Alysse Aallyn

Category: #History

  • Diary of a Spiritual Journey – Haiku by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: Dear Jane Austen

    Formalized play

    Plumbs nature’s

    Riot;

    Edit

    Emote:

    Judge

    Love

    Rewrite

  • Inspired Pleasure – last of the Dance Diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Party Castle – 11 PM 22 Aug 79

                                         Glad to go to Maine and thrilled to leave it. Mary & Debby dancing.  Today’s been eventful – T got my letters and was enormously moved. He says the worst mistake he ever made was burning my teenage letters. We should try to exist without this phoning but can’t help ourselves. Diet going well: I feel good. Struggling with a pile of thank – you letters from our engagement tour.

    Castle – 7 PM Fri 25 Aug 79

                                         T. and I separated 11 days already – feels like 

    eternity. Avril announces she wants her own apt so I should put house on the market. Maybe it’s easier. Flooding small publishers with Blood Memory – feel pessimistic however. 3 poems accepted – 2 by Colorado Woman, 1 by Friends Journal. Doesn’t feel as good as I’d hoped. 

                              Struggling with new novel where I try to tell the truth 

    about Devon. But why should anyone want THAT God knows. 

    Moving costs $400. I still think I should sell my Fiat. 

                              Rotten crowd tonight.  I am bored and jerking like a marionette. 

    Dancing with crazy Robin and Anne who never stops talking. She says 

    June’s in the hospital in a full body cast – will never dance again.  Car accident.  2 more sets only – praise God.

                                Trying to read about Lewis Carroll. Avril says Zach is

     threatening to show up. Don’t show up, Zach. I have a headache.

    2:30 AM Sun 27 Aug 79 –

                                There is a God and she likes me. Zach didn’t show.

     Long phone call with Toss then walk dogs to think about it. 

    He is such a powerful person it’s a little disturbing. Said he read my poem (The Duel) to his most erudite friend who was very impressed. 

    We wound up in another argument about my dancing. I can’t bear his slurs so I referenced his past drug use – WE’VE BOTH EXPERIMENTED, ALL RIGHT? He wants me to live without money then complains about selling capital. I told him it’s a “schizophrenic bind.” Didn’t mention how I have to PRY my own stock (it’s in my name!) out of Mom and Dad.

                                Reading an idiotic romance – its very idiocy is refreshing. I see why people get addicted to these. Like looking at maps when you’re lost. 

    Ok they’re only two dimensional but it’s SOMETHING! Clutch it like a talisman.

    Crystal Tues 28 Aug 79

                                Last night dancing. EVER! Celebrate with expensive liqueur chocolates but I’m too enervated to appreciate them. Finished I’m Radcliffe, Fly Me. Ultimately a failure. Fails to explore the inherent corruption of institutional structures. 

                               Horrible night. $5 in tips – they are sick of the sight of me and I refuse to buy new costumes. Word of my approaching marriage leaking out everywhere. 

                               I am scared to death of being dependent on T. I think he could 

    reassure me but doesn’t know how because if I really showed need for him would I be undesirable? Is a puzzlement. 

                                I feel like I’m unfastening my suckers from Avril and grabbing onto T! Up here without a net! Then I get mad at myself for being so infantile.

     Can’t I just write and feel powerful? We’ll see! Doubts creeping in! This time next week I’ll be in Kentucky!  Well, I’ve written some good poems lately.

                            Self-confidence atrocity attack. Feel & look rotten. Realizing the extent to which I was fertile soil for my parents’ anxieties.

             3:30 Thurs 30 Aug 79

                                Everything done, ready to leave. I’m in shock. Crawled into the bath with a vodka tonic and now I’m feeling better. Trying to figure out how to approach parents for money. Maybe they could give me my own stock as engagement present? Feel I won’t be able to disguise my contempt. 

    This “I’m All Right Jack” no matter WHAT – is mighty convenient for them.

                                I realize any sense of my own helplessness triggers all this Rage: NOT a good sign for T’s and my relationship. He can’t “make” me independent! I must not succumb, or Plath-ize. (She sacrificed herself to the gods of rage.) I’m doing this guy no favors handing him a woman on the edge of breakdown.

    4:25PM – My darling just called! Relief! He borrowed a truck from 

    somebody so although we’ll have to drive separately we won’t have movers or returns to cope with. He’s driving it out here so I can sleep as late as I like which I really need. Impossibly intense happiness. Peace & joy.  Feel we have been standing in a dinghy trying to balance. Equilibrium is everything.

                             The irrevocableness of marriage. My children mutely applaud my choice. Suffering under the hopelessness of explaining myself to any of T’s friends. Rain. Any excuse not to take a walk (T lives in bad neighborhood.) Feel like a girl in a gothic novel except for the constant sex which makes it a different kind of novel. Break with the past.

                                      Reading Robert Ludlum’s perfectly ludicrous Matarese Circle. In 100 yrs people will wonder how we stomached this stuff. A. and I going to Olney theatre to see The Bat tonight.

    Newport KY – Tues 4 Sept. 79

                                Reading old high school love-letters for anything I can use. Blood Memory  now renamed Speechless.

                                T. ebbs in and out of stranger-hood. He told his friends I used to be an exotic dancer – because he won’t “lie” but I think it was a bad idea. 

    One obscene phone call so far.

                                Don’t like the way they stare at me. Last night we made love twice. I especially like to watch him sleeping – the perfection of his profile is heart-rending. But his angers are so weirdly arbitrary. Not with me so far but I am divided on what to do – if I ignore it will it just get worse?

    Are we programming that I’ll be reasonable and he’ll be outrageous until there’s no going back? But if I don’t “let it slide” it’s non-stop arguments. 

                             Went to a famous restaurant to drink mint juleps last night and ended up in an argument about whether he has any misogynistic ideas or not. I proved he did (he thinks women “act stupid”) but that didn’t make him happy!

                                He’s given me the entire third floor of his house with glorious views over the city – I spend most of my time up here. Total furniture: a desk and a lounge chair. It somewhat makes up for the fact that he presented me with a new vacuum cleaner – obviously thinking I’m going to clean for him.

     Uh oh! Misogynistic idea #763. Mostly I am incredibly happy. At about 8 I’ll start the casserole & set the table. 

    Newport, KY: 10:15 AM Wed 5 Sept 79

                                         The electricians wiring my study have been here for 2 hrs driving me insane. T ordered impossibly ugly furniture from Horchow catalog – luckily agreed to send it back. Enjoying A Certain Slant of Light. Point of view not a problem for this writer. Next Drabble’s The Ice Age. Mental project: The Contemporary Novel.                                              

    6 Sept 79 – 2 PM

                                Toss suffering recurring nightmares that I will leave him to go back to DC Can’t reassure him as much as I’d like.  Moves upset me to a terrifying degree. Let’s hope the next is last till kids are born. I recall when I moved  to Maine to write Devlyn it took me a full month to get my neuroses under control.  

                             4 good pages on book but I still don’t know the plot. So far it’s everyone has no idea what they’re doing which is probably not enough.  Molly Lefebrve’s book on Coleridge fascinating.  

                              T & I rose at 8 to go shopping together.  Argued over each item; his ideas very rigid. Ultimately we laid in a glorious supply food & drink – I gave him check for my ½. He is slightly alarmed I won’t open a checking acct here. But he did offer me allowance which now he says he can’t afford. Too proud to complain. Must make money writing. Should take a walk right now – wake myself up. But light a little scorching – longing for fall.

    12:50 PM Fri Sept 8 – 79

                                Long letter from Devon full of love and caring – his girlfriend sounds so wrong for him – prudish fundamentalist: what is he thinking? Must we marry our nightmares?

                                Perilously close to a bad argument last night – somehow we got over it.   Trying to treat his ideas with respect. Our family has a ban on displays of anger – his doesn’t! In Sheffield World the angriest person wins because they “care” the most. Or are just willing to behave badly, I suggest.

                                 It makes me angry when he postpones our wedding AGAIN because he needs a big production and he thinks I can’t raise the money. It’s my second wedding: not asking folks to pay. House will sell eventually.

                               Sometimes he argues against the whole concept of a wedding: says, “a piece of paper doesn’t marry us” BUT IT DOES. I ask, why does a “piece of paper” make him a lawyer?  He says, “That’s different – a wedding is for other people.” 

                                “Maybe next summer” does not sound good.  Not Thanksgiving (which I think would be the easiest thing) so I suggest spring vacation – he says Sept a year from now!  Wants to have a job first. I don’t like this in-between world. I think it is better to get wedding stuff out of the way. Now he’s trying to talk me into living near his mother in the city but I hate cities. Impasse. Seems I don’t need to cut very deeply to stir up ancient pus. 

                                Can’t speed up the intimacy process as much as I want to. Keep having to detangle Mom & Dad’s puritanical creepers out of my own mind!! They give me a headache. At least T is making dinner tonight. If it weren’t for alcohol I don’t know if we’d pull through. Loving Christina Stead’s Miss Herbert. 

    6:40 PM Long letters to Devon and Merrill, then when T came home I wept for an hour. Apologize. This is heavy work. T shocked me by suggesting we “spend the summer here”- my shocked response showed how much I think I am “camping out.”

    Mon. 10 Sept 79 – Finished mad disturbing Miss Herbert then walk in dark with dogs. People’s complex rationalizations for the arcs, crests & troughs of their lives bear no actual relationship to them says Stead, I think I agree. Order & purpose come in a dream – then flash away again. Liked it even better than Dark Places of the Heart. Weird publishers’ blurb says they themselves don’t understand this novel! Poor Stead!

                                War with my own novel struggles out a snails’ pace of 3 pages a day. Lacking focus. Keep longing to write here like I’m on the verge of some great discovery. Want to read my old diaries – make notes – but that would be a massive undertaking. With NO effect on novel. 

                                In the meantime poor T and I continue our struggling course. On Fri. his friend poor Mary Ellen was raped. I told Toss this was a bad neighborhood! I think I’d be scared if I didn’t have dogs. At least no sodomy or blowjobs. Told T she should come stay here when she & husband get back from hospital – she should not have to live in that house again. 

                                Last night we lay naked face to face kissing and talking about the amazingness of our love. It is amazing. We’re riding a tiger and trying to tame it. 

