp-legged, half-wit is coming down from Fresno, Hanford, actually. The Thing is suggesting a trip to Rosarito. We'll see. What else? I read most of the New York Times today. Crossword, too. Read Neruda poems, "Leviathan" and "Las Aves Maltratadas", both about man's violent nature.
What else? There's so much and so little. I ought to just keep going so I can finish and relax in dreamland for a few hours. Last night I dreamt of skydiving in South Africa with my father. There was a moment of panic when the chute wouldn't open, but I did just glide down. I'm a little hungry. I ate a plate of leftover lasagna and rolls and a cafeteria "BBQ" pork sandwich. Tomorrow, I'll call Mariachi, Ford, and the Pepper. Before class. I'll be a wreck Thursday in Hacienda Heights if I'm not careful. Last night's Neruda poem was about the prow of a ship washed up on the beach, like a mermaid. I didn't get to read any Bible Sunday because I was still suffering from shock and stupor. I must resist lunch tomorrow. I wrote the check for $200 for the CTCU Visa. It's under 3 G's. It will take at least six months to pay it off if I don't incur any more debt.
My eyes, er, my vision rather is blurry. Tomorrow will be a long day. What else? I e-mailed Boddington. It's one thirty. I have to get up in less than five hours. There's still some paper unread alonside the bed.
My thub is sore. Coffee burning holes in my stomach lining. E-mailed Gibson and Castle. Funny joke from Jon about Samurai slicing flies.

2010-05-25T21:50:00.000-07:00

3-3 Mon
I have about twenty minutes or so til I have to head to LA Community Adult School offices to see how bad I screwed up the attendance records for the last two weeks. There's a lot of little things to report. I don't really feel like telling any of them. I'm on the toilet right now. After the garage sale, Mac, and Chuck Woodlock, who is my uncle-in-law, and I went to Brea to play nine holes. I had tweaked my back and I was depressed about--I don't know--my stolen clubs and the shitty rentals?--and my swing sucked and my game sucked and it was sad and boring and I lost about ten balls on errant shots. We went back to the house and I scarfed lasagna and went into my mother's room and crashed for a while and took a shower. When I came back out, everyone was watching A Time to Kill. Racial courtroom drama. I didn't like it. When it ended my aunt and cousins and Chuck all went back to Vera's. I slept on the couch. When I woke up, I was still dry and hung over from Friday. Flynn and Jan Grezick stopped by. Flynn was on his way to Australia. They said Crystan had a good time at Diamond's. They asked if I did. I said, "Oh, yeah. I stayed on my feet." They said, "We heard." I watched the Dodgers suck against the Mets in the first televised game of spring training. I cooked up some ground beef and sprouts and jack cheese and ate on with mayo on bread. K-mart worked on her WWII report. Mom went to meet Kay and Kate and McGee at IHOP. I waited for them to return to the house so I could say good-bye. I loaded some of Grandma's furniture into the LeBaron. I put the top down to do it. I drove to Brian's and had a couple Bud Lights with Josh and Jon Biggers and Chuck. Cock-eyed Lisa was tending bar. I didn't have much to say. I said good-bye. Driving up the 57 with the top down reminded me of the Fiat I had when I was 18-19. The Thing and I lugged the stuff upstairs. He said my mom called to say I'd forgotten my bag with all my career shit. I was to meet her and the girls at the Bonaventure to et it. I pages Shirelle. We took a shower and I slurped her vagina and we went to the bed and boned. Then we dressed and went to the Bonaventure. We met them in the revolving bar. I led them to Marie Callendar's on Wilshire. I made a little fuss about getting the check. We left the restaurant. I'd forgotten my bag again. I had to go back for it. We got home. On the Waterfront was on. Shirelle got high and got on the phone. She said she was too tired to bone again. I said, whatever. School was a burn today. I didn't have the spirit to handle the kids. We were doing standardized state testing. I read the LA Times that I bought at the liquor sore on Van Nuys and Bartee. I did the attendance figures.

2010-05-24T19:29:00.000-07:00

3-1 Sat.
Yesterday was the memorial for Grandma. The family was out from Pennsylvania. I got pretty ripped. Bern and I drove up to a place called Diamond's at the Brea Mall. My pool game bit. Crystan came over. I asked her how many hamburgers she sold. She asked me why I kept looking at her. I said, "Cuz I like your face." I asked if I would have to wait for someone else to die before I 'd see her again. She smiled at me strangely.

