Category: #History

    9:45 AM Wed July 28 76

                            Anniversary of Toss Sheffield relieving me of 

my impacted virginity (as I relieved him of his.)  R came yesterday at 2 – 

left at 3 – came back at 5.  Another watershed in our relationship – Fears. 

He’s afraid to lose the hearing in his good ear. He speaks sign 

language but doesn’t want to live in a world without sound. I made 

him promise to go the doctor. He agreed to make an appointment no 

later than Weds. 

                   Reading Christina Stead’s wonderful Dark Places of 

the Heart. Considered inviting Ryder to live with us – rejected 

the idea. I need too much alone time. So important to establish 

amour proper. I am so impoverished from setting up the house 

(though I’ve made enough in tips to pay my taxi ride home tonight) 

I am barely going to make the rent. Need a windfall.

                   Sweaty and smelly. I think I’ve boogie –oogie-oogied 

till I just can’t boogie no more.  

                   Club Shalimar– 30 July 76

                 Cookout at Ryder’s parents – I met his folks – two 

roly-poly people who are nothing like him –  one sister who is

 a lot younger. 

                 We had glorious talks on our way there and back – 

about having our own space – (we agreed he needs to live alone);  

our hopes and dreams (he used to write music, wants to do that 

again someday – I told him I have an agent shopping a novel around) 

 first impressions (I discovered he was in the bar when I auditioned! 

Horrors!) He said what intrigues him most about me is that he 

can’t figure me out – still can’t – everything about me is a surprise. 

I guess I could say the same about him.  

                 Wonderful abandoned sex – just crazy stuff – I came and 

came.  He told me he spent last night at his old house – he and 

his wife had to have a “meeting”.   I was jealous until he told me 

that his wife is sexually dead – and always has been. He didn’t 

understand it when they married, assuming it was something you 

get over.  I suggested she was probably molested as a child – 

he didn’t want to believe it. He thinks some people are sexually

 just asexual. I thought – but didn’t say – there’s a self-protective 

concept. He doesn’t want to think she is turned off of him but in

 my experience – such as it is – chemistry is a completely 

mysterious yet crucial factor women have a tendency to discount 

it when choosing a life partner.  So they end up married to the 

“perfect” person, except they’re not sexually stirred. 

                 2:00 AM. He tucked me in – kissed me – left – then 

I was wakened with his hands all over me. When he got to his 

car he realized our clock had stopped and he didn’t have time 

to go home before work. So he snuck back in the sliding door.

 We had sex again, and the whole night became a snake

 eating its own tail. This morning got a wonderful poem: 

Love, the Magician.

The Magician is a Capricorn

Bleeding cock’s milk from nipples

Pale like mine but

Maler.

Illusion, he says is memory

Of things that should have been.

Doves and rabbits he entices

From sacred groves between my legs

Placed by ruse, and freed by art.

When he dies, passion turns his eyes

To quarters.

He hears the world but faintly

Through his one good ear.

The other turns to me,

Safecracker’s daughter.

Trust the magician, voices tell me

He knows when to drop the dice.

31 July 76 Shalimar

                   R came in but I managed to get rid of him. Sandy 

brought in a huge bag of string beans, squash and tomatoes 

from her garden – I told Ryder to take them home and cook them. 

My job is turning into a source of tremendous conflict – he is the 

snake in his own paradise.  Plus, tips really fall off when he is 

here. I am already looking at a very tough month financially – 

trying to take so much time off.  He said he’ll be back at the end 

of the night to pick me up – he’s hurt when I’m “in need” and 

don’t call him. So that saves cab fare anyhow.  

                   We took a walk between sets and talked about his 

parents – second generation immigrants,  lifelong Army. He doesn’t 

tell them anything (they obviously know his marriage broke up 

and now he’s with me – but they don’t know about his deafness, 

for example or about his classes at Gallaudet.)  He said to me, 

can you believe I’ve only seen these people twice in the past 

four years? And we live in the same state.  Wait till he meets 

my parents – shudder. I’ll put it off as long as I possibly can.

                   Dancing tonight with Alicia. Poor Alicia. She’s a 

“dripper” (constantly leaking pee) but blames it on hypoglycemia. 

She hates dancing when there are so few people in here. 