                                Saw Marquise of O – came home to delicious steak dinner – took a tour of restored houses.  Poor T trying to “sell” me on staying in Kentucky, but I pine for our own Pennsylvania house. So, what is the answer? How does one give true weight to ideas & inchoate aspirations?

                                To the Conservatory to see plants – then home for fabulous lovemaking. Good weekend. 

    Tues. 11 Sept 79 –

                                Every day its catalogue.             

                                Jan & Mary Ellen to dinner – she has black eye but otherwise seems no different. Does not disparage her new (and obviously dangerous) house. 

                                Mom sends separate letters to me & T. I feel she is on “his side” not mine. Obviously “living together” is at the heart of all our problems (secretly, she probably thinks it’s my exhibitionism. Me!) 

                                Reading Self-Starvation about how children make enemies of their own bodies in reaction to growing up. Tremble with recognition. Feel so much hostility from Mom – she doesn’t know what we’re doing but surely I’m corrupting T with my awfulness. Mom said things in her letter she could only know from what I wrote to Genevieve. That outlet stopped. Feeling a rush of mature personal power – I’ve moved beyond them. 

                                Speechless is a horrible, bloody struggle. Writing about things too close to me. Wrote my first seriously bad scene – when they are adults all together. 

    3:50 PM – Too upset after letter from Genevieve to write. She has been robbed of her honest feelings – she is just pumping up and down on the merry go round. The family decision seems to be that T will get sick of me soon but they can’t decide if that is good or bad. My insistence on having a “real relationship” means I’ll never have one! Silly me. Need to do housework – or something – till I feel better. Shouldn’t try to write when feeling despondent.

    Midnight – Bath & Facial. T beautifully aroused – we made love TWICE. He repeated I am only girl he ever wanted to marry. Feel even our most terrible problems being slowly overcome. Routine & diet coming under control.  Dream of the Rood  horribly unsuccessful.

    12 Sept 79 – Magnificent day only half over. Charting novel – seems “completeable.” Starting research for Demon. No bad mail – no guilt about housecleaning – send off Walt Whitman entry. Sylvia Plath poetic incentive – I can’t put her down.

    Dawn walk

    Thunder crusts a gelid sky

    Is it light or is it rain 

    Feathering

    My nest with longing

    Stippling out a soul flushed

     With new growth; bursting from

    The steepled trees.

    This is my world and I release it

    Readied for flying

    Stelliform –

    Tough as spidersilk

    Unrecognizable

    Even to myself who birthed it

    Spent my life creating it.

    Released and

    Blown away. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Castle – 2 Aug 79 – Wed

                                         Seems hopeless to TRY writing in this book – things happen so fast – a month is an eternity. Last night celebrated our 11th“divinity loss” anniversary – and a difficult anniv. It was. T came to see me dance for the first time – with Avril so it wouldn’t be so bad but had to leave he was so upset. He didn’t like me smiling!

    Like –

    I’m ENJOYING myself! The PLACE didn’t bother him (“reverent & reserved” were his words about the audience) but my pleasure in movement, beauty & freedom was a shock! Uh oh! He goes back to my parents’ argument: IT’S TURNING MEN ON. So what? I get impatient with that – that way lurks the “hajib”. 

                                         We have to educate each other. At the end the 

    atmosphere seemed cleared and we both cried with relief. Even though I know my love is in the larval stage, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him.  We had our last dinner at his 641 E street digs – steak and wine, fruit, cream, brandy. He asked me if there were any boyfriends’ the report of whose marriage “depressed” me (he was referring to my marriage) and I had to say no. 

                                         He opened a letter from Mindy, ex-girlfriend he was thinking of re-starting a relationship with except she went to Nepal. A letter I would have thought perfectly reasonable two months ago now strikes me as ridiculous – an ounce of love is worth more than all these pages of barter. 

                                         I got a wonderful letter from Devon – he’s found 

    “another girl” (with three more in reserve I’m betting) and wishes me the best.

     But T was upset because he closed with “I love you” a word NOT thrown around in his world! (Mindy and Cindy don’t say it!)  He says it’s the only part of the letter he believes – “the guy is a total phony.” I said Devon’s only victim is himself. We then made love on the floor on top of all those letters. 

    Gloriously. Got a poem out of it.

    The Bridesmaid

    Yes, I know everything

    You’re my poor

    Relation.

    I know of your daddy’s desk where you

    Fucked with formaldehyde fingers

    I know of your lonely

    Rosary of abortions

    I repeat, I know everything.

    We made love on your letters 

    Undisturbed

    As two icons.

    She’s imperfect

    He told me.

    Unslung by mortality

    I take my place

    With the king’s crazy mistresses;

    Brewing menstrual blood coffee

    And mandrake root tea.

    Swim away, little bridesmaid,

    You’re young

    I’m in love

    We’ve got

    Too much in common ever to meet.

                                                   Need to see dentist & gyno, overhaul bike, 

    pay bills. T. meets Ralph Nader at 6. Lucky me snagging someone so ambitious and competent.

             Party Castle Mon 6 Aug 79

                                                  God, I need Maine. I love T but I need to get away from him. I am used to being alone 4-5 hours a day. Starving for that. 

    Wonder how many otherwise perfect relationships break up for this reason! 

    T. is a little TOO driven. A little TOO single-minded. Makes me argue with him –

    – I can’t help it. For example: he talked about the “ugliness of the desert landscape.” It’s not my “thing” either – because I grew up somewhere else.

    But Georgia O’Keeffe taught me to see the beauty of it. What he REALLY meant was “I don’t like it” but he raises it to a short-sighted religious principle ;“New England is better.”                                         

                                    That’s embarrassing. I constantly feel he’s trying to “re-educate” me –

     – for example he didn’t like my turquoise silk pants because he “doesn’t like colors that don’t appear in nature.” When shown an aquarium of tropical fish he doesn’t “count” them, their colors are “cultivated” and somehow “wrong.” The truth is bright colors make him nervous. So, say THAT. 

                                         Sat night we went to an office party of his people (to which I wore the aforementioned pants) and praised the house over-

    extravagantly. (He does NOT like my yellow velvet furniture. I’m giving it to Maureen.) “One good picture” per wall, beige Danish oldern furniture – 

    -unbelievably boring and sterile. A chipped china frog would have done the place a world of good. This could warn of decorating liabilities ahead.

                                         His younger brother Dominic in town – when I 

    complimented his Mazda sports car and said I’d love to have one someday. 

    Toss said “we’ll see” as if I could never buy one for myself! These 

    flare-ups are important signs.  Must work on my self-value.

    8 Aug 79

                                         Packing for Maine came across D’s letters. Not a 

    “good” one among them. “Phoniness” is NOT his problem – that’s not the right word – he’s not even “tone deaf” which was Bruce’s disorder.

     I think it’s a “temperature” thing – he WANTS all passion sexualized 

    (not that he would ever admit it) and doesn’t trust intimacy, closeness – as if he doesn’t “believe” in it – doesn’t want to believe it exists. He fears never freeing himself from the physical so he cultivates a lonely “spirituality” but he’s mired HIMSELF in sex. So that’s pathetic. 

                                      I enjoy responsibility – so he probably felt hounded by my love. Thank God I escaped is all I can say. There’s a nightmare in there. I’m betting he was gearing up to torture me for a lifetime. 

                                         I let T read my short story about his mother. That was probably a mistake. (He plans her death!) He made some idiotic “writing class” comments – I said it wasn’t THAT far along – but there’s something appealingly mythic about this undigested mass. Worry about it in ten years!

             Shadowe Island ME – Mon 7:30 AM 12 Aug 79

                                         Toss just left on the ferry so I can relax. Wish this diary ended here – I need a New Life. But Not Yet. Rainy with a gray sea. Dogs stretched out snoring on the Greek carpet.

                                         This visit has been everything I wanted, but the first night was classic in its ghastliness. Guests showed up at cocktails and stayed through dinner – unexpectedly – this mob scene making our announcement a bit tougher. 

                                         Toss whispered, “Want to go through with it?” 

    I said, “Sure.”

                                         We opened the champagne.  The guests loved it 

    – Mom & Dad really surprised. Dad started talking about his difficult 

    father-in-law and how things would be different but flat out calling me a liar when I chimed in about how Wilbur returned his prison mail unread (he told me this story HIMSELF last Christmas!) I kept my temper – oh I must have got it wrong. (I didn’t. We’d discussed it later ad nauseam.) 

                                        Avril attacked me later for “embarrassing” Dad – but he’d been TALKING ABOUT HIS DIFFICULT FATHER IN LAW. Toss was surprised at Avril’s hostility – used to her as an ally. He said, “They obviously think you’re invulnerable.”

                                         Probably. If so they’re all idiots!  I thought A was upset about her own out-of-his-depth boyfriend, Vigo.

                                         Anyway, T rescued the evening bringing tears to Mom’s eyes by talking about how he’d always loved me. M & D apologized & congratulated us. 

                                         Sunday the four of us toured the island – trying to get along with Vigo. (Avril says he has only one testicle as if that’s all that’s wrong with him.)  At dinner watched slides of my growing up – T tremendously moved – then lobster dinner. 

    Tues 13 Aug 79 – 5 PM    

                                         T called last night on his WATS line and we talked ½ an hour. Says he used to play an “airport game” of “Looking for his future wife” but thought “I AM married!” Wow!

    Sun. 19 Aug 79

                                         T’s letter came! Glorious. I do not feel worthy. 

    Tension between A & V – he teases her too much – we all try to ignore it – 

    -tough to figure out how to call him on it without opening up hostilities. Hope she dumps him. T on phone!                                   

    Ex-island boyfriend visits. A says he acts like he wants to knock me to the floor and French kiss me to death. Seems accurate. Glad T missed him.

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Party Castle – Mon 9 July 79 – 7:50 PM

                                         26 hours without T. Spoke to him last night and 

    again this afternoon. His acceptance of me is total, but it comes from a position of strength and I have fears of being annihilated.

    Last nightI experienced hallucinatory states – drove home the wrong way – felt something was happening to the car – re-experienced my swallowing problem. Resolved my panic by starting a poem.