Gramma's big framed pastel impressionist painting is walking down the street on little kid legs. The weekend scavengers pick through her stuff. A lifetime of stuff sold in bills and change. We drove it over here to my mom's like Okies leaving the Dust Bowl. K-mart put a purse on her head, to fight off express all the weird inappropriate feelings Death tries to foise on the young.

Her Lhooks

2010-05-18T21:19:00.000-07:00

2-27 Th
I hope I can get through this quickly. There is much to do today. I'm at school. The students are translating and illustrating a poem.
Now they're working on their fractions concepts. It's cloudy out today. Shirelle spent the night. We had a pretty combative lunch. She probably shouldn't have stayed over. We'll never see eye to eye on domestic matters. Tomorrow is Grandma's memorial. Shirelle wants to go. I think it's more a matter of displaying her lhooks than paying her respects. When I said we'd have to go in separate cars, she lost her enthusiasm. It looks like I'll be spending the weekend there. It might be a nice change.
I have to call Pat Otegachile when I get home and talk to her accountant. She's getting back $3400 bucks. I did the 1040EZ and I owe $488. Hopefully he can change that for me. Should I eat lunch here at school today or can I make it until I get home? I have to fax those figures to David Chant at Tech Ed. I need to straighten out that fucking BCLAD stuff and talk to Marco the guitar man and enroll in the UCLA class. Plenty of shit to do. I've got to teach tonight. I've got to Xerox some stuff. I feel like getting obliterated. I have these videos to watch. I have to rememver to bring the treadmill in the trunk to John to get welded. I've got to get gas before I drive home today. I've got to crap. What else? I want to read my newspapers. I want to get high. I need to clean my desk. I cleaned the one at home, now I have to clean the one here at school. I'm hungry. They're having corndogs in the cafeteria. Crystal says all her grandmothers are rich. Mario just sneezed all over my desk. Carlos is helping Karla. What else? I read anouther couple of chapters of Sweet Remedy. I'm mainly just skimming it now. I finished the Evolution of Chicano Literature by Raymund Paredes. Chicanos feel they are neither Mexican nor American. He recommends Anaya's Bless Me, Ultima and a writer named Niggli and some others. He talks about Oscar Zeta Acosta and all but dismisses him. He talks of the corridos which were the principal form of folktake in Spanish North America, like the Ballad of Gregorio Cortez, who avenged his brother's murder by killing the Texas sheriff who did it.
I have to make lesson plans for the sub tomorrow. I have to wake up tomorrow at 7:30 at the latest and leave the house at 8:45 at the latest.

2010-05-15T14:32:00.000-07:00

2-26 Wed.
I cleaned my room this morning, even made the bed, but not until I'd read through the LA and NY Times, doing both crosswords, and speed reading a few chapters of Sweet Remedy. I called the GIP from the payphone across from Blockbuster at dusk. We met at Numero Uno There were pretty girls along the way. I had a glass of cheap chianti and a bud light and a salad andd a personal pizza and something disgusting called lafirenze that tried to pass off biscuit gravy as alfredo sauce. I picked up the tab. We went to the Goose. It was my idea. Then we drove to Placentia. There was some automatic weapons fire in Artesia so the 91 was closed and we had to detour through Bellflower and up the 605 to the five to get there. I've got to teach night school tonight. I'll have to stop by LAHS first. Ug. What else? I didn't type yesterday. I bought a couple of books. I used my ATM. I need to get new time cards. Pio Pico. Who was Pio Pico? Didn't he surrender to Fremont? Shirelle called last night. What did we talk about? I was mad. I had a sip of coffee and a bite of 25 cent chocolate covered chemical peanut butter wafer and grabbed an orange. The coffee is in a Winnie the Pooh mug. Tigger is bouncing around like Pablo Mariachi. Pooh is like Steven Gracias. Eeyore is like Jeff Goldcastle. I'll check my e-mail. I wonder if she's still coming. I've got some typing to do and clean this desk and figure out my taxes. This orange is from Corona. It's stamped in purple partially. I'll peel the orange as I write. I didn't take my vitamin this morning. Who the hell figured out this vitamin thing, anyway? She just called. She said she'd be here in an hour or so. I suggested we might go up to Book Soup so I could find that Zoetrope stories. It looked like the Tales was closed down. Taxes! Taxes! IRS. The books I got at IL literature are the National Book Award winning authors' collection of essays and interviews. It had a quote early on inside by Ralph Ellison that convinced me to get it, about the torture of writing and the reason for doing it. I have the videos Mean Streets and Vanya on 42nd Street. There on top of grandma's tv that I plugged in. Apparently Peach is coming over to play some music tonight. Getoff wants to borrow my guitar. I'm out of ink.