It’s kind of interesting.  She sort of has a whorish appearance and 

doesn’t realize she’s trapped in a vicious cycle – audience thinks 

she’s a loose woman, she thinks they’re perverts.

                 I’m trying not to fall into the super-loving, super-giving

 trap but Ryder is the first guy I’ve ever met who would obviously 

be a wonderful father. Rare among men under thirty?  Or something.

                 Talked to Avril on the phone – she was bored to tears at home

 so I suggested she come in. We shared a burger basket and she 

saw me dance for the first time. She wasn’t grossed out at all by 

the semi-nudity – which is good – told me I’m a great dancer and 

she really envies me my pelvic wiggle.  

                 Also told me I have a terrific body – which really cheered 

me up because I still feel too hefty around Ryder.  (At his parents’ house 

we went over his old scrapbooks – he was the star quarterback in 

high school football.  They described him as 5’4”!  That’s a lot 

shorter than he admits to these days. His boots have at least two

 inch heels.)  A left after one set because all the guys of course 

came on to her. Obvious losers, alas, including the one who insists

 he’s a hitman for the CIA and another who claims to be giving 

away government jobs. 

                 Unfortunately I’m dependent on the tips of these characters.  

Ryder has been telling them all that I’m a writer (instead of a call girl,

 presumably) which gives me a lot of explaining to do.  

                 I wish I had money to buy things the house needs – 

flashlights and fuses and drainers and shelving and all that stuff – 

but I’m saving every bit for our trip to the Finger Lakes. Aug 5 will 

mark one month in the house and six months since I quit the 

architects. Seems like much longer than that. Where will I be 

six months from now? 

                   Hope my gothic novel sells – I need an immediate 

hundred grand. I really can’t write with R sucking up all my free time. 

I’ve been struggling with another poem about him – even that isn’t 

coming. Hopefully we’ll settle down into being able to work side 

by side quietly – maybe after our vacation.

6:00 PM, Chevy Chase Tyler St, 2 Aug 76

                 Across the street Shoulders, dressed in a skimpy football 

undershirt, is mowing his lawn. He is a sight to behold.

                 Sitting over my repaired typewriter with a cup of hot tea 

and a case of writer’s block. I could write a poem about Shoulders – 

already R is interfering with my life. Beautiful day – a little chilly – 

a little Maine edge to it.

                 Finished Stead’s Dark Places – which I adored – absolutely 

one of a kind.  Another bothersome thing about R – he really doesn’t 

read. He’s been dragging around a sleazy paperback “heist comedy”  

he pretends to read from time to time. At this rate it will take him six 

months.  I am struggling with All Authors are Equal but I may give 

up on it and read Famous Washington Ghosts which R picked up 

for me to add to my considerable collection of ghost stories (I must 

have 50 vols.)

                   On the phone with Maeve my old Baltimore buddy – 

she is behind in her rent but looking for a new job. In the meantime 

borrowing from boyfriends.   I take a perverse pleasure that anyone

 is managing worse than me.

                   Shalimar – 10:20 PM

                 Called in tonight to replace another girl – great – that 

means I work 5 times this week.  Just that small amount makes a 

big difference. A is in the chips right now and I could owe her 

but don’t want to.

                 When I came in they told me R had been in 30 mins

 before. That was a little unsettling – I didn’t realize he would come in 

if I weren’t here. Of course it is really close to his job – but equally

 of course the food is more expensive here than just about 

anywhere else he could choose.  I look at who was dancing 

to see whether he would think she was in any way better than me –

 luckily it was the pisser Alicia instead of potentially scary 

competition like, say, Gloria. He didn’t know I was coming in, 

because Carmen didn’t tell him.  Reading the Ghosts of 

Washington. Wonderful poem potential. 

Shalimar Thurs 5 Aug 76

                 R dearer every day, in spite of the fact that he’s 

been checking up on me. Called and called last night – wondered 

where I was – I wasn’t too sure how to tell him A and I were 

over at Shoulders’ drinking, so I just said we were visiting 

the neighbors.  Standing in their yard, which wasn’t true. He is 

jealous of Shoulders and I don’t blame him – such lush male 

beauty makes women helpless. A is a complete mess over him. 

He frequently wanders around the house in nothing but his 

boxers –  we call them as his “huppa”.