                                         Sat night Toss and I read the diary passages where we lost our “divinity” (his word) together. He cried and told me what he’d felt like from his “side”, wanting to be male & in control, feeling helpless & immature. Agreed if we had married then we’d be divorced now. 

    11:05PM  Trying to read Oneness & Separateness. Not well suited to me right now! Much as I want to be a mother the thought of a demanding infant between me & T now is truly horrifying. Insane fears of rejection and abandonment – why on earth should I trust this man? Called T at work! 

     Complete craziness. He reassured me we will have private alone time –

    -a real vacation in the Berkshires. He said champagne arrived. 

    Called A & we discussed Mom & Dad – how they rewarded “self-sufficiency” and responded to neediness coldly. Makes it hard to be honest now but 

    I hate this weirdly formal relationship with my own parents.

    Avril says there is no retraining them.

    Sat 14 July 79 – StormFall Farm – 11:15 PM

                                         Oh, my God who would believe it – here I am 11 

    years later!  Told T about my uncle last night as we made sexual 

    “confessions”. He was completely calm about it so it’s no longer a 

    Big Secret. He insisted I read his ex-girlfriend’s letters.  She was a 

    Piper Cub to his Concorde, believe me. He kept carbons of his letters to her!!!! Not very loving letters – but downright fatherly. In a bad way.

                                        T’s actual father and he smoked cigars last night 

    after dinner leaning against the mantel – they were so beautiful together I felt stunned. Wrote a poem: 

    MY HUSBAND SMOKES CIGARS WITH HIS FATHER 

    BY CANDLELIGHT

    Your profiles cut my heart like glass.

    Go ahead. I’m a bleeder, I’ll

    Still be here when you look back.

    Your father is a silver-headed

    Walking-stick; his elongation glows with far less heat.

    You’re his nemesis; and he’s used to it.

    The wooden floors are washed cornelian

    Perhaps by sunset

    Perhaps by jealousy of girls who

    Lost you; judged too soon the temper of your eyes

    Wrote too many letters or

    Not enough; the wrong kind

    Addressed to the pale law student with

    The cinderblock heart;

    Traveling commentator with the hundred

    Dollar bill rolled inside his shoe,

    The long-haired Pinkerton guard.

    You learned to suck the cherries

    Scarless from the tree; it’s no mean art

    Broke a few at first; we all did.

    By what right am I the winner?

    You chose me in thirty seconds leaving

     enough time to smoke another cigar.

                                         Everyone wants us to marry before May. But I feel I need some time in Kentucky first. Toss told me last night that on paper he is a millionaire. Here’s luck, because if I keep on keeping on, I’m a pauper! 

                                         Tom’s grandmother’s response was “I am not surprised.” 

     She committed herself to reading my  published “thriller”. 

                                         At dinner he announced I’m the only woman he’s ever wanted to marry. Tom’s dad said he thought his son would be a bachelor forever. 

    Privately we affirmed absolute sexual fidelity forever. Will we be able to keep it?

    Plush Palace – Wed 18 July 79 – 4:55 PM

                                                  Boring day but good tips. Magnificent party at 

    The Third Edition last night for Avril’s birthday. (I didn’t care for Avril’s latest “honey” Vigo but was secretly furious at myself – she should date as widely as possible. 

    Maybe I was affected by T who is a snob and a purist.) Drinks, fruit & cheese – then dinner at The Old Angler & Frank Langella in Dracula. (Not a good version.)

                                                  “Finances” discussion with T. He talked me out of selling my car. I worry about being dependent on him but he says it will be fine. 

    Sounds to me like he is living on a knife’s edge – working part time, going to law school, selling stock when he needs money (which he is loathe to do being naturally frugal.) Too tired to make love last night but we started up in the middle of the night – both asleep. Unknown doors keep opening – then there’s another one.

    Castle – 1 PM – Thurs 19 July 79

                                         So happy I can’t take it all in. Feel like someone 

    recovering from a long illness. Read Cheever’s Goodbye My Brother – as satisfying as a novel. Last night we made love for hours and hours but –

    I just couldn’t come – kept holding his face saying, “Is it really you”? Dancing with Barbara the Kikuyu and blonde Joyce of the day-glo costumes that light up in the dark. 

    3 PM Party Castle – 24 July 79

                                         First real friction last night – very predictably, about my job. I’m irritated over the assumption that its sordid and brutalizing. It is totally NOT the same as the dancers in DC!!! LIFE certainly CAN be sordid and brutalizing – but I like this club because it ISN’T and I’ve tried others. We discussed HIS job of muckraker/professional advocate which also has its sordid and corrupting aspects. 

    Duh. His last girlfriend gave him shit about it (and refused to read his newspaper!)

    So it’s a sore point. He should really understand. There was a horrible moment when he felt foreign and alien – but I expected it – too much intimacy always causes a backlash. Trying to read Sisters & Strangers.  The Victorian novel is not yet dead.  

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 Party Castle 12:05 am 2 July 79

                            Wrote D an angry farewell poem.

    “HOW DID YOU MEET?”

    You saw me naked

    I saw you too close- up.

    Between the green glimpses

    You cut mountains down to size;

    I’d no idea that one could take such charge of space.

    You hovered, teaching –

    Drinking vodka,

    I drank wormwood –

    Everything’s my fault. 

    Now I’m a toad-dweller,  

    Nostrils pierced by thorns 

    Falling face-first through every hole;

    You were the king the ghost pines saluted.

    How you dove and danced!

    Speeding through your love-drunk universe, you

    Infected me with your own whiteness

    Dizziness, till all my blood drained out.

    You challenged God;

    I was just the echo following after.

    Yet here I am after all this time

    And nothing promised remains of you.

    Or, “Good luck with Sleeping Beauty’s castle!” That’s what he gets for messing with my heart. Can’t show anyone – most certainly not him – 

    – and it isn’t really finished – and I don’t think it ever will be. But thank God for diaries. Diaries can be told anything.

                                         Reading Secrets in the Family – it is so superb

     I am going to buy copies for all my sisters. Looking forward to discussing it with Toss. I’m beginning to miss him now – he’s so deep and interesting to be around – so alive on many more levels than anyone else – challenging all my levels. Falling in love – happy, crazy.

                 Thurs 11:05 – Plush Palace – 5 July 79

                                        Back at The Plush – it’s catch as catch can in my 

    present situation. I am alienating managers left and right. But I am happy crazy and who cares?  

                                        Because on the third of July Toss asked me to 

    marry him and I said yes!  Here’s how it happened. On Monday night we ate white clam linguini and Crenshaw melon while listening to Keith Jarrett’s Koln Concert  – then – came together in delicious, soul-freeing sex; two perfectly matched combatants recognizing each other not just from childhood and youth but school and dreams.  He was eager to learn how I could best be pleased – so I surrendered to the inevitable. Fireworks!

                                        He left me sleeping there in the AM – I heard thumping downstairs but I know he has roommates so didn’t think anything of it – 

    – when he came back for lunch he discovered the door broken in and my purse missing. Keys, wallet, everything. I had to call into work – had to call a locksmith to give me keys to my car. 

                                        Toss doesn’t know what else they stole because he doesn’t know what else is supposed to be in this house – called his roommates. They came, police came. So we spent a day of intense babbling and the worst kinds of petty annoyances – but none of it mattered because he was there. In fact, I welcomed it; it was an extra opportunity to be together. 

                                        At one point I said, you know, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.  He said, if I believed that, I’d ask you to marry me. I said, if you did I’d say yes. 

                                         So he said, “Do you want to get married?” 

    I said, “I think so,” and there it was!  He said I’m the only woman he has ever wanted to marry much less asked. We even chose the children’s names – there are going to be two of them – a boy and a girl of course; a combination of our old addresses! Had to call Aunt Frederica to give her the good news because 

    she’s the one who had to give the hospital permission to stitch me up ten years ago after our first unfortunate night together!  (She was drunk of course. Both times) 

                                     Toss asked me to come back to Kentucky for his

    last year of law school.  I “shouldn’t miss this part of his life.” Dogs too, natch – we are a package deal.  

                                        He has a house he’s rehabbing that has so many 

    rooms it is known as the Hilton.  When I said I would come that was more important to him than our engagement even.  He says I can file for 

    divorce in Kentucky’s understanding Commonwealth. He ordered a case of Moet Chandon, saying now we have to drive up the coast and

     tell everybody. I am a little scared to tell my parents – this suddenness might only seem another strike against me.  We told Avril and Maureen – they just stared – obviously thinking we both have lost our minds – it will take them awhile to believe in it.  I told Avril about Kentucky – 

    she says she can handle the house; she can always rent out my 

    room to a college student if she feels pinched. I want to leave some money with her – at least $1000 – had the brilliant idea to sell my car. 

    Wouldn’t want to be impoverished in Kentucky and I don’t want to be on “retainer” from T.

                         Last night I read Toss The Duel and his eyes 

    filled with tears!  He said the only flaw he sees in this arrangement is that one of us must surely predecease the other!  Could it really happen?  Could we grow old together? Could it be that I will never make love to another person?  Wrote a short note to Bruce, 

    telling him I will definitely be needing a divorce, sooner, rather 

    than later.  Now I am trying to write a letter to D; but honestly, 

    what is there to say?   Summing up our relationship seems only

     to dismiss it.  He has already fallen far, far back into the past.  Toss is my future.

    The Duel

    Europe without you

    Was a funeral feast.

    I recall the procession of your letters

    Far better than 

    The stream of luckless suitors

    Trying to distract me.

    Virgins aren’t distractible.

    Your seductive missives stalked me.

    A fatal ploy was that nude photo

    Adam lonely in his garden.

    I came right home.

    I well recall the ceremonies

    Of that night!

    Your shyness

    My perfume

    Our ignorance

    Wild and hard 

    A riderless horse.

    I did cry out as the candles burned.

    I swear there were some moments when

    We actually saw each other.

    But if this magic sword cuts both ways

    Why was I the only bleeder?

    They peeled me off

    And dropped me down a mile

    Of antiseptic hallway –

    A princess in a bucket.

    It could have ended there

    But at your school I haunted you

    A chilly-breasted demon.

