PFK1

by U

  Harry’s house like mad.

  I’m not sure what to make of cocaine myself. The second dose

  worked better than the first. On the whole, however, I think I prefer

  pot.

  Drugs drugs drugs. Picked another 25 mushrooms at the field by

  the boat landing today. Megan found an equal amount. We stored

  them in the refrigerator in the break room at work as usual so they

  wouldn’t go bad.

  Need to have my last two wisdom teeth taken out. Lenny Goldfarb

  says he can drive me to Eugene for the appointment if I schedule it on

  a Friday.

  While I get my teeth extracted, he will pick up merchandise for his

  store. Lenny is very disappointed that more people didn’t respond to

  his Siuslaw News ad. Too few cool hipsters live around here, I told

  him. Hardly any, in fact.

  Hmmm. The mushrooms are drying nicely in front of the heater.

  The political bug is at me again. I could rent an apartment in

  Portland next year and take a leave from my job. Run for the

  legislature from a SE Portland district. Even a bare bones operation

  might succeed, with enough door-to-door. Lawn signs and brochures

  would be the big expense. Simple and organized would be my

  approach. No wasted effort.

  Later: Is it too much to ask to achieve some of my ambitions? I

  want to become a writer, but I have political ambitions as well. These

  things seem incompatible. The exterior world and the interior world

  are in conflict. There is so much I want to do.

  Where it will end I have no idea.

  Megan came over tonight but did not stay. We quarreled about

  several issues, but mainly over her reluctance to move towards a

  divorce. Her slowness sticks in my craw. Worse, she is planning to

  meet with Mark again sometime soon for a "discussion."

  She won’t say what the discussion is about.

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  The irony here is that I find myself saying things to Megan that I’ve

  plagiarized freely from the woman I now call "the other one." A

  whole bunch of hoary zingers that may creak with age, but are still

  highly effective. I couldn’t believe how many of them came back to

  me, without hardly having even to think. Stuff like:

  "It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind."

  "You can’t always have everything your own way, you know.

  There are limits."

  "Why don’t you be honest for a change?"

  It is unfortunate that Megan doesn’t keep a journal from which I

  can sneak peeks so as to fine-tune my gibes.

  I am such a goddamned hypocrite.

  Called Chesley to advise him that I am moving. His current

  girlfriend Shirley (Randy’s former secret girlfriend) answered the

  phone. Based on the snapping and popping noises I heard, Shirley

  likes chewing gum while speaking on the phone.

  Surprising as it may seem, the dual effort of gum chewing and

  speaking did not appear to overtax Shirley’s brain.

  Yeah, Shirley is a peach. A real peach. I think I already hate her.

  Yes, these young women are a true delight all around. No wonder us

  men are in such a mad rush to marry them.

  * * * *

  December 15, 1978

  My stuff is moved out of the little cabin on the sand bank. I am

  exhausted as a result. Clarice did not move as promised. Most of my

  junk is therefore at Florence Mini-Storage, Space 41B. In the

  meantime, I’m staying at Harry’s. The wisdom teeth come out

  tomorrow.

  Need to get a note from the dentist.

  Goodnight.

  * * * *

  December 17, 1978

  Wisdom teeth are out. Mouth full of stitches. Seahawks are

  playing the Chiefs on the tube here at Harry’s house. A great game.

  207

  No heat and no bed. I’m sleeping on Harry’s ratty sofa in my down

  sleeping bag, smoking dope and taking these giant codeine pain pills.

  Clarice was supposed to be out three days ago but is taking extra

  time because she feels like it. Nick throws up his hands and hides in

  his warm, comfy little bedroom.

  Won’t do anything about it. Refuses to go kick her out. Won’t go

  yell at her. The mortgage became his to pay on the first so she’s

  living on his dime. I offered to go kick her out for him but he nixed

  that. I can’t fucking believe this shit!

  I could have stayed longer in my own perfectly fine cabin but no, I

  foolishly believed that Clarice would be out by the 15th. Dammit!

  Now I feel like a sucker. Maybe I should find my own place. On

  my salary, I could probably even buy a house. Or build one. They’ve

  got these cool domes that you can build now just like regular houses.

  They are approved for beach properties and FmHA loans are even

  available.

  * * * *

  December 18, 1978

  Picked 44 mushrooms today. The weather was sunny after a night

  of rain and conditions were perfect. The field by the landing was a

  mushy green paradise. The sun disappeared behind the hills at

  precisely 3:00 PM. Found an unusually large specimen by the pond

  which I think will weigh in at nearly a gram even when dry. It’s

  really huge.

  At The Mussel this afternoon I told Bob the owner and his pal

  Charlie that I currently live at 41B Florence Mini-Storage. They

  laughed. They have heard about my predicament from Nick.