                   R. finally got an apt and can stop “crashing” with

 friends –  one bedroom at the top of a Rockville skyscraper. 

Sounds crazy expensive to me.  Wrote a good poem – 

capitol ghosts – today from the book R gave me. 

Trying to think where to send it. Tomorrow’s my day off – 

R coming over at 2.

CAPITOL GHOSTS

Pale Guiteau

slants his disappointed child’s face

downwards; the better to study bloodstains left

by assassins more accomplished than himself

who required benefit of anonymous surgeons 

specially qualified for skewering

the muscles of the mighty.

The guard who saw him

claimed also to hear demon cats

and could not be relied upon.

these portents once were matters of

congressional dispute; now

no matter; caught within the marbled lurch

of history, victims

of the uninspired mad; 

those who pursue the corpse from whom

the ghost escaped. He haunts our history

like the villainous barber who sings as he slits

both throats and wombs, a pure tune

some say, picked clean of tragedy

                               which only the dying hear.

Shalimar 7 Aug 76

                 Sitting here in a stupor of exhaustion. We had an 

Al Green fan in here tonight – kept playing same song over 

and over. Presumably working through some kind of 

relationship crisis. They don’t realize coming here and blowing 

their money kills any relationship – and I am not going to tell 

them. Anyway I hate Al Green.  Missed my bus this AM so 

took the Fessenden bus and walked across. A better way to go – 

I like the walk – to hell with this transfer business. 

                 I have to admit R doesn’t seem to understand 

poetry. He’s very suspicious of all ease, elegance, lightness. 

Too much Nature!  “Work” should make you grit your teeth, 

groan and bulge your forehead veins.   The easier it comes, 

the less valuable it MUST be.  (He would hate Picasso’s very 

best stuff!)  I’ve tried getting him to understand by comparing 

art to athletics – it only looks easy – it’s the training beforehand 

that’s so hard. The trick is to render training invisible. But he 

seems to think modern poetry is a plot to make him look stupid. 

                 Really worried about money lately – everything at 

Unibank is bouncing.  It doesn’t take much to set off a chain 

reaction.  Guess I’ll have to borrow from Avril after all.

                 How true it is that before you can love you must 

love yourself. My love for myself is wavering.  Just finished 

Sean Stiles’ Occam’s Razor. I hate to see a good idea wasted. 

Mostly I am depressed by the poor quality of the stories in 

the Times Detective Story competition anthology.  This is 

something I should aspire to?  I’m on a wonderful streak 

of poetry – keep piling them up – got ophelia and 

haunted house this eve.

OPHELIA WAS A MAN

The best revenge is growing up.

Behold a street of suicides –

Fringed lampshades &

Mullioned windows where

The dentist’s son grew dope

From seed (they had eight bathrooms and

The dentist couldn’t be everywhere)

His wife was nowhere; we saw her leave

With the cat in a suitcase clawing to get out.

“Crazier than thou” averred my aunt.

That boy blew the fruits of orthodontal science until

The day he blew his mind –

We traced the hissing-pissing-noise

To the garage of the stockbroker’s son; he’s

The one who stayed home from Yale to rewrite Hamlet

(Made it better – put in people you could recognize)

Type-cast himself – since he saw ghosts.

Two fine boys married to each other

Rosy-cheeked and sightless

In their parents’ wedding clothes.

                 Tomorrow R is taking me on a tour of the television 

station and out to lunch. This is a biggie – see where he works.  

                  So I had to buy a gorgeous black linen jumpsuit (size 5!) Should 

be worn with high red heels – but needless to say, can’t around 

R. So instead, flat sandals. Fortunately everything is on sale.  

 A and I have decided to ask Maeve to move in with us – we can’t 

seem to manage alone and we do have three bedrooms, but 

she’ll have to hide from the landlord. I hate to do it.  Letter from 

D today – he’s in love with the 18 yr old virgin daughter of his minister. 

Didn’t do a thing to me. God bless ‘em.

                 Rick the gambler in tonight. He’s a friend of R’s – cheered 

me up by telling me I’ve done so much for R who was really “hurting” 

over his divorce.

                 Ryder – I love you – but I don’t really know who you are.  Hope you are who you pretend to be.