    My daytime incarnation seemed mature:

    I fooled everyone;

    We chatted as you prepared the skin.

    I bit down hard and 

    Tasted  only

    Suture wire.

    You wrote and broke off 

    Our association.

    Years groaned by

    Like convicts chained

    We served our terms with no time off

    For bad behavior.

    Lust had luster,

    Excrement was ecstasy.

    The castaways the whirlwind 

    Flung upon the sand

    Were calm, polite

    We knew our way around. But

    That look you gave me!

    Our unborn children shivered

    In their sausage skins 

    Fully aware

    Their time had come.

    The tale was done

    The frog-mask

    Shivered off

    We saw:

    The you of you

    The me of me –

    Masks 

    Unmirrored

    Scars 

    Unscored

    Virgins not but

    Innocents Restored. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

        Starlight – Sat night – 23 June 79

                                        What a week! I have discussed it with Avril in depth but I still don’t understand it – I’ll just write it out and see what happens. Got a letter from Toss Sheffield of all people – my blood-mate from high school – a wonderful letter. He read my poem in the Alumni Directory and noted I was “divorced”. (Of course, technically I’m still just separated because of Bruce’s malfeasance.) 

                    Toss is working with Ralph Nader on the  Three Mile Island problem herein DC all summer and wants to see me. The rest of the time he is a prizewinning journalist studying law in Kentucky.  Woo hoo! 

                                        Timing could not be better – my restlessness desperately seeks somebody new – someone I don’t have to explain my childhood,schooling and family to. The Boy Next Door!  At the very least I could use him as a cat o’nine tails on Devon (which D royally deserves).  Last Wed night Devon showed up in the middle of the night on his way out to California. 

     More push me – pull you. Very unsatisfying night as we finger each other gingerly like priceless objects pre-smashed, badly glued and inexpertly set.   

    He invited me out to Calif. in Sept. Long wait, big ticket, which is the story of Any Girlfriend of Devon’s Life.  Might be able to manage if I get that MasterCard. 

    On the other hand he said our parents were “hoping we’d get together” which is major turnoff.

                                        GiGi came into the club again. She obviously misses us. Said she saw Buck the other day and he spoke of me fondly. There’s a load off my mind. Leave ‘em sighing, that’s my motto. 

                                        Toss Sheffield put the phone number of the house where he’s staying in his letter – I’ll call him tonight around ten. Wait till he finds out what I do for a living. Or I might not tell him. It all depends on him. 

                                        He said he missed me at our tenth reunion – only went because he thought I’d be there! I didn’t go because I didn’t want to “explain my life” – and if I tell him, there’s a possibility everyone might know. Can I handle that much exposure? 

                                        Struggling to read Joan Didion’s Slouching Toward Bethlehem but she is pretty depressing.  Read Millheiser’s The Mirror. 

    Absolutely stank. What was Putnam thinking of to choose that novel over mine?  Shows there’s a factor here I don’t understand.  Wish I was a multizillionaire with my own publishing co.

                 Castle 26 June – Tues – 10:30 PM

                                        How to describe my ecstatic dinner with Toss? He opened himself up to me like a book. “Take. Read”.  He loves the universe –

    – but in a healthy way – vibrates to it and wants to be overwhelmed, then empowered by it.  Just like me! He explores the DC area with the zest of one “learning” a foreign country – touchingly amazed that one eats the whole of a fried crab – “Even the eyebrows!”  

                                        We discussed everything  – politics, theology, my marriage – his parents’ divorce – his horrifyingly determined Catholic virgin of a high-maintenance girlfriend – he chose her because she reminds him of his grandmother.  He admits it! 

                                         This is all scary but I feel I must ride with it. He is so 

    intelligent – such a relief to talk to someone who knows the difference between a prodigal and a prodigy and can tell a scherzo from a schizo. 

                                        He showed up for dinner at Queens Chapel Road, driving an immaculate yellow Rabbit.  I was frightened to so much as look out the window – I said to Avril – “Tell me what he’s like.” She said, He’s exactly the same. 

                                        And he was. Gorgeous poet’s face (Rupert Brooke)-

     – long blonde hair – wrestler’s body – maybe a little too thin. (He’s had a rough hardworking year of self-denial following Bad Relationship.) He wore a white cotton sweater and what looked to be the same corduroy pants he wore throughout high school. I wore tight white capris and my pink gauze blouse.  He noticed my body immediately – how hard andslender – asked if I was a runner. I told him my doctor says I have a runner’s heart – but no, I’m a walker.  I like taking my time to see all there is to see.

                                        We had swordfish prepared on my new gas grill. 

    We responded to each other in exactly the same way we did right before 

    he left for college – his eyes feasting all over me – so humbling and overwhelming to realize someone loved me so deeply at such a painful period of my life. We marked each other in every meaning of the verb.  I feel chastened and grateful to have such an effect on another person. We have so many similarities – both listened to Miss Goggins as children!  

    We can each quote whole skits, tossing back bourbon in brandy snifters. 

    As soon as I was drunk enough I declaimed my poem about how we spent Class Day in the treehouse. 

                                        He didn’t remember the frickin’ treehouse!  The memories of people who don’t keep diaries are appallingly patchy. I showed him the trunk under my bed – decorated with flowers and my childish handwriting – and gave him the diary that described those nights!

                                        He was open mouthed;  he stared at me as if I were a witch.

     Who knew diaries can come in so handily to resurrect the dead?  He told me I am a fabulous writer and should never give up.  That the purpose of existence is to find what you were born to do and do it.  No one else in my life talks like this!

                                        There was no lingering hostility over our unfortunate parting – our fundamentally dishonest Dear John – Dear Jane letters. No game playing – none of that.  I can’t even recall who touched who first – 

    – my guess is we lunged at each other – it must have been mutual. 

                                        Well, if I’m a witch, he’s a knight in shining armor. 

    Only he can rescue me from this hellish situation I’ve fallen in with Devon – with all of them.  That devon could make love to me the way he does and not want to 

    see me till Sept has been playing tricks with my mind.  Devon uses me to flagellate himself and I can be so much more than that.  

                                        It’s definitely fun to talk to someone who has 

    exactly the same background as me – someone who reads and gets all my references. I was beginning to feel like an exotic (about to become extinct) rarity. He wants to date me solidly the whole time he’s here –(he leaves in Sept – that mystic date).  Fri we’re going out – also probably Sun and the fourth of July. He says he’s never gotten over me, 

    never loved anyone else the way he loved me. He wants me to come to his family’s place in the Berkshires in August – where I last went at 18 years old – why not say yes?  I turn down work joyously while the managers gnash their teeth. It’s only money.

                 10:00 PM – Party Castle – Wed 27 Jun 79

                                        The inevitable panic reaction has set in – am I out of my friggin MIND?  But it’s my battle and I’m dealing with it. I hear myself saying WAY too much around him as if tempting him to find something to be disgusted by and to reject me – why can’t I just shut up and enjoy this? 

    Because I can’t believe he really loves the real me – we haven’t seen each other in 10 years. I plunge gratified into the dizzying sensory experiences – he is very sexual and willing to talk about it – everything he says turns me so ON.  Heavenly  night of ecstatic sex.  Trying to go SLOW, not empty out my bag of tricks all at once. I resent my own anxieties and my fear of being vulnerable. Here at work I wrote a poem about our past – The Duel.  It’s still a mess. Will I ever be able to show him?

                                         I even like his snobbishness – he’s more elitist 

    I guess you’d say. He assumes we’re  “up there” – and it’s others job to qualify, to climb up to “our level”! That’s so refreshing after Usher Glayne’s oppressive weirdness!  He just takes it for granted we’re in a class by ourselves; special people trying to do special things. And our tastes are so similar. He doesn’t plan to stay in Kentucky – wants to live in New England with its fall, its woodstoves and frozen lakes. I can barely comprehend such confidence much less contain it.   Imagine being free forever from the fear that the party’s happening elsewhere.   We ARE the party.

                                        I said I felt safe with him – he said he wasn’t sure 

    that was justified – looked at me like a beast longing to rend, but restraining itself. Wild frissons! He must be horrified by how fast things are going – 

    I have never met a man who wouldn’t be. But he’s driving this train. Told me he’s been so celibate lately –  very upfront discussing his discouraging relationship with a virginal anorexic perfectionist frightened by everything who compensates by torturing herself and all the people around her.  In a flash I realized, that’s exactly what Devon is also. 

                                        Toss says he feels “stormed” by me –dizzied – by whoand what I am, the summit of my “magnificence”. Wow!  Such flattery very scary. How can he possibly mean it?  Yet he seems so honest, so open. 

    What will he do when he finds out I am human after all – a creature of mud and sludge like everyone else?       

                                        Reading Margaret Drabble’s The Needle’s Eye  – 

    not so good as The Waterfall – beginning to be turned off by her towers of verbiage. My own life is so much more interesting. Good phone con-versations with Toss – I am beginning to trust him. When I told him what I do for a living he was totally unfazed. “I knew you couldn’t get that body walking!”  Tomorrow we explore Annapolis. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 Mon 13 Nov 78

                                        Busted, wasted day. Avril called to borrow $90 so she can pick up el Diablo from Courtesy Motors – fortunately I had it so we went to bank, then car dealer.  Then I tried to get an oil change but they don’t do Fiats. Took long enough to tell me they don’t have the right wrenches. Real estate agent phoned 

    to say I qualify for special FHA loan.  I had to call my landlord because apparently I don’t have heat.  

                                        Avril is having lots of trouble with Brady who is alternately aggressive and suicidal. I think he is more trouble than he’s worth but admit he has very pretty, very long, long thighs. He and Buck went to high school then trade school together – Buck exhibits a grisly picture of them at their prom with their dates. Brady’s date is his soon to be ex-wife. Buck was also B’s best man but I was spared those photos.

                                        Zachary asked me out next Fri night but I’d rather be with Buck – but if he doesn’t ask me in time I’ll tell him I’m ”going out with the girls.” 

    That’s what he tells me he does; “goin’ out with the guys” –  so presumably this is an OK excuse. If he says what girls I’m in a bit of a pickle. But I’m a writer – 

     I‘ll invent some. It can’t be anyone he knows. Fortunately, he has no idea what a hermit I really am.

