Notebooks

 

I climbed up on an old stepladder to the drawer filled with torn spiral bound multicolored dreams, and opened to 1980. Hand made cards tucked between the paper blankets said "Mrout I love you ". One card had a heart With Mrout across it in crayon, the other was a pen and ink drawing of four cats.

     We called the cats Mrouts, and each other Mrout. The mother cat was named Oscar: and her kittens, soon full grown cats were the Stump, Pulsar, and Sirius.

     Its too soon to go back to the beginning: to Pam Alexander, and to the second Pam who became the Hum, and the sprout, and somehow a trout, but especially Mrout.

 

     Notebook 6-2-91  to 3-26-92

 

6-2-91

 

I don't even know where the little china cat came from. It was about two inches high, and glued together where it broke. I think about it when I am sad. I wish it was here now.

     Pulsar died: "she has a tumor the size of a hand,"its not resectable". The vet suggested putting her to sleep, and I said yes. A few hours or days dying of cancer didn't seem fair to a nice cat.

 

6-22-91

 

I found a tack on the floor. It reminded me of the tack from the old Newtonville camera in Framingham. I used it to hold a picture of the Hum I took in the old green truck with my Olympus. She was wearing a black beret, and looked like Patty Hurst. When I was fired from the Framingham store I took her picture off the wall, and the tack too. I put the picture in a drawer, the same one that holds these notebooks, and stuck the tack inside a cabinet of old cups and glasses.

     Someday when I move from Acton I will remember the tack inside the cabinet, and hide it wherever I move to where no one will find it, and throw it away.

    

6-23-91

 

I sat on a train track five minutes from here in Acton. Roses grew, and grapes, and raspberries. There was a garden here long ago. The roses are small and delicate. I can only guess the variety is an old one as the flowers depend on subtlety for there beauty not the virtuosity of breeding for monster size or flawless shape. They almost look wild though probably once twined a trellis in the garden of a house and family long gone back to Earth. It is good to think these flowers remember them.

 

7-6-91

 

I took the old battery out of the back of the truck. It was sitting there for six months. The battery was from the Green truck; a Sears 48 month car battery. It seemed it was the new battery. I put it an a cart at K Mart and someone took it away.

     I wanted to take it back: all my old things: my cats, my trout, my red truck. Today I cleaned out old cans of food hidden in cabinets, and an old box of "butter buds", like a kiwi fruit gone rotten and never even tried.

     I bought some new shirts, and new gray pants, and even two new ties all in the interest of finding a new job.

     All my old things: I miss them, the stuff left in Randys garage, old boxes of old stuff. Today was a day to clean out old stuff even if it makes me sad.

     But I will always keep the old kiwi fruit in the refrigerator; and an old hat, its a day to clean up some old things, not to throw them all away.

     I have to figure out what to keep ,and what to say good-by to even if it makes me very sad.

     I once tried a chicken sandwich with cream cheese and cranberry sauce; I think I will keep that.

     And my old bottle, the one I used to keep in the refrigerator only in summer, it helped time my year like the fish in Learnards pond. I will keep it covered in dust in a door above the refrigerator. Acton water is too poor to drink; I will keep the bottle anyway.

     Pine Cone tomatoes: I had a can from 94 Central St. They were bulging out of the can. I always liked keeping that can because it reminded me of 94 Central st.,and being lonesome and hungry, and seeing a can of said tomatoes, and cheering myself up with hamburg, rice, green pepper and tomatoes. It was delicious and somehow saved me from a terrible depression. I threw it away just now. maybe the can will take away some of the feelings for other things when it gets taken away in the dump truck.

     Just this second I threw out some milk dated June 24: one of the old cans was expired in 1988 and the Pine Cone tomatoes were much older than that.

     I wonder if this is about the time that I threw out all the things when I moved, or when I went to Randys garage to sort through all the rain soaked and fungus ruined things. The green rug with the fringes and my old green canvass tent, and all the boxes of old ropes and wires, and presents I got when I was little and sick all the time.

     I wonder if the gray placemat is still in the woods and if my old red truck is still in Randys' weeds. I saved the plastic spider that lived in it and the clipboard from under the seat and the plastic flower that lived on the dashboard: and I pulled off the shift knob - it lives in the new truck - to be transferred to whatever new vehicles I ever get.

 

     Incredibly lonesome today

     One old cat left.

     He follows me from room to room.

     He must be pretty lonesome too with his mother brother and      sister all dead.

     He has no one but me.

 

7-10-91

 

Outside the Concord fitness club. Sitting in the truck. I like a particular group of leaves hanging over a wall. There are tiny green fruits on the end of the branch.

     Birds are chirping.

 

7-12-91

 

Newtonville dungeon: I always find something for a bookmark; something new for each book. This was a price tag from a new shirt.

 

7-24-91

 

Pam Alexander called to tell me she is going to Europe. She is going with "a friend" probably Dan 2, Gary or maybe Dan 3. In any case I feel angry today.

     A few weeks ago we went looking for owls in a cemetery. It might seen an odd place to have a good time, but I had an unusually happy day talking, and looking in a certain tree for two non existent owls.

     I started a letter which I might or might not send. "The world is spinning, the television is spinning, the fan is spinning in the other room, and the cat is spinning next to my face. Its hot and too Humid and too empty a day."

     Sometime we talk on the phone late and seem so close - other times we talk of pain and drugs, of glasses half full and half empty and we say nothing.

     You will probably write back " cant we just be friends " which we are, but meaning something else.

     I loved looking for the non existent owl - sometimes I feel we should be looking for little mermaids in Denmark and sharing little cars on the autobahn. I am glad you are going but you would not tell me with whom and I didn't ask too hard. We may "just be friends", and you will probably write to me about writing to you about old stuff ". That's as far as the letter got. I might not send it - for what. Why should she even bother me anymore.

 

8-4-91

 

It was gray and rainy when I drove into the Lincoln police station. They said the A.M.C. hike was on and gave me directions to the school parking lot where it began. I wanted to meet someone of the female variety as well as go on a walk. No one was there it seemed either young enough or alone, and I started off with the group.

     A blue car drove up last and I faded back to see who it was. We started talking immediately about cars, and dreams of New York city with gorillas in them: and about poison Ivy, purple flowers, running, E M T,s, "weeds" and sculpture. She was pretty and nice - her name is Karen. God knows if this will be the first or only entry in these notebooks about her; but she actually gave me her phone number after I gave her my card.

 

8-15-91

 

I just ate some canned pears that were in my refrigerator for almost a year. They were cold and better than ice cream.

     Karen called me back after I left a message with her father. The house was pink; a bright spot in the rain and her father is Norwegian and her mother Portuguese. She is a Unitarian and as nice as I thought.

 

8-26-91

 

I went to the food store with two dollars in my pocket and tried the automatic teller machine. I pressed twenty dollars fast cash and got a computer note "insufficient funds ", so I tried for ten dollars and it whirled out of the machine. Eating by the skin of my teeth, and really glad to have the ten dollars.

     I sent Karen a card with eyes on it, so far hearing nothing. I hope she calls me. I have only seen her twice so she cant be a wipe or a trout, but she has that potential - she doesn't like rock and roll, likes origami, and running, and seems genuinely nice.

 

8-27-91

 

Karen never called me. I am sending her a letter; one more. If she answers fine if not I have little need to find someone else's wall to bang my head against. I have only known her for about six hours.

 

Dear Karen;

 

I hope you got my card with the eyes on it. I wanted to ask you more about origami, And why you like to run, And why you thankfully don't like rock and roll. I wanted to show you where the turtles live in the Audubon sanctuary, and show you the great pig at Drumlin farm.

     Today a praying mantis landed at my feet. I picked it up and let it fly away.

     You have my number: call if you wish.

 

9-1-91

 

She called: we went to Whalom park and had a good time. We played ski ball for tickets later exchanged for prizes. I traded my tickets for two plastic animals; she found a Christmas tree ornament, an odd thing for the first day of September. We went down the water slide, and swam in the pond. She pointed out a clown in a glass case. Paint peeled of his wood face. The clown greeted visitors 80 years ago; her father remembered the clown when it was new. This was a family place for her. It was a nice day for me.

     I had "nothing to eat" at home for supper so I found some instant mashed potatoes and some Kraft "cheese flavored food", the orange stuff that comes in Kraft macaroni and cheese dinners and sprinkled it on the potatoes. It was fine. Later on I found an egg and slid it fried on top of the cold potatoes and cheese.

     We went on all the old rides. This was a family place for her. She said her father took her there when she was four.

 

9-8-91

 

I just went looking for my lucky fish in Learnards pond. The water was warm, and green with algae. I found last years television under water; an old black and white Philco once pink with a thirteen inch screen. It was gray with silt and algae. I jumped: next to the television was a giant fish. It  wasn't my fish who seems to be missing, but at least it was a nice big fish.

     I can go home now. I hadn't come here all summer and it bothered me all summer. This is one of the ways I keep track of who I am. At least once a year I have to look for my fish.

     There are new immigrants here: Eastern Europeans or Russians. The newcomers change: its still a good place to be.

 

9-16-91

 

Yom Kippur tonight - a day of fasting. I have been worrying about not eating for a week - overeating in pre compensation - maybe I am supposed to be hungry: maybe that is the point.

     A few days ago I made some stew so good it was culinary ecstasy. I sat on the floor with a bowl in my lap the image of a sultan of gluttony gorging like a hungry dog. It was delicious. I will think of that tomorrow when starving. Tonight I will have a tuna fish sandwich for supper. Cramming my guts full of spaghetti is a kind of cheating.

     It will be good or at least right to be hungry for a day. Lots of people are always hungry, and I have been eating like an Iowa hog this past week anyway.

     I like pigs. Wallowing in cool mud seems a perfectly satisfactory way to spend a summer day: more meaningful than working in Newton anyway.

 

10-11-91

 

I was sweating under two 750 watt quartz bulbs making copies of old pictures in the cellar of Newtonville camera. An old cat: with long gray fur walked past as it always did. The cat had an always feeling about it; like it belonged in the cellar of Newtonville camera. Actually it had never been there before.

     I picked it up quite naturally for a strange cat and carried it through the cellar and upstairs saying "is anyone missing a gray cat", and looking around for a response.

     I carried him outside where he walked away. If I didn't think Sirius would eat him I would have taken him home.

     I read about a little black cat from the city found dehydrated and alone. I wanted to take it home too.

 

10-13-91

 

I had a dream: the Hum was standing in front of her car in a mall. Scotty was there; he had a mustache and looked like an idiot. Pam held my hand and I had the feeling she wanted to come back to me.

     Karen walked up and held my other hand and said it was time to go.

    

We went to the movies: I was tired to the point of pain, and we sat in the front row which was uncomfortable. We sat close enough to feel each others warmth and I reached over and held her hand. She didn't pull her hand away and I felt how warm and soft it was - my head kind of spun around inside: Maybe.

 

10- 20-91

 

I watched as an old gray Pontiac with an Ontario sticker in the window was towed away.

     The green truck was dead like the red one unable to start. I had replaced the fuel pump, points, bought new spark plugs; it would not start. I unscrewed the fuel line from the carburetor and watched as water spewed out. The puzzle of the month was solved. The green truck works now, at least enough to move around the parking lot so it wont be towed.

 

11-6-91

 

She told me Emily Dickinson was shy: we drove home. "By", she said. I said wait I am shy too kiss me good-by: she did. I followed her to her car as though nothing had happened.

 

11-12-91

 

I wrote Karen a scary letter saying how much I liked her and that I was a little scared. I also said I was shy, that I thought she was shy too, and that she had pretty blue eyes.

     I asked her to a star treck TV. party at the Macintoshes on Saturday night. She never called - never returned my calls either, all five of them.

     I sent her another letter not at all intellectualizing: just telling her how sad I feel; how I look at the souvenir cup from the circus and feel really sad .

     My neighbors looked at me and I said "I don't know why I like her, and I don't care I just do ", then I turned away to hide the tears.   

     Maybe she will respond, maybe I scared her away. I just wanted to turn the relationship up a notch and see where it goes. Its time to sit down and talk to establish some rules mutually acceptable, to ask if she is going out with someone else. to find out if she even likes me.

     I have not felt this sad in a long time. She said "Oh thanks for the flowers ", then dropped the subject. I don't know what that means. She was overwhelmed with the flowers and didn't know how to respond? Or she gets flowers from hundreds of lovers on a daily basis. How can I know anything without talking with her.

     I certainly opened myself up more than a little - time will tell if I slashed my wrists or gave someone a transfusion.

 

11-17-91

 

I knew I would feel sad: I am thinking about the two plastic souvenir animals from Whalom park and about the circus cup with the tiger on it. I really liked her. She was the first one I cared for since the Hum. Its easy to forget about Dede Atlas and the others I saw more than two or three times. Karen had too much that was right about her and I miss her.

 

11-26-91

          

I had a dream: someone was smashing through the wall. I could hear banging and could see the panels buckle and crack. I was terrified. I found various guns but didn't have any ammunition or the wrong ammunition. There were boxes of shotgun shells but I didn't have a shotgun even in this dream. I found spent shells: empty boxes of useless jingling brass, and cartridges of the wrong caliber's for the guns I had.

     The dream ended before the thing behind the wall got me and I woke up sweating; "what if this a premonition ", not yet knowing how useless guns would be later on.

     I decided to see how quickly I could find and load ( I keep them empty for safety reasons ) a gun. There is a Smith and Wesson model 686 three fifty seven magnum in a camera bag on the top shelf of my closet packed with two speed loaders wrapped in a dish towel. The rule I made for this exercise was no lights. My first discovery in the dark was that the knobs to the sliding closet door were not were I put my hands, and I had to fumble around in the gloom with the clock running out of time. Door open I had to grope around spilling bags and boxes on the floor till the squish of nylon said "camera bag ,gun ". Bag on the floor and puzzle number two, the gun was jammed not in any conventional sense but under a seam roughly sewn. If there was a genuine bad guy breaking in I would already be dead. Once the gun was in my hands practice came into play - loading it in the dark took five seconds at most.

     The headache of Sunday was exceedingly unpleasant. It was as painful as anything I ever experienced; on the same level as an abscessed tooth. I did get to see smoke in the kitchen and the smoke had holes in it. Luckily I had read about "auras", a somewhat standard migraine symptom, but it scared me for a few seconds having never had a hallucination before and finding smoke with holes in it unnerving. The smoke went away, but seven barbiturate pills later the pain never let up and was severe enough for me to contemplate the nearest hospital .

 

There are horrible, horrible things in the world, people dying of cancer all alone .

At least the headache goes away, and leaves me whole.

 

Really sad and confused still. A headache like that is like taking a beating - its effects linger awhile.

I sat in the dark with tears in my eyes the night before. The girl is gone again and left me very empty inside; just drained.

 

12-4-91

 

Cat was the best creature in the world. Sirius curled up beside me purring: fell asleep trusting me with two paws over my arm and his chin resting on his paws. I have been so worried he would die too that I have been pushing him away. Yesterday I just accepted the miracle of aliveness and wondered at how nice another creature can Be. He must be lonesome too.

 

I cut the strip of fat from along the side of a small steak along with a bit of meat and gave it to Sirius. He didn't nibble the flesh off the fat, but chewed and swallowed the entire quarter of a pound of quivering fat from one end to the other like an oily obese piece of macaroni. It was disgusting to look at: a slice of fat fully half as long as the cat, and three quarters of an inch thick disappearing like a lizard down a pit vipers gullet. It took a full five minutes to disappear.

 

I had no sleep last night but feel rested. The headache is over; for now.

 

12-6-91

 

One thing I didn't ,say: I am afraid anyone seeing this book might think I was crazy.

     The morning after the headache I heard a voice. It was an ugly voice loud and in the room. When I saw the smoke with the holes in it the night before; for a second I thought " this is it I have finally gone over the edge, there is no smoke in the kitchen certainly not filled with holes". Then realizing it was an aura I calmed down as much as possible when in a frightening amount of physical pain.

     The voice was like that only not so easy. There were two possibilities.

     1-I was hallucinating "hearing voices", not a migraine event a schizoid event.

     2- There was a voice in the room. If 1 than bring on the thorizine and lock me up; as I was now officially mad.

     If 2- then what or who was talking to me in A- an unknown language, and - B in a tone of voice that had it a corporeal body I would rather not behold it with open eyes.

     I think it was a demon of some kind. There was a second of blind terror then the realization that it wanted to take over that it wanted "in" and I had better let it in or else. Instead I said "get lost", not exactly the stereotype of an exorcism ,but it went back to Hell or wherever it came from and left me alone.

     It was so FAST. The whole experience lasted ten seconds. Theory holds that "spirits", for lack of a better name are not powerful beings; at least not in this world without a live body to call the shots with. It was genuinely deeply horrifyingly frightening - but the theory also goes that these beings seek out the innocent, those who are the nicenesses of the world, when in pain and vulnarable.

     And if demons ( I am not talking Satan here, just some minor nameless evil thing ) then also angels and also God.

     Or maybe I just went bonkers with all the barbiturates; and with a short circuit in my head. It amazes me I can accept a demon as just another creature like a lion or an ant.

 

12-13-91

 

I liked  the little white car: the one I drove in Europe. Last night I was thinking of the X in the road in Switzerland. It was a parking spot on a small road seen at night. Cow bells clanged: the mountains were lit by the moon. Nothing would be happier than a niceness again and a little white car - and the stars in October.

 

I took my sleeping bag; foam pad and canteen and walked through the woods by flashlight alone. It was Nobscot on the first really cold day a few years ago. I slept on pine needles quite comfortably and drank cold water for a delicious breakfast. It was peaceful. Maybe I will camp in the Acton woods some cold night and sleep under the stars.

 

It's ten PM: Sirius is sleeping on the sofa. If the weather is reasonable I will go camping tomorrow night. I might just go across the street to the wood bridge, or to the secret woods behind the book store.

 

Tonight is like all those nights at Worcester  Jr. college when I sat on the orange chair and looked at the fruit fly on the wall. It was an institutional green wall and the fly would find the spot of applesauce somehow spilled in a vertical direction and fill its very small fly stomach. The fly had red eyes. On the table was a favorite glass bottle once filled with orange juice, but ever since filled with cold water.

 

I have to know it is possible to take my sleeping bag and go find the stars. It is like knowing that Wyoming is only three days away.

 

12-14-91

 

Newtonville: eating a submarine sandwich which looks like a lizard. All it needs are eyes on the bread.

 

12-16-91

 

Sirius has discovered the wonderful luxury of down coats. He is curled up with his tail over his face on my (his) blue down coat on the chair in the television room. He is more comfortable than I have been any time in my life. A C-shape of sleeping ecstasy. A soft dreaming time. Today he had his fill of turkey breast meat: more than he could finish, now he floats on a pillow of the softest down purring and dreaming cat dreams.

 

12-23-91

 

     Numb: are you numb yet.

     Not quite.

     Better give you another shot.

     Can you feel anything.

     Ahgg.

     I'll give you some more.

     Can you still feel it.

     A little.

     A little pain is good for you.

     Another tooth ground to a stump. A little silver temporary crown awaiting future gold. The dentist didn't have a temporary crown big enough for my sharks fangs so he improvised: don't floss, be careful eating, it will be sensitive.

     My future gold tooth is to be sculpted by the lost wax method; like the pre Inca treasure in the gold museum in Bogota.

     It is raining out; a miserable November rain in December. A little colder and it would be snowing little hexagons. Some industrial machine is yowling a sixty cycle Hum in this parking lot beneath the dentists window.

     I have to drive away: there is a sixty cycle Hum in my head.

                                  

12-25-91

 

I wonder where my gray triceratops is. Maybe in the sand woods if they are still there, or the bone woods long turned into houses. I looked for it for a long time. It was a gray plastic dinosaur that lived in my pocket half the time. Somewhere at home are a few of his Triassic friends; at least a stegosaurus with a missing tail and an ankliosaurus with teeth marks.

     The triceratops was one of my favorite things in the world. Gray to me has never been an ugly or a neutral color, but rather the mystery between black and white: a mixture of all the colors, and no color at all. It belongs to the world of mayflies, monarch butterfly migrations and the ancient wisdom in a serpents eyes. It is an appropriate color for a triceratops.

 

12-27-91

 

I cooked boneless breast of chicken; gave some to Sirius and put the rest in the refrigerator. Later putting in a new gallon of spring water was apparently a mistake. The dish with the chicken fell out and broke.

 

1-1-92

 

12:13 A.M. I hate new years: I always have. Something very odd. Sirius was sitting on my lap and his ears were turning independently like radar dishes. Firecrackers someplace far away: he did not hear them till 12:08, and noticing him I listened to what seemed a stereo in the distance and heard rockets.

     I went outside and saw a wonderful winter sky: a clear cold January, and I heard a hundred dogs barking. They were howling. They heard the rockets too.

 

1-3-92

 

I woke up strangely happy. The cat was a warm gift crawling around begging for food. It was a nice day for January; cold but not painfully so.

     Now I feel sad and lonesome. I met a one and a half year old today. He only had three teeth and his mother said "he really likes you ", as he smiled and then crawled across the camera store floor.

 

It hurt for two days. I looked at the bottom of my right big toe and cringed. There was a lump of something painful and sharp. A squeeze produced only blood and a throb of deeper pain; fingers refused to scrape it out. My kingdom for a needle or a pair of tweezers: and do psychologists call this an approach avoidance conflict?

 

Dread filled the air. I could not scrape it out with my fingers though I tried with diminishing hope.

Hobble about; cant find a needle. Rambo was a wimp. A Philippine butterfly knife among my collection of deadly objects  presented a cold stainless obsessively sharp blade with all too obvious utility. I jammed the point into the now festering toe under the glass and pried it out like a trophy glistening in blood.

Maybe I will take out my appendix next. Cant believe I did it. Disgusting but it had to be done.

 

It was a bit of china from the dish I broke a week ago. The dish needed a bit of revenge for my dropping it.

 

1-8-92

 

A long time ago I took a cardboard tube home. It is a cylinder about six inches high  I used to prop open the lid of the Kodak Royalprint machine at Newtonville camera. It had eyes and a face on it painted a long time before, and it was the second cylinder used for this purpose. The first was thrown out when I went on vacation by someone who "cleaned the darkroom". It must have been another vacation when I decided to take the second one home so it wouldn't be missing when I returned. It lives on a shelf at home now - I hoped it might become a souvenir of my time here.

     But I am still a prisoner and the third cylinder stands on the Royalprint machine: only it does not have a face.

 

1-11-92

 

Randy called me at Newtonville. I am bringing you a cat ,he said; for a few hours I thought ,till tomorrow , maybe the next day. "For a few months": he said, and brought Sylvester around midnight in a taped together cardboard box with holes poked in the side. Sirius looked pensive, nervous, eyes wide open. The tape was ripped and Sylvester looked out: he looked pensive, nervous, eyes wide open. Sylvester disappeared under the pliers cabinet ( some people actually keep dishes in such furniture) as far from Sirius as is possible without gnawing through the wall. He has not moved an a few hours. Sirius is sleeping in the next room as though nothing has happened. Maybe they will like each other; I really hope so.

     Oscar hid under the same place when we moved here. Pulsar was missing for hours. Sylvester is black with white patches. I will leave him alone: Let him come out when he feels comfortable; explore a little at a time.

 

1-28-92

 

"Because sand perch communities are stable, the scientists were able to recognize the same fish year after year". This is from National Geographic. It's nice to think fish have places they stay: my lucky fish at Learnards pond always stayed in the same place, or came back to it after wandering around his pond. For years he lived near a rusty fifty five gallon barrel; till it disappeared to a rust colored stain.

     I gave a slide show to the A.M.C.in Boston; surprised at how much fun it was, being the M.C.at the A.M.C. Two people sent letters saying they liked the show.

 

2-6-92

 

Mrout brains this morning. Sirius was purring on my feet and Sylvester used my hand for a chew toy. If he wanted to I would have a stump today.

     A tooth broke yesterday; a shard of enamel and silver. The last gold crown cost 710 dollars. I hope this tooth can be rescued with less dollars being drained.

     Somehow I just remembered exactly-I was sitting in the Austin cafe reading a Herald left from the last customer, and covered in hamburger grease when I noticed an ad for a cleaning service. The ad had a picture of a near microscopic and harmless dust mite magnified to godzilla proportions meant to terrorize the reader into hiring the cleaning service. I liked the picture. It reminded me of the flour beetles that lived in the cabinet above the sink at 94 Central street. The cabinet was a salmon colored badly painted plywood thing. I liked it and the beetles which I thought of as pets who had as much right to live there as anyone else. I just didn't eat the flour  they lived in and they were perfectly happy living where they were.

 

2-7-92

 

I wanted to write something about Ricky. Carol who works at Newtonville camera proudly showed off pictures of the two cats she owns; soon to be displayed in a calendar. She always talks about the two cats. One time I went to a Store pizza party and found a fat multicolored scared cat in her house. "who is that", I asked: Ricky she said or maybe "just Ricky". Anyway I could detect his leper status right away.

     She had him for a year and never mentioned he existed; while constantly talking about how cute her "two", cats were. She called me at night to see if I would take him (she knew I liked him ) in the morning as she was moving and he "ruins the window sills".

     If Sylvester was not here I might take him. He is in a vets.office in a cage. Carol said "I had to break the wall down to get him: he freaked out when I moved".

     I just wanted to hold him and tell him he was a nice cat. He has feelings. I feel really sad about him.

Carol got him from a police lady who rescued him from an abandoned house : now she dumps him at the vet. "to find a decent home for him". Why didn't she want to keep him?

 

2-11-92

    

The answering machine said to go to building 5 unit 8 to pick up my U.P.S. package. It was the Mirro aluminum bakeware.

     I love things to come in the mail - it always seems like a present. These are six aluminum baking containers designed for toaster ovens. An ordering form came in my Christmas present toaster oven, and I sent away, "four to six weeks for delivery".

     I always like little presents like this as much as big ones. There is no over inflated expectation, no buyers remorse: just a nice surprise in the mail; only 8.95 plus shipping and handling.

     they are perfect; now I want to bake something.

 

2-13-92

 

Ricky is gone: not killed at least, someone picked him up at the vet. Someone liked him enough to take him home. I hope he is happy away from someone who didn't like him; and two cats who chased him into permanent sadness. I almost added him to the collection.

     Randy may not get Sylvester back.

 

Karen didn't answer my valentine. I really liked her. I don't expect to write to her again.