2010-05-11T19:29:00.000-07:00

Tu 2-25
I woke around midnight to the sound of my truck starting. I sprang to the window in time to see it driving away, a dark indistinguishable figure behind the window. Within seconds I had dialed 911. I gave them the info. They transferred me. A laughing lady picked up. I said again that my truck had been stolen. They took the info. I got the feeling the info was not going out to any patrol cars. It had only been seconds. Couldn't the get on the radio? They could have caught the guy on Olympic. I get the feeling the LAPD just waits for the car to turn up and then charges you for towing and impound fees after it's been stripped. Two cops came to take a report, a squat Korean fellow, and a tall blue-eyed redhead. I invited them in and then had to run up the stairs ahead of them and throw my weed in a drawer, when I remembered it was sitting out on my desk in the living room. A nudie mag was sitting on the desk while they interviewed me, though. They took a report casually and offered a few platitudes. I showed them my insurance papers. The papers listed my two DUI's. The cops left. I couldn't sleep. I looked through the New York Times that was on the porch. I read a couple of chapters of Linda's book. I smoked a little and laid in the dark and looked at the clock and worried about life and the computer training I was supposed to coordinate at school and whether or not I would be able to get there. I thought about how February was the month my girl left me and my gramma dies and my car got stolen.

2010-05-05T11:31:00.000-07:00

Sun Feb

Mon. Feb. 24

Grandma Vera died Sunday morning. I was reading the paper, and I fell asleep on the couch. The phone rang, and I didn't feel like getting up. I let the answering maching get it. There was this little anguished moan and whoever it was hung up. I figured it was Mariachi playing a game. The phone rang again. It was my sister, Bernice. She said Gramma Vera had died and Mom was hysterical. I said, Ok, I would be right down. I sat down. I couldn't think. I read the funny pages. I took a shower. Shirelle called. She wanted to go. I said I thought it would be better if she waited for the funeral. She said she'd wait at the house. It was a delicate situation. Bringing her crazy into wouldn't help. But cutting her out might maker her crazier. She asked if I would leave a key for her. I said I didn't know I guess ok. I'll leave it under the mat. I made a pot of coffee and poured it in a big plastic cup and I grabbed my book bag and left without my coffee and forgot to put the key under the mat. Luckily I remembered to get gas. There was a Sigalert. The 5 and the 60 were jammed. I had to take the 110 to the 105 to the 91. When I got there, the mobile home seemed empty. I walked into Gramma's room. My grandmother was laying in bed, she looked pale but peaceful. My mother was holding her hand crying. Bern and Cairn were in the room crying. My mom found her. They were supposed to have gone to lunch. When my mom called over and got no answer, she had a bad feeling and when she got there and didn't hear Sinatra, she knew, she sobbed. It looked like Gramma was still breathing. My mom went to call the coroner. She asked me to take Gramma's hand. She didn't want her to be alone, she said. Gramma's hand felt dry, but not dead. My mom came back and asked me to go to Brian's Saloon to get my stepfather. "Drayballs!" he said when I walked in. He was having a beer and a sandwich. Jim, his golf partner, wasn't there. I asked where he was. "The ugly head of menopause reared its head at Jim's house this morning." He asked what I was doing. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Vera passed away this morning." He handed me one of his beers and we toasted Vera. He asked how my mom was doing, and I said, pretty good. We drove vack to Gramma's. He talked about the first conversations he and she had had with her when he and my mom were dating. e was still technically married to he ex-wife at the time, he said. Gramma didn't trust him at first. He told her he'd die for my mom. She said, "Wll that's more than that other asshole would do," referring to my dad. John and my mom cried together when we got there. The coroner was a peppy guy. I could still see her chest rising and falling. It was sad when they carried her out in the bag. One of the men in black bumped his head on the lamp as he carried her out. When I drove home it was sunset. It was a beautiful day, rays streaked from the clouds. Appropriate glory, I guess. Shirelle was weird when I got back. My dad called.
Schindler's List furthered my depression