                                        Still stuck in the childhood of my novel. Can’t wait for them to grow up. Re-read Le Ble en Herbe which helped a lot. (Aaaahhhhh…

    Colette!)  Off to Crown Books with A – then White Flint Mall for Christmas shopping – had coffee at The Perfect Cup. Nice outing.  I bought wonderful rhinestone cat’s eye glasses.  Saw Bergman’s Autumn Sonata – moving. 

                 Mon 27 Nov 78 – 1:35 PM

                                        Time to write in this neglected diary while waiting to have my snow tires mounted. This threatens to blow my entire day. They also had to replace a fuse that apparently blew in the middle of a rainstorm so that my wipers stopped working. 

                                        Visit with Mom and Dad very touchy. (They are staying with Peter’s mother Rita and everyone’s slightly angry I’m not dating him and I can’t narc on his Secret Relationship.)  Mom casually accepted an

     invitation for all of us to go out to dinner on a night I was going out with Zachary, so I said I would have to invite him and got a tirade on my thoughtlessness. Then I pointed out she was the thoughtless one assuming I didn’t have any plans. She apologized, I apologized.  It blew over. 

                                        Then Avril had the nerve to ask Rita if she could 

    smoke – Mom exploded just as if it were her house. (Rita said No. She’s trying to quit.)  M & D piled on me –  I’m insane to contemplate buying a house – even if the mortgage would only cost what rent already costs. 

    Their real objection is that I might “choose wrong” – somehow encumber myself with a property that will make me even less attractive (if that were SOMEHOW possible) to A Decent Man. Not even dragging in Marc Kramer’s sacred name as Advisor helped at all. 

                                         Dad did come see a few houses with us. (We’ve seen 16 so far.) He had to admit it isn’t a bad deal as long as I can get that FHA loan. Zachary behaved very well around M and D – the “Official Boyfriend” –

    – but of course he owed me. Fortunately the evening was over before they could find out too much about him (or he offered them drugs) so his cover wasn’t blown.

                                        Conversation at dinner very boring.  Psychology 101.  

    “Why don’t people say what they want?” “Why don’t people try to get what they want?” “Why do people lose interest in what they say they want?” (Rita’s going through her third divorce.)  Since no one seems the least bit interested in the complexities of achieving Actual Gratification by attempting to mesh one’s constantly evolving desires with those of someone else I can only shake my head sagely and flee at the first opportunity. 

                                        Mom and Dad actually tackled these questions and struggled with them like a pair of marriage counselors. The truth is Rita’s ex has found somebody else and she shouldn’t be so surprised – they were both married when she hove onto his horizon.

                                        Got a very stoned phone call from Zachary last night – he was over at Rod’s and “something” was making him horny.  (I’ll bet I can guess.) Fortunately, I managed to convince him he was in no state to drive – leaving him prey to Rod, probably.  Well, we all have to take our chances in this life.

                                         Saturday night with Buck unsatisfying – he claimed his non-breathing nose is preventing him from going down on me. I let him know his account is in arrears and he will have to do something about it sooner or later. He chose later and fell immediately asleep. So, I left.  I’m not sure I will ever get to Stage 2 with this guy.  He made a point of tracking me down at Avril’s apt, calling to apologize.  A and I saw 3 more unacceptable houses – but the real estate agent says there are plenty more. Fun to be in a buyer’s market for a change.

                 Sat 7 pm Plush Palace – 2 Dec 78

                                        Just recovering from some tremendous bout of food poisoning – must have gotten it from the Sleazy Restaurant Around the Corner – but all I had there was a takeout salad.  Still, it could have been the dressing.  

    No fever.  I was throwing up all Wednesday. I called A to drop by after class but she was so worried she came right over. I finally was able to keep down some chicken soup. Then we went to Bethesda in the eve to see Zach’s Gordon Lightfoot impersonation – I had a little wine to make me feel better. (Free drinks always taste best.)  Finally finished the childhood section but I don’t feel good about it. Novels don’t want you to do anything in life but write them all the time. I am only at p. 133.  

                                        I am already exhausted and needing a vacation. 

    Cheered myself up by wrapping Christmas gifts – baroque music and Victorian gift-wrap did it for me. I especially love those chubby Victorian cherubs who couldn’t become airborne without at least two brawny stagehands hauling on a mighty hawser. Reading My Mother/Myself in between boogie-oogie-oogying.  Dinner party with A, Buck, and A’s old boyfriend who happened to be in town. We ate stuffed Cornish game hen, played Clue and went dancing at the Bastille.

                 Thurs night – Plush Palace – 11:30 PM – 7 Dec 78

                                         Manic night – a dancer literally dragged off the stage by the police because her roommate is accusing her of stealing $3300 of furniture.  

    Thank God she came back so I only had to dance one extra set.  Wed night we found a house!  It has 5 bedrooms, 3 bath perfect in every way except that that it’s packed into a neighborhood of like houses so there are absolutely no vistas. But the price is right. We made an offer but they accepted another offer –

    – ours is the “backup contract.” So, we still might get it.

                 Thurs am 1:07 14 Dec 78

                                        Finished the novel in an insane burst of speed – 10 pages a day for four days. Now I have to calm down and see what I’ve got.

     I still feel pretty good about it – but probably reading it will depress me.  

    And Devon will probably never speak to me again since he is in it. His Christmas card says I am a genius and he is in awe of me.  Hey, it could be true.  My publisher’s statement arrived. $50. $50. There goes that Feb vacation. Pretty sure I need a new agent.  What did “stooping to genre” achieve exactly? I didn’t get a living wage. I didn’t get a publisher, agent or editor receptive to my work. It’s like I’m starting over – again.  

    On an up note: looks like we might get the house! It is SO perfect. Fenced in yard and everything. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – The dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 3PM Sat 4 Nov 78

                                        Trouble bouncing back from the most recent 

    rejection of Gift. Wouldn’t be so bad if I felt they actually read it. My agent compares me to Mallarmé – trouble is, no one likes Mallarmé.  

    My bank has charged me $24 for being $1.70 short on a check.  

    They did the same thing to Avril – and since she has a $6,000 savings account, 

    she figures she’s paying them to lend out her money at 18% interest. And whoever you talk to turns out to be a computer.

                                        Buck and I are having a very interesting relationship. I can hardly believe it’s happening.  There’s no bickering over unmet needs –it’s very restful.  Sex could be a potentially explosive problem area – can’t tell yet – so far so good – I think he’s a learner claiming a lot more experience than he’s got. But there are potential problems associated with having sex with a person who is obsessed with speed. 

                                        My period started today and it seems cruel to task a beginner with this issue. At least Buck goes down nobly like Jacques Cousteau. But he’s not much of a talker. The most amusing aspect is how we’ve settled down socially – we have a lot of fun around other people. I am contemplating writing a story called The Official Girlfriend which will treat this from a sociological perspective. Tomorrow we are meeting his parents at a restaurant – I hope it’s dark in there because they are bound to think I am too old for him. Naturally we are keeping my job a deep dark secret – I have to be a “hostess” which really blows. 

    A week from tomorrow he has another race – we’ll take a picnic.  I love these outings.

                                        Plus Avril’s really getting along with Buck’s buddy Brady – definite prospects of a dating foursome. Unfortunately, Brady left his wife like two minutes ago and is not what you’d call “fully detached” as yet. 

    Fortunately: no kids.

                                        Sun 11:15 PM Buck amazed me by confessing that every time before he sees me he is “sick to his stomach” with worry that he won’t come up to my expectations. I am a “high status date” – 

    all his friends are waiting for him to stumble. But then when we’re together he says he just relaxes and we have a great time. I was really touched by this. It is nice that in the car mechanic’s world dating an exotic dancer is high status. I prefer that to being the Shameful Secret which I assume I was in Devon’s world. 

                                        Next week I’m supposedly seeing Zachary twice – haven’t told Buck – why am I doing this? Insurance? I think I don’t like Zachary. Am I competitive – is it just thrilling to see him come off the stage and touch me intimately? (Everyone’s jealous – the men as much as the women. Rod wants Zachary more than he wants me I think.)  But actually I don’t like Zachary. The trouble with canceling is then it would be just Buck and me.  Me and Buck. Going steady.

                 12:30 PM Mon 6 Nov 78

                                        Bizarrely warm day. Had a wonderful time yesterday at Shadonna’s wedding. Buck wore a marvelous blue suit with blue suede patches. It was indescribable – sort of like country singer performance-wear, and with his wispy moustaches and his motorcycle boots I’m telling you he was a sight to behold.   I wore my “slit to there” diamanté rainbow dress and we danced for hours. Nobody paid us any attention. We didn’t stand out at all, that’s what I’m telling you.

                 Plush Palace – Tues – 9:35 PM 7 Nov 78

                                        Avril said to me this afternoon, “My life is completely out of control and I don’t care.”  She has to drive Brady to his in-laws to pick up his clothes today because his wife took the car. There’s bound to be a glorious, satisfying, soap opera scene with a lot of screaming and object throwing – just like there was the time she helped him extract his clothes from his wife’s apartment. On top of this Brady is apparently extremely jealous – in spite of the fact that he’s technically married and Avril isn’t.  She is seriously thinking of inviting him to Thanksgiving because he won’t believe that she’s not secretly meeting a beau – 

    Or six!  However, he showers her with love, attention and sexual worship! 

    She says the gorgeous deep dents on the sides of his thighs are worth every minute of it.  

                                        Went out last night with Zachary – we had a sandwich and drink at Booeymonger’s and saw Animal House.  He was driving his mother’s car.  He is assembling a band called Prairie Dust and he’s in some kind of power struggle with the lead singer who is female. He needs to be the prettiest person in any band.  He says Rod – playing Daddy Big Bucks – foisted this woman on him.  Combination of protégées. 

                                      Because Rod works in radio and is paying 

    for the tape mix he has Zachary right where he wants him.  (She is a fantastic singer.)  Rod might just find his mojo after all. 

                                        Following the movie, I finally met the Zachary Folks – now that there’s no point in it.  Got along like a house on fire with his Dad because I knew all the obscure Giraudoux plays he had framed posters of on his wall.  I quoted:  “And the sewers will be fragrant with jasmine…”  

    which was my line in Madwoman of Chaillot.  I could tell I was a 

    considerable cut above the street people and space chicks Zachary usually drags home. 