 

2-14-92

 

I ate two Idaho baked potatoes; baked in the toaster oven, they were a feast.

 

2-17-92

 

The snow fleas are back. Winter is not one season but one of many parts. Late February is the time of the snow fleas: and ice covered ponds with water on top of the ice; and a few flies and moths saying hello to Spring. The snow fleas are really springtails and no relation to the July blood suckers. They live invisible lives to us: near microscopic dots against brown dirt, pleasant strange moving semi Winter dots.

     Pine cone tomatoes: I made a feast of turkey, onions, carrots, and rice. Pine cone tomatoes made it all nice to look at as well as eat.

 

2-22-92

 

Pam Alexander called and talked for almost two hours. She is very upset about her psychiatrist abandoning her. Dr. Shrink Wrap "accepted a position", in Philadelphia. In other words dollars spoke louder than caring.

     Maybe she should not pin her caring onto such people, but to ones that love her back. Maybe she can't do that. In any case I think a mental health professional should not abandon those in need for a few more dollars. What about all the poor people who can't afford fifty to eighty dollars per hour. Now I feel mad too. The group I belonged to ended for no healthy reason. The therapist wanted another night off. I am still of mixed feelings. I didn't want to go to the group forever, and at a point nothing new seemed to be happening. He said much of the goodness was of the process of saying good-by. It still was not quite right.

 

I had some kind of stomach flu four days ago and still can't think too well or write too well. This virus has scrambled my brain. It will take another week of recovery before I can think clearly again. At least I am not emulating President Bush and throwing up anymore. I did barf all over the road in Waltham on the way home; deeply sorry that I didn't throw up ten minutes earlier in Newton.

 

2-25-92

 

Not a virus at all. On Friday I suffered the same fever chills as a week earlier, and went to the doctor at nine in the morning. "Acute hemorrhagic cystitis", said the doctor after saying, "you really look sick". Fever was 102; probably worse initially. Fevers scramble brains. An infected bladder: "this would not have gotten better by itself".The doctor gave me an old fashioned sulfa drug; one of the original wonder drugs.

     I am almost all right now: a condition far better than the infected kidneys, and slow agonizing death of sixty years ago.

     I can make a joke of it maybe, but its not very funny. I am alive and in good health in two days from a simple curable illness that a very short time ago in history might have killed me.

 

"I am your new diving girl". That is as quote from a promo for a new Walt Disney movie about a girl who wanted to dive with her horse from a pier at an amusement park. She looks so happy I wish I could talk to her and say "I really like you". I have about a zero fantasy need to meet the usual Hollywood sex goddess. They strike me as air wafting along in air. But this diving girl isn't like that at all. She strikes me as someone I would like to know.

 

It feels so good to have some potatoes and have them taste good; and it feels so good to have some cold water and have it taste good.

     Being healthy is better than being sick - no surprise with that; the surprise is how wonderful are the things we take for granted. No wonder there is a Hebrew prayer for food, and, water, and wine.

     Water tasted bad a few days ago - my favorite thing in the world turned to a curse. I am never sure God hears me: but thank you for the water; and for onions and milk and potatoes. And I feel sad about eating a bird that was once alive. Thank you for your life: the chicken counts too.

     I wandered into the kitchen a few hours later and found a pear green and perfect.

 

I shot an elastic up to the ceiling: Sylvester is still looking for it two minutes later. He is staring at the ceiling looking - poor confused cat. I shot it again: maybe he thinks its a bird; he looks down for awhile then takes in the sky scanning. He is looking, looking, looking everywhere. The poor thing just stood on his hind legs and waved in the air while making a strange noise. I won't shoot it again: he is still looking and making hideous noises in his throat. He just gave Sirius a clawed poke to wake him up, and is now prowling like a panther. He just climbed the sofa for a good view and stared up again. He needs to be played with, but I am afraid of being eaten.

 

2-27-92

 

I always felt bad for 1974. I sat in the car waiting for the toll booth on the Mass. pike. I thought no one will care about 1974 but will think of 1975 the mid. year. Every time I go by that particular toll booth I think of the time I wondered about 1974. It is 18 years ago .I thought about it in 1974 knowing I would think back. Time always confuses me.

 

2-29-92

 

I found the tack today: the one inside a cabinet. Its still alive inside next to a cup with a picture of a bear on it. I was going to give her that cup, but she was already gone. I never took it out of the box it came in. Actually its a box with a picture of a cup inside as I have never opened it. Maybe it is empty: I always thought I would give it to her.

 

3-4-92

 

The frogs will be back soon: its almost warm out. I saw a small tree with three starlings one of which was so close I could hear it hop. These are pretty birds with iridescent subtle blacks and grays. They are the "weeds", of birds. Bird watchers peering through binoculars with dog eared life lists in hand would not notice a starling if it stood on there heads and pecked at there eyes. Gardeners call them "pests", Hunters "trash", and ecologists invading parasites.

     All of the above reasons stand starlings in good stead with Me. I have always liked them: ever since rescuing one with a broken wing and hearing "its only a starling", spoken in the tone of voice a Brahmin reserves for an untouchable. All I saw was a sad frightened bird; rather good looking  with shiny almost black feathers bright eyes and a yellow beak.

     Today I saw three of them enjoying the almost Spring. One was close enough to hear hopping, close enough to look happy.

 

Leftover sale of ice scrapers: last year I bought one that lives on the floor of the truck. They seem like pliers to me: eminently collectible. Today I bought one for $ 1.49 with an aqua handle. Maybe it will even snow now. I have five or six ice scrapers and didn't "need"' a seventh. I like it though. It reminds me of the winter barely had: 1991-92 winter of almost no snow, and only a little ice. Maybe it will snow so much next year I will need all the ice scrapers on a daily basis. Where is the snow?

 

3-16-92

 

She had very blond hair: a cowboy shirt with fringes, and white snakeskin boots.

I was walking the ugly corridors of a red brick building designed for utility while searching for the cable TV. office to pay an overdue bill. The girl could not find it either and we spoke for less than a minute. She had a well healed scar on her face and one of her eyes looked a bit hurt. Perhaps she was in a car accident a long time ago. She favored the right side when talking (the scar was on the left ) as if sharing a residual self consciousness and wariness.

     I wish I knew her well enough to tell her she was really pretty despite an old scar. There was something nice about that girl. She was late paying her bill too: perhaps that is all we have in common, perhaps not.

 

3-17-92

 

Sirius went exploring. He went upstairs in the hall and looked at me from the front steps. For reasons known only to himself Sylvester looks out the open door but never goes out. Sirius runs out and always looks around.

 

3-19-92

 

I should have bought or stolen the little tripod ball head a year ago. It was a little one made in Germany and beautiful in the way a gun is beautiful. It was flawlessly made in black and silver, and heavy. Someone bought it today. I saw my mark in the corner of the package. Some woman who works at the Globe. It was mine.

 

3-21-92

 

Skip Clark always showed up at Newtonville camera with his cheerful wife and always pictures or negatives of old trains. He called my answering machine sometimes to let me know when the train was running through Acton. He was the engineer and offered to give me a ride on the freight train. Last week he died. He was one of the few customers I liked - even trying his best to be pleasant when his heart and life had only days left to beat. I hope his wife is well.

 

3-22-92

 

It snowed on the second day of spring.

It felt good to take the RB-67 out to the new woods in Acton. There is a small bridge over a stream with birch trees white on white with new snow. I walked past both trucks on the way there. The Toyota, window covered white, and the old green truck dripping like a large ox in a field.

     Mostly I saw last years dry leaves and little pine trees and a stick lying on its side recognized by a lumpiness in the snow.

     I haven't used that camera in a year: Somehow it reminds me of a big window; a wood creaking window with cool wind and bright snow on the other side.

 

     This has been a good notebook. It's almost full.

 

Pam Alexander suggested I find a camera store closer to home than Newton to work in. Doesn't she know I hate working all alone in a darkroom. It's not only Newton I hate; it's living such a shallow life. She missed the whole reason for ten years of notebooks in one sentence.

     And the other Pam doesn't have the slightest idea.

     Maybe only the cats know. Only Sirius is left: and the new beast, the one who woke me this morning by chewing on my hand.

 

It makes all the sense in the World to pay off my credit cards: buy a new oven, save for a new car, But I am buying a computer instead. A place to save all these notebooks. More important than another late visa bill: all I own that is me.

 

3-24-92

 

In Newtonville: I turned around quickly and saw Sylvester standing in a corner. He soon resolved into a gray gallon bottle of T-Max developer. Cats on brain: reaction to seeing Sylvester was panic. "What are you doing here"? Bottle of chemicals much more comfortable on darkroom floor than transplanted mini lion.

 

Sylvester likes to lie on top of the television. Last night he went somewhat wild listening to birds coming out of the TV. speaker. His head was tilted over the edge and his ears tried to locate the bird the same as his eyes did the night before.

 

I just bought a new notebook at CVS. a garish almost magenta pink one.

     It makes me sad. This notebook has been a good one. For awhile I felt empty of things to say, but re-reading this book makes me feel better - about notebooks - not about being endlessly stuck in a dumb job, or about losing the Hum, or about having nice days with Pam Alexander, and then not seeing her for six or seven months.

     But I did meet a nice girl: and go to the circus, and to Whalom park, and we laughed till two AM., and I have a souvenir cup with tigers on it, and two plastic animals to remember her better.

     She was almost a Hum.

 

3-26-92

 

I just heard the frogs.

Doing laundry: went outside to get a bottle of water out of the truck and the frogs were out in the rain.

     Peepers; Spring peepers, most think they are birds.

           Swamp things. Spring things.

     I always like them - they are like my lucky fish.

 

6-27-78 to 11-24-84

 

This is the first notebook and the hardest to even open. I am still good friends with Pam Alexander: Christy Waterstradt is long lost, and the second Pam who called me the niceness, I think about her all the time. Her old handmade cards hidden away in this notebook make me cry whenever I look at them. She gave me a cup with a cat for a handle and a trout inside. Every night before I go to sleep I have a drink of cool water from her cup - still, now every night I miss her.

 

6-2-78

 

The stump is curled up on the blue pillow, and all the other cats are purring and happy. Pam Alexander is coming tomorrow I will ask her if she loves me. This is like so many letters written beside the green house: afraid to say what I feel and ask what " you "' feel. Christy I haven't seen you or spoken or reached you in eight years, and you frighten me still. I walked across the trees and empty grass at Parsons college, and the leaves of a desk calendar were blowing in the wind and one stopped and called me to it. It was august 28 four or five months away. It was two years before I found your address. I used to go to the library and look at phone books, but sent letters to unknown Waterstradts and lost you. On August 28 a useless boring day at the warehouse: hot, sticky, a jar with a lid, you called from the dead. Who are you C.W. I still don't know. I remember looking at you kneeling in the grass and your eyes glowed and melted me. I wanted to hold you but would have disappeared from fright. Remember the rope slide from the pine tree: you were a girl but had guts, you laughed and dared wrap a towel around the rope fifty feet off the ground and flew down like a spider. I was afraid to ask you to that dance but you know that. Were your eyes blue or brown? They changed color unlike any others. Did you join that coven in Tampa or was it the "others"' and you only watched. I hated that pink motel with its stinking ice machine: and the heat, and walking West Kennedy Ave. to the museum with the Arabic crescent on the roof. I saw that building in a book about the Spanish American war. Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders sailed out of Tampa bay, and the stokers shoveled coal and fainted glazed with sweat on those first iron steamships headed for Cuba. History didn't matter. The past was no more: you told me. "The old Christy died". I asked how she died and you said "That's none of your business"' and gave me a book by J. Christamurti or however its spelled. He was an Indian philosopher who espoused only now and tomorrow. You were not born today. I threw away the empty book. I gave you a "who am I test"' gave you a sheet of paper and asked you to write who you were fast without thought. People spill out values pretty fast - maybe its a simple shallow freshman thing but you said first sentence "I am a metaphysician". What value espousal is this? What is a metaphysician. Well deceased person, living zombie I found out. I spent the next few years searching for holes in empiricism, in science, in "the method", but you were already gone.

What can't science answer? Almost everything. I mean science is empty, without values: a box of tools, a way of seeing, but what is better? Why do I look at the cat curled up on the floor and feel love? Why do yellow flowers make me happy? These may have "simple"' psychological causation's - I need to love someone, the cat is more a someone than the rocks or a table - not so simple though. I drove across a glowing place, the Sevier lake desert in Utah: the sun set behind and the tufts of gray green sagebrush turned orange, the sand blue purple, and the strange sometimes lake on the horizon filled with icebergs. Not a painting of a sunset - real, devastating. I burst into tears; they flowed across my cheeks. I was not sad. "Fear of God"' awe at creation? You know Christy Waterstradt, and you know that I understand. Ghost person: shadow, wraith, you were supposed to go to Peru with me: gone two years,and I dreaded changing planes in Miami. I made sure connecting flights were minutes apart, and raced through that awful climate you call home looking around the airport somehow expecting to see you. I am frightened whenever the phone rings on August twenty eighth: and we met and you searched Heaven and Hell and I hitchhiked home from that stinking beach at Tampa Bay, and found a note in the door that said you were gone for the week with friends. I will never go to Tampa again, even to see the Chinese vase in the museum, even if the Rough Riders return. I hope you married an obese belching clod - no I am just mad, time soothes a little. You took eight years out of my life. Dreams fantasies, hopes. I actually got to Peru and drove across the highest road in the world on no sleep in a rented orange Volkswagen. Well fool; you’r probably still selling witches tools, and evil books. I learned a lot; you taught me. I hated the South, likened Dixie to Nazi Germany, and Southerners to Gestapo with no purpose but lynching black people. How stupid, how bigoted. I learned New England won The war and still teaches hate: see history counts. I hitchhiked through Louisiana and a teacher of sociology said, "I am surprised you didn't end up on a slab". What I saw was kindness, openness and a hospitality genuine, and so filled with love in its simplicity. A local middle aged couple saw me growl awake from beneath a plastic makeshift tent, and cloud of mosquitoes. They asked me to join them - fed me, gave me drinks, asked "what country are you from". I said "Boston", they asked me what my nationality was: I said "American" then seeing the confusion said "Russian Jew". The South isn't all a land of crackers and lynch ropes: they were delighted and asked if I had ever met the Kennedy's. None of these questions struck me as silly. I knew as little of Louisiana and asked just as silly questions such as "I have been looking for alligators in that swamp, where are they".  They were hibernating, and the kind people held there laughter. I told them I was somewhat afraid of the South but found only nice people, beautiful cypress swamps, and the best food I had ever eaten. They said they were afraid of the big cities up North. They were genuinely afraid, said they would love to see cape cod but were afraid of driving past New York. What fools we all are. Stump the cat just woke up stretched a paw, licked it and wiped his face.

 

Squares and triangles; Klauk remembered your poem. You are squares and triangles. Can they both live together? How long can I wait Wipe - stop thinking and feel; maybe both of us.

Always "analyzing"' really picking apart and shredding, tearing me to pieces: had to build in pieces, with "reason"' to label feelings.

 

Sick and tired of Pam situation - am going to the movies - don't know what to feel now - numb with low level anger, a kind of disgust. It took years to not think of Christy. I have trouble writing her name. I have trouble looking at it: taboo to my conscious, metaphysician my ass. Cold Aztec victim, no blood, burnt crosses cold dead bodies. Pallid mind: the fire went out; who snuffed it. I remembered flares and embers, sun and light, and found skulls and catacombs, base trembling fears, hollow places. What would Freud say? I am looking for answers again: what a mystery to dissect and put on slides; to rattle out blue books, and please the gods of power. But the hurt is still deep, the scar on the surface shows but what lies beneath it. At least a scar is better than an open bleeding wound. Why didn't you love me back? "All I ever wanted was for you to love me back". I wrote that with a Green pen. You were with me day and night; a true "dream girl" almost, if the dreams were always nice which they were not.

 

Maybe Pam can be displaced, and or replaced. She took over and filled the dream voids (Freud may see other things in that; who knows maybe the old cocaine sniffer was right, maybe he hadn't enough "depth" himself).Truly love is more complex than that. Freud leaves me blank sometimes, but study may go beyond the simplistic.

 

Mrs. Kalkar - ethical rescuer, woman on a white horse: you lived with no need to grovel, you were powerful and soft, Kind and never stepped on. Can't spell Bordeaux 1964, a long way from cokes and fanta orange. Maybe I will order 1964 Medoc for Pam - you will know why.

 

Thwap. Wipe; I am less mad at Pam now - she likes to play, be a little girl. I love that otherwise it's all cigar smoke and California. I love to hit her over the head with cardboard tubes (paper towel cores; bonkers ). The sound is terrific, and she always grabs my hands and pummels me with the bonker - two little kids; all smiles, pure fun.

 

Mosquitoes ,wipes, wipers, tubes: triangles and squares, blue helmets and kittens.

 

I better not have a duel with Dan with that old flintlock, it hardly ever shoots. Freud have a field day. A duel with Walthers that is another story. I drove out onto the high plains between Laramie, and Centennial, and held the black modern pistol: loud. Jesus was it loud, and I could not hit a large can at six feet. Practice, practice; now I can hit a four inch square at seventy five feet. Odd hobby or is it a statement having a few guns.

 

" Did I contact you first "? Pam called or reached out after six, really eight months. She wondered if it were her. Why, repression, guilt?

 

Kenny in a box. I saw Pams' house: she unlocked a closet, dragged a cardboard box covered in dust and opened a collection of camping equipment. In it were a fur hat, needle nosed pliers, a blue rope, and memories sealed away for eight months. Did she ever look inside? Why did she keep the box in locked storage.

 

Writing with Pams purple pen. I left monument St. and we kissed each other on the lips like Human beings. The great granite phallus of Bunker hill (does anyone mean what they say or say what they mean) blurred in the background of confusion. A twilight place for the castration image of a duel with flintlocks. Pam had the same image as me only the location was different; Boston Common instead of at the base of the  Charlestown symbol of war. A duel among gentleman by rules, single shot flintlocks, one shot each. If I lost I'd be dead anyway, and if I won? How many people have lived out this image?

 

Ankles still sore from black flies, and my tongue searches out the gaping divot in my tooth, the one that broke on top of Mahoosic arm on an M and M."Is Pfoxer behind me"'always made her look. Pfoxer was a cross between a collie and a husky. She always played with us and went Mt. climbing with better skill than most Humans. Her favorite thing was grabbing onto an old sock and trying to rip it out of my hands. She also loved to grab my ankles and wrists in her quivering jaws while growling playfully; I always hoped. She is probably the origin of Wipe as a name; As I have just been "wiped" 'bitten but not too hard. Pam, Pfoxer and I had a problem: how to travel the most difficult single mile on the Appalachian trail. I lowered Pfoxer on a blue nylon rope to Pam from a cliff precursor to the difficult part. This ten foot drop was the first place Pfoxer had difficulty with in her life as a climber. The notch was a narrow gouge up ahead filled with house sized rocks rolled in from the weathering cliffs on both sides. Poor Pfoxer tried to maneuver the first boulder cave: she tried jumping across the top, tried scrambling through a wormhole, and around the side. It was not possible: the dog who climbed Lafayette, and Garfield, Cannon, and Washington was defeated.

     I emptied Pam Alaxenders pack on the ground and stuffed one somewhat unhappy fifty six pound quivering dog inside. There was nothing for it but a British stiff upper lip; and the most grueling mile of brute labor in my life. The notch has rocks of such size that one can crawl under them much like an ant, and being splayed out with hands and feet on different, in places snow covered boulders would have been trying without a fifty six pound quivering dog moving about in a nylon bag balanced on my shoulders. Hikers ever insightful said," is that a dog in your pack", and I said brilliantly, "yes". At the end I bowed as to Allah, and one very grateful canine spilled out of the pack like the overgrown puppy she always was. We tied her to a tree and walked and crawled back across the worse one mile of the Appalachian trail to retrieve our supplies; and back again one more mile to collect our tired dog. Or was it us who were dog tired?

     Take the second right on the dirt road past where the wood piles used to be. Some locals helped us find the trail to where we were.

 

Spontaneous happiness at the pool. Perfect drinkable ice water slid down a granite path into a pool; clear, clean, life giving: a view of trees moving in the wind, and mountains past the horizon. Arctic islands, split log bridges across peat sphagnum moss bogs filled with flowers and cotton grass.

 

Oscar the cat is chasing me all over the house - rubbing against me and purring quite loudly. She prefers to lie down at a certain "social distance", about two and a half feet. Pulsar just walked in with tail vertical in the "greeting"' in cat language sign. She and Oscar started licking each others faces. Oscar at first pummeled Pulsar then a few face licks then two loud purrers. Sirius is behind my head on the sofa, and Stump is elsewhere. Four cats: sometimes I wish they were all in comas or at least had encephalitis so they would just purr, and provide soft heads to pat. Sometimes they are really wild animals, unlike dogs who grovel there inferiority, and want nothing beyond mindlessly pleasing there masters. Cats have no masters. It makes me mad sometimes when they are over the edge wild, but I still like and trust them implicitly. My cats are gentle, don't claw or bite unmercifully, and provide good dependable if moody company. At least they never deceive. Three of them are asleep in attitudes of absolute trust, the forth a bit jumpy of late is elsewhere.

     Pfoxer is coming over: poor cats will be quite uptight, will hide under sofas, in boxes and in the air. Pfoxers owner is coming too leaving me uptight and willing to join the cats under the sofa. Wipe came with a new red and white bikey helmet. I told her I was still crazy about her and that I was still here, and she let me hold her tight. She may join the Army. She said she feels like she pedals uphill all the time and never gets anywhere.

     Pfoxer walked over to the cats; some ran, others kept a safe distance, staring. Pam walked over to the refrigerator and startled, jumped back. One of the cats underwent an identical reaction. That cat soon fell asleep on the footlocker as I am leaning against her favorite blue pillow. She is streetwise and smart: the kittens all run into the kitchen like Skinners rats whenever I go there as they expect a reward of food. Oscar ,the mother, only bothers to run after me if I come home late and she is hungry; and after she positively rewards me by purring, and almost dog like groveling. She in fact has conditioned me. A few times today I patted her, she gave a low growl like purr, and I walked into the kitchen. She didn't follow while her less sharp kids ran after me wide eyed pacing the floor looking for a treat. Big brave macho Stump cowered rabbit like under some wood.

 

7-10-78

 

I found an electric bullhorn under Learnards pond while snorkeling. The life guard said it was stolen three weeks ago. I found a golf ball too underwater and put it in an eight inches across pink half ball and will find it again.

     On the hill at Learnards are a bunch of "Hells Angels", types in shredded dungaree vests or jackets with the arms ripped off. A kid said "I want to be a policeman", and a bearded "Angel"' said with a smile on his face, "you know what we do to policemen"'we shoot them. "They are no good, they hit people with there billy clubs, they are no damn good". The kid changed his mind concerning a career choice with a certain newfound prudence. One of the angels looked at me and said "Why the fuck are you staring at me". I said I was just writing a letter, and was looking around the beach at people. I was staring at them: fascinating anti social bunch; language regularly punctuated with words such as "fucking"' etc. I like or at least am impressed by such anti social behavior to a degree. I hardly think I am ready to join a motorcycle gang however.

     Still hot as hell. I am going in the water again. July has arrived : high summer good for beaches, and snorkeling, and swimming, and water,but too damned hot for comfort otherwise. I don't mind the heat as much as some though I went close to bonkers last summer in New Mexico when one night it cooled off to a hundred and where I lost the extension tubes for the macro lens in the creosote desert and started getting scared. I was living in a lost in the desert dream: and the dream lost its romance, it was simply much too hot, and I was thirsty.

 

8-24-78

 

Manx cats with half tails are called stumpies. They are one person cats with loud voices who like to talk and have large hind quarters. In short The Stump seems to have Manx ancestry. Its too bad I can't look at Pam and say Ah.ha. two thirds Greek one fifth Irish one twelfth Protestant, and come out with a computer printout. The Stump is looking out at the rain. All the cats have been acting very cat like; running and pouncing and meowing. I like them even if ambivalent. Nothing is absolute. Pulsar rolled over on the refrigerator looking with pools for eyes and fell right on her ass. Poor cat rolled off most un-catlike, and I laughed. Even cats aren't perfect at things cats are supposed to be perfect at. They have to learn how to balance. Maybe there is something innate about complex behavior but the cats definitely and absolutely have to practice. I have watched Pulsar, the Chevy Chase of cats, fall and misjudge and make a feline fool of herself so often it is expected, but she is learning. I can't get inside their brains, but I love them, even if it's not possible to know whether they love me. I enjoy their company most of the time, and would give a great deal to be able to sleep as comfortably as the Stump curled into a C shape with his head resting over folded furry paws. He just came over to visit. I patted him till he purred vociferously. He is now resting on an old shoe.

 

8-25-78

 

What is the reality of Pam? I just called from making deliveries to ask if she would have lunch with me: no, but will answer my letter, but will not call (probably), or come over. Maybe I'll be better off not seeing her for awhile.

     A hearse with a dragging exhaust system just screeched down the Pike; recycled stiff carrier. I have been at this delivery spot so many times (Newburry St.at Mass Ave.),and watched hitchhikers with signs at the Pike entrance; fantasies of picking up desperate blond on the way to Wyoming.

 

Old things. Sinker and wire, rock, ropes etc. old friends.

 

8-26-78

 

" Is Pfoxer behind me "'I hear Pams voice. I went to Nobscot alone, and sat on the trail all green with moss and overgrown shrubbery. There are good things in you: I love those, first person to be as valuable as my collection of rocks. I know rocks can't call me names or pound me on the head unaided, at least usually, but you were worth it. I like romanticizing you, I need to value another Human being, but the rocks just sit and they feel what I want them to.

 

You meant a lot more to me than the wraith and shadow person. We did things together, I didn't just dream them, and the shadow became real. Old feelings: pre Pam, pre Christy Waterstradt, pre Mrs. Kalckar. I look sadly at the green and yellow leaves and belong here. You whoever you are, when you find this notebook, and if you love me go outside and speak to a rock and tell him he has feelings too.