Deaf Girl Talk

2010-05-04T12:44:00.001-07:00

2-22 Sat
Well, I was unable to last to the bitter end again, you see, falling short of my goal of three pages. There was aknock at the door as I sat writing. I walked to the window over the porch and stuck out my head. It was PLee. I told him the door was unlocked. He refused beer or wine. The conversation was a little awkward. We smoked and ate cheese and crackers. Jeff and Peach showed. I read them Pomegranate Necklace, but they got antsy before it was finished. Said it lost them. THen I read the new Jim pages. Jeff immediately said he hated it. Peach said it reminded him of Beavis and Butthead. PLee remained silent. Peach changed the strings on my guitar. I played a while. Getoff never came, so Peach left. Then Jeff left. PLee and I walked up to Girl Talk for a beer each. It is a Tijuana dive bar (on La Brea just north of Olympic), complete with a fat girl dancing in her underwear to Mexican polkas. A short little bowling ball of a woman lifted her apron to reveal a short, phallic-looking little club that must be used for conking agressive drunks, though it may have been a dildo. The other bartender, a woman who looked like a cross between a man and a poodle saw her laugh and said to me conspiratorially, "She's always happy."

The deaf girl banged on the door this morning. She might be about thirteen or so. She is my neighbor. I don't know her very well. She handed me a note that said she wanted a ride to her sister's. Her not was barely intelligble. I thought it was her sister that wanted a ride. The deaf girl mouthed words through a tin can on a string and showed me an address on the paper. She honked that she needed the ride at 9:30. That was when I was expecting Rawler. The address said Wilshire and Sixth, which are not far, but do not intersect. I shrugged and nodded my consent. Tawler got here, then the Insanity Pepper. The girl was waiting on the porch when we came down. We dropped her off in the seedy neighborhood up around Vermont and Sixth on Grandview. The paper with the directions said a Latina name at the top I don't remember and at the bottom it said Emmanual