                                        They must be worried as hell that he’s gay – his 

    room is full of what can only be described as pinup pictures of himself. 

     Little do they know it’s worse than that – he’s into anything that would be into him.  Bestiality would be frankly appraised on its merits. “Is it a good looking chicken?”) House full of unbelievably beautiful, unbelievably uncomfortable furniture – striped satin Empire sofas – stained glass windows – wrought iron candelabras – that sort of thing. His mother very wary – fiercely Catholic – thin with a long blonde pony-tail and a long horsey face –but actually quite intelligent and attractive.

                                        Zachary’s room is full of crosses and Gonzaga 

    pennants – I should have realized this boy has all the earmarks of being terminally mauled by priests. Parents frantic:  when will he get a “real” job. 

    College was such an unpleasant experience all shudder when it’s mentioned and no one’s willing to discuss it.   I’m betting drugs were involved.  

                                        Of course Zachary wanted to have sex in his narrow twin bed – right beneath the picture of  “The Holy Father” (he doesn’t even have a lock on the door!)  and  I have to admit I found the Chabrolesque aspects of the situation arousing. He seemed to lose track of the fact thatit was me – but his orgasms were more explosive than ever. 

                                        So there I am again;  “The Official Girlfriend.”  Could I put an ad in the paper – some kind of specialized escort service?  “Impress your friends – terrify your parents!” 

                                    Buck doesn’t know about Zachary and since I don’t care who else Z does he must realize I’ve got a back burner – but the truth of it is that between the two of them they’re barely one boyfriend. 

    One is charming, affectionate, trustworthy and dumb as ditchwater; the other is upper class, complicated, interesting, artistic, totally untrustworthy (most likely a male whore.)  It’s a damn shame things have to get like this. I just don’t know how good at “keeping secrets” I can be. Need to go home and get some sleep. If have to get down to Funkytown one more time tonight I won’t be answerable for the consequences.

                 1:45 PM Wed Nov 9 –78

                                        I’m in need of a “carte d’identite” so I can look at it and figure out who I am. Read the first draft of The Speechless and the accompanying comments of my college writing teacher. She bollixed it up.  Her deconstructive destruction seems purposeful – I don’t believe she didn’t know  how good it was. Can I save it?  I know I should work on one thing at a time but apparently my mind doesn’t operate that way. 

                                        In the mail a letter from a publisher offering to read my poetry – for $50.00. Took me longer after that to sink to the necessary depth to get some writing done. And it still probably wasn’t any good.

                 Thurs night – Plush Palace – Nov 9 – 78

                                        Working tonight with Roulette and Jerrilee – wonderfully hilarious old hands.  We laugh until we fall over. 

                                        “How Deep Is Your Love “ is throbbing through the walls, Maureen’s got me in a costume-trading whirl and Roulette is so heavily into the Jack Daniels she is showing everyone pictures of her dog. (A Doberman.  Who looks exactly like every other Doberman I have ever seen.) 

    Suddenly I’ve acquired a whole new dancing wardrobe. But will it make me a new person?  That’s what I want to know.

                                        With a view to listening to Marc Kramer for once in my life because he’s rich and I’m not Avril and I went house-hunting.  The trigger –

    – wonderful broken down old house in College Park (complete with white pillars) – I called to ask the price.  Real estate agent sucked me effortlessly in, entering into our quest with gusto. I am almost 28 years old and although I don’t make much money – apparently I make enough.  The house was hopeless. It needs $50,000 on the roof alone. But the agent has plenty others to show us.

                                        Bizarro letter from Ryder.  He said “after that visit I thought you’d never trust me again” and  “I bow down to you.”  Which visit? 

    The one where I allowed him to give me a massage? I refuse to inquire further because that’s exactly what he wants me to do. He is just needled that I have so obviously given up on him.   Why am I attracted to these weirdos? I know the problem between us is that I want a mutual relationship and he wants a pack animal.  I want to be with the person I love and “love” makes him want to run away (because it makes him feel “out of control”).  But where is the fun in telling him this? He couldn’t use the maze clue even if I gave it to him. 

     So I write a short note telling him I’m busy with Zach and Buck.  That should fix his jealous wagon.

                                        I didn’t tell him about the hours of sexual bliss Buck and I shared last night!  Buck is warming up nicely – invited me to his parents’ house for the weekend – they will be away. Unfortunately, he snores horribly – sounds like he’s strangling.  By-product of motorcycle racing. Needs that cartilage cleared out with a vacuum hose.  Trying to read Rumer Godden’s Breath of Air. Boring and unctuous. Put it down for Dear Scott/Dear Max, which is of course delightful. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 7:47 PM Plush Palace – Sat 9 Sept 78

                                        Dinner with Rod. He is handsome, rational, helpful, kind and forgiving.  Unfortunately, he’s also some unknown Third Sex, a complete zygote.  If he’s gay he’ll be the last to know.  

    After three glasses of wine I found the nerve to say he must have noticed we have no sex life. He talked sententiously about how we’re both cautious, both been burned before,give it time, etc – it sounded good, but I knew it wasn’t true. Something’s wrong with him. The last months of his marriage he slept sexlessly in same bed with his wife – at the very end her boyfriend even joined them! (Nobody did anything.)  Strange and unhealthy.  

                                        We went to watch his protege, Zachary play guitar in a coffee -house at Tyson’s Corners.

    Now there’s a guy with a noticeably sparking electrical overload. I was turned on to him and he was turned on to me but of course nobody did anything. 

                                                 Rod was absolutely serene, probably didn’t even notice. But would he even mind?  I can’t mention it because Zachary is basically a sewer rat.  It is not a sign of emotional health to even consider  counting coup with this guy. Pity Rod’s so perfect. Waitresses gaze at us adoringly.  Mom and Dad would love him. Wakened this AM by postman thumping on door with package – turned out to be twenty copies of Flatiron with my Resurrectionist poem spread – I’m going to send every one of them out. 

    Makes such a perfect gift and peace offering I may order 20 more. 

                                        Reading Nathanel West’s horrific Miss Lonelyhearts.

                 Plush Palace 6:10 PM Wed 13 Sept 78

                                         Mon Avril and I went to the play Mrs. Cheyney – it was excellent –  then to the Apple Tree after to dance but the volume of turkeys pitched up way too high. We made a wonderful evening anyway – picked up effortlessly right where we left off  – complete with psychic communication like imperfectly sundered Siamese twins.  Then off to Rod’s in my black satin suit – he had a bottle of champagne to celebrate Farrar, Straus & Giroux wanting to see my novel (I know better than to celebrate a thing like that.)

                 2:25 PM Thurs 14 Sept 78

                                        Wonderful letter from Devon affirming and reaffirming his love.  Very healing. Asked to keep the photo I sent him of us when I was seventeen. Described me as “majestic, mature.” Ooooo. Reading Gore Vidal’s Edgar Box stories. Difficult letter from Mom.  She doesn’t seem to realize she can’t “win”.  Her will cannot prevail.  If she keeps insisting we will only become more alienated. Good diet day – eggs, grapefruit, almonds. No booze. Lots of water.

                 Powder Mill Road 20 Sept 78 2:00 PM

                                        Avril and I met for drinks and steaks, then to White Flint Mall to see Rituals.  Hal Holbrook surprisingly good. Trying to read The World of Somerset Maugham  in bed – fell asleep at 11 – didn’t wake till nine!

                                        Finished letter to Genevieve answering hers in which she lectured me on wearing “tight pants”.  Groomed dogs, dishes, vacuuming.  Sent Flatiron around – wrote letter to Devon.  Re-read Mimsey. I think it’s a little gem but can’t be pried out of its’ setting without destruction.  Maybe I should send it around anyway, even though it’s so short.  Also found old MS of Secrets – 

    Not bad. But the real eye opener was my writing teacher’s horrible editing – suggested I change “opaque” to “grey green” – “pressed her eye against the window” instead of “applied her eye”, which is what I had. Ugh and shiver. Counted up my bills. Tight. I hate hand-to-mouthing. Will sell stock. Zachary told Rod he is attracted to me. I don’t know where that will go – it surprised me.

      He is ballsy. See them both at tonight’s party.

                 Tues 26 Sept 78

                                         Strange party. Lots of people.  Zachary was there, visibly lusting. Rod seemed perfectly comfortable about Zachary and me.  

    He is the weirdest ever. Repressed gay? Asexual? Pod person?  Put his arms around us both.  Z very effusive –  he is “onstage” all the time.  I stopped myself from saying, “Show everybody your appendectomy scar.”  Let him reveal himself. What do I care?  He produced dope but no one got high. 

    Rod told me I should allow Z to satisfy me – use upstairs bedroom.

    (Probably wired for sound.) I was not happy with that – made him follow me home instead. 

    Good sex, but he hung around till 1. It’s true he made me breakfast – a delicious omelet. But it’s always a mistake to bring them home. When Rod called, Z was still here. That was uncomfortable for me – Rod said relax about it. Stock at 16 so really can’t sell. Told Marc to watch it for a week but I will be needing the money. Must unplug phone and work.

                                Quarter to 7 – Worked on childhood stuff till tension got too much. Plugged phone back in, dinner, read NY Review of Books. Exercised dogs. Went to library – got bio Hart Crane – a nice big one – bought huge desk calendar for planning.

        Plush Palace 27 Sept Wed 78

                                Sitting in dressing room all suited up, breasts taped up into vertical position – might as well scribble.  Good diet – yogurt, plums, apples, eggs, tuna. Wrote. Scared I’ll arrive at p. 100 and be “finished” – pushed thought away.  Avril called upset – el Diablo died and she missed an exam. I went to pick her up.

    She has date tonight with Mystery Man. I am reading about Hart Crane’s relationship with his parents. Too familiar for comfort.

        11:45 PM

                              Interesting night. My lighter schedule helps me have more fun with the other dancers – I don’t feel so invaded by them. Avril phoned about date. Fifty-fifty, she rated it. That’s not very good.

