Sneaking Up on the End

Sneaking Up on the End

Bad time—moving into Bastille Day, then Dead Cat Day. Days vacant with glare. I’m getting nowhere (except close to the end) (of the notebook). The only thing that’s making me happy is winning at the #s & we know how often that comes through. But—it’s better than nothing. I want to put it all together but it slips sandlike through my fingers. I don’t want to start on Part III—Meta—too fanciful or not fanciful enough?

Last night I dreamed about Dad. He had been “dead” 3 days but Mom told me he was alive again. I went in to see him—he was in a small windowless room, and he told me “it” (where he’d been) was all like Rambo and—they were all middle-aged. It wasn’t golf in the clouds. And I said something like, Well, it wasn’t much before we were born…and so maybe it’s like the Venerable Bede’s story of the sparrow that flies through the mead hall. –I woke up & thought, Gee, I hope that wasn’t a visitation because it was depressing.

So: Just a Dream!

15^th Ave « 7/12/04

Come Again?

So I come again to a/the café. The hot sun above & 2 tables in the shade. Big Sue is already sitting at one, reading Alice Walker. I looked at old N.B. (1986) today—some of it I don’t remember at all. I don’t even mention Jean’s wedding—I suppose I wrote it up in the journal, the Missing one. (my best) The best thing…oh, let me not repeat myself. I was writing the Exact Same stuff. And I thought, Yeah, I’ve done it. It’s down there. Better or worse, no matter what happens to me—I can leave. Any time I’m ready. Fuck, I’m ready now. So, what means…

Otherwise, it’s just more of the same & I’m old & can’t get those stupid temp jobs any more. This is all rather cheering. Then I opened my “Julia” docs from a disk & found…more than I thought. After the first thrill of I did that?? is the sinkish certainty that much rewriting will be necessary.

But—maybe it won’t need to be done. I’m still trying to shut Meta in a cave. Ooh, just like Antigone.

15^th Ave «Bs 7/16/04

Drip

Drips on my forehead. One or two drops from the sky. Fat boy playing obnoxious phone tunes. Bad vibes from the 15^th Avenue Real Change guys.

And the pretty boy over there (left) petting his blonde girlfriend. And all I want is to hear the Reggae. Great big (bullet-headed) police guy comes in, and his little dark friend.

The best thing that happened today was an anti-big-business parade along Broadway. I had to get off the bus but I didn’t mind: there was a punk-anarchist drum & bugle marching band. And they were good too. It made me want to too!

15^th Ave *B’s 7/17/04

Just Like the Other One

Same sky. Same wet forehead. A bit more feeling of stifle, & I had a near “spell” today—while eating a bad box o’dinner, and I couldn’t put my head between my knees, I woulda puked. Lucky it went off by itself. I talked to Seattle about his spells—they aren’t rhythm, they’re from thick artery walls, he says, blood pressure sometimes falls.

It’s that constricted feeling in my chest, like it’s too crowded in there. Weird pains in weird places. Right tempero-occipital region. Just my scalp? Harbinger of doom?? Not for another week. A better thing yesterday than the anarchist marching band (outta step? outta sight!) was the $100 check Jana sent me for an “early birthday” present. Keep it? You bet, I have no pride. Only aches & pangs.

15^th Ave «Bs 7/18/04

Only Human

Clothed in flesh. Same old bargain—a bad one. Sweat marks on the paper but those will dry. No emblem of the day. “They” are still forecasting (or threatening) a temp of 90º for the weekend. Yesterday the sky was half-frilled with lovely rain clouds & last night the wind blew hard enough to rattle my blinds. But the clouds blew away by 5. The sun has warmed it all (us all) up. I need to start going somewhere else. Somewhere with shade or air-conditioning.

I’m doing nothing these days—I don’t want to re-do Meta. I don’t want to write with a pen, I don’t have a typewriter & I don’t trust my old computer. I also don’t want to commit Meta to: well, when should be the narrative present? And how can she (I) justify the whole Dave thing.

Oh, I dare say She can. But I don’t want to.

So I waste my days. No jobs. I’m into the minus $’s. Mom will float me for another month—but, really, do I want to?

I just read Charterhouse of Parma. I have no unfinished business, except Meta & Julia.

See? Even this book is done.

Basta!

15^th Avenue E.«Buck’s 7/21/04