 

I have been thinking about this book; what it says and what it doesn't. No place does it say that I want a lot of material things. Material things; rocks, sticks, wires, trucks, have always been friends. This is not, and is far different than " materialism ", a need for acquisition, for status, for power, position: Gucci shoes, or a Mercedes 450 SL, or a Sony color television. I do have a liking for some status objects and perhaps some power needs as well, but this book is filled with love needs. Poverty however does not thrill me. I see no positive value in asceticism, and the lack of money can be a serious problem. What I am saying is that a certain amount of money would take away the " problem ", aspect of not being able to pay rent or to eat, and leave me freer to solve other problems. I would and have given up money for a chance to be with Pam. I wish money (all it buys, status, an acquired sense of worth etc.)was not so important to Pam. She needs recognition, she needs love, but can't find it when she is drowning in it. My brain tells me how much better off I will be with a person who wants to "tango" to use Pams phrase. This leaves me free to fantasize some ideal perfect person. I see the danger in this. I am always telling Pam her ideal person can't possibly exist. I am really ready to accept someone far from perfect, but major needs have to be filled this time. Giving love: as I learn to compromise some too so does she. I am going in circles; will write again later.

 

8-28-78

 

I saw two painted turtles underneath Learnards pond. Snorkeling has always been an entrance to a different world. I saw the half ball with the golf ball I found a month ago: but the barrel is gone. A 55 gallon barrel lived for years ten feet beneath this pond with a giant fish inside. The fish was a bass over a foot long and would always escape in the same pattern; left down slope, right across, than sharp right back to the barrel. Certainly the fish had the edge in swimming, but once I learned the pattern I could cut it off at the pass, and be certain of a piscatorial surprise after a few seconds of waiting. I visited that fish every year till last when the barrel turned to rust and disappeared. I don't like things to change. I would have liked to visit that fish every year: like the road side rest area fifty miles south of Albuquerque where the sand begins the creosote desert, and I always know I'll be back.

     Sudbury road - now eight or nine years of visits. The road on the way to Concord where a curve was cut off at least thirty years ago, and allowed to drift back to the natural world. Plants grow through the white line: grapes cover the road in summer, pine needles cover one end ,and it stays the same in patterns and peacefulness. It is a refreshing place for Me. I like the Sudbury road as much as any exotic place probably more. A bright red leaf is on the sand; I put it in my pocket.

 

9-2-78

 

Everything looks clear and sharp. I just went snorkeling again: sheer joy of vigorous exercise, seeing new and old vitality. Slow boring day waiting for the clock to run out; then I came here like a fish. Only slight flaw of ringing in my ears; had for about a month. I wish it would go away: my own private white noise, hope it's not a new and permanent problem. It is most likely either psychological or a minor physical symptom that will clear up in awhile. It worries me because my grandmother always complained of "ringing"' in her ears, but probably a sign of her atheroscleroses. I am too young to be going senile.

     The sun is glinting on the water. I am going to take a picture. I am getting a hamburger than taking a walk with Nikon at the place I often go shooting in Ashland; lots of flowers and ponds and insects.

 

I still miss wipe; but maybe the Pam I miss became a shadow too. Hate today; one Summer day left: bored, and lonesome. Pfoxer fell in the water in yesterdays woods. I dread September. October is nice, and cold with yellow leaves. September is nothing but a dying Summer. It's Pams' favorite month.

     What bothers me most: I am lonesome and miss her and want to sit on the sofa and play wipers, and go for walks in the fall woods with Pfoxer, and she doesn't have the feelings doesn't love. Ann Atherton of San Mateo wanted to be "friends" too. Why do I seek out woman who are safe? Maybe Klauk is on to something in that "winning and losing"' is often the issue behind the walls; and I pick the easy path where I have years of defenses and find losers for women or am I the loser. Ann Atherton though had a boy friend or two, but was certainly available, and I certainly looked; blue eyes and long dark hair. Big old California house: what does it hide, why didn't you show me your room? Why do you wear a diamond ring, what secrets? You looked wonderful in red next to the telescopes overlooking Alcatraz island, and hanging from the cable cars. Images from another place. I never did get to Haight or Sausolito or the California scene, but that was never really my trip though with you it might have been fun. What happened to Flower children, Moonies, Hare Krishna, LSD., and peace symbols? I was really outside of that too, and maybe glad of it. Pam spent those years believing "more people died in Vietnam then in any other war": a second lost generation isolated from history, caught up in self and time, ignorant and suffering. Some good came out of that, and some bad: a more open society much more accepting of individual lifestyle choices, and differences. Damn few cowboys and crackers left; And now a more "mellow"' radicalism too. The Russians are still the bad guys, little has changed. No: lots of things have changed, but some things whether good or bad are not known yet.

     Sonja Kalckar comes to mind; she called me for a date because her mother asked her to, and we went often to Haight Ashbury East, to Harvard square. We slid on the ice sidewalks, climbed trees in Harvard yard, and looked in a store that sold bowls she liked. When I stepped in front of a window full of magnifying glasses she kept on walking, her meager brain Humming a tune of Bobby Dillons and forgetting my name.

     I should write something about Amy Speiler: realistically the closest female friend I had till Pam Alexander, and also realistically equally unattainable. I was always a "friend", she found boy friends elsewhere. She said that I was "too special"' to more or less violate with sexual impurities;(her idea).She really needed to talk to someone, and be open to orange roads in the Red Desert, and not be threatened by a "lover". I hope, her second marriage doesn't go the way of her first. She was "attracted" to someone of apparently a beach boy physique, and jock personality. She eloped despite parental pleas to the contrary. He was the equivalent of my "dumb blond"' stereotype. After the sex Amy was left with a brutish insensitive kid, and the marriage was annulled. She needed a sensitive friend, and I was that, and I was safe because I was frightened off and "needed"' perhaps a more aggressive female to break the ice. So we fit. I took her to the desert for most of a week and we camped in an area the size of Connecticut where we were the only Human beings. We both gained. I lost some of my fear of female people, and she found a male person who loved sand, and toads, and lizards ,and badlands and sunsets. She loved to cook: had a lazy Susan filled with vitamins ,and a rack filled with bibles. She was enjoyably theological. She read all the books from Bahai to Mormon and at least was able to laugh about them; to question the frightful book of Revelation, but not to mire herself in absolutism. Wonderful abstract conversation, but we never held each other, and she married a damned Mormon in Boise Idaho. OK. I am a little mad; but I doubt this is right for her. I bet she runs out on # 2 and collects husbands all her life. A Pam with some lust: different, but still filled with sorrows, acting out, and problems.

 

I am a good teacher despite any hidden reasons for teaching. If a few kids like what I say it will make a difference. The truth is in Biology that we are not the crowning glory of creation: only all life together; what I showed Amy in the desert, and when I saw rainbows at night by the butte alone, and silent. I must take more pictures, and get them published, and write books; this is the goal and what counts, and how I can matter in a life that always turns to dust at the end.

    

8-22-92

 

I am cutting into the old notebook because I just talked to a nice woman named Sarah. Its to early to say if this will lead anywhere, but the conversation triggered old feelings. Someone has to know about the nicenesses. The second Pam called me that once when she was still a trout. She said "you are the nicenesses", and reached inside where no one else has ever been able. I felt valuable, and needed, and loved more deeply and at a new found level then I believed possible. She was wearing a wool coat and her beret, and she put her arms around me, and gave me a hug that will hold me till the end.

     Once a time later I said,"tell me I am the nicenesses again", and she said "no". Everything I loved was betrayed. It was bad enough letting her use my phone to call Mr. Michael who she told me was a friend who took her dancing, but she made love to Scotty with bouncing springs heard through the wall. I never loved anyone so much and never hurt so much. Sometimes it all comes back: I used to go by her old apartment next to mine and slow down as though she was really still home. Once when I was still a Mrout she came over and found a dehydrated kiwi fruit in the refrigerator. She laughed and told me that she also would buy odd strange vegetables, and then somehow never eat them. The day she moved away with Scotty I left a kiwi fruit in her mailbox. She took it out and put it in mine; a reminder of all we had and lost. I kept it in the refrigerator where it still sits shriveled and dried up in the corner next to the spring water.

 

 

Back to about 1979 or 80

 

Dream: I had a box of gold which I took to Switzerland. It was valued at 250.000 dollars and I was given a check. I was home (Grove St.) and lost the check. My father was insulting me, and telling my mother not to lend me fifteen dollars because my wallet was empty.

Reality: My mother cleaned out the room next to the garage, and I have to go over there and pick through the last remnants of my things, and take them away. My mother always cleaned out my things and my father always insisted "everything has to go"' and I could keep a few things hidden away. I will look through old boxes that mean nothing to anyone else: old magazines, a few rusty toys from a long time ago, ropes wires and sticks. My favorite thing at the old house and first Framingham house was a fish net, and when I was gone to Parsons college my mother purged the garage and threw it out.

 

Student teaching: all I wanted to do was leave the first day. Very difficult. One girl said " you are a good teacher ", and really made me feel good. I am not overwhelmed by the few trouble makers. They are a minimal problem although I was very worried about how to handle them. Most kids listen. I have to be the maximum leader like a dictator giving directions for everything, and slowing down so twelve year olds can keep up. Lots to learn: the data base of twelve year olds is very small; must repeat, and ease up. Mr. Kioses said student teachers common problem is going to fast. I am learning and receiving constructive criticism which is not meant to hurt and doesn't. Certainly I have gained a great deal by a few weeks of this. Overcoming fear of speaking to a group: realizing that the problems of twelve year olds fighting are not necessarily my problems anymore, feeling some respect which I never felt working on newspapers as a public dreg. I am most amazed that I can get up at 7:00 AM. and go to sleep at a reasonable hour; didn't think I could do it.

     Do I really belong here though? I want to visit all the wild places in the West with a 4x5 camera, and with Pam and Pfoxer for company. I am lonesome and have to create: or is a classroom my creative medium?

     I feel trapped. No money - will have to get an uninspiring job at Lechmere, and no trips. Have to die sometime; may as well see crocodiles and lions first. Will I be happier spending the rest of my life in Framingham going through one peer group phase after another: apartment, decorative wife, fancy car or whatever is the next status entity. Maybe I'll find someone to share the kind of life I want. If there are such people - have to know what I really want first. I definitely want recognition and some power, as a tool to get what I want; black footed ferrets in Alaska.

 

9-28-78

 

This time she would not go on a trip. The first time she didn't "maybe"' an absolute no, maybe forever.

     I cant go alone anymore. Kelty is packed and ready to go, but I am empty. This time all my cards were face up and on the table and it did not matter. Much feeling is missing and wrung out; though I start to cry sometimes I think she is a damned fool, that must be the difference, I don't blame me anymore at least not totally.

     Not too far below the surface and I know there is anger though there is still a lot of love and it hurts. Exactly one year ago we went to Mt. Washington; the first trip after not seeing each other for six months. It was troubled, not perfect, but filled with hope. Would I really marry her? No doubt for a time it would have taken little. I told Debby, and Edmunds, and everyone knew. Every one except Pam.

     The Stump is curled up beside me purring. The sad comes back when I think of Pfoxer, and it makes me cry. She will be very sorry later when I hunt black footed ferrets, and she stays alone with Dan; and she picked that road alone. She will miss Mt. Washington too, and right now misses patting this curled up purring cat.

     I just went to my road: dying Fall color, I took 27 pictures. I showed this road to Pam. It was one of the first things I showed her at the beginning of our relationship. The road is still peaceful and time spins in circles.

 

1. The camera show when you told me good-by, that it was best not to see each other - that Dan was your special person, that I would have to accept that or get lost - I hurt for a year.

 

2. The time I said I needed you to come and you never came, and.

 

3. The trip, I could not come unless that girl came otherwise you would not come.

  

4. The time I had some water in a pot and sat on the floor and cried for a blur.

 

5. The time at Edmunds house when I didn't know what anyone was saying. Empty - empty I don't feel that much any more and am very wary.

 

The cats were chasing and snapping. Around the light was an ugly strange and very large insect. I was afraid to catch it in my hand. I didn't want it to get eaten, but knew that if Sirius ate it I would be relieved of having to rescue it. I didn't know what to do. The insect flapped away to the goose neck portion of the light. I grabbed it in a lens case, and let it go outside.

 

Dear Pam;

     Sirius was chasing a particularly large and ugly insect; flapping almost bat like around the light. The poor creature was doomed. It had a right to live: the cat could eat Calo, so I decided to rescue it. It's easy to catch a moth between both hands: sometimes with only one hand; the plan being - catch the moth and take it outside. I saw it land on the goose neck half way between the bulb and the lamp base. I idled over slowly; it wasn't a moth! It had mandibles half an inch long, and four membranous black veined wings, and two furry feelers. Even worse with all the knowledge I have of insects I had no idea whatsoever what this creature was. I could not even assign it an order i.e. a fly, beetle etc.

 

Three years ago -- sometimes memory is deep.

Today I drove to a dirt road for a picture I could not take before for lack of a lens. I borrowed the lens needed today and drove down a dirt road.

I reached a pond a long time ago. I took Pam's picture past the pond in a small field with the same camera. A small knob was twisted from N to M for mirror up. None of the pictures came out

     I took my picture; maybe it came out, but Pam is gone. Maybe

 

June 1979

 

Last night was freezing: I dreamt Amy Speiler came and I held her because she was warm. In a few minutes I looked down, and she turned into Oscar the cat. I was amazed. Oscar was at least three or four times bigger than the real Oscar; at least as big as a large dog.

     It's June tenth or so, but Wyoming Rocky mountain weather: as dry clear, and blue as when Amy was real. I never held her like in the dream; but we went to the Red desert together, and lots of places where the weather was clear cold and blue. And we saw a badger at night who looked like eight cats.

     And now: memories weave together; the fool, married a welder in Pocotello Idaho.

     Maybe I will write her a letter today - she was an exercise in the Pam relationship: a test before the final exam. She wanted to be " friends "' too; said I was too special to be otherwise. Maybe I ought to be a nun.

     Now it's morning: my very favorite blue weather, and Oscar the cat is purring and rubbing against me, and The Stump is sitting on a chewed up letter to the Oyers.

     West on my brain. In one month I will be in New Mexico, and maybe four corners, and the Hopi reservation. Shiprock is an evil place; it frightens me. If I can drive around it on the way to Hopi I will. I don't think it's haunted: I know it is.

    

June 16,79

 

I got a letter from the wipe today - she said she was happy; that she stopped seeing Dan in March, and she does not have every thing she wants, but "at least I don't have what I don't want". I knew (hoped) that without me Dan would have to go. You cant have a triangle with two people. Maybe Pam doesn't want a marriage relationship with anyone, neither Dan nor me or God returned to Earth.

 

I called Pam up and she was mad as hell because I sent her a letter six months ago saying...

 

Pam: aren't you ever going to call me up and ask me how to spell pturkey. Last night I had the flu, and went to bed without feeding the creatures, and was awakened by 16 hairy feet pacing out there hunger on my back, and head. Was that one fifth of a centipede or one half of a badger?

     I remembered a wipe ticket: and swordfish, and seeing the story about black footed ferrets in your apartment, and I remember you missed me. Weren't we going to photograph some owls? Maybe invent some new images together? Weren't we going to finish the Mohusic story together ( do you still have it ). Weren't we going to write, and photograph other stories together?

     Am I completely out of your thoughts? Are all your thoughts blurred over with anger? Are you afraid to see me because you might feel some good feelings; share some warmth? I am not asking for any more commitments: that turned into a disaster for us both, and I think it healthy for me to do some things with other people ( I am ) and to take a good look around. All or nothing? I think I might be where you were months ago. I think we can start to share things again if you want.

     The owls are getting awfully tired. Lets go see them before they fly away forever and leave only empty branches.

                                     Kenny

                                    

                                     Call me

 

Well orange book; what do you think? I feel better including a real letter for a change and not a detached analysis - just what the feelings are.

 

Maybe a little analyzing but at least what I wrote is copied down. Maybe Ill skip the analyzing and say that I really miss the bastard. That sentence says a lot, and all I need to say.

 

I found some of the oldest me in the Wellesly college greenhouse. Alone ( without Human companionship ) but not " alone ". The tiniest specks of things this big ( * ) glowed green through the cracks in the flagstones and drops of water looked at me and sparkled. I liked the two swampy rooms: one with papyrus reeds and waterfalls; and another filled with soggy liverworts, and moss and ferns. I had an image of leaves after a thunderstorm when the sky is still dark gray, but the Sun can creep in on one side and light up the green.

 

6-29-79

 

I remembered about my tree. A long time ago Bobby Hargrove ( who has since become as contemptible as one can infer from the following ) pulled a little tree out of a field. It was at most a foot and a half high. He threw it into the grass. I picked it up and he sneered " It will never grow ", but I planted it and it grew into a nice eight foot tree in my " garden ", in back of 23 Nadine Rd.

     When I got back from Wyoming I found a Stump where my mother cut it down. She said the roots were too close to the house, and that it would have been too expensive to move. When I came back from Parsons college she had thrown out my fish net that she bought for me when I was nine or ten, and which I loved like an old friend. Dumb stupid rights of passage. All they accomplished was hurt, and a good deal of anger. The fish net was my favorite possession - so horrible to hold onto a little of the past? And the tree - it sent shoots up the next year, and was green for awhile, but the stump oozed clear blood, and the new branches sloughed off brown stinking and dead.

     This reminds me of favorite rocks and sticks, and wires, and pieces of old toys. I still rescued a few and keep them in an old box in the closet; some of them creep out now and then and keep me company.

     Sometimes my father insisted on throwing favorite things out, but sometimes my mother did too, and he would even stick up for me, and rescue some things. Like the cork: a four by two foot piece of cork painted yellow that I always took to the beach as a float. It was one of the things I brought home that everyone liked. I found it in a dump in a muddy hole, and carried it home on my head. Originally I got yelled at. The cork was probably a chunk of insulation, and it was dripping with oily mud and smelled of dried scum. I washed it with the hose, and dried it in the sun. It went to the beach, and I eventually painted it yellow. I still have its remains in the green truck.

 

 6-30-79

 

I called Pam today, and had a half civilized conversation. I said it has been exactly one year since the Mahusic trip: a whole year, a long time, she said " I thought it was longer than that, are you sure it's only been a year ". Quite a different point of view.

 

I went to Habitat an old estate in Belmont turned into an environmental center. I took a course in Nature photography. I met a nice fiftyish lady who taught the course and a small group of beginner girls who knew so little about cameras, and wanted to know so much. I met some nice people, and had a good time. I learned about bean bag tripods, and aluminum foil reflectors. Instead of feeling aloof and superior in my great knowledge I felt a little old and venerable. The poor teacher had three Mirandas and a complete system of lenses, and the damn company went bankrupt. So much ego involvement in objects. I would be traumatized if Nikon rolled over and croaked - also up the creek in equipment on the long slide to obsolescence. Actually I learned a good lesson today; or relearned something I believed from before. Sometimes an old thing is not necessarily obsolete or junk or bad just because it is old. Here we have an " old " lady with cameras obsolescent, and without even a digital shutter speed readout, and what counts is the pictures she takes, and they are wonderful flowers expertly shot.

     Some old photographers are boring in there rigid adherence to camera club rules of composition like someone at the store who shoots the same gristmill over and over. Some young photographers are equally boring: they " create ","new" art by snap shooting drunks, and whores, and by photographing there syphilitic girl friends pendulous mammaries by the light shining through a venetian blind.

     The lady who taught this course said to " do your own thing ". She showed us the camera club " rules ", then showed us her " thing ", and how to disobey the rules, and that there should not be any rules to art.  I agree: competence yes, rules no.

 

July 1979

 

     Kenny:

We had a good friendship for several years, but now we both need something more. Please don't write or call any more. I feel badgered. Stop focusing on me - for your own sake. Get on with your life - treat yourself better than you are now.

                                           Pam

Good-by Wipe!

Is Pfoxer behind you....Fool

PS. September 30 1979 We went for a walk and Pfoxer was behind me. At least when she wasn't chasing sticks.

 

And Pam # two is here and she is the nicest.

 

Poor Mr. Spike: overgrown white laundry bag of a cat.

 

 

PPS. July 30,1980 - I love you Pam, the girl next door now, and the emptiness of losing her ( maybe ) brings me back to this book. A few months ago she came over and asked to live with me. All I ever wanted came true. She is so wide eyed - I see her now looking at the empty spot where Mr. Spike should be, and crying - soft and gentle, filled with paintings, and hats, and trouts, my little trout. I said no; that it was not right that we live together, that she didn't have any money and was never alone and it would be best to wait and be sure. What I really meant was that I was scared to death, What she really meant was that she loved me open eyed; and needed protection and love in return.

    

Maybe that was the worsed decision of my entire life.

 

Sex is a very big issue: she says I have no feeling for it, that we don't seem to fit together that way. I get disgusted. I still see sex in a Victorian way as somehow something only beer drinking swaggering illiterates do. I am changing, and thinking things through and sometimes see the truth that its OK, that its not bad. She needs a stud bull though; I think sometimes. I am doing OK for me. One has to judge ones growth on each persons own level, and that includes me and I have come a long way in a year.

The sad thing is that maybe if I said yes I might have had inside all the walls ,inside all the layers of a whole life, something in my heart. I waited two years for Pam Alexander to open my door at 9:00 AM. and give me a hug-- the sex seemed if possible far and away much less important than just a hug, just a few words. This Pam always came over to " be a blanket ", at 9:00 o'clock and I cry whenever I think of it or whenever its 9:00 in the morning. My mrout my wonderful open eyed mrout with the most beautiful expressive lips and the best hugs since I was born. Why do you want to be serviced by a bull? I love your softness, and gentleness, and the nicenesses. Only a few months ago I could have had everything, but sex isn't love; maybe I have to learn it is part of love, but you have to decide what you want.

     Pam was filled with drawings, and art, and dreams of a white house with trees, and instead she got her most important Mr. Spike who she loved run over. She works at least eight hours a day at a job she claims to like, but then barely holds back the tears," but I don't want to become a weekend artist ". She used to go to art school - why did she have picture after picture of nude woman on her walls. I just remembered it embarrassed me, and she took them off months ago and replaced them with nicer things. To her though " naked ladies ", were figures, and she saw in them the beauties I see in Nature: in landscapes, and mountains ,and flowers. Maybe I will see that someday, but now my feelings about nude figures are still not in tune with hers.

     Maybe all this is the best thing. A therapist might say I learned to love again, and grew in the process; that I learned new things, and how to handle certain areas of feeling that were closed to me before.

     I am haunted by that sweet flower of a person though, that came to my door and glowed with love, my little trout, I still love you very much, and I will cry for a long time when its nine o'clock.

     I hurt that all your dreams seemed to crash and I loved Mr. Spike too. Don't you remember a year ago almost when I took you and He to the vet at three AM. speeding through all the red lights in the world. I might have given him a year, a year when you needed him the most. We needed each other too; Hum. I hope if we both decide we still need each other in a year or so I will be ready to be married, and maybe you will too.

                     I love you: its 9:00 o'clock.

 

August, 28-1980

 

I had dreams of Amy Speiler: the trout walked in, I was disoriented, confused. She had some collection notices, was wide eyed with fear.

     Something was missing, and she yelled at me because she was late for work.

 

This weekend she is going out with Scott.

 

I love the wide eyed open trout, a little sad, comforted and comforting.

     Mr. Spike is gone

     The best part of Pam lost with Him.

     Wonderful silly laundry bag of a cat - mrout, my little trout.

     I'll miss her, and chips.

She wants more than all my love. Dreams of a house in Connecticut. Perhaps a house, but an empty one.

 

12-2-80

 

Its a few hours past my birthday. The card ( the one that says " Mrout I love you ".) is from last year. I was so important to her then. I can't believe people fall in and out of love like dead fish off a cart. I am already just an irritant to her, and her new great love Scott. She wanted to dress me up in shirts without wrinkles, and her vision of the shining light that leads to that great dream job in the sky.

 

Another fool: I loved someone who could see and feel, where did she go? Tonight she said she could never live with me, that I was a three year old, and that I liked it. I told her Yes I was a three year old, and that it was the most important thing in my life. Three year olds are wide eyed trouts, and if I ever lost being open eyed I would be nothing, and she is throwing her special self away, the one I cried about and dreamed about, the one I loved.

 

Two Pams, Pam one and Pam Two, or is it Pam A, and Pam B. Two fools. Fool A. And fool B.

 

The Nicenesses

 

I found a broken china cup leaking cool water.

I held the pieces in my hands: kept them off the floor; hoped the water might stay pure.

I glued all the pieces together section by section because I was the nicenesses. Because I felt whole, and important being needed, and then out of love.

The cup stopped leaking: the glue marks not quite hidden in a harsh light, the cracks shadows on an X-ray plate.

With a sad love I put the healing cup on my cupboard shelf.

Yesterday I needed a drink of water. I looked for my cup; the special one I helped hold together.

I looked and looked, and found instead a drying ring of water

 

1-5-81

 

I gave Pam this letter which I copied in this book.

     She gave it back: all it meant to her was it was something she didn't want in her house, Scott might see it.

 

" I was a wounded bird ", she said, and flew away.

 

I keep hoping I can finish this book, but maybe I never will.

 

Aug.15,1981

 

I remember even after you started seeing Scott you came over to use my phone.

     Good-by the Hum: I said I needed you; you said you didn't need me. All the special things: mrouts, sprouts, nicennesses, you said I took away your strength. I am sorry if I came to love someone to whom I became the glue, the most important thing. You made me promise long ago to always be your friend no matter what, and yesterday you said you were counseled by a minister, and that you couldn't have any close male friends, only a Hello how's the weather friend, that all you have must go to your husband.

     The Protestant reformationist heretics are just as vile as your old sputtering foul agents of Rome. They all give advise, and then go home to the toilet like anyone else. Councilors don't ( or shouldn't ) give advice. They should show you an option list: maybe help clear your mind of muddle; but the bastards of the cloth, oh what a fine job they have done. Remember the Church; that agent of your husbands annulment and dollars.

     Who cares what they think. What do you think. What do you really feel?

     I am angry enough to punch you in the face; you betrayed EVERYTHING you asked me for. You told me I was not enough for you - so you married your dream boy, house in Connecticut, good job; like your job how important you are, boss of the decals.

     I wish you were not important. I wish you were soft, and a little scared, and maybe even a bit sad. I wish loving you with all my heart, and even kidneys, was enough.

     " All I ever wanted was for you to love me back", - I wrote that     in the first letter I ever wrote to a girl.

     Your house still has things in it; you will be back to clean them    out - probably on August twenty eighth.

     At least there were tears in your eyes when we said good-by. I can't believe I was so nothing.