                              Letter from Devon inviting me up for Oct. I was amazed – made reservations for Concord Inn. Went to see Claudia Weill’s Girlfriends with A. We liked it – seemed extra poignant since Opal had to “drop” us rapacious females on her remarriage.

                              Then to Warehouse to hear Z sing. Surprise – he was 

    tense to see me!   His throat closed up.  Finally sheer professionalism carried him through – everyone seemed impressed. He never looked straight at me but I could tell he was watching me out of the corner of his eye – he flinched at my slightest movement. Flattering? Or scary? I don’t know. I’m trying to feel flattered – why assume negative responsibility for everything?  Shoulders and Peter P showed up with girlfriends – hello –  big surprise –  all exchange new phone numbers. Everyone friendly.  Avril charmed by Shoulders all over again – said she didn’t think that girlfriend looked like a serious contender. 

                              Z descended from stage – I could tell he was having a 

    battle – should he be “aloof” like a “real performer” or effusive with me?  

    My unwillingness to seem needy saved us both – I was cool. Asked privately if “he could stop by” I said yes. Could have kicked myself later.  

    Shadonna the new scheduler called – asked me to do a double. I forced myself to say no.

                 Fri Oct 6 – 1:35 PM

                                        Who should come into the club but Rick Marl – Ryder’s spy – he said he had just seen Ryder and Ryder told him things between us were “still the same”!!!  I haven’t spoken to R in weeks!  Told Rick that. Rickthen showed a desire to “move in” on me –   I didn’t squash it. Told him “call me.”  Starting to think the time for “instant honesty” in relationships is passed. It’s way too dangerous.  Make them earn the right for a tour of my insides.           Avril and I saw Steve Martin last night at College Park. 

    He skewers the Ryders of this world pretty brilliantly I thought.  Specially loved the skit where he feels “responsible” for his girlfriend’s death. 

      He shot her when she became annoying.  

                                        Fight with Zachary over sex – he thinks – I “take too long to satisfy.”  I was so annoyed I left at 3 in the morning to go to A’s place. When I came back he was gone – left a note – “in your absence your odds improve” in his odd little precise architect’s handwriting. Bastard. 

    He obviously doesn’t mean my odds of being satisfied. He thinks he’s such hot stuff.  He’s performing at The Mistral this weekend.

                 10:35 PM Tues night 10 Oct 78

                                        Stock sold. There’s six months rent. Or I could go to England (I don’t give up easily.)  Instead I do a little fun winterizing – new electric blanket and bathroom rug.  I’m enmeshed in an ego problem withZachary – this is the “hedonism” Dad is always worried about. I only want to see him once a week for sex but my ego demands he fall in love with me. 

    Z has invited me Home to Meet the Parents so perhaps I’ve succeeded. 

    Very handsome unkempt hunk at the club invited me to see him race his motorcycle in Fredericksburg. This is a tempting piece of Americana I don’t think I can refuse. He’s just a gorgeous mud puppy. 

                                        Spent $17 at the post office sending copies of To Drown In Air around. Seemed like a lot to me.  It’s not just men I’m jumping between. 

    Reading both Russell Kirk’s unctuous book on Eliot and Ross MacDonald. 

    Much prefer the latter: I’ll return to him now.

        Sat 4 PM 14 Oct 78

                              How did I get myself into a situation with men calling all the time?  It is supposed to be a girl’s fondest dream – in fact it is hell. 

    I am unplugging the phone for long stretches and not telling them either or they might be tempted to come over. As Zachary did yesterday – we ended up on sofa – I admit it was his best sex yet.

                              Mon 11 PM 16 Oct 78

                                Avril and I drove to Fredericksburg for the unkempt 

    hunk’s race – gorgeous weather – spectators everywhere –

    I had a hard time finding a place to park –  then a guy in a blue and yellow racing outfit and helmet appeared and banged on the hood of my car. I thought it was someone telling me I couldn’t park there but it was Buck and I hadn’t recognized him in his racing gear. So handsome! 

                                The race was just about to start – he had a party of five or six people to cheer him on. I didn’t quite get the names – we had to rush out onto the course. Buck got a good start but his bike went wrong twice – once he did a spectacular flip and it came down right on top of him. Brady, his friend, said, “that happens all the time.”  Buck was unhurt but had to leave the race. 

    He seemed relaxed about failure – opened a cooler – gave us all roast beef sandwiches he had made himself and beer. (I hate beer.) Avril was busily finding out that Brady’s “unattached”. He’s a big shy handsome lunk too. 

                               Buck put his arms around me and gave me a big hug – told me now I have to come watch a better race. Ah, the fantasy – the mystery of Buck – who is he and what is he – taking fire in me.  Big, strong, unthreatened, unthreatening male, bursting with muscles and apparently emotionally undamaged by life. Why not horses, farm, children with such a one as this? 

    Could I get so lucky?

                              I cooked dinner for Avril – liver, onions, mushrooms, rice. 

    Plenty of bourbon. Still need to go to bed early. Colored and conditioned my hair and wrote letters.

        Powder Mill Road Wed – 18 Oct 78

                              No poetry – Too much going on – I’m longing for my 

    hermit days. I think: I ought to be able to date.  I ought to be able to have a little sex, a little love, a little affection – but what a can of worms! 

      Instantly it spins out of control!  I thought Buck might show up at the club – and indeed he did – after obviously making a special effort with his appearance. Tight leather jacket, blond hair all puffed out, face glowing. It was just like a date – only with me dancing onstage. He stayed 2 and 1/2 hrs – I gave him my standard lecture about not 

    wasting his life hanging out there – come in say hi and leave. One 

    beer. Before I finished he said, What are you doing Fri night? I said, “going out with you.” When I got home Rick called – spying for Ryder I have no doubt.  But I had to tell him I am booked solid through the 30th.  Truth to God. 

  • Inspired Pleasure – the dance diaries of Alysse Aallyn

                 Shadowe Island – Burnside Inn – 31 July 78

                                         The island its usual immortal, eternal self.    A ragged paradise. Avril and I came up through Boston – drove “The Freedom Trail” but couldn’t go to the Ritz Carlton bar because of the dogs.  She is taking care of them down at the cottage.  

                                         Mom and Dad look great – thinner and very brown.  When I checked in at the Burnside Inn Paul Morris offered me a drink and we chatted very enjoyably. Trying not to be attracted to him.  This vacation might resolve its masturbatory throbbings when Devon shows up.  He is driving down from Montreal – I am as nervous as a 14 yr old. That poor sawdust doll Rod called but phone connection (thankfully) very bad.  Merrill arrived with children in tow and we had magnificent lobster dinner down at the shore. Rod sent me a copy of On Moral Fiction.

                                         Burnside Inn – 5 Aug 78 

                                         Rod called – we talked 45 mins about Moral Fiction – 

    I feel an enormous pleasure in his intellect.  He asks me if being a poet meansyou enjoy life more intensely. I say YES. Maybe we can transition this into a friendship.

                                         11:30 PM – Devon just phoned – long conversation on power, authority and ambivalence. He is tormented by his family – can’t figure out how to escape them.  He needs to move out of their town but of course they get him jobs SO HE CAN’T MOVE OUT OF THEIR TOWN. Says he’s bringing doughnuts tomorrow over on the ferry – what are my favorites.  

    That’s easy – anything chocolate. (Mom told Avril that when he gets off the ferry and sees how I’m dressed he’ll turn around and get back on!  She doesn’t know him very well.  Kind of like Rod – they both think this “minister” thing is overly determinative.  Doesn’t in the least change who Devon really is.)

                                         Midnight Tues 8 Aug 78

                                         M & D both wrong and right. Devon DID NOT flee me at ferry but fell ecstatically into my arms. HE DID, however, painfully say he can’t express his love for me in “a fully integrated way” (because Parson!) and asked me first just to caress his nude body. He didn’t think he could have sex with someone he’s not in an exclusive relationship with.  But guess what? Then we had blissful, magnificent sex.  I didn’t tell him this is as integrated as it gets for me and a lot more integrated than it’s been lately!  (Poor Rod.) 

                                         Thurs Aug 10 -78 – 5:30 PM

                                         Feeling happy and serene – it’s been the loveliest visit.  

    Many bike rides and explorations.  Lovely dinner last night at the cottage – Devon asking Dad a lot of questions – then we lay in each other’s arms at the Barnacle and he said Time to Discuss Our Relationship.  Said “some French girl” dumped him because he’s so incompetent with condoms; he’s so relieved not to have that with me.  I said, “Maybe we should  be exclusive.”

    He said, ‘Could you manage that? I said gratefully, ‘Certainly”, He said, “Thank you for being honest” stripped off my clothes and made mad, passionate love to me – all orifices massaged, nipples chewed, armpits sucked –  the works. It was really something – probably the most passionate satisfying sex I’ve ever had.  He told me our coming together in Plympton after I left my husband was The Most Significant Event in his LIFE.

                                         But does he see me as a Minister’s Wife?  No one can.  Me included.  The Problem of which we do not speak. Drive him to the ferry today, after that a sail to Brimstone Island.

                 Shadowe Island – The Cottage – Sat 12 Aug 78

                                        Mom giggling about how sweet and pure Devon is.  She is certain I’ve been dumped. If she only knew. If I in am suddenly in an Exclusive Relationship with this human will o’ the wisp wouldn’t it be the worst thing for me?  Am I like a Terrible Man who will now say anything to get sex?

                                         Five good pages on novel.  Working in omniscient third person – a violently new departure. A few vague worried sensations that I am “telling” too much about characters but the Victorians used to get away with this on a regular basis. How I envy them. There I’ve said it, I envy Mrs. Henry Wood.

                                        One thing left out of Gardner’s On Moral Fiction is how rarely we see the book the author wanted – instead we see the draft the publisher agreed to buy & PROMOTE. Or am I cynical?  On the whole I am appreciating Gardner’s ideas – but more than ready to get back to V Woolf’s letters & diary. That is ecstasy – the “unstructured real.” Far prefer them to her novels.

                                        Nice long phone talk with Devon. Feeling freed since he described to me his definition of a future wife; she is not me.  In fact, she will be a very unlucky girl who gets – by his deliberate plan – the least of him.  