2010-04-28T18:33:00.000-07:00

2-21- Fri

My wrists are sore from typing and writing and playing guitar. I had a baked potato with cheese and broccoli and sour cream for lunch and a little quesadilla with guacamole. I've got to change the stupid training on Tuesday. We'll just have it after, I guess. I can't get a reading on the tuner for my top e cord. It's dusk right now. No one's home. I should do the dishes. I'm drinking a Dos Equis slowly. I took a wee hit with the old aluminum foil pipe trick. Maybe I'll go through the old desk calendar and compile the phone numbers scrawled on them. Maybe I'll call Catherine. Maybe not. I should call back Miguel. I should eat at home tonight. I think I've got more thinking to do before I work on Jim. Maybe I can hit these guys up about it tonight.
Hi ho hi ho. I read the LA Times kind of for the first time in quite a few days. I haven't viewed any pornography today. I have to respond to my e-mail. I've got stuff just regular stuff to do. What will I eat tonight? I've got to use this bread before it goes bad.
~~~~~I had two beers and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and now I feel sick to my stomach. I think I'll just do a lot of reading after this. Then I'll go to sleep. I've got to clean my desk. I can take a walk in the morning to read the paper somewhere. Dim sum shit crap What's there to say. I'm listening to one of the Marsalis boys blow his horn. Some 4-eyed intellectual chick from the Wall St. Journal is blabbing something I cant hear on channel 50. Kathleen left a story called the Easter Egg Hunt. I need to retype Whalesongs to send to Julia.

2010-04-19T17:51:00.000-07:00

Thurs, 2-20
Hoo boy. What is there? Not much. The usual coffee and paper at the kitchen table under the window. I don't feel like writing. My writing is going nowhere. I was in Torrance today for another goofy seminar. Kathleen and Julia were here a coupla hours or so. I bought wine and cheese and crackers and Dos Equis. The traffic was Satanic. We had lunch at Marie Callendar's. I had seafood pasta. Dick recognized my comment on Sylvestre. I taught my ESL classes. We covered pronouns and past and present verbs, walk, talk, eat and be. I went to the pot shop before class last night. I parked a block away so I could walk up inconspicuously. I took off my sweater, so I would go in in my t-shirt, and I smoked a cigarette as I walked up. I rang the buzzer. Nothing. I rang again. A sign was written sloppily on purple paper. It said, be back in 15 minutes. A black man and woman sat in front of the beauty shop. A blond bum begged change across the street. I wondered if he was a vice cop. I went intot he Chinese place next door and got a beer. I looke at the menu. I saw another guy go to the pot shop door, ring the bell, and then walk around aimlessly. The beer went down fast. Some trippy occult store sits next to the Chinese joint. I walked in for a minute and checked out a few pentagrams and walked out. I sat on the wall for the parking lot of the Catalina Bar and Grill. I tried the shop again. I was buzzed in. The guy behind the cage asked how I was doing. "Pretty good," I said, and asked him the same, but the transaction was over, and I moved on. Taught my class, got home, got high. Read some journal. Not bad.
What else? I'm pooped. I've a half urge to contact Shirelle. I hate to say it, but I may be too tired to do my fifteen minutes. It's a damn shame about my treadmill. Peter Lee just called. I told him about Dave Dawes' documentaries about Rachel, Nevada and about wedding chapel marriages, and about the Flat Earth Society, and about how Dave was looking for a director. I'll play a little guitar before bed. The lady next door at the community adult school also does film. Her film is called "Taxi Dancer". I shuld have walked out to the parking lot with her. I just wanted to bail. I've got to start thinking about Pamela and the girls. Thing's talking about a G.I. Joe convention. What else? Read another chapter of Linda's book. Toby may become Jim-like. She explores the fear of abandoned youth. I just missed "Seinfeld". I won't be getting to see it or Jeopardy or the Simpsons for a while, now that I teach nights, too. I've still got all these chores to do and calls to make and paperwork to fill out.

2010-04-14T15:06:00.000-07:00

Wed 2 - 19
I just know this is going to be tough today. I better write big. I drove across the Valley on Roscoe to Noble Elementary to hear another speaker promote bilingual education. When they broke for lunch, I bailed. I got off the 170 at Lankershim and thought of has ving lunch at Miceli's one of these days. I took forty dollars from my checking account. I still have tow hundred dollars in there. I still haven't called Darin or my grandparents in Idaho. Anyway, I drove to Cahuenga and Hollywood and parked in a loading zone. I brought a copy of today's LA Times to the cashier at the newsstand, but she wouldn't break my twenty, which was all I had. I tossed it disgustedly back where I'd gotten it and crossed the street. I had to stick my head out to see past a big truck that had pulled up and stopped in the street. I thought of the redheaded girl. I'd seen her run-down on Highland a few years ago crossing the street in front of a van that had stopped for her. I got to the sidewalk on the other side and rang the bell on the iron gate of the African Shop. Nothing happened. I pushed it again. A laugh came from the beauty shop next door. I felt like it was directed at me. I crossed back to the car, got in, and drove home. When I got home, I had a microwave burrito with sour cream, and I read about Brett Butler's attempted spring training comeback in yesterday's paper. I watched some porn and read some Sweet Remedy and watched some more porn. Now I'm doing this. I've got to look inot books for my ESL students before class tonight. Tomorrow I have an 8:45 seminar in Torrance, and then I meet with Julia and Kathleen, the class again. So here I am now with half a page to go and nothing to say. Not like I had anything to say when I started this. Should I try back at the pot shop? Should I just read? What time do I need to get to LA High to sort out this book thing? Shall I kiss my writing good-bye? Shall I make a Garden Burger? What will I put on it? Do I miss Shirelle? Should I do the crossword? Do I have any idea what to do with Jim next? Hi ho the dairy o the farmer in the dell What the hell. What else? Nothing