     Poor Mr. Spike; laundry bag of a cat.

     My trout I love you

     Very much

     The nicenesses.

 

P.S. It is August 30 1981 everything is gone: plastic bags broken, waiting for the garbage man.

 

 

5-30-84 to 2-04-85

 

I went out to buy a yellow notebook today specifically to write a book in about the Stump maybe or about my road; I don't know.

     Oscar is curled up on her blue pillow: Sirius and Pulsar are patrolling the kitchen listening for the hiss as the can opener relinquishes its vacuum and they start to drool.

     All my Sudbury road pictures; like me sit in a drawer or in yellow boxes, waiting.

     The first Pam became a prize winning published poet; what she wanted. The second Pam; the one who called me the nicenesses married a " successful " boring engineer, what she claimed to want.

     At least I have the Stump: a defective kitten grown into a defective tailless cat. This very minute he jumped upon Oscars pillow to have his head licked and chewed. Oscar sunk her needle fangs behind his right ear in a manner more understandable in a predator prey relationship than of a mother cat licking one of her own kittens. The Stumps reaction was to extend his right front paw with rapidity and sink a few claws into his mothers face. Now he is sitting alone on the pillow too confused to figure out why he is alone.

     I found Sirius rolled up in a ball on the floor on a pile of clothes; and Pulsar only comes out to eat, to fall off things, and to yowl on top of the refrigerator.

     Maybe I will go to South Africa: which if someone else said such sentence might be unbelievable, but sometimes I act on my dreams. Actually what might seem an impetuous decision to some has been eating at me for two years. South Africa interests me not despite all its problems as I tell some, but because of them.

     I put this yellow notebook on the floor and Oscar used it for scratching ( look at the cover ). Sometimes I think all the claws should be pulled out or rubber tips glued to all sixteen feet.

     I just remembered a laundry bag I had; it might still exist as a rag with grommets. I used to take my laundry home from Worcester Jr. college in it. It lived until a pillow case replaced it and a brown plastic laundry basket replaced that. The Hum always hated my wrinkled clothes so I bought a container into which they could be folded. It was too late.

     I remember the giant laundry bags the laundry man would deliver to Mountain Ave. Some things were rolled up in brown paper; a wonderful damp clean smell. My mother hung the clothes up on the porch: I was so little that I could curl up on top of a laundry bag on the back steps like a cat.

     Sirius just came over and is crawling on me making it hard to write. I patted him on the head and he kneaded me like a purring lump of dough. He is curled up on me: I am the laundry bag.

     Mr. Spike was a laundry bag too.

 

6-1-84

 

I am at the News thinking about sending to publishers about my ice pictures, and Sudbury road pictures.

     Ice book letter to publishers...Dear mr.xxx, Winter is a time of specters howling where natures scythe reaps the ill prepared and smothers Summers color under death pale blinding white.

     Winter is also respite from mosquitoes bite: brain dulling sun, and crowds in all the quiet places.

     I have a collection of black and white prints of ice like glass: mountain granite lost in fog, of Winter quiet, alive.

 

6-2-84

 

All four organisms are in sight. They don't have to watch television; they seem happy being alive. I decided today that I really need to publish my pictures and maybe words in order to be happy. Too much sits in boxes. I wrote to two publishers about the ice pictures.

     Pulsar is an awfully strange cat. She just walked by looking paranoid. I followed her skulking form creep by staring under the bed to look out for cat eating monsters. Pulsar is invisible most of the time. When I come home and open the door Sirius bravely greets me standing on the arm of the purple sofa waiting for a pat. The Stump is second pacing the floor for a head rub and Oscar is always a few feet away. It is a standard greeting ceremony: Pulsar is always missing. Pulsar is also the biggest cat if not in the whole world at least in her world, but always seems to play second fiddle. She eats what no one else wants and sleeps in the highest places where she can keep her eyes open; or hidden in some secret hole. Now of course that I have written the above Pulsar is lying in plain sight in the middle of the floor; a most insane cat.

 

I have a nice red tea kettle I bought in a super market. Perhaps I will make some tea with honey. Pam ( the Hum ) once bought me some Italian candies called honeys. Every person gives you something. Sometimes they forget but I won't, and the candies have become special. They always make me a little sad though, sometimes a lot sad, sadness from something so sweet.

 

I was just looking in the kitchen and found two Christmas presents I bought and kept for me. One is a small glass dish probably designed to hold candy, and the other is a china bowl. Both of them looked at me in the store and had to come home. The candy dish reminded me of a similar object I liked when I was three. It disappeared once and I got the message it was lost. It was probably broken and no one would tell me so instead of feeling bad I looked for it for years. I always liked glass things. The bowl didn't remind me of anything. I just liked it and brought it home.

 

6-5-84

 

Just watched the A-Team, Randys favorite program, it was fun. I also patted Pulsar and inspected one of my oldest pliers.

     Today I wrote to a magazine wanting writers and photographers; maybe they will be intelligent enough to call me up. The ad. was in Advertising Week with a box number. Maybe I will get to do what I really want; writing and taking pictures. Magazines are a step up from most newspapers and one step away from books which is what I really want to do. Ice pictures book: Sudbury road book, other places too, new ones.

      Randy so likes the A-Team that he unplugs his phone for the duration.

     Oscar is asleep on the remains of the green chair with claws extended and head upside down. What do cats think.

 

I had a dream last night. I was driving my Mothers blue Ford wagon ( gone the way of the compressed cube many years ago ), and found the Stump exhausted in Shoppers World. I picked him up and dragged him back hoping he would not panic and run away. He was so tired he fell asleep in the back seat. Then I had to get Pulsar in London in one of the tube stations; I received a call from the police. I walked down endless steps and found her forlorn and desperate as a rag with eyes. Pulsar is panic city; paranoia with whiskers. She was sitting there in the empty station, but a crowd of people was running down the steps and a train was approaching. I was afraid to grab her by the neck as she might panic and chew off a few fingers; and I was afraid to wait for the people or she would bolt. I waited; she walked over and I gave her a few pats on the head and picked her up. She didn't mind and I carried her to the car ( the keys were held in my mouth so I could open the door quickly ) and we drove home.

 

6-7-84

 

I waited for the mail and none came. I am going to Boston for a catalogue from The Art Institute of Boston to learn about lighting and view cameras. I really want to write books and take pictures. Newspapers are not for me anymore: too dull, same old boring crap day after day. What I want to photograph: mountains, deserts, my road in Sudbury can be done with a view camera in the best way. I need connections at least in Boston too. My father keeps pushing about " making a living ", I understand that, but making a living being unfulfilled and desperately bored is not what I want either. I can probably compromise taking careful 4x5 pictures of waste baskets because it may get me enough money to shoot what I want. I have another headache or rather the numbness that comes with fiorinal to knock out the headache which I don't like either. Maybe I should do something; I think I will go into Boston. Even the mail didn't come today.

 

6-8-84

 

It's too hot to think today; over ninety five. I looked for the brown truck I liked at Crown Chevrolet and found it on the back lot. It might be sold, and is being washed for the customer. I really liked that specific truck. Even trucks leave me.

     It is a good time to see if my fish is still at home in Learnards pond. I can't even move from this heat. This is a truly miserable day.

 

6-13-84

 

I applied for two Science teaching jobs today: and the News might hire me full time if Mcdonald gets fired, and I might sell log houses.

     I don't know what to do. Teaching really scares me. Will I remember all the kids names? Will I be able to maintain discipline? Will I be a good teacher? Will I be able to stand being so neat, so on time , so middle of the road? But three months vacation per year.

     The News: it's familiar and easy and also boring. The schedule is terrible and the money is low. I never seriously thought of being rich, but being poor is like having one ball; powerless, defenseless, and vulnerable.

     Which brings up the third possibility of selling houses; something I never thought about. Maybe it would be boring. Everything seems boring, but I might make lots of money which seems to be important in this culture, and enough money to drive to Wyoming whenever I felt like it would be nice. So would a piece of land in the mountains, and all the things money can buy, but I don't have any of the important things. The Hum is gone. Mr. Spike is gone. I would feel just as empty with the money as without.

     We are the Hum. No one knows what that means except for Pam who is gone, and me.

 

Beacon press has a job opening for a news photographer. I have been trying all day to reach them on the phone. I finally reached them and discovered they are paying 180 per week; useless.

 

The yellow table came with this house. It was just there when I moved in and I liked it's bright plastic color. Today I took it apart and replaced it with Lillians kitchen set which stood in her kitchen with photos all set out for her last meal. I didn't want her table because I felt like a thief; but it looks OK .and the cats all approve.

     The Stump was on a chair, and Pulsar and Sirius stretched out on the table like two lions. Only Oscar hasn't checked it out yet: she will probably like it too. How can I eat on it though? I will have to chase the cats off if I ever actually eat at the table instead of on the floor watching television.

 

I have a new lens and I am quite pleased with it. It's a 35 to 105 zoom. I never had a zoom lens before nor have I particularly liked them due to a lack of sharpness and less than useful focal lengths. This lens is supposed to be sharp ( I hope ) and is extraordinarily handy. Instead of always carrying fifty pounds of stuff waiting for every possible contingency; one camera and one lens does most everything. The price paid is that the lens is slow so its mostly an outdoor lens. I am going out to try it.

     I bought Pam a lens once with money needed for food. It was 105 mm. a perfect lens for the way she sees. That was the last time I bought a lens. I am glad to have a new one - they help see - the perspective on the World is a little different with each one.

 

The lens is terrific. I took a beautiful picture of Marisa a six year old girl at Debby's pool. Marisa is a lot of fun. I pretended to be the pool shark and chased her around the pool, and gave her rides. Too bad her divorced mother is so incompatible. I always thought marrying someone with a kid might be a serious problem; but I find myself in this case liking the kid so much I wish the mother was nicer. Lois ( the mother ) just is not for me: her fingernails are too long, she drinks, and I just don't like her.

     The Stump just walked over. He, and Oscar and Pulsar all graced the first roll of tri-x shot with the new lens.

     Sirius is his own person, the friendliest and bravest, but he hangs out with himself and seems pleased with the company.

 

 

6-17-84

 

The Stump

 

I heard horrible cat crying. Pulsar under the bed said nothing. I listened harder. The Stump almost vermiform had squeezed himself behind a knapsack and howled with the same voice used the first time he heard a vacuum cleaner.

     I patted him and understood it was the rain and lightning and most of all the thunder. What to me was refreshing after a day of soggy slime heat was to him terrifying beyond panic.

     He moved to a clear part of the rug and crouched lower than even a cat can get. He melted into the carpet fibers, only orange eyes oversized ears and a howl.

     In the morning he knocked the alarm clock on the floor; impatient with waiting, and walked on my head for breakfast. He was himself again: the poor Stump.

 

6-18-84

 

A few years ago I made a nice box for Oscar. It was cardboard with a fitted cover a flap door and shredded paper inside. I even put a towel inside for a blanket and put the whole nest in the kitchen.

     I was almost glad when the rope slipped off Oscars neck and she almost ran away. I was barely able to catch this almost skeletal cat abandoned next to Debby's apartment. I didn't know what this white object was and wasn't so sure I wanted it. People told me to let her out; to leave the window open so she wouldn't feel cooped up. After all this cat had lived on the street. After one week of white cat she disappeared forever. Forever it seemed was five days, and I awoke at 5:00 AM. to white feet on my head, and I cried and shut the window.

     Now the nest box was finished but Oscar was gone for three days even though the window was locked. My aluminum black police flashlight glared under the bed, in the drawers and in every hole and dark place. Inside the closet in a box of term papers was a purring white cat curled into a c nuzzled by three rat shapes. I decided to keep one kitty as company for Oscar ( I kept them all ), and could not decide which of the two fluffy ones to keep. They became Sirius, the first one out of the box, and Pulsar, cute but born without a brain or sense of balance. The other organism was a circus act: a deformity with orange eyes, oversized tufted ears, rabbit hind legs, and a twisted two inch stump of a tail. He was obviously The Stump.

      Right now I am in Maine writing this and I miss The Stump very badly. He was so scared from the thunderstorm. It is nice someone needed me to pat away the hurt. Stupid orange eyed mrout brain.

 

2-26-84

 

No one tells me I am the nicenesses again.

     I just committed genocide on fleas. One bit me again, and the cats are sucked dry of blood. I used Raid flea killer and soaked the rug, furniture, clothes and windows. Charles Manson would be pleased with me; mass murderer of fleas. I can't be nice to them. It might not be there fault, but they cause too much misery. If there were only a few of them it would be live and let live but there are at least two billion seven hundred thousand on each cat, and seventy two times that number on the floor. The biomass of fleas equals eight elephants. It was overwhelming chemical warfare; Sadam Husein would be proud of me.

      Next to the guns on the floor beside the bed; under some old socks and a brown towel was an army of flea sized white ants or termites. I sprayed them too and feel bad about it. I was afraid they might bite or that they were a larval stage of fleas. It is possible that they would have lived under the towel and not hurt anyone. I shouldn't have sprayed them.

 

6-27-84

 

All my negatives are in a box on the floor with the Stump sitting on top like a gargoyle. I want to pick out a few negatives to make a print for a brochure, but the Stump is guarding them and won't let me. He is too busy scratching fleas.

 

6-28-84

 

I just looked through all my negatives. Lots of pictures of what is valuable to me: cats, Pam#1, and Pam#2, empty places, my road, ice. I talked to a lady at Newtonville yesterday an old customer and she is in the same boat I am of not knowing where to go photographically. The 4x5 looms larger every day; it's where I need to be. What I do best is pictures, and editors, and publishers are prejudiced towards big when in fact a 35 mm. kodachrome is so close in quality it doesn't matter. 4x5 does have one important feature in addition to brown nosing editors and that is perspective control. I am also more and more invested with the idea that slow and contemplative is better then fast and pick out the good ones. The whole trauma that 4x5 exacts of tripod, time and strong back requires selectivity and contemplation of one whole entity and hopefully one perfect picture.

 

 

7-6-84

 

I ordered the 4x5. It scares me; it's a formidable project. Maybe in a few years it will be as much a part of me as a Nikon, but now it makes me nervous. I remember when I first had the RB. I had the same feeling that I was biting off more than I could chew. Now the RB. is very easy to use ( I hope it's not mad on me ) and, maybe the 4x5 will be too.

     Anyway I like being a bit overwhelmed. I am in need of a challenge. I will take the new camera to Wellfleet.

     I am already thinking what lens to buy next; perhaps a 90 mm. Rodenstock. The lens I did get is basically a slightly long normal; a 70 mm. equivalent on a 35 mm. It will be OK. for lots of things, and will allow me to learn the movements which are the reason for view cameras anyway.

     I am not really sure why I picked a Rodenstock lens instead of a Nikon which I trust; maybe curiosity about a real German lens, or I just might like the sound of the name.

     Fleas are still a plague. I patted the cats, and found fleas crawling on my arms, so I chased them around the house with flea powder which they like less than fleas. They think I torture them with powder which is a dilemma. I can't hold them down like victims or they will hate me, and I can't explain in English so I just " pat " them with powder in hand till they smell it and run, and I spray the house to reduce the population. Fleas are the very definition of a supreme pain in the ass. I know they have a right to live, but on someone else's blood.

    

4-7-84

 

I am sending Pam ( the Hum ) the Horseman 4x5 catalogue to show her what I was getting.

 

4-8-84

 

Saw Ansel Adams exhibit at the Worcester art museum; luminous print quality as advertised, but not so superior. Some of the prints had dust spots and air bubbles. They were small but I could find them along with one hair and edges that were not perfectly sharp either. They were outstandingly good pictures, but not the God like perfection I had been led to believe. One thing I liked about Adams prints: some of them were only 8x10 and looked fine at that size. Still not sure about view cameras. I will just have to use mine when it comes and see for myself.

     I saw Caligulas head today too; or a marble bust thereof. It's odd to see something that old that looks new enough to have been bought at Lechmere a few years ago. He looked remarkably like Bobby Hargrove.

 

7-84

 

The 4x5 came today; like a big birthday present. Very complicated and very easy at the same time. Loading film into holders was as panicky as loading film onto reels in darkroom the first time.

     It is big heavy and cumbersome, but I really like it. First shot was a pretty straight formal shot of a building with Polaroid film. Everything seemed to work; the picture came out fine. I keep discovering new things: when taking the building picture it was inconvenient looking for F stops and shutter speeds on top, when I discovered an extra set of numbers on the bottom of the lens.

     I went to one of my favorite places; Pelham island road in Wayland. I used view camera movements for a picture of trees and couldn't decide about a small plant that kept looking at me. Finally I decided to take its picture because I liked the leaves. The 4x5 was great; planes of focus changed, exact image placement was easy.

 

7-17-84

 

I found the barrel today; not much more than a rust spot really, eight feet below the surface of Learnards pond. Every year I look for a certain fish who used to live in the barrel, and who has grown into the great grandfather of Learnards pond. I don't know how long patriarchal bass live in a world of hooks: I hope a long time.

 

7-19-84

 

Wanted to walk out the door at the school; nervous and felt very out of place.

     The dean of admissions remembered me and my pictures even the picture of Mr. Spike and Elbereth. That was the last picture on the roll. I was aggravated that day and wanted to go home. Pam was overwhelming: she had five cats and a few kittens, and was out of nowhere, everywhere. I had to plan every weekend around her. I wished she lived a few houses away.

      Now I wish she were here, and Mr. Spike, I think about her every day. I wonder if I picked her old school because somehow I expect to find her there. When she was here sometimes I wished she would go away. Now she won't come probably forever. I miss her much more than the original Pam.

 

Boiled a pot of grade B new potatoes. It seems grade A is a size measure and giant new potatoes taste like Idaho's not what I remembered. The grade B new potatoes are potato ecstasy; absolutely delicious even without butter or salt.

 

7-21-84

 

Got two new strange fruits in the store; yellow and from New Zealand like kiwi fruits. They will probably rot in my refrigerator like Pam's kiwi. Maybe I will take thier pictures as they are really yellow. I will use the 4x5 and add a lime for color.

     I have been wishing for a wide angle for the new camera, but I can make good use of the lens I have I.E. close up shots of New Zealand tamarillos.

 

7-22-84

 

Took pictures of strange yellow fruit which turned orange overnight. Put them in a nice glass dish I brought for a Christmas present, but kept for myself. In the dish were the two tamarillos and a lime. The dish was put on a dish towel on a table outside and the white side of a focusing cloth used as a reflector which added a half stop and a good bit of fill to one side.

     I wonder if the brown truck is still there. I saw it a few days ago not sold; parked where it was for a long time. I particularly like this truck as I did a yellow one in another lot.

 

7-23-84

 

The original white kitty wanted an extensive pat. Oscar, right now a nice quiet flea holder. She was just a rib cage with a tail when I got her. Now she is an advertisement for Crisco; almost too obese to jump with any grace.

     The Stump was sitting in the cast iron pan I got at Gibsons; on the stove again. He is going to be cooked. Looked for my fish today: saw a catfish, another pickerel, a lot of sunfish, and four small versions of my fish, but haven't seen him yet. I hope he is still alive. I look for him all the time.

 

9-25-84

 

Two rabbits a fox and a lacewing.

     I had an interview at Underground Camera in Foxboro today. It was hot, and I wore a suit and tie. The schedule rotates every week and the pay stinks. Not all that thrilled.

     Came home; Bruce Newcomber wanted me to go to AL. Willaims company to learn how to sell insurance. I fell asleep; really didn't want to go there. I woke up at seven PM. and sat outside on the steps. It was finally cool and pleasant; actually perfect, and the sun setting over the river was calming, and as sparkling as anything anyplace. I walked across to the river and enjoyed the color of leaves backlit and glowing, and decided to drive up Nobscot mountain. The view is almost like New Hampshire; orange mixed with green, and the sky clear to the horizon. Sometimes winter Arctic high weather comes in July and when it does the cold is only 65 or 70, and the air crisp and perfect.

     I saw two fat little rabbits, and a spindly legged fox. On the way off the mountain, riding down in my truck, a lacewing sat on my window, iridescent green.

 

When I was in Worcester Jr. college I wanted to write about the swamp. I fell asleep and never did. Today I think about the view from Nobscot which is the same as from the tree in the swamp in October. The view is one of oneness, one of peace.

 

8-3-84

 

Randy wants to go on a trip to Canada. I opened my box of old maps and things and found the maps of Moosonee. I went there with the Hum. We both knew our relationship was ending. We shared some nice things though: a kitten in a parking lot, chips from the best French fry place in the world, Northern lights, Henry the Cree Indian, camping on the island eleven miles from James bay, and the Green specter she saw in the cemetery on Moose factory island.

     She still wore hats then, and had a shirt that looked like a table cloth.

     I loved the rocks and the miles of trees and water, and the horizon that only exists in frontier places. She loved the Cree alphabet, a souvenir store, and a book about Patty Hurst bought in North Bay where I bought some pliers.

     I haven't seen my fish yet.

     The Stump is curled up in a box of maps.

 

 

8-9-84

 

I bought two pens; this is one of them. Lechmere may hire me to sell cameras. I have no interest in staying there for five or six years like Newtonville. Already people are saying," you can work up, be a manager". Hopefully it will be a reasonable place so I can go to school learn 4x5 studio photography and make connections in Boston.

     At least the lady that interviewed me really liked me and so did the photo dept. manager she went out of her way to find. I liked her too. She was pretty, smart and we liked each other immediately. I was interviewed by two females for Underground camera too; instant lack of rapport.

 

8-11-84

 

I just remembered the meteor shower is today. I will look before going to sleep. I will drive up Nobscot if the sky is clear.

     Debby bought a new car today, a Datsun 300 ZX. It is very nice, but I still like trucks better. Maybe I can still get the brown one ( which is still there ) at Crown Chevrolet. I will check prices on Monday. I will buy the purple rug for a bed liner for it that has been rolled up at a store beside Nautilus for a year.

     I don't like the television anymore: I am sick of it. It's a nice television it's the programs that are empty. Sick of watching television because of nothing else to do.

 

11-14-84

 

A black cat was outside and the Stump jumped on the window hissing and batting the screen.

     I went outside and the cat looked like Jeffrey or Ebony and I looked where Pam used to live and was very sad. It's night, and I just wish I could walk over.

     I bought an egg plant today. It will probably rot before I even think about cooking it. I liked it; maybe I will take its picture. The kiwi is still in the refrigerator.

 

8-15-84

 

Sometimes I just know things. If I didn't put the newspaper away and go in the water immediately then my fish would be gone.

     I went to Learnards pond and my fish was there; finally there. It made a sharp right turn, and I followed underwater and came right up to the same old rust spot where his barrel was all along.

     What a nice old fish. My lucky fish waited all Summer to show up. I thought my fish would abandon me too, but no one has caught him and he is swimming by the remains of the rusty barrel.

      For a short while today I was especially happy - it would be nice to be that happy more often.

    

 

11-17-84

 

Randy found an old dog in a dumpster behind a shopping center. He was black Labradorish with an oversized head. He , Ned , was too weak to walk. Ribs showed and he could hardly eat. Randy fed him till some strength came back. Ned is a wonderful dog; Caroline says," where's Ned " when she wakes up, and loves him especially.

     Ned has heart worms, and coughs and wheezes in a way suggestive of congestive heart failure. He goes to the vet today. I told Randy I would lend him the money to take Ned to Angel Memorial if necessary. He is such a good dog; a perfect dog. He is much better than those two hyper pure blood Irish setters that deserve lobotomies or barbiturates or both. I hope he is all right.

 

I was on my way to the movies, and went to the Audubon sanctuary instead.

     I saw a tree like the one that used to be in my little garden, a turtle, a chipmunk, and two large black fish just back from the synchronized swimming event at the Olympic games.

 

8-24-84

 

I got the job at Lechmere. Thursday night is the first day of work, an orientation class of some kind.

     I wonder if the hot air balloon will take off at five PM. I am taking a picture for the News, but only if the weather is perfect. Even brought the four by five; maybe I will use it a little, now not so completely sad.

     Trucks driving me crazy. I still like that big brown Chevy at Crown. Looked at Toyotas and Datsuns; they were OK. The Toyota was sand colored and drove in a sporting manner quite unexpected. The Datsun had power steering, a little too powered for my taste, but also decent. Toyota low price special is " only " 6000, and the price goes up fast. Prices are an obscenity. Maybe the cheap one is good enough I don't know. Prices go up for some good features and up for a lot of crap too. Air conditioning is a bolt in kit. Not that impressed with the little Chevy because of an automatic that wasn't sure when to shift. The big Chevy ( the brown one ) is great; its automatic is an old fashioned three speed designed more for performance than for mileage. The high mileage automatics are awful. If I get a high mileage truck I will get a manual shift for it. Maybe I will look at Honda civics too.

      Cost is an object. Car dealers make big profits on expensive options: most of which don't mean anything, and some of which are even stupid.

     I think more and more of Toyota; but that big C-10 brown metal flake looked at me, and I have been thinking about it for months. It's a very nice truck.

 

8-25-84

 

I looked at my old enlarger at Newtonvilles new lab and there was a label on it with a face drawn on it. I put the label on it two years ago. Bits and pieces of the old lab ( mine ) were all around me like blown off arms and legs; out off place, but they might be put together.

     Paul wants me to work in the lab he fired me from. He told me how useless I was then a year later wants me back; I don't know.

     I lived in the old lab. It was home and he wrecked it, and brought the broken limbs to his hole in Newton. Moisan said," you don't like Lechmere" ,and" going to school is stupid", you could learn that in a studio in two days".

     Greenie makes sense. He says they want to control me. " I won't like Lechmere", means work for Newtonville so we can control your life, and " school is stupid " means don't make a decision that might improve my life, and take it away from Newton's loving grip.

     I want to go to the school, and I might even like Lechmere, at least it's five minutes from home and I can take classes.

 

9-2-84

 

My brown truck is gone; a vacant hole in the lot where it lived. Very sad. It was one of my friends. I didn't care if it got terrible miles per gallon. I just liked it I am not sure why I just did. I almost bought it a week ago. I went to the dealer to ask if he would hold it for a week till I could decide, but got scared at the door and went home. It was just too much money, 8485 dollars not including rusty Jones. Nine thousand was just too much to handle including payments.

     Maybe I will have to get a Toyota; I might even like it. A nice sand colored one is in the showroom, it sort of looked at me.