    It is comical that I, something of a contemporary expert on all things Victorian, should even locate such a profoundly divided, deeply Victorian male; product of such hideous religious and sexual mangling  one would think barely possible in this enlightened century.  

    “Wife” seems to encompass for him some whole new scary dimension that has nothing to do with sex.  Probably having to do with his mother. What mysteries people are! Bruce wanted a fount of approval and cash.  Ryder wanted a mule.  Jervaze wanted a mommy who will bed him down with a bottle of Southern Comfort and then drive him to the hospital.  I can’t even figure out What Rod wants.                                                            

                                   But Devon seems to want someone whose holiness  will “cancel out” his “bad behavior”.  All I know is I don’t want to be any of those people.

                                        But what DO I want?  I’m embarrassed to admit it out loud. 

     I want the spiritual and physical closeness – the “soulmate connection” – to just keep on intensifying until we switch bodies (and I get to live two lives). Castaneda says it can be done. (Good subject for novel.)

                                         Devon flat out admitted he is afraid of me – says I  “have too much power” over him.  I was too aggressive with him this time and I think my “free agency” is where the trouble lies.  It “wakes him up” too much to the full rights & existence of another person and reminds him this isn’t all happening in his head!   I am too impatient to wait for him to get ready to have an actual relationship.  In the past, the better he got to know all his girlfriends  –  and the more certain he became of them, the less he wanted  them.  We are dancing on a knife-edge with our pleasure now.  Psychologically he rules out “sexual fire” in long-term relationships. Everyone but me (and Dad) seems to think sexual fire must burn out.

                                       I look forward to getting back – change in seasons, change in clothes – working, writing, even running around town with Rod is starting to look fun.  Cold day – sun hidden by clouds.

                 Burnside Inn – 10PM Sunday 13 Aug 78

                                        Told my dad I took the room here because my typewriter needs electricity – really of course I wanted privacy with Devon and then we ended up at the Barnacle!  But a public inn (with a handy bar) requires a lot of discipline.   More than I have.  I am recovering from a scandalous night – too tired to take a bath I fell asleep in my clothes after cocktails with Marc Kramer who tried first wooing me with his completely unfettered, unapologetic interest in money by showing me his new house then just flat out tried to get me drunk. 

                                   (I did get drunk but not enough to make him seem desirable.  He is very hairy.)   However, “investment banker” would be a good job to give to my character Cloud if he ever grows up.  If I can ever get him out of prep school.  

                                        No more hanging around the bar for me – I plan sit here

     in my room every afternoon writing between three and six.   Seems to be all my social schedule will allow. Feel myself getting fat and should cut back on food – tall order. I just need to go home and DANCE.

                                         Stupid diary! One love problem after another. Well I can always go back to poor Woolf… her talk of mushrooms, chair covers, butterflies…

                 Mon 14 Aug 12 midnight -78

                                        Very unsatisfied with everything I’ve ever written.  The 

    difficulty is I need to bring all my writing up to my current level of philosophical maturity (such as it is.)  But that keeps increasing exponentially!  Never be embarrassed to start over. 

                                        Dinner scene in Paradise Road (newly retitled) feels shaky.  Too many characters for me to handle.  Maybe wedding next? 

     Trying to invest my characters with what I’ve just learned from Devon.  Would choosing “the right person” come first (my Mom’s theory) and then the love follows afterward?  More convenient for everyone, certainly. 

                                         Almost rolled a poor pimply little fisherman down at the docks this afternoon because I am such a sucker for gorgeous naked (hairless) shoulders. And the friendly, friendly innkeeper – but don’t get me started, he has a “wife” or “wifely substitute”.  Mom’s been very cruel to me lately.  At dinner last night I discovered she RODE THE FERRY with poor shell-shocked Devon (explains his “freeing’ phone call) whom she apparently grilled the whole ride. 

     She sniffed – “He’ll never marry you.”  

                                        Too proud to tell her I just reached that conclusion myself and it doesn’t elevate him in my estimation (the way it obviously does in hers!) 

     I could say I actually know Devon better now than he knows himself (he talks in his sleep), and I can positively state that his stated intentions never bear ANY relationship to his actions. And that’s not a good thing. 

                                        He also told he could never become a minister (because his mother wanted it too badly!) and yet here we all are.  He keeps making rules and I keep watching him break them.  Plus, I’ve been taking responsibility for “making” him do things he doesn’t “want” to for years. It’s a spiritual game of Chinese checkers he insists on “losing”. I guess it’s just a matter of time before he starts holding it against me. 

                 10:20 AM Wed 16 Aug 78

                                        I am so excited by the “newness” of my novel – starting to feel confident; like I can make these people do anything. Can’t wait to go home and spread all the versions out – play Max Perkins to my own Tom Wolfe.  Might be able to patch something together.  Still my tone needs emergency assistance, which dictates a massive overhaul.  All this omniscience is just too painfully reminiscent of somebody like Balzac – “In the forbiddingly cold winter of 1863” or worse, Dragnet?  Must read Speedboat to see how far one can go. Should I throw everything out and start over again or leave it a 500 p hegira? 

                                        Rod sends me a letter every day. He is smart, witty and culturally aware. His handwriting is perfect.  Unfortunately, this does not feel as good as it should. I have rejected him as a potential husband (or father) because he is so totally lacking in Projection & Charisma.  Unlike Devon I plan to marry a person I can also have soul-shattering sex with.  Even Rod’s myths are sub-standard. He needs Tale of Genji and Kraft-Ebbing but all he has is Beowulf.  Still, this is not the kind of thing you can tell a person you don’t want to get serious with. 

                                        According to him, Miss You by the Stones is “Our Song”.  

    My song is Urgent, by Foreigner, and time’s a-wastin’. I can struggle with this goddam party scene or I can go out and buy toothpaste.  Ferry coming in – very foggy.

                                        Came into Burnside Inn tonight and immediately lost a lens. Searched and searched. Would this be the bill that would break the poor fragile financial camel’s back? Then I found it – stuck to my hair.  A miracle.

                                        Mom took me on a walk after dinner – apologized in her weird oblique way. For a woman who claims to have “given all for love” she really is quite calculating and cynical about it.

    “Why buy the cow if the milk is free?” sums up the whole of her philosophy. She wants me to marry Marc Kramer and live in wretched discontent, the equivalent, as far as I can see, to opening a dairy farm and sending out pricelists.  Those are the options. 

    Has doing too much of the emotional scutwork fatally dimmed the stars in her

     “love makes the world go round” eyes?  “What if I’m not a market-based economy?” I inquire. Another missed bonding opportunity.

                                        Dad showed gorgeous slides of Fox Island. Every 

    frame a poem. Made me think I should read old diaries to see what I can get. 

                 9:30 AM Fri 18 Aug 78

                                        $100 honorarium from Coltsville Community College for my presentation – I can eat for a month off of that!  Dare I get my dancing down to 3 nights a week?  Would be heaven.

                                        Discussion with sisters about Mom. Here’s their advice: “Remember she’s crazy,” “Remember she’s old,” “Don’t give her any information” and “Lie.”  There it is!  If only she could hear them! And I’m the one with the

     “Bad Kid” reputation!  Over dinner she lectured us on how costumes for the ballet exalt the human body. Nothing like my combination of pasties, fishnets and glitter! Hard to listen to after the contempt she has expressed for my job!   Said nothing.  What they really hate is that I am my own choreographer.

                                        I was too dispirited even to point out that back when ballet was “invented”, back in the dear old Dead Degas Days, dancers were VERY “declassee” with damn near NO control over their own bodies: how to express themselves sexually much less how they were viewed. 

                                         Looking back over it, my most serious depressions were all caused by attempts to conform. I’m so OVER it. Am I afraid of loneliness? 

    No.  Stigma? Childlessness? Sexlessness? No. I confront all these fears, one by one. Hard however to keep my head high around Mom and Dad’s evident conviction that no one can ever be found to love me. They insist on giving me money because I’m so pathetic .  OK, I’ll take it (I’ve taken tips from fans harboring worse thoughts)  but insisted on giving them  a poem in return.  

    Read Dawn Walk out loud looking for praise –

    Dawn walk

    Thunder crusts a gelid sky

    Is it light or is it rain feathering

    my nest with longing

    Stippling soul with flushed

    new growth; bursting out

    the steepled trees.

    This is my world and I release it

    Released for flying

    Stelliform

    Tough as spidersilk

    Unrecognizable

    Even to me who birthed it

    Who spent my life creating it.

    Released and

    Blown away.

                                        They rolled their eyes.

     I must be secretly determined to make them look bad!  Need to get car in line for the ferry tomorrow AM at nine. Good vacation this has been.  Mostly. 

                                        Last letter from Rod mentions a big society wedding we are invited to. He does get invited to the best parties.  

                 1:45 AM

                                        Horrible last dinner at the Mermaid Creek House.  

    Am I speaking a different language from everybody else?   Uncle Clive downgraded his current girlfriend right in front of her – “she’s got no skills – 

    she’s not too bright.” I agree – there must be something seriously wrong – with 

    her to want to be around him. Genevieve wants to know how I can love men who are “weak”.  This would have more significance if her second marriage wasn’t with a submissive. I defended that weak men are “doubters” and doubters are interesting. 

                                        The opposite is arrogance and how attractive is that?  

    Marc K, for example, doubts nothing. He’s also not very interesting.  It would be easy to be swept along in his wake on autopilot.  Maddens me to hear Mom and G discuss Avril’s “low self-esteem.” The nerve! I think they want to pretend that life “makes sense” and is not a dangerous lottery. According to them, A has too low

    an opinion of herself and I have too high an opinion of myself. Hmmmm. What’s wrong with this picture?

                 Ferry Sat 26 Aug 78

                                        Made the ferry with nine cars to spare.

                 Plush Palace Thurs 31 Aug 78

                                        Three sets down. Tonight I’m asking Eddy for only three days – it’s hard to be constantly here – like living in a soap opera.

     No writing – been sending out query letters. Rod called – had the nerve to lecture me on publishing, “If you want to play in their league, you have to wear their uniform.” Deeply annoying – makes me want to bite him. 

    I refuse to wear anyone’s “uniform”.  Back to the unspeakable Constance Heaven book that is the only thing I brought.