The titling on the next spiralbound notebook cover reminds me that I was probably able to do some journaling in the newsroom, especially late Saturday nights, the part I used to call the Presidential Death Watch. Everything was wrapped up and running, unless a STOP THE PRESSES kind of news story interrupted. I’m now recalling that I managed to do some letter writing there, maybe even on late afternoons or during lunch breaks as well, probably on the end-rolls of that long yellow teletype paper. I think there was some white, too. Was the yellow the carbon copy?
The spiralbound volume is largely stabs at poetry, much of which has been mined for publication already, especially Susquehanna.
Let’s shift to entries.
I read Hemingway yesterday, and then Virginia Woolf.
A lot of verse – bad verse! Though moving away from the socio-economic vein.
First explorations with the teletype outbursts during solar storms, too. Some of that shows up in my concrete poems series.
Toward the end, a few items have dates, more or less Snyder style
Volume includes my first Shayna G experiences, along with the first visits to Eggs Ackley, plus early yoga notes.
Mention, in pencil, of Nikki’s father offering to lend me the money to return to school (law school, most likely), then conceding, “We send you out to change her mind, and it turns out she changes yours and ours.”
They said she’s never looked better, more confident. They were all going to Israel that summer, and she would then go for six weeks to a Sufi camp in the Alps. Doris would go to the Aegean Isles to paint, and Gene and L-Boy to see cattle. I feel much more at ease, affectionate, around them. They were natural, doing what they’d do anyway. They’re open, honest.
Gene said I’m not aggressive. (I used to be; what happened?)
WHAT IS LIFE IF YOU’RE AFRAID TO DIE?
(Is that the same as “if you’re afraid you’ll die?”)
~*~
English once had more figures in the alphabet. Here are some that have been lost.
~*~
Introduced to Shayna. The encounter, and the trips to Rochester that followed, have been extrapolated into Pit-a-Pat High Jinks and its predecessors, Hippie Drum and Hippie Love. Note that I’m now dating my entries, and in the manner of Gary Snyder.
At the farm: Andy, “really together at 27,” also a “skin man … does it hold her together?” Was born the same day as Shayna. Story of a suicide attempt – slashed neck – he lends much, if he has it. He attended Corning Community College in ’67 and dated the redhaired Maria who had thrown me for a loop: said she used to be super straight, had dogs in her apartment, and her rug was soaked in dog piss, smelled awful. In retrospect? Bullet, dodged it.
See I also had a mishap on the Vestal Parkway that tore a chrome strip off my Buick.
Andy found Shayna’s glasses (sunglasses?), gave them to Hana. Where are they now?
Riding as passenger on his motorcycle, 70 mph: fucking scary, “You were really nervous.” Yeah. My eyes also teared up, I wasn’t comfortable, thrown forward, then back. Kept leaning against the turn. Got hit by a bug. Yet later, had to admit some really excited energy.
Annie at the farm: “Don’t let him live here! He’s a narc!” Fuck her.
With the old circle, a newbie was quite jittery and chattery. I asked Molly if I used to be like that, ‘Fraid so, said she.
Jack needs $70 by Monday, my share of the rent.
Final page has a phone number and address, “a fine place.”
Shayna’s second-floor apartment? Yup.
[Incinerated]
~*~
From Spiralbound Hippies, with commentary from now.
Jnana's Red Barn 