     I keep thinking about the brown truck. It was my friend for six months. I should have bought it despite the mileage, but couldn't really afford it.

     Some one bought the red one parked next to it to add to his collection of a Jeep, a camaro, a Volkswagen Jetta, and a Cadillac. He just wanted a truck " to haul things to the dump in ",and only drove it for two minutes and said OK.

     What I feel is everyone leaves me. The Hum, The Wiper and Pfoxer, everyone. Even Nissins cake left me. When I want to Peru I wanted to come home and have some Nissins cake which was always yellow with chocolate frosting. Now Nissins bakery got big and there cakes became ordinary i.e. cheap. I like old things and I like some things to stay the same.

 

9-2-84

 

I had a long dream about Wyoming last night. It was raining. I was wandering around the buildings of the University hoping I would not run into Flittie. I was very lonesome and thinking of coming home. I thought of, but didn't go to either Gibsons or the Red Desert. Amy Speiler or John Morel or the Oyers or Steve Kunkee or any one I knew was not there. Just a raining day and a bunch of buildings.

     I woke up and its 7:50 AM. and cold, and cloudy and damp. It rained last night.

 

I don't want to go to Lechmere. Its very regimented, and it makes me tired. It's like school in the worse sense waiting for the clock to ring a bell. Wanting to go home.

 

Sirius was sitting on my lap. The Stump came over and also sat down. Sirius was pissed off and ran around the house smashing into things, then he sat next to me on the purple pillow and panted. He could have stayed if he wanted to. Just now the Stump jumped on a little table and stood on a nice cake squashing the frosting. Oscar is beside me being patted, and Pulsar is sleeping in my bed. The television is off for a change.

     Maybe I will buy the sand Toyota tomorrow. It looked at me; not as strongly as the big brown metal flake Chevy, but it still looked, and I hope it's OK.

 

9-4-84

 

I got the Toyota today. I drove away and looked where the brown truck was, and saw the other brown one.

     This is a nice truck too, and I think I will like it a lot. The color is very restful, and I like the black grill.

 

9-18-84

 

Very tired from Lechmere job. I had only four dollars, and got cat food, and couldn't think of what to get for me.

     A small piece of fish looked at me. I left it looking for hamburger, but returned and bought it for 99 cents. It was delicious. I usually overcook fish not wanting to eat it raw; this haddock was outstanding. It is good to eat when really hungry instead of just out of habit. That fish was food instead of something to chew and swallow.

     The new sand colored truck is outside: the red one is sitting in the driveway waiting for Randy.

 

9-21-84

 

Randy drove the red truck away. I gave him the two keys, and told him about the secret ones attached to the frame with a magnet.

     At least I will be able to visit it, and Randy seemed really happy to have it.

     My mother went with me to buy a cap picked out with my father for the sand colored truck. It's a great thing for trips; aluminum with roof racks, and big windows like I wanted. All it needs now is a rug. There is a disgustingly garish purple one next to Nautilus. I will try and buy it this week.

 

6-25-84

 

About 90 this morning, and 40 at night.

     A weevil was crawling across the floor in an aisle used by " associates ", Lechmeres euphemism for employees. I picked it up, and put it on a leaf in the sun.

     It's too long being at Lechmere: days seem endless sometimes; although I am learning a lot about Human beings. A lady wanted to know about disc cameras which I showed her; but I also showed her some auto focus 35 mm. which scared her away. Maybe she was embarrassed by the prices she could not afford, or by the complexity I wished to explain away. I was just trying to show her how to get better pictures. These cameras are like disc cameras with much better print quality. She would have been perfectly happy with what she wanted in the first place.

 

6-27-84

 

The Stump is sitting on a little table that Sherry got me. He reminds me of a little china kitty I had in Dorchester. It was glued together. It was probably my mothers once, but I appropriated it just like I did the needle nosed pliers out of my fathers tool box at work.

     I have a cap for the new truck: a present from my father and mother. It is an exceptionally nice present; a little house. I can't wait to go to Wellfleet or to the mountains, and not have to find a place to sleep at 11:30 in the rain. Trips will be so much easier.

     If it doesn't rain I will try it out on Sunday on a trip to the mountains or the cape, or maybe Delaware. There is a cauliflower farm in Delaware on Rt.9 just outside the Bombay hook wildlife sanctuary. when I saw the farm a man on a green tractor was harvesting the cauliflower with French revolutionary fervor. It looked like a mass decapitation. Migrant workers picked up the heads and tossed them into a wagon. Canada geese by the thousands ate the left overs.

     I shut the television deciding that I can actually live without knowing the end of Miami Vice.

     Noise from the next door apartment as Rick packs up his stereo and leaves. He was really not so bad; save his taste in music interfered with my sense of calm. He loved fixing old cars especially Mustangs. I am sorry to see him go. My upstairs neighbor voiced the same fear I have," who is going to replace him, some biker scum". I wonder.

     The Hum used to live there; and she moved out too which is probably why I feel sad. At least I have my mrout brains even if one of them is defective, and doesn't seem to have a tail.

 

9-29-84

 

The purple rug is gone: I just drove to " remnant alley ", and can't see it through the closed windows.

     Maybe I will drive to Wellfleet tonight.

 

10-5-84

 

A girl at Lechmere bought a pinkish purple camera bag. A week before I noticed its odd color; it being the only one among a horde of blue, and gray, and black.

     She had a wonderful bright smile, and the kind of looks that are beautiful to me. I will probably remember her for the rest of my life; someone who I didn't know but would love to know.

     Pam Alexander is in the hospital now minus a gall bladder. I took a picture of a white boat in the rocky sand at the edge of a beach in Plymouth. The boat was perfect for her book. She called tonight, and suggested my boat on my road in Sudbury. Maybe I will try it. It has taken days already, but I would like a book cover especially of my road. I would like a book of my road, maybe a cover is a good place to start.

 

10-8-84

 

At my road for the second time today. In the morning I came with Wyly who helped with my boat; think I got good pictures, but have to develop negatives first.

     Back for the second time to get the knurled ring that holds the camera to the tripod. I remember it fell when putting the tripod into the boat to carry to the truck. I thought I went back, but forgot so here I am. Very glad to find it otherwise impossible to use the tripod; and I saw my road again.

     I loved this road before either of the Pams, before I went to Wyoming, for a long time.

 

10-9-84

 

October is a wonderful month. The trauma of September is over, the air is crisp, the trees spectacular. October is my favorite month along with July. The road is exceptional. So was the Cape last week. I might go to the mountains on Saturday.

     I walked into the kitchen last night in the dark carrying a lamp that needed to be plugged in and switched on. Oscar and the Stump followed me via the usual routes; Oscar along the floor, and the Stump pouncing on the desk first then off again. I was about to tell them about having to turn on the lamp and was hit by the awful truth that I couldn't: or rather that I could, but they couldn't understand. I wanted to tell them about electricity. Why is there such a knowledge gap? Animals are smart: they think, they have eyes, and ears, and they feel. There emotions are obvious; at least mammals like cats and dogs. Why can't Oscar understand light bulbs?

     I like them anyway especially my own mrout brains; even if they probably won't win the Nobel prize, or write papers on particle physics, maybe that doesn't even matter.

     It was the telescopes birthday on September 11. I will get a Celestron 8 or its equivalent for the comet. In 1956 I knew the comet would come in 1986. I also knew I would be forty years old, and wondered what I would be if I would be half way through living; exactly the same in what matters, and glad.

     I still like magnifying glasses, and microscopes, and telescopes; I added cameras along the way. Anything with glass in it anything to help me see deeper, clearer, sharper closer. Inside the core of why and what the universe, the world and life is. It's too important for me to have the telescope then to not have it. It represents a continuity of personality of who I am that nothing else really could.

     Jimmy Hargrove bought a shotgun which we used to effect on hapless bottles yesterday. It was a " blast " so to speak; good fun. It would be fun to get a shotgun, and even become formal and shoot skeet. Though such a thing though enjoyable in its way is not the same as a telescope; an extra set of eyes stored away in a dust protected box till needed to slice through the fog, a continuum with what is real.

 

10-11-84

 

 

I saw a garish yellow green rug last night in the store that had the purple one, and bought it this morning. It is rolled up in back of the new truck ready for installation. The man who sold it hated it: I had to insist, and the only reason he sold it was because he liked money. It's great, a jelly roll of green. It's exactly twice as long as I need for the floor so I may cut up pieces for the walls of the bed, and stick them on with double stick tape.

 

10-14-84

 

I did nothing most of the day; just sat on the floor with cats watching old movies. I left the house at 2:30 half hearted as it was solid overcast and cold.

     Pleasant surprise like a few years ago on Nobscot: colors, vibrant, brilliant under soft cloudy light. This was not " cloudy bright ", but dark and gloomy. The clouds are the edge of a hurricane, and look it.

     Wonderful leaves along the Sudbury river as it crossed under Central street, and in Southboro next to a dam near the News.

     Pictures have to be worked into sometimes: the first ones are like a sketch, and the second ones are better, then all of the creative feelings surface and you get what you really want. I like the 4x5. It's not second nature like the RB. or first nature like the Nikons, but it is coming along fine, and I like it.

 

10-18-84

 

Sitting in the new truck at Lechmere; long day, but OK. I had a good class at the art school about portrait lighting. The next day I took Bill Edmunds picture. along with his wife, and kids. It was a lot of fun, and I cant wait to develop the film. I used the RB. and a roll of verichrome pan, and one of tri-x, and a few shots with the 4x5.

     I would still like to have a book about my road.

     Pfoxer said hello to me today. Pam Alexander said " Pfoxer loves you ", and she is right. An exceptional dog; it's too bad the dog is nicer than her owner. Pfoxer used to go mountain climbing, and almost was decapitated by the Mt. Washington train. She stuck her head over the track, and only breathes air today because the engineer could stop on a dime. She climbed the mountain on October six once on a perfect crisp day with ice on the morning leaves and snow on the top. I had great hopes for her owner long gone by. It is probably best for me not to see either one of them very often.

     It became too painful having lunch with the second Pam, and now we don't even talk on the phone.

     The Stump is in a bag. Oscar is sitting on top of the new view camera in its box. My leg itches due to a mild case of poison ivy, and I am tired.

     My father was horribly depressed due to his arthritis, and business not doing so well. I really felt bad for him. He never looked lonely to me before; tonight he was lying in bed looking empty. My mother made a very nice supper, and, Sandy, Debby, Randy, Lisa, and Caroline were over, and we all watched the debate between Mondale and Reagan. He seemed much better when we left.

     Reagan did a good job; I was embarrassed for him during the first debate. Some things about his policies irritate: he doesn't seem to grasp what environmental issues are about, nor about the separation of church and state, but he has made every one more proud of being American. The country seems much more whole. Maybe I will vote for him even though Jimmy Hargrove despises him. So does Pam Alexander and all my liberal friends, but I am not as liberal as people think I am. I despise, and detest the right wing fringe: they are as dangerous as any communist; I.E. the Birch society, the Klan etc. There brand of deprivation of liberty, and bigotry has always sickened me, but Reagan is not of that persuasion. He is a compromiser, and a good president.

     I have mixed feelings about Mondale. He is a Democrat of the Roosevelt line like Johnson, Humphry, Kennedy. He has a good conscience. He is a moral man and might make a good president.

     The issue in this debate to me is national defense. I have serious doubts about reducing strength in the hope the Russians will follow. The issue is; are we safer with more bombs or less. I am not sure.

 

Julie is very upsetting; she is an associate at Lechmere and to be polite, a bitch. She is just bossy; always orders me to do things, doesn't ask, but demands, and always puts me down. I asked her how to use the pricing gun, and she said " You don't know " sarcastically like I was an idiot. I asked her where the black book was with the prices and she said," You mean the universal pricing guide " or whatever it was called. I have an urge to smash. She hands me paper, and asks me to throw it out for her.

     Anyway, sometimes she grates and makes the day miserable. We seem to have two realities: live in different worlds, value systems, sensitivities. God save the poor bastard that marries her. She will have his testicles mounted on a teak plaque and mounted as a trophy.

 

I just thought of something that has always been so obvious to me, so clear, maybe it's not to other people. I don't know. When I was nine years old I distinctly remember being sure in the knowledge that I was nine; that I didn't have to worry about worrying about my bar mitzvah till four years hence. I always knew how much longer I had to be alive ( if lucky ) at least what the odds were. It seems boringly normal for someone thirty eight years old to asses where he is in his life. I have been doing it at least since I was nine. Maybe everyone does; maybe this is unusual for being nine. Pfoxer is eight; I wonder what she thinks.

 

I just thought of Henry the somewhat drunk Indian Pam and I talked to in Cochrain Ontario next to the tracks of the polar bear express. He had been all the way to Vietnam ( not voluntarily ) as part of the Canadian short term peace keeper role, and had the honor of being shot. I can't think of anyone more ill suited to a war in a tropical Asian jungle than an Arctic Indian who guided city people on moose hunts for an occupation. He was home, and glad to be there. If we had failed to talk to what appeared to be a bleary eyed bum we would have missed some good stories.

     There was also a nice kitty on that trip; and quarts of chips with vinegar, and lots of pictures, and some rocks that came home, and a sky filled with the Northern lights. There was also a certain specter Pam saw in the Moose factory cemetery. I asked her to buy me a cup on the train with a polar bear picture on it. She was a cup; of the best water, broken when I found her. I wanted a cup to remember her forever. I knew then she would go like the other Pam, and that I would miss her a lot more.

     Some day she will see the Northern lights and think of me.

 

10-23-84

 

Another good class at Pams old school. First class on electronic flash: learned what a watt second is, very simple, but I never knew before. I have to make an appointment not after class to use the studio.

     I am at Newtonville, and just looked for the plant beside the building as it was chopped out by a landscaping crew for no valid reason. Someday I would like to have some land and let it be home to " weeds " and other flowers.

 

Bears like to eat salmon. I am eating salmon croquets therefore I must be a bear.

     Salmon in cans is whole chopped fish. Everything but the guts, and heads mashed into a cylinder. I never bought a can of salmon before: the cats got the skin, the garbage bag got the bones, and I got the rest mashed with an egg, dusted with flour, and fried in olive oil. I wonder if bears eat fried salmon or just whole entire wriggling fish. At least I didn't see any eyes in the can.

     I bought an old fashioned plastic pitcher with a red top and filled it with delicious lemonade. I also bought a new flash and camera case. The flash was the last one so I rescued it. It is a useful creature with a fast recycling time and small enough to carry easily. Once at Newtonville I barely had the money to get the cheapest flash in the store. I needed it for a shoot, and if I ever work for the News again I will use it for a backup. Flashes always seem to stop flashing; I feel comfortable with one camera, but need at least three flashes to feel safe. The new one even beeps when it's recycled which is a nice feature in mobs at elections etc.

 

10-31-84

 

Halloween; this morning a clock, and a sign fell off a wall at Lechmere and smashed on the floor. No one was there; it was a little creepy. The clock was brass with etched glass and very old fashioned looking, but with a quartz movement.

     Now I am thinking of voting for Mondale. Reagans stand or non stand on environmental problems, and his destruction of the conservation effort of fifty years, and his stand on religion are pushing me in that direction. But Mondale just doesn't inspire. Indira Ghandi was murdered by one of her palace guard today. I am very glad to be living in the USA. where either candidate who wins won't throw the country into turmoil. Siiks and Hindus are killing each other in the streets; I hope thier country holds together.

     I am looking at an orange tape measure curled up on the floor like a snail. The tape measure or the average tape worm cares less who becomes president or about Indira Ghandi, and I care more about the tape measure than either one. Tape worms are an interesting concept: they live inside an intestine, don't have to look overly hard for supper, live in a warm comfortable tube with few worries.

 

11-8-84

 

I voted for Mondale; I just could not talk myself into voting for Reagan.

     Randy just came over with my wonderful old truck. He looked good, and so did the truck. I took out the official swamping stick for thanksgiving, and saw the star shaped flower I found in the street once and kept on the dashboard. It was nice.

     Valerie Hodgson showed up at Lechmere. She wants to quit teaching at Framingham State and become a free lance photographer. I always felt less than what I should be in her class ( she said I was her star pupil ) I was never a researcher and didn't get a Ph.D. in Biology, now she has decided to be a photographer. Can't understand Human beings.

     Sirius was very friendly to Randy; sat in his lap and purred. The other cowards ran off. Randy said Sirius was BIG. I guess my organisms are big; like my old truck, I never thought of them relative to miniature cats.

     My new truck looked micro sized next to my old one. I was getting to think of it as normal; now it seems a model of a real truck. It's OK. I still loved that brown one, and probably should have bought it, but it cost 1500 more dollars than I could afford and was too thirsty.

     This truck will just have to prove itself the same as any new relationship. The red one was an outsider for a long time too.

     I wonder if I will ever have a car. They seem so usual.

     I like my old things; they never leave. It is cold out; refreshing, but actually dangerous without warm things to wear, and a sleeping bag. The new truck has both sleeping bags in it in case of snow. I can just curl up in back, and not have to hike away in a blizzard for a place to stay. It is a small place compared to the old truck, but still better then a car.

      I liked the brown truck because it was a friend that reminded me of my old one, and its old fashioned eight cylinders growled like lions. I visited it, and kept telling myself I would take it home.

 

11-18-84

 

I had a strong dream about a black Chinon radio I bought my mother for Christmas. My father and Debby didn't like it because it was too big to use with earphones easily. I told them it had a three inch speaker which was fine for a little radio, but they made me feel stupid.

     I woke up remembering that I did buy a Chinon, but it was a little automatic camera, and quite good. I didn't understand the dream. I think it's the most expensive present I ever bought anyone.

 

I spent the day with Pam Alexander. She asked me if Pfoxer was behind me. She was worn out working on her book, and seemed very sad that her lifetime goal of being a recognized and famous poet with a future teaching, writing more books, and giving readings, still seemed unsatisfactory, missing something, not quite rewarding enough.

     What a fool.

 

12-21-84

 

All the grand piles of Christmas cameras have been reduced to a few battered examples.

     In Lechmere behind the shelves in a little room is a mini warehouse last week spilling over with new boxes of new things. One little Chinon automatic camera in a silver and gray box was badly dented weeks ago. Naturally I liked it the most. I liked the design and the container, and wanted to keep anyone boorish enough to buy it from doing so; so I put it at the bottom back row.

     Yesterday it too was gone, and I felt bad. When someone asked if we had any Chinons left I said no, and one of the sales people shouted," yes but it's dented ", and showed me my camera which was hidden next to a cash register. I emphasized to the customer the grievous condition of the box, that the camera might be broken inside, and that it would make a lousy Christmas present.

     I hid it in the little room behind some cases no one will ever move.

 

12-26-84

 

Sitting in cold truck outside Lechmere at 6:07 PM. The truck will become warm eventually; the cold is not a great bother, being bored is.

     Next summer I am going to do something I have wanted for a long time; going out west with my view camera in the new truck. The need to create something is overwhelming, I am bored too often. Lechmere is OK. but if I worked here thirty years nothing would be left to show for it but little money, a small party, and some cheap chocolate cake with spun sugar and lard frosting. This is all most jobs offer. I don't want a job, I want to write ( which I don't do often enough ), and take pictures which I am not doing either.

     The studio light course at the art school was OK. I learned a lot; but I also didn't learn a lot, and was stuck with a darkroom too hot and crowded, too full of rules acquired as folkways, and too lonesome. Now that I know some of the people this next course might be better. It is Architecture, field trips, and landscapes, more my style than studio. I took studio light because I wanted some way to make money not too compromising. This next course will be even less compromising.

     Christmas was good: gave lots of nice presents, and got some too. Everyone was home. It was the way it should be more often. Caroline is amazing and absolutely beautiful; Randy is very lucky.

 

Three of the brains are sleeping in a pile on my bed, and the fourth one is snoring on two piled coats on the remains of the green chair.

     They are still nice Mrouts. This house would be completely empty without them. A lady noticed some white hairs on my Lechmere apron at work and said " do you have a big dog "." No I have four cats  ", I said expecting a response polite but offensive. She told me she had nine cats, and five dogs, and wanted to know my organisms names.

 

12-29-84

 

Scary weather. It is around seventy degrees; twilight zone weather for almost January, like snow in July.

     I feel like looking for my fish in Learnards pond.

 

12-30-84

 

I am outside a greasy breakfast place having eaten two embryos, strips of flesh off a dead hog, and putrefied masticated grass seeds baked cooled and roasted along with the fatty colloids interspersed among the lactose and amino acids of the mammary secretions of a cow.

 

Nicenesses; I am saying the nicenesses, and feeling sad. This new girl I have gone out with ( Sandy ) a few times is no Nicenesses. I still miss the best part of Pam the second who called me the nicenesses and married Scotty and found Jesus.

     What I loved was the little trout with the funny hats and all the cats. I don't know why she couldn't just be that, and stay that way.

     Sandy is so brainwashed with " Christian Science ", there is probably no way to ever reach her; if indeed there is anything to reach.

     I like her: she is nice to go to the movies with, and have Chinese food with, but she loves rock music, team sports, and loud parties ( I think ), and is locked into this bizarre cult which bought itself respectability, but which in fact was founded by a madwoman, and is based on nothing.

     I wonder if Sandy blew off Christian Science if she would become a nova, a new born bright star, or a Supernova, a new born bright star that dies the moment it is born and becomes a black hole. It depends on how much strength she has, and the gravity of the surrounding gas. Stars are born when the gas in the area cools into a sphere and gravity crushes the interior hot enough for fusion to take place. There are three outcomes.

1. Not enough substance, and the star is stillborn, I.E. Jupiter. Many if not most Solar systems are binary. Jupiter just didn't have the stuff to become a star.

2. Just the right balance and the star lights up, I.E. the Sun.

3. Too much gas, and a Nova or Supernova.

 

4. Allegory, and paradigm. Interesting conjecture; all knowledge is useful

 

A wired hyper runt of a poodle was jumping up and down on the seat of a yellow car next to me.

     Its owner arrived with gray hair, and eyebrows identical to the dog. They stared at each other; the dog wagged his tail, the owner smiled, and they drove away.

     Yesterday was 73 degrees the warmest day not only for December 29 but for the entire month of December in recorded history. I remember driving on Grove St. and seeing a frog hop across the street a few years ago in what I thought was December.

     Certainly it could have happened.

 

Yesterday was unnatural; sort of like the Northern lights. These phenomenon are real, but it is easy to deny they exist even while watching them happen, like the ghost Pam saw on Moose factory island, green and ethereal in its cemetery. Who was that ghost or was is not now a being? Of what substance I would like to know; but would rather have a quart of chips from that little town in Ontario.

 

I just came out of nautilus, and saw a rock on the asphalt. It was scraped on one side where it was run over and dragged.

     Rocks always seem alive to me. They are the preeminent life form of deserts. I took this rock home to add to my collection.

     I am sure I would like Mars; a whole planet of rocks.

 

1-3-85

 

A white truck in this parking lot reminded me of all the trucks I looked at. Now I am tired. I have the flu, and am going to get cat food and kitty litter because of the snow tomorrow.

     Skipped work today; too many headaches, and too bored. I may go to Baffin island for a trip in the far North: cold wet, and windy; I would love to see a polar bear, walrus, caribou. Needed is a windproof tent as the blue one tore out of the ground three times in Iceland. It is hard to sleep with rags of shelter flapping in the breeze at three AM. in glaring sunlight.

     In front of me is an old fashioned push cart from a food store; all chrome, and of an old fashioned design that lives despite changes. First were the tall shallow innovative carts designed so the bags were all reachable, and so you could open the front and dump all the groceries on the conveyer at the cash register. It was a good idea, but kids sitting in them managed to unbalance the whole thing and topple it over while ensconced therein. Next were the bright orange plastic ones. They had a low center of gravity like the chrome wire ones, were bright and cheery, but also disappeared because the wind sailed them across the parking lots into oblivion. Now the original is back, and it works just fine.

 

1-12-85

 

My old Chinon camera came back to Lechmere wrapped in aluminum foil. A lady bought it on condition she could return it when new ones came in.

     It was wrapped like a fish; a trout maybe. I would not have been able to describe it as different from another similar camera, but it was immediately recognizable to me on account of little scratches and marks. The lady took it home and will bring it back when the new ones arrived.

     In my truck outside Lechmere again; a good place to write. Don't know what will happen with the Sandy relationship; maybe I will just go with the flow for awhile and play it out.

     I got a new orange coat; blue like the last one, really puffy the expedition grade. Now I feel like going out on the ice. Maybe Sunday if the weather is good; i.e. freezing cold.

 

1-13-85

 

Pelham island road; specifically Wood Duck hollow has become a second Sudbury road. I felt like me: in the snow, looking at leaves, and birds, and the glint of light in the ice.

     The best way to see is to go to one place and not move. Just look around till individual fallen leaves take on there own personalities. Each leaf is different, and in low winter light sparkles more than in Summer. There is an oak bridge over a swampy place, and it was covered in snow except for the cracks in the boards which made a nice pattern.

     Trees four inches high still with a few torn leaves; resting after a hard Summer, waiting for Spring.

 

1-21-85

 

Outside nautilus; haven't exercised in almost a month. That will be nothing; tonight a root canal graces the evening. It is a wonderful experience I look forward to with enthusiasm and awe. At seven PM the xylocaine and drilling begins. I thrill to the thought of having the pulp and nerve reamed out in a mass of goo. The original copied tooth hurts more than the new one. Maybe he will offer a two for one special, a symphony of pain.

I have another book in the new truck - too cold to go outside. Tooth is agonizingly sore. Pam Alexander referred to silverware in the surgery room where she had her gall bladder removed.

     Cute little cork screws with red yellow, and blue handles probably signifying something, lined up like caterpillars on a leaf. Two nerves, twisted roots, tools not long enough to reach. Dr.Kushnir my dentist deferred to the ultimate wasp; Dr. Smith, steel gray hair, glasses, an escaped Aryan superman. A tray full of little cork screws at his command. An array of spiral implements of pain.

     I wonder if the nerve knows it is being killed; has a conscious being of its own. If it didn't know than why did they ( two of them ) scream so much even with the xylocaine.

 

2-4-85

 

Everyone but Sirius is sleeping in my bed. They are too comfortable for disturbing. Only twice before have I seen such a pile

     It was freezing last night; the heat was off. Cold winter, but no real snow.

     I wanted to write something, but Jimmy Hargrove called me up and talked, and now I am falling asleep. There is a new yellow notebook  partly full in the new truck.