  The Dark City rejected yet again, this time by an agent. The same

  old complaints. Nobody says anything good about the book. They

  just criticize and pass. However, I refuse to let my disappointment

  impede new projects. I will send it out again. Who cares what

  happens anymore? Just let it all hang out.

  The neurotic imaginings of my demented mind are as feverish as

  ever. I’m in a lousy mood and my new writing reflects it. The Dark

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  City is meant to be a bleak, despairing, and dismal (yet satirically

  comic) manuscript.

  Politics is not the answer. I don’t know what the answer is. Maybe

  mushrooms. A whole-hearted belief in the leader is not the answer.

  A psychopath named Jim Jones recently led his deluded followers into

  a mass suicide in Guyana.

  I think we can safely say that Jim Jones was not the answer.

  According to an article I read, as a young man Jim sold pet

  monkeys door to door. I think maybe he never really got out of the

  pet monkey business.

  Across the country, the economy grows stagnant and inflation

  soars. I think there is a vague anxiety about things in general. People

  are apathetic, content to hide out in their little huts and let their eyes

  glaze over as they stare at the tube.

  Most of my so-called friends seem very dull to me, unwilling to

  take risks or try new things. It’s one of the reasons why I’d love to

  run for the legislature next year.

  I am restless and unafraid.

  * * * *

  December 20, 1978

  Still staying at Harry’s place. My stitches come out tomorrow in

  Eugene. Feel like shit after four days of roughing it. Megan abruptly

  left town the day before yesterday without much in the way of a

  goo
dbye.

  I got a bad feeling about this, I’m sorry to say. I know the husband

  has been calling her. I know she has been talking to him. Josie keeps

  me informed.

  * * * *

  December 25, 1978

  Xmas is over. Back to work tomorrow. It will be a huge drag with

  Megan gone but there it is. I have to show up or they stop paying me.

  Going up to Salem on the 6th of January for the Welcome

  Legislature party. I asked Megan to come up with me but she would

  not give me a definite answer. I find myself daydreaming about a

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  legislative run almost constantly. I’ll have to decide soon if I’m going

  to have even a ghost of a chance.

  The holidays were OK. Megan seemed surprised by the opal

  necklace I gave her but now I really wonder if it was too much,

  especially since she had nothing for me. I had it wrapped in a hurry at

  the Galeria so she could get it before she left town.

  On Thursday night, I went to Eugene to stay with Charles who is

  feeling low because Arianna has dumped him for some cocaine-

  addicted musician.

  I was sympathetic but unsurprised.

  Although I think the other one was wrong about me, she was

  apparently right about everybody else. Arianna is a name the other

  one could not seem to speak without inserting the word "slut" into the

  same sentence. From what Charles has told me, that little four-letter

  epithet appears to be an accurate shorthand description of our dear

  Arianna after this latest debacle.

  At least Charles now knows why it hurt to pee and is taking

  appropriate medication. He also has the whole apartment to himself,

  Arianna having shacked up with said music boy.

  Up in Portland I saw Mario and his new girlfriend Vicky. I gave

  Mario some new comix and we drank, talked, and partook of some of

  Vicky’s excellent reefer.

  Vicky is funny. She’s from Alabama and has one of those funky

  southern accents. She’s tubby, but I really like her, as she seems

  pretty unaffected. Her and Mario appear well suited.

  Found a new Bukowski book in Eugene – Women. It’s his brand

  new latest latest. It’s also a scream. I’m getting a big kick out of

  reading it.

  Megan is supposed to be back right after the first. So she says. I

  wish I knew what the fuck was going on.

  I think I’m getting a cold. Goodnight.

  * * * *

  December 30, 1978

  Another lazy afternoon in the land of sand and sea. It’s real cold at

  Harry’s house but there is nowhere else to go. At least there is a great

  210

  football game on the tube. Dallas is battling the wild card Atlanta

  Falcons. They are going at it tooth and nail.

  Ohio State football coach Woody Hayes went insane last night on

  TV. I couldn’t believe what I saw – Woody punching a defensive

  back who had intercepted Ohio State’s QB during the Gator Bowl.

  He actually slugged the kid on the sideline.

  The poor man has finally lost his marbles. Woody is old and, I

  suspect, in somewhat poor health. Moreover, his Win Win Win sports

  mentality has evidently finally done him in.

  The poor, poor man. What a terrible way to go out. Why do they

  take this game so seriously? Sure, you want to play hard and

  definitely you want to win but hey, if you don’t it’s not the end of the

  world. It’s only a football game.

  There is always sex, ya know.

  Well, maybe not for Woody.

  Whoa, Roger Staubach just got clobbered. Oh man, he was really

  decked. What a fucking hit he took.

  The game of football is dangerous and violent. That’s why I love

  it. A sport is not truly a sport unless a crippling injury is a constant

  possibility.

  Clarice is still supposed to be moving her scrawny little ass out of

  the house, perhaps by tomorrow. Can’t come too soon for me. Nick

  says he plans to buy a second-hand color TV so we can host a Super

  Bowl party next month.