2010-04-01T13:23:00.000-07:00

martes 18 de febrero

Hoy me dieron un nino nuevo. Quiero que Luis aprende escribir, pero nunca pasara. The weather was kind of freaky yesterday. The kids talked excitedly about the hail. They said it snowed. Sandra said they were granizos de hielo. Elizabeth has returned from Mexico. She brought me a nice leather wallet. Los ninos salvan mi alma.
Last night, the Insanity Pepper went up to Melrose and West Mount, just past La Cienega to pick up my friend New Jersey John Bayless. We went to a saloon on the corner called Sloan's. I had a beer and the guys ordered burgers. I tried not to have a burger, but I caved in after an hour. The bar is right near the Pacific Design Center. There was Michelangelo's David standing tall in the back of a pick-up truck. I spied the Mona Lisa in a window across the street. We talked about girls. There were three sitting at a table. I overheard that they'd been at the beach. I might have asked them how funky the weather was at the beach, but they weren't that attractive. I was pretty gross, too. I hadn't showered after fishing all day. My hair was messed up and my clothes were smeared with Zeke's Floating Neon Pink Cheese. We went to Blockbuster. I bought the move 12 Monkeys. I thought I might give it to Shirelle. Then I flipflopped. Maybe I shouldn't call her. I steel myself against it, but I know I will get weak.
The staff meeting will be in my room today. I should to go LA Hight with my paperwork this afternoon. I've got to make a plan for the sub for the next two days. I need to get to Downey one day this week and register my credential. I've got to get all the computer memories at school. There's a bunch of other crap. Shall I refrain from curising past the bud shop today? Julia canceled our meeting today. I need to do some planning. Testing is coming up first half of March. Henry is done with his math. I sent him to the comptuer to compile some info on Abe Lincoln.
What else?

2010-03-29T10:36:00.000-07:00

Mon 2-17 Pres Day
Damn. I have not been very faithful. I didn't write here again yesterday. I did at least type before I went down to my mother's. We, she, John, Karen, and I went to see Absolute Power with Clint Eastwood, Gene Hackman, Ed Harris, and Sam Sheppard. It was mostly implausible. When we got home we watched Outbreak with Rene Russo and Dustin Hoffman, about the spread of a gruesome ebola-like disease. I left a message on Kathleen's machine about changing the location of tomorrow's meeting to here. I said, then I won't have to worry about my eyes swelling and turning red from the cat like I had ebola.
Mac and I went boating on Irvine Lake. The plan was to go fishing, but we didn't catch any fish, so let's just say we went boating. It was cold. Mac didn't have enought money to get in so we pulled off the road and hid him in the back of my truck under some blankets and junk and smuggled him past the gate. The lake teemed with herons and hawks and eider ducks and grebes and even loons, but no trout.
John Bayless just called. I'm going to meet up with him around six to hang out. I've been deliberating over whether or not to buy weed today. I had half-heartedly decided not to, but now that I'm going out anyway...Maybe I'll leave early and sit at the Earth Cafe and read and write for a while. Maybe I'll meet a pretty smart girl, and we'll strike up a beautiful relationship. Scott Gillwood, my dealer back in Hacienda Heights, is dying of lung cancer, my brother said. He's down to about eighty-five pounds. I bought a pack of Marlboro reds at the bait shop this morning. I packed some Skoal behind my lip, too. I drank three Bud Ice beers. I'll do my little fifteen minute typing exercise after this. I should wash the dishes and put some clothes in the washer. I wish I could drink some wine. I've got to call Chronos. I've got to got got to satisfy. I could go for a beer. I've got to fax that stuff tomorrow for the guitar class. I've got to print those Alaska stories if I can find them. I'm so glad I'm done here.

2010-03-22T12:29:00.000-07:00

Fri 2 - 14
They were trailing exhausted hearts in the sky over the Valley all day today.
Sat 2-15
I'm getting pummeled in the writing department. The sun warms me as I sit here at the table. Shirelle left me last night because I am no longer comfortable with the amount she drinks and smokes. Am I a hypocrite? Not exaclty. I read the national edition of the New York Times this morning. It was delivered to our porch. The crossword was hard. I read the Rapa Nui poems of Neruda. They were complemented by the warmth and brightness of the sun. The shadow of my hand and pencil write along with me. I'm drinking a can of Kern's Whole Fruit Strawberry Nectar, and a pot of coffee is brewing. I put a load of pants in the washing machine. It used up the rest of the soap.