 

     The kiwi fruit is still in the refrigerator.

 

2-7-85

 

Hill St.Blues; Belker had a birthday all alone, and went home. His old girlfriend who left him was there with a birthday cake, and candles.

     For a long time I expected the Hum to knock on my door again, and come home; and before that Pam Alexander and Pfoxer.

     I took a nice picture in class of a house on Beacon hill. I am going to send it to the Hum even though she wrote me that awful letter, and will never come home.

     Someplace inside it seems that she will see how nice I am and miss me; actually even I don't believe that anymore.

     The Sandy relationship ran its brief course. We reached a state when we either had a relationship or we didn't. She didn't really want one. I am sad that I don't have what I want, but not overly sad Sandy is gone. Her belief structure is too sick for me; Christian Science is nothing but a cult with the money to create respectability. I am sure it teaches some good things, but the basic premise is hocus pocus. Maybe all religions are, but age somehow adds respectability, and Moses is in a different league than Mary Baker Eddy.

     I am tired with another sore throat " cold " virus or whatever, and very lonesome.

     Jimmy Hargrove called with a possible job selling sleep sofas, recliners, and mattresses at a furniture store in Shrewsbury. It pays twenty thousand a year. why does my stomach ache? Whole pile of issues here. I don't want to sell sofas, but I can't do anything without money except be poor. It would be nice to have a house, and a cat room for the creatures to have the freedom to wreck my old furniture, and a more refined area for Human guests.

     I am tired; seeping, seeping, seeping.

 

2-27-85

 

Yesterday I walked past a rack of cups in the store. A white one with red tablecloth squares looked at me, and I hid it. I went back to buy it; I figured for 77 cents I can have a cup I like.

     It looks like a tablecloth: like a shirt that the Hum used to wear, sometimes I have to believe she will come home just to stay sane even though I know she won't.

 

9-16-85

 

Last night I dreamt about my blue truck. It had scratches in a few places, but was new otherwise, and I wondered why I hardly ever drove it.

     When I woke up it occurred to me that I don't have or ever did have a blue truck. I looked at that particular shade of blue for a long time though, and almost bought a big Chevy that color, then I saw a yellow one I liked, then settled on metal flake brown. Then I got the Toyota instead. I liked it too. All those trucks were friends.

 

2-25-85

 

Yesterday it was warm again; I saw two green flies. Usually flies come out in the Spring. It was as strange as in December; too warm, odd.

     I used to like to catch a certain green fly with a basket like coaster on the porch in Dorchester when I was sick, and my entire outside world was that porch. I always caught the fly, and then let him go. Flies are such wonderful iridescent green creatures. It's too bad most Humans only think of maggots and garbage; the flies themselves are nice to look at.

 

3-11-85

 

There was a dusty black camera case. It was cotton in a world of cordura nylon; slightly faded and ugly.

     No one bought it since I started working at Lechmere. Every night that I work there one of my tasks at closing is to make the cases " look neat ", I.E. tuck in dangling straps and arrange them in teutonic rows.

     Well the ugliest bag; I wondered why any one would ever buy it always stayed behind when dozens of others always disappeared like Argentine citizens.

     It looked at me every day. I started looking for it whenever it was time to assert Prussian order after a day of anarchy.

     I couldn't stand the idea of it not being there so I bought it. It's actually a perfectly useful camera bag especially for large 4x5 accouterments that are always overflowing for a place to go.

     Any good shrink could understand this story. A large part of me always wants things to stay the same. I hated when the lampposts were changed in Dorchester. I don't like being abandoned.

     That dusty camera bag deserved a place to live. I still wish the Hum would come home.

 

I am getting the hang of the 4x5; took some difficult pictures of an interesting building. The zone system still eludes me somewhat. My meter showed a four stop range of contrast when my brain told me there was a seven stop range. Either I need a new meter or a new brain; one or the other is not working right, or my understanding of the procedure is incomplete.

     I will take negatives I have, and print them later this week on fiber paper. I print so often on RC. plastic that printing on the best grades of " real " paper is also new. This whole zone system business is like learning Latin.

 

3-18-85

 

The ice on my window is melting. It forms little rivers then breaks off in tiny icebergs and floats away.

     it snowed wonderfully today; a surprise. The weather man predicted " local flurries ", that would melt by morning.

     White fluffy; refreshingly cold. I ran out to my truck, and scooped buckets off the hood without mittens till my fingers froze.

     Spring is certainly nice, but so is Winter.

    

Maybe my next trip will be to Nicaragua. I have a chance to go to Barbados for the price of airfare. My upstairs neighbor wants to go with me. Somehow sipping margaritas on the beach doesn't appeal to me at all. It seems relaxing but dull. TurNic which is probably the equivalent of Inturist has week long tours. It would certainly be most interesting. At least I won't be like the Navahos who according to the Hopis ( who are traditional rivals ) " have no stories to tell " do to there rude and rustic natures.

     Nicaragua has volcanoes: a lake with sharks, earthquakes, and a revolution. What could compete with that? Also the price is not crazy. I will send for the information tomorrow.

 

I feel sad for the ice clinging to life yet sliding down the glass in big globs; islands now, melting till next Winter.

     There are probably icy ponds in the woods; good to walk in with green boots.

 

3-20-85

 

The Sun lit up the house bright yellow, and the Stump blended in with the window. I drove off to Digital to take a picture of one of the buildings, but found such an unfriendly atmosphere I left. The parapets are lined with white remote controlled TV. eyes; the security is oppressive. Henry Fords " jobs for good Americans ", projected into this time. Too much order and structure for me. I didn't like it there at all.

     This morning I went to the old train station in Framingham, set up the 4x5, and while figuring out the exposure a train rolled into view. I tripped the shutter without a cable release in a quick guess of the exposure. It might be a good picture.

     I am now at an old ugly black tower in Marlboro to explore picture possibilities. It's riveted together in early 1900's fashion. It is a neighborhood object with kids playing in a field nearby, and old houses comfortable with them.

 

Very lonesome today - Oscar just came over for a pat: and Sirius and the Stump, Only Pulsar is missing. I hate the television; it just stays on and says nothing. It's off now and I am glad.

 

I saw a house on the way to the Audubon sanctuary. I had been to the Digital company, and hated it so I decided to go to the Natick Audubon sanctuary because I liked it there. When looking out the mirror on the left side of the truck a house appeared; " that's it " the picture I was looking for.

     The house is Victorian white and gray with a gazebo in the yard, and gingerbread trim. It had gas lights in the yard, and a bird bath with an ugly cherub standing next to the water.

     I knocked on the door, and a girl answered; I gave her my card, and asked if I could take pictures. She said yes, and asked if I might send a picture to her father who soon came out himself, and asked if I would like his car moved out of the way.

     So an awful day turned out pretty nice. The negatives are rich and detailed; it will be another good day printing them.

 

3-24-85

 

My mother knows me better then anyone. I told her I wanted to go to Nicaragua, and she asked " why do you want to go to Nicaragua "?  I said that I wanted to write a story for the News. She looked at me right through the BS. I said I was bored to death, and wanted some adventure. It was the second part that rang true. I don't care which side kills who. I feel sorry for the individuals who die, but the jungle of political philosophies gets lost in the jungle of who is going to be king for a day.

     I drove to Boston to the art school this morning to print some pictures, and it was locked so I came home very lonesome. My mother went shopping, and I had a good time looking at Jeeps with my father who I know really wants one, but needs to hear from other people that his ideas are OK. I think the Jeep is great; hope he gets it. My mother lost thirty pounds looks in great shape, and was wearing parachute pants today. They want to go to Lake Placid in the new Jeep, and take me. I would love to go. Maybe Sherry will come too. I don't know if Debby would like to go, or Randy, and entourage.

 

3-28-85

 

The frogs are out. I heard them yesterday for the first time, and somewhat louder now. Soon turtles will be sunning on logs, and it will be time to look for my fish in Learnards pond.

     This truck is now an official object. It looked really nice in the rain. It's also really nice to have a reliable way to go places, and not live in fear of mufflers falling off.

     Groggy from three hours in Dentists chair, and xylocaine. Root canal tooth still hurts when touched; gum may have to be slit open, and peeled back so the root tip can be drilled out through the jaw bone, and filled. Stitches in gum are a pleasant aperitif.

 

4-12-85

 

Car payment is late: rent is late, visa is late, telephone is late.

     I went to an Appalachian Mountain club " single night ", at the Marriot. Just a mob of drinking unknowns in a small room with a boorish disc jockey who played trivial pursuit for Filenes travel agency bags during breaks from The Cars, and Madonna.

     I came home.

Maybe I will go to Nicaragua. I know going there will not solve all my problems ( or any of them ), but I need a first class adventure. I just hope I can take the fear; I didn't like Northern Ireland.

     A flash during a dream about Nicaragua was a flash of warm green jungle, of mountains, waterfalls, trees. It was pleasant like the dream about lake Superior, and I went there.

 

Last night Pam Alexander read a poem about me to an audience in Harvard: about Pfoxer, and the mountains, and wolves with yellow eyes that sounded sad, and about my cats, and ice pictures, and about being friends.

     I don't know what is real and what isn't. No one does. Everyone thinks they do; the " real World ", business investments, visa cards. The " political World ": communists, Capitalists, irredentist rebels, war, power. The " Scientific World": empiricism, how things work, where we come from, and worms and brown beetles crawling evolution, time anarchy in the order. Religion, Morals; another World, so which one is real?

 

I want to write poems too: maybe these books are my poems. Maybe Sirius, and the Stump, and Oscar and Pulsar are all poems too.

     I am the sadnesses today. I still wish the Hum would knock on my door again; I wish I was still the nicenesses.

 

She even tried to destroy her own memory so I wouldn't even have that.

 

Pan Alexander's poem about me was also about letters: and pictures sent through the mail, and not knowing what was real and what was not, and about a deep friendship forged with a lot of pain, and about sharing the mountains, and about my playing with her terror of bears by telling her they probably snuffled and sniffed while she slept. There were two men with guns looking for bears; two bears, a big one, and a little one. They passed by snuffling.

 

There is a wonderful order to the cups and glasses in my cupboard. The cup the Hum gave me when she was really the Hum; special glasses only for water. A cup that looks like a tablecloth. A jelly glass as nice as crystal. Three short sour cream glasses exactly eight ounces, with bright colored patterns. A Christmas present cup in a box with a black bear on it; never given and never opened.

 

4-18-85

 

A lady just came into Lechmere with my old sample Chinon which she decided to keep. At least she really liked it a lot.

     I guess what I don't understand is loyalty or the lack thereof.  Pam left me and I could never really believe she wouldn't come back. I am even loyal to cameras I like. Some Humans just seem to trade in on the new model whatever it is; for little valid reason.

     Now I am thinking I will either go to Baffin island, Wyoming, Labrador or Nicaragua. That might seem a bizarre collection of travel goals, but it really doesn't matter that much where I go as long as the scenery is exiting, and the culture different enough to be interesting. Labrador is not so expensive to reach, and seems wild enough. I still have never seen a bear outside of a zoo.

      It is cold and cloudy; I am in the truck outside Lechmere, and sicken at the thought of going in. There is a mob inside always buying things: shopping for the sake of shopping, as though buying things was a creative outlet, an artistic undertaking.

     Next weekend I have two whole days off in a row. Maybe it is time to go to Wellfleet and look at my favorite pine tree, and see if this truck is a good camper. I haven't slept in back yet. Maybe I will drive out Friday night after feeding the cats, and wake up next to the ocean.

     I have been incredibly tired, and sore; almost like sleeping sickness or polio. My legs feel as though I climbed a few mountains. All I did was run from the Orson Wells theater to Pam Alexander's poem reading ( about two miles ). The soreness is out of proportion to the exercise. This feeling is familiar: I had it at Devils tower, and at those rocks in West Virginia, and at home in Dorchester when my telescope was new in 1956.

     I wondered how old I would be when Haley's comet showed up; I wondered that in 1956. I am still the same, still like telescopes and magnifying glasses; little things close up, astronomical things far away.

     Now I am at the News about to develop some 4x5 films of Lawrence Mass. and of the MBTA station in Cambridge where the current bout of tired sickness started.

 

Marathon day

 

Last year I rode on a truck in front of all the runners. It rained and I was tired from having to get up at six AM., drive to Boston, and get a bus out to Hopkinton. I met a girl who was trying to tape a plastic cup to her lens to keep the rain out. She was wearing a blue nylon rain coat, was pretty, and we swapped cards. Later I sent her a picture of the Stump curled up in a bowl. She stood me up; I stopped calling her.

     The runners after the race rolled around in moaning heaps on the floor of the Prudential center garage. Some were carried in covered in mucus, and or vomit, foaming at the mouth like rabid dogs. I.V.s hung from medics hands too needed to wait for iron hangers. The plastic bladders of glucose, and water were used one in each arm, and squeezed to increase fluid intake. Salt was given, and calcium gluconate to reverse electrostatic imbalance. Runners flopped about like dying fish; corpses in the offing. There was more suffering then I had ever seen. I was really tired from getting up early; these wretches, none of whom will receive any laurels, went through hell. Medics shouted " get the hell out of our way ", as they carried in another head lolling incoherent body with a temperature in the eighties, and muscle spasms so bad his legs twitched like  frogs legs teased with electrodes.

     Nikes we're cut off the feet of another with bandage scissors, The soles of his feet were patches of flesh surrounding oozing holes where the skin was blistered off.

     Lebanon in Boston.

 

4-15-85

 

I just saw the biggest insect I have ever seen outside of captivity. A boring night at Lechmere found me buying bread, and milk at a little store on whose parking lot loped a creature big enough to rope.

      I dumped the bread, milk, and Nine Lives super supper on the ground, and scooped said creature up in the bag. It was an honest two inches long which is immense for an insect, and every step inside the bag could be heard. Looking at it by Toyota headlight I at first thought it was a cockroach, but the head and mouth parts didn't match the brown color. The wings folded into a classic X, and the piercing and sucking mouth was looked on in horror as it was close to a half inch long. The wings, and mouth were classic " bug " i.e. homoptera. It was a giant water bug; the only one I ever saw outside of a book. I drove to a dirt pile and let it go on the far side next to some bushes. The thought that that insect immensity can fly was disarming as was the fact that a bite from it would be unpleasant.

     It was like seeing a lion. I am positively thrilled; the biggest insect I ever saw roaming free.

     I also felt like me; which is that I like exploring, it makes me happy.

     What a creature.

 

4-18-85

 

Outside the Art Institute at night. Thirsty; made prints in an eighty degree darkroom.

     Drank water out of a hose used for filling up beakers of chemistry. Delicious water; profoundly good. I have always loved water: plain water to drink, better then Coke, " the Uncola " or anything else especially when desperately thirsty.

     Water is also in a pure unsullied state: as in ice, perfection stilled, held in time, sharp cold alive.

 

4-26-85

 

Back in Lechmere again: Went to Hanscom Air Force base in search of a job. Actually I skipped the last half of photo class because the teacher said my pictures were " masturbetory " , or however one spells jerking off. As they say in the ghetto, Fuck him. I skipped his class to check up on a job found on the school job board. One week later I skipped his class and had an interview. The interviewer said my portfolio was exceptional, and one of the best he had ever seen, and that I should really pursue a journalism career. Maybe I will get the job, maybe not.

     I particularly liked the pictures I pinned up in that jerks class. He asked me what audience they were for; I said they were for me. He said they were good examples of form, but were not architectural pictures, and were not art. Now I am just angry. The teacher struts around insulting pictures with " constructive criticism ", that is not constructive of anything but his rather small ego.

     The form of these pictures is such that everything goes in a circle i.e. ones eye follows the structure within itself. Nothing is leading the viewer to distract his eye from the central theme.

     This notebook has the price tag from that ugly black camera bag from Lechmere glued on its yellow cover. That teacher would never understand such a thing; a continuity with a feeling, too subtle for a clod.

     I just remembered the fish head I liked from the old house when I was nine years old, or maybe seven or eight. My grandmother chopped the head off a giant haddock, and I felt the same way about that fish head as about that ugly camera bag. Only the fish head looked at me with sad eyes. It didn't want to be thrown out in the garbage so I wrapped it in paper and buried it in the yard. My grandmother upon its discovery ( it wasn't deep, and like things dead began to smell ) threw it away in the garbage. I found a vacant hole in the ground, and was sad, and angry, and powerless.

     Now I have some frozen halibut, and I am going inside to cook it.

 

Mrout brain: I dreamt that Sirius was lost, and wandering outside playing in the street. Freud would either say that I was afraid of losing him, and was suffering loss anxiety or that I was wishing he would go play in the street. Last night Sirius was running all over the place trashing everything in range of tooth or claw.

     I wonder if cats sometimes wake up in bad moods.

 

5-2-85

 

I ate the most perfect potato just now. It was a California new potato perfectly shaped and delicious. I felt guilty eating it.

     Potatoes have always been the definition of food. Hamburgers for example are only side dishes.

     I didn't get the job at Hanscom Air Force base. Don't know if I can stand Lechmere much longer.

     Maybe I will finally go some place on Saturday, and take some pictures. Every weekend I stay home bored; comfortable being around familiar things, but not going anyplace. At least I take good pictures. I found four rolls of exposed slides when cleaning. I wonder what is in them.

     I have my original canteen on the floor, and Oscar came over for a long pat. Two good things: one my oldest camping thing, the other the oldest cat. Oscar is the most trustworthy and reliable mrout; I trust her with my face, and eyes even though she is too overweight. Actually she should drink diet coke; she has a hard time jumping. She stares at the target of opportunity: perhaps a window sill; then squirms a bit judging, measuring, testing her footing. The leap happens the way an F-14 is launched from the Nimitz; a catapult more or less aimed rudely at the target. Unlike Pulsar, Oscar usually attains the goal at hand.

     Mrout brains: still worthy of being put in a bag with an anchor sometimes, and loved most of the time.

     My two lionesses are lying in a pile on my blankets looking absolutely comfortable, and safe. The Stump is in my laundry basket messing up clean clothes, and Sirius is catching imaginary mice in the fireplace. He is playing with all the holes in the screen growling, and grabbing.

 

5-3-85

 

Lechmere parking lot again. A blue McDonalds Styrofoam box is being rained on and opening and closing like a joke set of teeth from an old movie. It is aqua blue, and must have contained a fish sandwich. " White filet of fish", or whatever turned up in the net that morning good enough for an Iowa farmer who thinks " Bumble Bee " is a species of fish. The box is OK. on its own. It looks like a clam now. If there were waves here I would put it on the beach.

     Writing about the clam made me late for work. The clam is more valuable.

 

5-10-85

 

The most aggravating day at Lechmere so far. Someone sold my Chinon from the display case, and Lisa who I like was an absolute bitch, and no comfort. She left for an hour; complained I had taken a twenty three minute break. I didn't leave anyone alone during my break. She left me to fend for myself with cameras, film, and two phones. It has been six weeks since someone left the department, and the store has not hired his replacement, and has been understaffed. I am feeling abused as well as bored.

 

5-21-85

 

At least I have my road and the cats. Summer is coming. I can tell by the poison ivy sprouting on the road. It has an annual race with the grape leaves towards the middle, and light. The grapes seem to win the middle, but the poison ivy seems to hold the edge so to speak on the edges. Poison ivy is a beautiful plant: shining almost iridescent in Spring, lush in Summer, and bright red in Fall. As far as its toxic touch it just wants to be left alone.

     There is a thunderstorm, and the Stump is hiding inside the rug; flattened lower then a flat worm. He undergoes an acute anxiety attack when ever there is a thunder storm. His eyes become fixed and dilated like those of a corpse: he moans as though all his legs are broken, and if such organisms pray then he accomplishes his fair share.

     Oscar is sleeping on the television: Sirius is exploring his dominions, even Pulsar is lying blissfully on a sweatshirt on the floor. Obviously terror of storms is not innate in all cats. The poor Stump would rather go to the dentist then listen to thunder.

     I just this second turned the television on because I was bored, and a severe thunderstorm watch is in effect. Unlike the Stump I like storms; always have. I have lots of candles, and can actually live without the television for awhile.

 

5-25-85

 

Next door across the street is a yard filled with half decayed trucks, jeeps, and cars. There is a collection of car mechanic types, and a kid with a van.

     The van is a Dodge camper about ten years old, and rusty. Inside are twelve cats meowing, jumping, staring out the bubble windows, sleeping in the sink.

     Heaps of cats in piles running and jumping. I only have four in a house. I wonder what it would be like to live in a van with twelve.

 

5-29-85

 

All the cats went wild; horrible reptilian noises. A strange straggly black cat lurks beneath the window. This is the third time I ran outside, and chased it away. Everyone ran from it but Oscar who stood in the window hissing like a fur clad alligator.

     I got a can of Pine Cone stewed tomatoes. I saw them for years in rows at the White Hen store. There was a recipe on the can " that everyone likes ", with onions and chipped beef which I substituted hamburg for. Onions and stewed tomatoes; they melted into almost ketchup. Something new. I liked it.

 

5-30-85

 

Went to Prime computer looking for a job. Cathy Mara interviewed me, and loved my portfolio. She was what Pam used to call " fancy ". She was pretty with a mouth like Pam, and short hair with gray in it. The gray wasn't old looking at all, it looked good. Besides she likes Arizona; Navajos, and Hopis, even knows about Spider Woman. She will call me for free lance pictures at five hundred a day. She is somewhat trout like. She probably went to Arizona with her husband and seven kids, who knows.

 

6-1-85

 

I saw a jumping spider, a red wing blackbird, and a robin with a worm in its mouth. Also an ant carrying a larvae; all from one spot without moving which is often the best way to see. I went to the Audubon sanctuary for the first time in months. Usually I sit in one or two spots and just look; which is more productive then just aimless walking, and more relaxing too.

     All the brains were lined up today in an ascending arc from the sofa to the television. Nice warm things even if they should be beheaded. Pulsar who I just patted ran away, jumped on a camera case and spilled twenty letters ( mostly bills ) on the floor then barely was able to jump on the television without falling.

     I liked the Sun at the Audubon sanctuary lighting up the leaves from behind in a glow.

     I cleaned out the green truck today. It took about three hours, and I filled three large plastic bags. My old raincoat from Worcester Jr. College was not even wearable for a junkie so I threw it out along with a black wool blanket which I might rescue tomorrow morning even though it is full of holes. I am paying the kid across the street ( Steve ) to fix up the truck, and paint it. It has been rotting for years. The window sticker is 1979 which means the last time I drove it legally was five years ago in 1980 just before the sticker expired.

     I am very glad that the new truck ( the red one ) is alive or I would have felt pretty awful fixing the green one. The Toyota is newer then new, and I have come to really like it. It is nice to ride in: has enough room in back, I haven't slept in it yet, and looks happy in the moonlight. The moon is just past being full tonight and Winter bright.

     Pulsar is searching the floor for a brain.

     I am giving my notice at Lechmere tomorrow; working at Newtonville. I have mixed feelings about it. Paul Roberts is the very definition of an anal personality. I sort of have to; four hundred dollars a month extra money is a necessity. But he kept me down in more ways then money for five years. I will walk out the first chance I get.

     I am very thirsty. The cup the Hum gave me when I was still the nicenesses is full of cool water. I need to drink some, and to go to sleep.

 

6-6-85

 

I drove up from Lechmere again at 10:30 PM. The Stump was sitting in the window; the fleas are coming again.

 

6-8-85

 

I put in a political visit at Newtonville. Am very pleased; I can take two days off in a bloody row, Sunday, and Monday.

     To celebrate: on the way home while thinking about going to the Cape I wound up in Franconia Notch. I have always told people how close it is and it was good to put my money where my mouth is.

     I drove to North Woodstock, and had a cheesburg, and Canadian style chips at the Red Lantern restaurant. Then I drove to " the Basin ", a roaring stream perhaps overgrown with tourists, but I like it anyway. It is raining mildly, and this minute I returned from a scouting trip so that tomorrow I can drag out the 4x5 with a minimum of trauma. Also I sat by a waterfall of a type usually reserved for a three hour walk, and here most graciously is almost beside the road.

     Finally I am going to use this truck for its design purpose, and sleep in back. This was a wonderfully jury rigged expedition: I took my old sleeping bag ( warm enough for Summer ), A day pack, one change of clothes, and nothing else. When I arrived in North Woodstock I went to the same blue I.G.A. store I use every time I go climbing, and bought bread: bologna, miracle whip, tuna fish, cheese, plastic eating equipment, paper plates and towels, and went across the street for candles.

     Now I will try and find the place I went with Pam Alexander where she mentions in the poem about me, and the snuffling bears.

     It's the best place to hide as it's against the law to sleep in your car ( or truck or van ) except in " designated " camp sights i.e. money, and hordes of noise.

     The rain is increasingly hostile; I am glad I am not climbing. Even lazier I bought an oversized book " the Haj " by Leon Uris, and plan on reading it just for fun while eating dry roasted peanuts and jelly beans, two of the necessities of life on Earth.

     I am lonesome; but I am lonesome at home too and this is a lot better then lying on the floor watching television, and waiting for the phone to ring.

     My mother didn't fill my canteen, but seeing as I am not officially climbing I might live. I bought two gallons of Poland spring water. Mountain water is increasingly the province of giardia an intestinal parasite of no virtue. This year I will add to my camping collection a filter for the removal of said creature. The water still tastes the same; the filter has no chemicals it just has holes too small for protozoans to squeeze through.

     The new binoculars are here hopefully to discover an owl.

     The little green motel at the North end of the notch is gone; a hole in the ground, and a parking lot is left, and a green patch of twisted swimming pool.

     The road through the notch is getting wider, and lots of nice quiet things are becoming holes in the ground. I never stayed in the motel, it was just always there to look at when I walked or drove by.

     Now I am sitting on the remains.

     A rusty wire like a run over snake is company.

 

I am not so sure time goes in circles ( Hopi time ) right now it seems linear, and Western.

     " Is Pfoxer behind me ". I found the spot of which Pam #1 wrote her poem. It is hidden and blocked off by two great dirt piles long overgrown green. The dirt piles dumped there by the forest service out of two large trucks seems natural; they have been there so long. Few know there was an asphalt covered road there. Fewer still know about Pfoxer now overweight out of shape, and roped to a tree in Natick.

     Fewer still know about my trout. All that is left is a few old roads covered in weeds.

     I am going to read my book now. It is too lonesome sitting here alone.