  Been reading Bukowski over and over again and thinking about

  sponsoring a poetry reading for him. I think that would be a

  goddamned wonderful idea. Nick also thinks having a poetry reading

  would be a good idea too. He’s all for it and says he can get Kim

  Stafford.

  Planning to send The Dark City out again soon. I’ll keep trying,

  although I’m not sure people are swift enough to understand my sense

  of humor. Sometimes I don’t understand it myself, so I suppose that’s

  inevitable.

  Whoa, Dallas just tied it, 20-20. Now it’s anybody’s game. I’m

  rooting for Atlanta. Can you believe it? No sooner do I leave Atlanta

  211

  than they get a great QB in Steve Bartkowski and field a really good

  team.

  Goddamn. That fucking Ed "Too Tall" Jones just laid out

  Bartkowski. Really pancaked him. Sheeeit.

  Constantly, I think about Megan. Trying to force myself not to

  write about her. She is supposed to be back soon. She is not here yet.

  Hope she doesn’t get caught in the weather.

  Another winter storm arrived like a sonofabitch yesterday.

  212

  CHAPTER TEN

  River of January

  January 3, 1979

  Thinking about maybe building a house on the coast. Pretty sure I

  could get financing through FmHA. The question is whether I want to

  stay here. Megan goes back and forth on me. She returned on New

  Year’s Eve but would not spend the night with me, giving no

  explanation.

  I didn’t press her because I was stoned on mushrooms at the time

  and frankly her emotional indecision seemed insignificant compared

  to the awesome vastness of the universe and the incomprehensible

  endlessness of time.

  So I just smiled and nodded.

  She refused to take any mushrooms and left shortly after

  conducting a tour of the house. Nick’s former marital home is a

  beautiful place down by the river and is just a couple of blocks away

  from Harry’s. Megan really seems to like it a lot.

  So the upshot is that I’m afraid to settle here because it would

  require me to remain in town. Without Megan, I have no reason to

  stay. There you have it.

  Definitely sending The Dark City out again. I have nothing to lose

  but the price of postage.

  Nick found a large TV (color) so we can watch football. He says

  he was never much interested in the sport before but my enthusiasm is

  contagious. Now Nick is a big Dallas Cowboys fan, the fucker.

  Planning on going to Salem on Saturday for union and DemoRat

  Party business. Probably will see Clarice there, as she got a job

  working for Dale Ireland, a state senator from Douglas County. I

  think he is her new boyfriend.

  "Hello, Clarice," I will say, "I really like your house." Might as

  well. I have to hand it to her, though, she kept the place in tip-top

  shape.

  Talent considerations aside, the difference between F. Scott

  Fitzgerald and me is that Scott got his first novel published and I have

  213

  not. Scott was indeed a lucky guy. Appa
rently they don’t make

  editors like Max Perkins anymore. Too bad.

  I’ve been sending that goddamn pile of shit out for ten months now

  and nary a nibble.

  Damn.

  Perhaps I am too ambitious with too little talent to back it up. I

  want to change the world. I want to usher in the end of human

  childhood. I want to see us venture into the realm of space.

  The universe is like the ocean and our spacecraft are wooden ships.

  We must break free from the bonds of our small planet and explore

  other worlds.

  Physically, I mean.

  Meanwhile, The Dark City shuffles along slowly. It seems less a

  novel than the working out of a nagging psychological problem that

  besets me.

  The story is ugly and brutal.

  Did I mention that I stayed with Lenny Goldfarb and his wife

  DeeDee the night their baby was born at home? It was quite an

  experience, hanging out with the midwife and the proud parents. I

  even saw the birth itself. Unbelievable.

  DeeDee I must say was magnificent. What a trouper. Too bad

  Lenny is such a shithead to DeeDee’s daughter Brinn by her first

  marriage. Lenny obviously hates Brinn. My opinion is that Lenny is

  a jealous, self-absorbed jerk. Brinn seems like a really great twelve

  year old girl and Lenny’s attitude toward her is just unforgivable.

  But that’s another story. The birth of Leonard Junior was

  absolutely riveting. Children are wonderful, in my opinion.

  They are just great.

  However, it is unlikely that I will have children myself. There is no

  woman in my life I trust enough to take that step with. The trust has

  got be there.

  How would I handle it if she flaked out the way Leanne did? Or

  pulled away abruptly (and viciously) like the other one did? Or worst

  of all, turned into lazy, drug-addled parasite like my mother? I’d go

  out of my mind.

  214

  Believe me. I’ll be the first to admit that men are no prize. Myself,

  for example. I hate most men with an abiding passion. What

  assholes. On the other hand, women also have their faults, the first of

  which is that they are unwilling to admit to having any.

  Most of the women I have known go forward laboring under the