I e-mailed Rogeve, Julia, Craig, Jeff, and Jan last night. I typed for a whole fifteen minutes. I treadedmill for thirty-three minutes. I called my grandmother. I drew a picture of myself in high school in my football uniform. We went to Marie Callendar'ss on Wilshire last night. It was tense. Let's not go into it. I'm more a Fitzgerald than a Hemingway in the love department.
What will I eat this morning. How about an orange. I'm going to type and type and type today until I have ten pages of shitty first draft material to add to Jim. I read another couple of chapters of Sweet Remedy. John Bayles called last night. I just used my pencil to stir my coffee. Tonight is Getoff's birthday. Some of us are to go out and celebrate with him. How can I crank out ten pages for Jim when I can't even do three for myself. Maybe it will be easier if it's for someone else. Mockingbirds and blackbirds are battling for control of the backyard.
What else? After this I'll move to my desk and type until five o'clock with an hour break for lunch. All the windowsills are dusty. My feet are cold. A flat layer of clouds has obscured the sun.
Shit on all of it. Poop poopy doo. I had lasagna blanca in a garlic cream sauce with bruschetta last night. Yum yum. There is no alcohol in the house and just a little marijuana. I can plays some guitar. Check my e-mail. Call P. Lee. Piss off. Kiss my ass. Rent movies. Walk across the city. Kill bugs. Spit on the sidewalk, Not flush toilets.

Gases of Progress

2010-03-17T10:40:00.000-07:00

Thurs. 2-15
Heating chicken carbonara. Man, I didn't write here again yesterday. I called in sick today. I have an interview at Los Angeles High to teach adult school. I don't know what the pay or hours will be. The GIP and I went to Molly Malone's and then to Dublin Whiskey Bar on Sunset. I drank mostly Jameson's. I think I had four Jameson's and an Amstel and two Miller Lites. I didn't feel too hot this morning. I couldn't get anything done. I e-mailed Julia on my newly upgraded America Online service. Shirelle came over. We boned. We went to sushi. Cost me sixty buck, arigato. On the way home we stopped at Staples so I could buy a new ink cartridge. I printed my resume. I wonder what I would be teaching? I've got to leave soon. Robert and Hulya and I ate lunch at Pescado Mojado. There was an ESL seminar at Noble Elementary across the street from the old Van Nuys drive-in on Roscoe near Sepulveda. It was pretty boring. I snuck out to read the newspaper. All blue sky today, except near the horizon where the gray gases of progress linger. What else? I didn't type yesterday, either. A letter from the DMV came saying my license has been suspended. I need to call those fucks. I've got to go. I can finish this when I get back. Or maybe I can do it while I wait to do the interview. Maybe I'll rent some movies tonight. UCLA plays #11 Arizona in basketball tonight. I'm going to walk up to LA High now.

The interview was ok. I was sweaty and shaky and dry from all the god dam alcohol I drank last night. I've got to gather together some paper work and go back next week. I'll be subbing adult school ESL classes. I'm listening to the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack. I need to clean my desk. There's all kinds of shit I have to do. I'm hungry. Shall I smoke? I bought a pack of Camel Lights last night, but I lost them. Taxes, DMV BULLSHIT. I'm a loster baby. What else? The Thing hung up a little poster for "Holiday Affair"--'Mitchum's latest! It happens in December...BUT It's Hotter Than July!'

Dreaming About One While the Other Demands

2010-03-13T14:29:00.000-08:00

Tues. 2-11-97
I dreamed about Laurie Sunnyfield again. The dream seemed to go on all night. Haunting. I was looking out a window. She was in the reflection behind me. It was in the Caribbean, near Panama. There had been an accident. A tanker had run into the walls of one of the locks. I was on a riverboat. There was a campfire. Dirk Io and Adrian Cazador were there. My shirt got burned. When I woke, it was five twenty-three. I took a shower and read the paper and ate cereal and e-mailed Doss. I have inkstains on my fingers from trying to refill my printer cartridge last night. It is cold and damp this morning. My good mornings are hollow. Mrs. Moddy gave me a hate-filled look.
Still winter. I had a wee hit this morning. I feel the great weight of all human emotion in my chest. Yeah yeah yeah. I put that letter to Julia on a disk so I can print it here at school. I still have to write my grandparents. I need to get the room straightened out for the faculty meeting today. Sandra Anaya is at the door. Smart kid. Someone to watch the bellflowers. Someone to research St. Valentine. Someone to type their friendship paper. Workbooks. ugh. Shirelle says she has a list of demands : 1. We get engaged. 2. We move out and get a place together. 3. I commit two days a month to her and romance. My head just started an achy throb. I need to hurry if I am to finish this in the five minutes left before the bell rings when I have to go pick up my class. A dog yips a high pitch in the back yard of the house just the other side of the -vy-covered fence outside my door. Tomorrow I go to some conference. What else? That's really it. That's all there is to my life. What do I think of Shirelle's demands? I don't know. Is she ready for that? Do I want her back? That's the question right there, and I don't want to ask it, let alone answer it. What do I do? Seed guidance from the Lord supernatural? I don't know. What if I could find Laurie? Ha ha. Knock it of, Dork Boy. Why is it so hard to be cool around the ones you love?