 

I just saved three little lives. Morning happened, and I had a delicious maximum cholesterol breakfast in the town of Franconia; then I came back to inspect the pool I photographed last night. In it was a toad, and on a floating bit of white painted wood a large beetle. I watched with binoculars. The beetle was laying eggs which emphasizes the need for temporary pools; and next to the man made logs were two drowning insects. Of course I rescued them with a dandelion stem catching them in the dried flower. Beside the pool was a poor worm actually being eaten by a voracious larvae of unknown origin. The worm was writhing; the jaws sunk in its flesh. I pulled the hunter, and the meal apart, and put the worm in the grass where it made an extraordinary speedy retreat into the ground whence it came. The hunter walked away hungry.

     Three motorcycles pulled up; all of which makes me glad to have a pistol under my truck seat Wyoming style. I don't like having to worry about the pistol: it's a serious dilemma, on the other hand I would rather have it than not, although it's too bad anyone needs such things.

     I am going over to the cable cars to look at them.

 

6-12-85

 

Leaving Lechmere.

 

     I said good-by to Sue Green who brought in two puppies once, and I will empty my locker into a Lechmere bag and go home.

     I don't know about getting the Chinon I hid since before Christmas because the box was dented, and I liked it particularly.

     Going home.

 

I emptied a whole Purity food sized Lechmere bag of stuff from my locker. A red tie Sherry gave me showed up; mostly envelopes of old bills filled with papers, and my water bottle from the refrigerator

           all gone

           going home.

 

6-18-85

 

On the other side of the controlling unit for the television is the stuck on label for a red tea kettle I bought in Zayres that I had no practical use for as I hardly ever drink tea. I liked it and thought it would look good on the stove. It made me feel good to buy myself a small present.

     It fell out of the bag and dented; the wind blew it out. I still like it dent and all.

 

Very sad, and bored too: In Newtonville; I don't like it, I don't like it, and I don't like it.

     I have to find something else to do beside printing someone else's rotten pictures. Also there is no help; there is the color crew, and there is me.

     On July three allegedly some girl is coming to help; to split the black and white. If not then I will have to leave before chopping off someones head. It seems like punishment working there. It is not what I want to do; even close to what I want to do. Lechmere was less boring.

     Each picture is ( I can't even sit, and write, Sirius is insisting on being patted )

     I am angry with a capital A. Something better must exist. Why do I have to do something belittling: something to boost the egos of all the " professional " customers. Such profoundly bad pictures: banal, dull, lacking in interest, poorly composed, poorly exposed, and executed. I really hate being there.

     Even my old stuff is wrecked except for a measuring cup that has the barely legible markings written on by me three years ago, and the face pasted on the enlarger.

     I don't have a Hum either.

 

The phone just rang, and some wonderful person offered to allow me to extend my subscription to Time for only 97 cents an issue for only 35 weeks.

     I said no. I am sick of those people. Another call; City Shopper. This time save 50 percent on brand name items. What horse shit. This one I fell for because I can cancel it immediately. If I don't like the wonderful things sent me I will.

     Oscar is here. At least I can trust her not to scratch out my eyes.

     I am profoundly bored.

 

6-20-85

 

Sitting in my truck outside Lechmere. I went upstairs, and sat in my favorite chair, and looked around. I said hello to the girl who had the puppies, and walked over to the camera counter.

     It wasn't so bad at Lechmere. They just didn't pay enough money to live. I had to leave.

     One big reason I am so mad at Newtonville is that they wrecked my old lab. It was like home. I lived in it eight hours a day. Now it's in pieces, overrun with strange Humans, in shreds. Paul says " the lab is bigger ", but the black and white part is smaller, and split up into three sections any one of which is closet like and uncomfortable.

     I just want something that doesn't leave me; something that stays the same.

     I just thought of the little tree struggling to stay alive between the white wall, and the driveway behind the old Newtonville. I used to open the back door out of my dim hot fume filled room, and the sun would hurt my eyes. That little tree was almost glowing green. I looked at it for about three or four years from a stick to a tree with a chance. One hot day I opened the door, and the tree was gone.

     I kept looking for it as though it might come back. Someone " cleaned " the driveway, and ripped out one more useless weed.

 

6-22-85

 

The cat was walnut brown, and wanted to go home. It was at an MSPCA cat show. Cages, and cages: obese women, and obese offspring, green ribbons glued to cats ears, Egyptian mau cats with odd spots, and stripes, and one brown cat at the end horse from meowing. It was actually straining to meow, but not able to make much noise, and heard by few.

     I took its picture; meowing alone in a cage.

 

Newtonville is more bearable as long as I think to myself that it won't be forever. I ripped all the pictures off the walls of the room with the Royalprint; the room most mine. I will decorate it with my own pictures.

     Maybe I will put up the cat in its cage and take it down when I leave.

 

6-24-85

 

The Stump hid inside a pot, inside a cabinet, under the sink. He ran to the spot previously unknown to me; a secret hiding place. Thunder happened; The Stump went into deep hiding.

 

I went to the movies, but didn't go; instead I got some food, and came home. Oscar is here as I write. She should go on a diet. She looks more and more like a balloon with feet.

 

Tomorrow I go back to Lechmere to get my vacation money.

     I seem to be eating lunch outside of Newtonville a lot. I sit in this truck, and write in this book..

     The candy this particular time period is Butterfingers bars. Before that it was chocolate covered mints: and before that Sky bars, and before that Peanut butter cups. All of the above are still eaten of course only butterfingers has become the treat of choice.

     Maybe I will call Cathy Mara from Prime after lunch.

    

I wonder who this fish was I am eating. Did it live in the Pacific ocean? Where did it live; what did it think?

 

6-25-85

 

It's 6:00 a.m. I just woke up from the strongest possible dream about the old house at 36 Mountain Ave. It was empty except for the furniture of the last tenants who were Hispanic. All the old rooms were there. Now I am awake and thinking of them all, and of Stupid cat, and all the trees. I tied ropes in the maple tree in front into a perch so I could see as far as possible. I wonder if the ropes are still there.

 

7-03-85

 

When I lived on Nadine road my father gave me a waste basket for my room. It was green with scenes from games like baseball painted on it. Team sports were never really of great interest to me, but it was nice of him to give me a present. It gradually belonged among my possessions; something familiar, something to keep. It was rusty to the point of holes; anyone else would have thrown it out, but I found a use for it. Instead of throwing my junk mail on the porch floor it seemed a good idea to leave that basket on the porch where it gradually filled with coupons, free prizes, and wonderful personal letters begging for money.

     Now even this wastebasket is gone. My pain in the ass landlord " cleaned " the porch, and threw it away. I am sick and tired of people " cleaning " what belongs to me.

 

     At least it is July;  maybe my fish is home. I will look tomorrow.

 

7-05-85

 

The Stump is yowling: maybe because the fans are on, maybe because it is hot. I picked him up and carried him to the sofa. He purred then ran for the window. now he is yowling again. Why can't he tell me what is bothering him?

     I stole this pen from the News. Can't snorkel yet due to stitches in gum.

 

7-7-85

 

Went snorkeling anyway stitches and all. Too early to expect to see my lucky fish, but had a good time anyway. Very refreshing; it feels good being like a fish. I like the ocean, but if I was a fish I would like to live in a quiet pond in the woods with turtles, and dragonflies for company.

     I am at Crown Chevrolet looking at the trucks. Haven't been back since they sold the brown one I liked so much. Maybe I will buy some land in New Hampshire just to have something that always stays the same: so the rocks will become familiar, and no one will cut down the trees.

At least the red truck is still alive, and so is the green one.

     I had three dreams last night all about being in different prisons.

     I just drove across the street to look at Toyota trucks too; to make it even. I wonder if I would wonder what happened to this truck if I wasn't sitting in it. It doesn't seem like eleven months ago when I bought it, and looked at all these trucks all the time.

 

7-15-85

 

Endless driving to Springfield, Fitchburg, and Providence oddly looking at trucks. I was taking pictures for Judy Coutts advertising agency for " headlight " magazine. The pictures were of dealers at truck lease places. Big trucks, diesels. In Providence I found the zoo by accident and saw two July hot polar bears, a lone wolf, and a natural swamp filled with turtles, and carp. Carp are wonderful fish lazily gulping down edibles at the surface. It was easy to see how gold fish were bred from these plain fish along with Japanese Koi. The basic fish was OK too.

 

7-21-85

 

I stole a dark blue jelly bean. It was blatant theft; a willful misdemeanor. It was blue berry flavored, quite a treat, forbidden fruit.

     Later I sat on a rock and listened to the ocean, a nice round ocean rock. I am visiting the Hargroves in Ogunquit; they are all asleep now. The little girl Anna is three months old and smiled at me. Three months old is so little. Her feet look like they belong on a doll.

     I can't decide what to do for vacation; maybe visit the polar bears in Churchill, I don't know.

     Yesterday I helped my mother collect a picnic table bought at a yard sale; then ate and drove to Maine.

     They all got fired: Debby, my Mother and Father, from there own business. Not sure how they feel about it or what they will do or how I feel about it. Very confusing.

 

7-29-85

 

I just saw my lucky fish. I think it was a blur in the mud, but a very big blur, and the tail looked the same. Anyway I hope it's him.

     It's hard to think here with blasting Puerto Rican music, and kids screaming in Spanish. I can't hear anyone speaking English.

     I need my lucky fish. The Stump is sick. He lies around next to or in the kitty litter. He had blood in his urine, and the next day it was clear. He must have been watching the 700 club. He still doesn't look right, and I can't give him pills, he spits them out.

 

7-31-85

 

The Stump jumped on my bed in the morning, and stuck his claws on my eye. Obviously he is getting better. He is even getting used to having pills shoved down his throat.

     Incidentally; cat breath smells like old fish heads. He is a good boy.

 

8-1-85

 

Macrobiotic supper at a restaurant with Hutchins; ate lima bean croquettes. She is taking care of the organisms when I go on vacation. All she talked about was her job at a printing place. Glad that I decided along time ago that she wasn't quite right for me. She sounded like Pam; her job was the new center of the Earth.

 

8-5-85

 

Fish can really swim remarkably well. I was chasing a pickerel around Learnards pond for five minutes at a leisurely pace. Sometimes Fred the fish stopped, I stopped. Sometimes a sharp left turn, I followed. Finally my constant shadowing proved too irritating and Fred went to warp nine. It was a whole new realm of piscatorial pursuit. It was like a Sopwith Camel chasing an F-16.

     I wonder where my lucky fish is. I wonder if he is friends with this fast pickerel.

     I found an orange cats eye aggie sitting on the bottom; a little treasure. I am looking at it now in the darkroom which I am sick of. Maybe I can pluck out one of the Stumps eyes and freeze it. It would probably get soggy in the heat, but I could keep it in the freezer. Besides he would look good with a black pirate eye patch.

     His eyes are really better in his own head connected as they are to such a repository of learning, and brilliance as his brain.

     I hate this damn darkroom. I am listening to blasting rock music from the next room. Given sufficient white noise when all the machines are on I can drown it out somewhat, but then it's too noisy again.

 

8-11-85

 

Visited Lechmere after a very hard snorkeling expedition. Still would like to find my fish so I dove twenty feet down a few times which is draining.

     I saw a lot of people I liked from working at Lechmere. I still wonder if that Chinon I hid is still alive and well.

     Two of the things I did all the time was lock the cabinets, and make the camera bags neat by shoving the carrying straps inside, and snapping them shut. I felt like doing both when the store closed a few minutes ago.

     I thought Lechmere customers were drawn out of a lottery whose only members were over rich conscienceless ass holes, but I was mistaken; Newtonville customers are even worse. They are all BMW driving self righteous Napoleons with out letup or exception. At least occasionally Lechmere customers had varied backgrounds.

     I am sick of Leica people who have turned cameras into Gods to be worshipped.

     It just occurred to me that right now I am writing in this book sitting in my new truck outside Lechmere. The new truck is a year old, and so is this yellow book.

     On August 26 I am going to Nova Scotia to be lonesome ( but I am lonesome at home too ), and to take some pictures. Maybe then I will start a new notebook.

 I just looked at the first page of this book, and the date is December twenty one. Good I am only aging at half the speed previously believed.

     The truck is a year old which means Lechmere job was a year old too. Obviously this means I will live at least 200 years. 

 

Where is my lucky fish? I saw the pickerel again, but not my lucky fish; really hot today, honest Summer.

 

8-17-85

 

Sitting outside of Prime, and I just saw a large gray rat walking out onto the street.

     I stopped and gave it some of my tuna fish sandwich crust. It lives in the woods between Prime computer, and the Ford building. It was looking at the Hilton but decided the woods were really home.

 

8-18-85

 

A rat yesterday; today a fat garter snake without a tail. The snake was in the street. It probably was run over once, and survived. I chased it into some woods.

 

One of my cats urinated inside my camera case. My micro nikkor lens filled up like a black cup. I washed the lens in the sink then dried it with a blow drier. I am less then thrilled about it. Went on a massive cleaning campaign and discovered cat droppings discretely piled in corners, and clothes damp with piss. Very repulsed: I read that the ratio of nerve cells of spinal column to brain was 1 to 4 in a cat, and 1 to 50 in a Human. The cats are definitely four today on a scale of fifty.

 

I have been at war with the organisms. They have been peeing, and defecating in places other then there litter boxes.

     I smacked Oscar on the rump when she peed in my box of camping equipment, and she has been hiding under the sofa for three days.

     The Stump was caught and squirt in the face with a dilute solution of ammonia, water, and alcohol.

     Today there was wonderful brown turd in the litter box.

I brought a pile of almost all my clothes to the laundrymat to clean out the cat urine, and to sort out what to give away. The clothes have been sitting in the same pile for a few years. It has been a major project.

     I intend to clean much more on Saturday so when I go on the trip and come home it will look nice.

     I hope the cats use there litter boxes. This aggravates the hell out of me.

 

8-26-85

 

Outside in boatyard in Maine; very tired, stayed up most of two nights trying to catch cats in the act. I saw Sirius urinating on a bare table top; most un-cat like behavior. He was promptly squirt in the face with vigor. My camera bag along with the floor beside it were of a singular unpleasant nature. I got a new litter box for under the table where most of the disaster has been occurring.

     I spent a lot of time patting them so they would feel loved, and not be so literally pissed off.

     Lonesome already on first few hours of trip, but also numb with tiredness. I cleaned the house for a week, even sponged off the fingerprints on the refrigerator door, and washed the toilet.

     The new truck is filled with good things, and along with the new stove is a new tent in a box not even opened yet. It came from Lechmere. I can't find my old blue tent. This one is quite nice; at least the picture is nice. There was no overwhelming angst about it. I saw the ad., drove to Lechmere, grabbed a box and left.

     I kind of like the surprise of it, and the reasonable price of sixty nine dollars. If it doesn't leak I will be most pleased. I plan on sleeping in the truck anyway, but a tent is useful for claiming a spot in a campground, and not having that spot filled by " accident " later in the day.

     Angel the barber wants to go out with me to dinner or whatever. She is Cambodian, speaks Khmer, French, and English, and is an unreconstructed capitalist. I know very little about her; don't know if there is any basis of compatibility. I had my hair cut today before buying the tent.

     Now I am in the boatyard. I left at 1:38 it's now 5:30, and the boat leaves at nine after boarding at 8:15.

     I am going to look for a book or a magazine; extremely grateful for a cabin, and a place to sleep. I might try gambling. Right now I miss my cats, and hope they don't get too upset at my absence.

     Work is profoundly beneath me: I get angry and the cats probably know it. Maybe they react to my mood, get grouchy, and we reinforce each others bad moods.

     I should have taken Sirius on this trip. Pulsar looks haggard and drained. The fleas may be the basis of there hostility. I can't get rid of them. I'll try stronger poison when I get home. Sevin only kills the adults, and only the ones directly hit. Something must kill the larvae or at least stay active long enough to kill them after they hatch into regular spring driven fleas.

     Reading propaganda about ship while wandering about Portland. I just got a cheap Chinese knife; it looks like it was made out of an old leaf spring in a slave labor camp. Because it is old fashioned carbon steel it is sharp as hell. It's actually useful, and a good souvenir of Portland Maine. I saw a lamp that looked like a crows head; its eyes must glow when the light is on. It was a goose neck lamp all black except for the beak and eyes. It reminded me of the crow I bought for Pam a few years ago one October when climbing alone, and felt like I do know. I wonder if she kept it: hidden in a box maybe, or in a shelf collecting gray dust.

 

My adrenaline is up, and I feel much better. What an itty bitty room. My " cabin " is about five feet wide, and ten feet long. It reminds me about something Lenin said about a certain amount of living space for every Russian. Above my bed is a fold down one in the wall. There is a tiny orange stool so small that I am sitting on the floor: a closet without a door too small for a fat person to stand in sideways, and an industrial green rug with diamond patterns. There is no bathroom per se, but certainly I didn't invent said use for the sink at four in the morning.

     I like this room a lot. It is a sanctuary in a strange environment. If anyone asks my advise when traveling I will recommend a home base. It is a lot better then endless roaming

     I feel much much better; this is an adventure now. I am going to explore the ship which is 7000 tons and four hundred feet long.

     Now it seems coming here was a good idea.

 

Parked; numb, at an official camping place called " the ovens ". I asked a nice girl in a tourist information center if she knew of a place with nice rocks, and besides I liked the name.

     A fog horn is going EEEEOO every four seconds. The ocean is 500 feet away and I saw rocks on the way in.

     Very peaceful here. The history is forbidden fruit as the Tory scum I learned about in elementary school are here known as " Empire Loyalists ", or as " United Empire loyalists ". There are lots of small museums; one held a sword used at Bunker hill. Glad I took my old sleeping bag as well as my new one. It's too warm for the new one tonight. It's a mosquito laden Summer night. LOTS of mosquitoes which I have swapped for fleas. Tomorrow the plan such as it is, is to see Mohonies cove, Peggies cove etc. past Halifax almost to the end. Too tired to write with coherence.

     Lonesome, but very nice country; best exploring off the main roads, tired.

     Canadian cakes, and cookies all have beef tallow or lard in them. I am eating one now: a puffy caramel flavored cream filled cake oozing with pig fat or the rendered drippings from poor cows sent to the flesh refineries of Swift and co.

 

The caves at the Ovens are both natural and carved by gold explorers during a minor gold rush 100 years ago. There is a museum here and one of the artifacts is a fishing lure; a carved wood fish with double hooks coming out its mouth. The line was attached to the tail exactly backwards from a modern lure. I wonder if any fish knew the difference.

     Tired and headed for Halifax: turned off on Lighthouse route again, and am outside Peggies cove. Clouds, rocks, barren land, and ocean; worth visiting. I just discovered the " Motif number one " of Canada. Rockport further east. Bus tours: artists with paint, drawers with sketch pads, cameras of every description, gift shops. I am going for a walk without cameras.

     OK I give up I will take a picture too. I scouted out one good spot, but it's time to get out before I turn into Greenie.

     Second time I used the view camera on this trip; the first was in the rain overlooking a small town. Leaving this place for the wilds after a side trip to Halifax.

 

There is a dandelion in the rain next to an outhouse. I wonder if at makes any difference to a flower where it is.

 

At an A&W root beer place; the kind with the girls who bring the food on a tray to your window. This is on Cape Breton which I finally reached, and as far from California as is possible. I hope this place is worth the long ride; skipped a lot of places in between that were probably worth visiting to get here. Sidney, and Glacé bay are probably dismally industrial which means I will probably enjoy being on the end of the World. A lady is pouring A&W root beer out of a two litter bottle. I thought it was on tap.

 

There are Kiwi fruits here, two stores had them. Some looked like the one in my refrigerator.

 

This is just like Iceland: I wanted to go home, but stayed one more day, and it was worth it. The Sun finally came out, and Cape Bretton is worth the trip. Wonderful rocks all mixed in with ocean, mountains, roads, and Sun.

 

Louisburg was rainy, and depressing; there was no hope for French people in 1744. The revolution was necessary; Madame Lafarge was right.

 

It might be Saturday I don't know. A bad taste in my mouth turned to sore throat, to cold, to full fledged flu. Decided I couldn't stand driving so headed for New Brunswick to get closer to home. Getting dizzy on trans Canada highway, and turned off on little road where I found a camp ground and set up the new tent. The directions in Korean were more legible then those in English, but the tent is really nice. It is self supporting with stakes only to keep it from blowing away. It is an old fashioned green color, and says Eureka on the front. It awaits my exhausted corps like cadaverous self. Ears are ringing, nose running, fever. I feel like a malerious leper.

     Overview for what I can see is worlds lowest tide. I am going to take a picture so I can see it when not sick.

 

Fever broke: rainy morning, feel a lot better. Rain running over windows, the soggy tent is in the back of the truck. The tent is quite waterproof with lots of modern features: a window in back for ventilation, an overhanging rain fly so you can leave it open in the rain, and it's really easy to set up, and take down. It's like getting something for nothing: a really nice tent without all the snottiness of Eastern Mountain Sports, and for half the price.

     Going to eat a greasy breakfast someplace.

     I keep thinking about the miner at Glacé bay. He is a retired miner who looks labor union tough with a slight pot belly, but obviously used to brutally hard work just the same. He leads a tour in a typical coal mine. They used to work 16 hour shifts before the union, and didn't get any vacation at all. The horses lived there whole lives underground never seeing the Sun till the first vacation week was given in 1919, and went mad when they did. The horses had to be forced down into the holes after a week of Sun. The mines are up to eight miles long under the ocean. Even I was getting claustrophobic after an hour, and was glad to get out.

 

Acadia Maine; Just looking at the most wonderful bird as big as a small turkey with big feet, and a beak suitable for a handle. It must be some kind of gull, brown, and white, and plump. It obviously owned the rock on which it stood.

 

Going all the way home: passed two motels I liked, a gray one, and a white one, and finally stopped at an old one. It's only twenty dollars to sleep in a real bed. I do not like the chains like Holiday Inns. This is OK, it even has a television that might work.

     What stopped me from going home was the stereo from upstairs, and getting closer it seems that no one cares anyway; and why not see Maine? I can load film for the 4x5 and maybe take a few pictures tomorrow.

     I had to turn a heater on that is saying eee in a grating kind of way which sounds like it's about to blow a fuse. The fan is stuck or almost stuck, but genuine heat is coming out, and the chromolox heater from 1945 or so still works fine.

     This little room is refreshing, and waking me up: I have to remember for the next trip not to camp every night. One of the parks, the only one I couldn't sleep in and disliked, was on Cape Breton cost sixteen dollars, and was so noisy I got sick from lack of sleep. This place is great. Tomorrow I will enjoy Maine instead of dashing home. Now I will make hot dogs, and beans in my room on my new stove which is absolutely against the rules.

     The television is black and white; He Haw is on. On top of the bible are two old Readers Digests. A singer is on He Haw singing " Where can I go to the Lord ". She is the size of a small elephant. The new eureka tent is drying inside the motel in a pile.

     I was looking at the tent, and saw a fly inside that lived in the tent when it was rolled up, and squashed in a stuff bag along with a bag of poles, and one of stakes. Fate is strange. I decided to bring the tent into this room thus the fly lives. Or is it; I bought this new tent, and therefore the fly gets trapped 400 hundred miles away to be released in a room in a strange country. It seems happy sitting on the blue wall in this room.

     I always liked flies: such streamlined shapes, such magnificent fliers, and climbers on walls.

     Also they can survive being rolled up in a wet tube of nylon for 400 miles.

 

Back where I started from in Portland. An hour ago I took pictures of two little houses side by side, a yellow one, and a red one in a field of four foot high yellow flowers. Quiet, and peaceful; I wanted to live there.

     Now this trip is ending, and being lonesome, tired, and sick will be forgotten; so will 1900 miles of driving.

     I took only one 4x5 picture today, in Belfast Maine: a nicer city then Belfast Ireland which leads me to how I felt there; lonely, abandoned, tired, sick, and afraid. It's the last one: being afraid on top of everything else.

     It's better here. Portland doesn't seem very far anymore; although Cape Breton is a long way from home.

 

Lying in my own bed: I opened my eyes, and saw all four cats looking at me.

 

Pam ( the Hum ) wrote me a letter about her baby girl Heather; and that her Husband Scotty liked my polar bear picture I sent, and hung it up in his office. It's good to hear from her; at least she didn't abandon me completely. I still miss her a lot, but now I know I will hear from her once in a while.

 

9-2-85

 

Looking through the truck, and found a brochure about the lighthouse I climbed into. It was a good feeling remembering it. Now the stereo is blasting next door so loud it seems like upstairs.

     I feel lonesome at home too; but a lot better finding a letter. Even if she is gone at least she felt enough to write, and I hope her little girl turns into a troutlet, and either one of them can always come to me for help.

 

9-4-85

 

Sids library is closed: the Pinefield drugstore where I have been reading magazines since 1957 is gone. Sidney Kaplan retired. Philmacs pharmacy it seemed replaced him in a second.

     Too many changes in one year. The Charles Alden Music Company is gone. My own father was fired. My mother was fired. Debby was fired. Radical changes for them all.

     I was mad as hell when they took the old gas lights away in Dorchester, and replaced them with concrete sodium vapor lights with all there charm. I knew then ( When the Pinefield Pharmacy just opened ) that someday someone would think I was awfully old to live with gas lights. Electricity was around before Eisenhower: honest, but gas lights were special, and could be climbed. They were eighteen layers of black peeling paint over cast iron as strong as old cannon; and the quality of light was soft and firelike not blue or monochrome orange.

     I am really the sadnesses today.

At least Oscar is out today after three weeks of sulking. I kept patting her by crawling half way under her den of fleas under the sofa. After a few days I could pat her by just sticking my arm under. Then she popped out, and jumped on a chair looking scared. I gave her another pat, and she joined the Human beings.

 

9-8-85

 

I just saw my lucky fish or at least a good enough facsimile. Certainly it was the biggest fish I saw this year, and I saw that pickerel on the way out too.

     Finally; Summer is never over till you think it is. It's supposed to be Fall now only my lucky fish is swimming around quite happily.

     Maybe I will go to my road today, and see the grapes.

 

9-14-85

 

I went to my road yesterday. The poison ivy, and grapes nearly blanketed it completely

     Every year I miss the peak foliage so I went early. The swamp part was already almost devoid of leaves. No wonder I always miss it; it is three weeks or a month early.

     Finally felt comfortable with the 4x5; took it into the poison ivy ,and took two hopefully perfect pictures. If they come out the way I like more will follow.

     I really liked the school last week. The sky was Colorado blue I.E. not Humid; crisp, cold, and wonderful. 

 

It was good to use my brain. Work does not have the effect of stimulating anything but anger. Horrible blasting " music " all day which I always make softer, and the other people make louder.

     Starting to think of the picture being taken, and not the mechanics of how to operate the camera. The 4x5 has so many extra decisions; but useful decisions.

     Will go back to my road on Sunday. Quite pleased with choice of camera: heavy, but a wonderful design which does everything asked of it with precision, repeatability, and a simplicity it has taken a full year to appreciate.

 

Fleas are crawling all over me, and biting whenever the desire for fresh blood overwhelms them. I just sprayed everything with sevin again, and a large fly not hurting anyone started to convulse on the floor. I took it outside so maybe it would live.

     The fleas are deHumanizing. All I want to do is kill them. It's like a cartoon, except that big fly didn't do anything to deserve being poisoned.

 

9-17-85

 

I was walking in the woods in Wayland along some old train tracks. There was a box made of rusty galvanized metal with a wood lid. Inside were a family of mice, and all looked at me when the box was opened. They were so cute I wanted to fill my pockets with them and take them home.

 

 

10-24-85 to 9-1-86

 

This is a brand new book; it's Oct. 24, 1985.

It's time for a brand new book.

 

Sitting outside Newtonville: it's a nice blue sky warm day. Class at the Art Institute was all about film and developer combinations and my old friends did well: HC-110, and rodinal. These developers produce the sharpest detail with the greatest tonal range. The grain is not fine but often it is too single a criteria for judgment. Fine grain is almost a singular paradigm for goodness in developers, but too simple at that. What is lost is sharpness and tonal scale or gradation of gray tones: too much for me. The fine grain developers produce pictures that lack shadow detail I.E. look like mud, and although the images are smooth they are lacking in crispness. Anyway it's rewarding to hear that what I knew in a feeling way or by experience: what looked right holds up to the empiricists magnifying glass. The simplicity of fine grain vs. course grain just needed more definitions and complexity. The whole is more complex and also more fun.

 

On Edmunds road on a perfect October night: eyes glowed in my headlights. Slow eyes; eyes that barely moved. An opossum scuttled over the road a few feet randomly left then right. It was destined to be run over. I stopped and it didn't move. Maybe the headlights froze it. I chased it into the woods where it crashed through the leaves like a small bear. Opossums are supposed to be among the stupidest creatures, but I liked it just the same. They look like over sized rats: wonderfully ugly things with seeming hundreds of pointed teeth in a long snout, a fat ungainly body wearing indifferent gray fur and a long prehensile rodent tail. I know they are marsupials but the tail looks as though it could find a home on any oversized rodent. I liked it.

 

10-27-85

 

Rt. 126 industrial park in Ashland. I used to shoot here; guns as well as cameras. Once Pam brought a great frozen fish here belonging to her former husband. We put the cod with ice glazed eyes on a dirt pile and shot about 100 bullets into it and left the remains to rot. Actually I suggested we go shooting and she hand picked the target.

     I came here before meeting her and now a long time after she is gone. The road beyond the dirt piles is not too recognizable as a road anymore as the dirt piles stopped even Jeeps for about four years; and someone cleaned all the shards of glass and twisted metal that sufficed as targets for me and whoever else secreted here for the informal target shooting known as plinking.

     Now there is a new building next to the dirt piles and a collection of steam shovels and broken bulldozers on the other side.

     The leaves rattle in the wind: an old rusty cable loops out of the dirt; perhaps a worm looking for the bones of a certain fish

 

10-31-85

 

Halloween: I can't decide on getting lights, I.E. a strobe system. I can't take a lot of pictures for the lack of adequate lighting. One on camera flash is just not enough. It's OK for news, but not for either a portrait or a product shot.

     The one I have been thinking of is half the price of other ones yet perfectly adequate if not more than adequate. The only difficulty is weight and a bit of clumsiness which are worth the savings of over 1000 dollars. Novatron is the brand name; made in Texas with readily available parts. My feelings are much like when I first bought the four by five, too much in terms of money and effort, but worth every penny once used to it. It comes in a nice plastic suitcase with umbrellas, lights, stands, etc. It is a whole portable outfit which is what I need in order to shoot on location. The Novatron power supply looks almost Russian in its crudity, but like Russian things it works. I can have three flash heads to go along with it for the price of one fancy Swiss one. Three MIG - 21's for the price of one F -15. Maybe the Russians have the right idea.

 

The tamarrilo on the table is starting to rot. It's a strange fruit red, in color. Some of them are yellow or orange.

     Like kiwis they are not to eat: just to look at like flowers and Trouts.

 

Nov.5,1985

 

Sitting in my truck in typical November rain; gray and cold, four days worth.

     I just looked at the table in my apartment and found a post card from Paris from Pam from her honeymoon, and from 1981. I put it in the orange book so it lives where it belongs and not on my table.

 

11-14-85

 

Newtonville: only had two dollars: felt bad at lunch time, then I thought of the Nova show on channel two last night. Little kids had only rice and beans to eat. Some of them died. The saddest girl I ever saw described how her one year old boy died, and that the last thing he did was hug her before he died.

     Only two dollars in my wallet seemed a gift and not a sorrow; and I remembered a half tuna fish sandwich not eaten last week and hiding in the refrigerator. In the brown bag containing the tuna fish was a milky way; a complete surprise and as wonderful a thing to eat as has ever existed.

     If my pocket bulged with money I would have eaten in some forgotten greasy restaurant; a meal to forget. Instead the milky way was a special treat.

     I wish there was more than rice and beans to eat in so much of the world.

 

Did a lot of experiments today, homework really from school. It was good science; a measured response of film at various exposures to different developing times. This is not only fun, but useful data.

     I would never be taking this course at the Art Institute if I never met the Hum. It's odd how things all seem so connected sometimes and so random at others.

 

11-23-85

 

Last night: very tired all day; went to sleep at 11:00. Dream about the Hum; she was in a wedding dress and smiled at me just like a trout.

     Sometimes I still miss her as badly as it's possible to miss someone. No one knocks on my door anymore, and I haven't felt as close to anyone as to her, not even a fraction.

     Now I am at Newtonville again ready to be bored for another day.

When Pam was around especially at the beginning I pushed her away: hoped the other Pam would call me at work instead, resented having every weekend taken up. Now I would plainly give a few teeth to get one day back.

     The polar bear is on my wall in this darkroom. The same one I mailed to her which she made a point of telling me is on her husbands wall. At least I still have some kind of impact.

     I wonder if she is even a trout anymore. What I loved was a sad little trout not a business woman.

Maybe once in a while she is what I dreamt. I love the new lights, but they are empty without someone to show them to. I miss you trout.

 

11-25-85

 

Went to Radio Shack today and bought an orange wire; a short extension cord, a battery, and a bag full of inexpensive little things. I like the wires as much as big presents. Material things are nice to a point: the cost of them doesn't mean anything.

 

11-26-85

 

The nice bridge at Pellham island road has been replaced with a modern wide safe one with hand rails. The old one was narrow, kinked, and had boards missing. It was much better.

 

11-27-85

 

The polar bear is on the wall at Newtonville: looking at me.

 

11-28-85

 

Went swamping and fell in twice. Freezing rain and swamp completely full. The tree is still half alive.

     Home and Sirius is kneading my stomach and purring. I wonder if he would like to go swamping?

     I am glad the television is off. Now Sirius is purring and asleep. Today in the swamp it was so difficult moving that I wondered if I was going to get out: then wondered if I couldn't get out it wouldn't matter all that much.

     Glad to have these kitties.

 

11-29-85

 

Fell down the stairs a few minutes ago. Skidded down on my back and smacked my elbows. One elbow is swollen and purple. Wanting to go home now; lonesome and extremely sad. Keep remembering the dream about the Hum of a few nights ago: the look in her eyes.

 

Caroline is the nicest little girl I ever met. Yesterday she sat beside me and asked me to draw little girls. When I got tired of it I drew a pumpkin instead, and she yelled " PUMPKIN ", So exited, and then I drew  pumpkins. I like having a troutlet to take to the zoo.

 

Sherry had the best birthday for me. Edmunds came, and Hargrove and my mother made an official cake.

     I wished I had my Hum; but I have a lot, a whole lot, good family, good friends.

     I just made a miniature cake like always on my birthday; an oblong one. The first non round one ever. Something a little new but still a tradition.

 

Sherry is marrying Denny: the match seems to fit.

 

12-3-85

 

Just ate a delicious cookie. I felt guilty: the design of it was exquisite, the taste delicious, as though a vegetarian eating flesh. Whoever invented cookies should be enthroned in eternal honor.

 

12-4-85

 

The day before my birthday I bought the biggest porterhouse steak; one and a half pounds of raw meat. It was delicious. I felt like a fat cannibal. I fried it in the square cast iron pan bought at Gibsons in Laramie.

 

12-17-85

 

I wonder what happened to jelly fish and jelly rolls; two things I haven't thought of in a while.

     I was just playing with a little plastic garbage bag and it reminded me of a Portuguese man of war: I.E. a jelly fish then jelly rolls then unrolling the jelly rolls and eating it like one snake eating another one, assuring myself of at least some jelly for every bite.

 

12-22-85

 

Oscar is asleep on top of the television. Sound asleep despite all the noise. Scrooge with George C. Scott is on and it's good.

 

12-30-85

 

I just remembered the bone woods on the other side of the aqueduct, now houses. The trees were jungle oaks with vines hanging, and poison ivy trees. There were ponds hidden and an old dump with broken blue bottles and white ceramic chips.

     There was also a bone pile. They were creepy woods: less friendly then the regular pine woods on the other side, or the oak woods, or the sand woods.

     I wonder what happened to all the snails I brought from Dorchester and released there.

      Christmas was full of ghosts in the fog: real not figurative. Don't know what they wanted. Maybe like marleys ghost they had something to say. May I have the wisdom to know.

     Numb with being tired. If I were an alcoholic I would get drunk as there is a bottle of Irish cream on the floor. But I won't drink it as I never liked to drink. Sent Pam ( the Hum ) a pot holder like a fish, more a halibut than a trout.

     The other Pam ( the wipe ) I gave a cast iron frog  that lived in an appropriately green box on the floor for two years.

     The chief executioner ( the HEAD executioner ) of France just died at the age of 86. He chopped off 350 odd heads during his illustrious career; though his services were wont for the past nine years as Madame La Guillotine has been placed on ice.

     Last Christmas I bought a bowl which I kept. It's filled with water and the creatures use it for a fountain.

     All four cats went to the laundrymat yesterday. I could not sleep at all. One dream was of a nice girl ( unknown ) who was helping me to catch the cats in the morning. Another dream was that I was as bald as Friar Tuck.

     Catching them was Hell. Sirius went gently into a box. The Stump went yowling and with legs splayed and clawing the floor.

     The other two took two more hours to catch. I called the vet and told the person that I gave up. A half hour later I put on gloves with rubber nibs and grabbed Oscar with a vengeance. She was dropped vertically into the open mouth of a cat carrier. Now all three were trundled out into the hall where there combined howling, scratching, hissing, moans and other horrible sounds brought light to the eyes of long dead Torquemada.

     Pulsar was another animal altogether: a hound of Hell in cat skin. No way did I dare open one of the official cat carrying devices owned borrowed or stolen in order to drop her in if caught because the occupant would surely jump out at the cost of my eyes.

     Pulsar was missing: a stealth cat in deep hiding, low and menacing in some lurking hole, not under the TV, not under the sofas, not under the bed.

     I gave up again and told the Vet definitely no, never, impossible.

Eyes under one last bookcase and a bolt into the kitchen. Now awakened I searched desperately for the means of capture; securing a duffel bag for my quarry.

     Pulsar glowered from atop my old black and white television. I put bags across the doorless kitchen entrance, and with the skill of a snake catcher moved slowly than struck like a pit viper landing a gloved hand behind her neck and wrenching her up in one quick motion.

     Teeth gnashed at the air, four sets of claws slashed looking for flesh, and I dropped her with a certain glee into the canvass bag with a pleasant thud as she hit bottom.

     Now they all went to the laundrymat and came home without fleas.

     A few hours later I noticed my hand was throbbing, and when the glove was peeled off telltale blood and grooves indicated the wounds  won honorably in battle.

     When they came home they wondered about wide eyed and stumbling; like returning prisoners.

     Such wonderful things. I am glad they are home.

 

1-8-86

 

Claire: the girl who works at Newtonville brought an injured bird in from the cold. She brought an eye dropper and some honey, and the bird died in her hands. One of the insensitives made a joke about it and she left crying.

     It reminded me of the two baby birds I caught in one hand and put on the roof.

     And about Pam's white cat who ate one.

 

1-4-86

 

The Human and cat startle reaction is exactly the same. A loud noise causes both to jump, to tense to look around for a place to hide, and for the source of danger.

     Every night a small click is heard when the automatic timer shuts the light. All of us jump at the same time; not a big jump just a twinge of recognition. Last night Sirius was sitting on my lap on the sofa and it occurred to me that he jumped before I even heard the click.

      This always occurs. I react oafishly and the cats react: like cats.

 

11-17-86

 

I just thought about the brown truck I always visited and liked.

     I wish it was still there. It had nice mirrors and sparkles in the paint.

     I joined TOGETHER INC. and was sent a date; a phone number and a name. Nancy Campbell from Marlboro. She hadn't answered the phone yet. More to write when name is attached to a face.

     Had classic headache for three days off and on. Really dizzy, combination of barbiturates and headache itself. Nauseous and of course my head as they say ached.

 

1-21-86

 

Newtonville sitting in darkroom. I was thinking of lunch; so sick of tuna fish that I didn't make lunch. Emergency lunch is a can of ravioli hiding in a bag with a white can opener, a fork, and a white bowl. A long time ago I got two matching white bowls: one for water and one for food which was Calo for the cats or rather for Oscar who was the original. Now if I dared use such small containers for the sustenance of my lions; or even more vulgar if I dared put Calo in one, they would eat me.

     They now eat and drink out of heavy overly large bowls  suitable for drooling carnivores. They actually broke one by rolling a can of tuna off the kitchen table splitting it in half. I tried to glue it but gave up, and gave them a bigger one I once bought as a Christmas present but liked too much to give away.

 

I just ate a blue jar of yogurt. The yogurt wasn't blue: that would be certainly unusual; it was white and tasted like yogurt, sort of an off tasting sour cream.

     The jar was lost last week and discovered while looking for film in the Newtonville refrigerator: a wonderful surprise when hungry with little money.

 

2-26-86

 

Tired drive to Newtonville. I stood in line for two jelly donuts across the street then walked to the back door. On the ground was a squashed brown thing with plastic dots. It looked like a dead animal; reptilian perhaps or a mammal run over for months. It had a vague familiarity which upon close examination proved to be my old glove. Obviously it fell from a pocket on a previous donut run a good six weeks ago and had since been rained on, snowed on, frozen to the ground and run over 602 times. It also smells like diesel oil, but now fitted to my left hand works just fine and the wrinkles are working themselves into fingers and not flats.

 

3-2-86

 

I decided to take some pictures with the 4x5 after vacuuming the rug of a winter supply of cat hair.

     I planned on going to Southboro next to the News but my road in Sudbury called me. The stream under the bridge was frozen over and the ice had a nice texture. It was a perfect spot for an ice picture.

     This year proving itself no different from any other had an unseasonable dip in store. As I was scouting the streams edge for a perfect spot it seems that the edge I.E. land was three feet to my left as the ice gave way quickly to my ankles then my knees then with a crash my feet touched the mud, and ice water cooled me off to my behind.

     It was a refreshing dip. Every year I seem to fall through the ice at least once. It has become an almost casual occurrence although a cold one. It is still a nice day out.

 

3-3-86

 

I just drove to the old Newtonville to my old parking space. There was a wonderful little tree that no one ever saw but me: the one cleaned out with all the weeds. The building was the weed if anything was. The tree was all of comfort all the time I lived in the cellar here. I opened the back door and looked at the little tree and liked it and we both smiled in the Sun.

     I don't like the photography course, " the business of photography ". It's all about New York and groveling to the appropriate over groomed sales people. I just don't like it.

     The new boat will arrive soon, and the frogs will come out in a few more weeks.

 

3-5-86

 

I received a package in the mail from Monec. Instead of junk mail it was a blue vinyl map case. It was an inexpensive advertising ploy; but I really liked it. It is particularly nice to get surprises in the mail:

and it smells like beach balls and Summer, and rafts, and things blown up for the beach. I like it.

     I have a basic migraine headache right now, but don't really care. Two fiorinals and two aspirins are sufficiently numbing to take the aggravating edge off it, and I am relieved to have my father on the phone sounding a little better. I would not wish rheumatoid arthritis on too many people. The Ayatollah Kohmani possibly, but not too many others. My mothers yellow Subaru went for a drive all by itself. It rolled out of the garage, across the driveway over the hill and into the trees. A surprising and unpleasant experience.

     The cats have fleas again.

 

 

I just visited an old green stool I like at the art school. It's on the fourth floor. I took it's picture last week. It is torn, about forty years old and taped together. That stool is probably more symbolic of this school than anything else I have seen here. At least it works: it doesn't disappoint like this class. I wish I was home instead of here.

     The green truck is like the old chair. It is in the shell station getting fixed up: new windows to replace the ones shot out by the kid next door, and the one pried open and cracked by a thief. It also needs an exhaust system.

     Amazing: folbot half done after nine hours of brute labor with Bill Edmunds. That is nine hours using power tools. It would take months with screw drivers and hand drills. It's a good feeling to go from a pile of scrap wood to an almost boat in a day. It actually looks like a boat now. Wood is not a uniform substance like plastic or aluminum bar stock. Each piece is a little off and requires filing, sanding or the like. Wood is also eminently fixable. Small errors in construction are not disasters. An extra brass screw or glob of glue fixes quite well.

 

3-22-86

 

Couldn't sleep thinking about the old wind up alarm clock grating me into consciousness at 3:20 am.

     Cats confused at the lights. Sirius slept: the other three stumbled into the kitchen groveling for food.

     Cold ride in a blur to Bose mountain and a wait for the comet that started in 1956. My mother got me a telescope on September eleven 1956 to see Mars on it's close approach. I already knew at ten and a half years old that Haley's would arrive in 1986. I carefully computed my own age and knew time never ends. How would I feel in 1986? Would things be the same? Would I be lucky enough to be alive? did that even matter? Would water still sparkle in the sun?

     Nothing changed. Water still sparkles in the sun; the early mornings are still cold and crisp.

     May flies who live one day as flying creatures are ephemerata, so are we.

 

3-29-86

 

The frogs finally came out of the ice. It is warm and they are chirping in the swamps.

     I went out on a date with a dead person last night. I don't like any of the Together women. They show me what I have LOST not what the future holds. They leave me empty. This last one was six feet tall; an Amazon, and ugly besides. She was intelligent, witty and OK to talk to, but she wouldn't understand my cats ( or me ) in a hundred years. She should marry a doctor.

     What awaits in the mailbox today? I found a summons yesterday. A letter bomb maybe, or all my bills in a box.

 

4-4-86

 

The Hum used to have a Nikon FM; maybe she still does. When she didn't have any money at all, and I gave her film, she made a strap out of strings she braided and wove together.

     I liked the strap made of strings. It took time to make and it looked like someone cared.

     Then she had a job at some place blotted out; and a new friend, and she cut off the string and replaced it with an official Nikon strap.

     She kept the camera in a brown ceramic jar.

     Sometimes I really miss her badly.

 

4-5-86

 

A small rock, a pebble really lives in my coat pocket. It's a little world by itself; detached whole and wonderful. What I need in a Human being is someone who understands the wonder of things.

     Going home now to see the kitties.

 

4-7-86

 

258 dollars showed up in my mailbox from Prime. It was a wonderful surprise. I forgot all about it: thought it was sent weeks ago.

     Last night I had another dream about the green truck; that the garage man said he coated it in plastic to preserve the finish and that it was only seventy dollars extra. When I woke up I drove over to the garage. It needs an alternator and voltage regulator. No surprise as it has been eating batteries like toasted marshmallows at a July picnic. It also still needs windows - it had an entire exhaust system glued on, and needs some clickers, the kind added to tractors, bolted onto the steering column so it will pass inspection.

     I will be very happy when it is sitting in the driveway with windows in it.

     I wish I had some land someplace to keep it, and the " new ", red one too.

 

Looking at the students at the Art Institute of Boston lunchroom. One femme fatale with long hair and scary eyes: another girl who thinks she is sophisticated because she smokes Virginia slims, an old guy sitting in a corner,and a girl eating soup and a grilled cheese sandwich with deliberate delicacy - her eyes flutter self consciously six times with every bite. Two people are having a conversation over a blue fishing box probably filled with paint and brushes.

     A black girl walked in with the same blue fishing box. The femme fatale is jumping in her chair. She needs a vallium. She seems to dart her steely blue stair from one to another. Miss Virginia slims is reading " Arts and Entertainment ". She is wearing four bracelets on each arm, and crosses in her ears.

Now wondering in is a bearded military sort with a pilots jacket, old black combat boots untied ( the current style ) short hair and a single gold stud in his right ear: a " masculine ", gay? The ear ring is a code I think; maybe it's just the style.

     The femme fatale is brushing her hair. She seems disappointingly dull. The black girl has a very Human face. She is eating a tuna fish sandwich. She seems intelligent, but also able to defend herself if the need arose.

     I thought I would be bored waiting for my class: quite the opposite, this crowd watching is fun.

 

4-13-86

 

The sky was filled with seven planes trailing signs such as "read the Globe ", and where to by a car. Obviously the Red Sox were at home preparing for their somewhat inevitable disappointment.

     It was the last day of school; maybe my last class at that school, and I could not park anyplace. Forty five minutes of looking: the old guy with the cigar and the Herald who ran the lot used by the school was buried alive by Red Sox fans. Another lot was turning people out, and the streets were baffling in there array of petty scofflaws refusing the right of way of anyone, and blind to the colors of stop lights. I drove home.

     This course was a disappointment; but I liked the school and learned a lot. Maybe I can take another course, but in the fall. It's almost Summer and my new boat is almost ready thanks to Edmunds skill as a carpenter and to his long hours of help.

     I am now sitting in truck # 3 at Pellham island road with a semi serious headache, and a fiorinal blur. What I need is some happiness not fiorinal.

     Tomorrow is the AMC. class in Boston: maybe I can find a Hum there.

     I can never find a Hum again, just like I could never find a second Wipe - who knows maybe someone with a new name, Pam # 3. Let me be sentenced to transportation first.

     Might go to South Africa this Summer: obviously to see if the water goes down the drain clockwise; why else?

     I wish the old bridge was here: I expect to see it and will be disappointed again by the new one.

     The green truck was " fixed ", for six hundred and nineteen dollars. It still needs a clutch, a front end, universal joints, a drive shaft, and new radiator hoses.

     At least it works now, a little, and has WINDOWS to keep the rain out. I can fix it bit by bit.

     Quite dizzy, but headache still growing despite drugs. I really wanted to say good-by to the school. I could not even park to visit. I wonder if Pam ever thinks of her old school or about the time we went to see the Red Sox and watched a wonderful sign on the green wall of a ball point pen that went off and on like a surprise.

 

Just came back from swamping. Loud birds and frogs. The trees were orange from the Sun on the horizon and the swamp was glowing.

     I met a man with binoculars who loved the Spring. He said that he looks for hawks from his office window and that a Maple tree he likes now has the beginnings of green leaves.

     Frogs making a racket: headache getting better.

 

Drove by Nortons pond and wondered if the turtles are out on the logs yet. I used to love catching them in fish nets. Maybe I can catch crockerdyles in Africa ( I know how to spell crocodile ) crockerdyle as in Betty Crocker dyle, an elaborate pun Pam Alexander pulled on me once.

     The new boat will be ready to test its brown and yellow self out next Sunday.

 

Oscar and the Stump were lying like two cheese logs in the Sun: all stretched out, absolutely content. They obviously like the Spring too.

 

4-21-86

 

Folbot is finished. The last task was attaching a little sign to the back with two small brass screws. I felt sad: the fun of it was in the making with a good friend: a month of sweat, of looking in the garage at the skeletal form, of holes sawn in fingers, of " shape to fit ", directions, of tens of unresolvable problems solved. The last problem was typical. I ran out of official brass screws meant to affix a rubber bumper around the deck, and couldn't find matching screws anywhere so the fix was three kinds of screws including aluminum ones spaced out in an aesthetically pleasing pattern.

     Almost nothing fit quite right, and it took two brains to solve all the problems. When it was finished I felt disappointed.

     It works great though: a wonderful boat for rivers. We took it to a swampy little pond and it paddles easily and doesn't leak. It seems solid and an exceptional river camping boat: better than a canoe.

     My old boat looks OK too sitting in the garage. I would like to live on a lake with both boats tied to a dock like at camp.

     It was a good project. I learned that I (easier with a friend ) can build something with my own hands. I learned about power tools and pilot holes: about miter cuts and glue and C clamps, And monel staples, and I got to use some of my pliers collection.

     I really like the color choice of the boat; it looks bright and happy in the water.

 

5-16-86

 

Haven't written in this book for awhile. Felt really sad today, and angry working in this dark hole: so I went for a walk over the bridge and discovered a pet store with an aquarium filled with kitties. Actually it was a cage, but with six micro cats. Its appearance was in the nature of an aquarium filled with fur covered fish.

     It would have been easy to stuff a certain black and white kitty into my pocket ( a slightly big pocket cat ) and taken it home. It looked like a negative of Sirius or Pulsar, an absolutely wonderful little thing. There are camera and lens carrying vests upstairs filled with pockets. One of those could easily carry six cats home. But then I would have ten cats.

The pet store had cylinders covered with old rug scraps with holes, and shelves inside. I am not sure if such a device is called a " cat house ", but they would love one. I wonder how the pecking order would exhibit itself; or if it would be first come first served.

     Headache for two days. Fiorinal makes it numb but, it is still there. Felt so good a few days ago; sick of headaches.

     Felt uncomfortable in suit and tie world of Prime computer yesterday: took a picture of a plaque being presented. people filled with a sense of purpose and rightness: not overly impressed.

     Together keeps sending woman so old they use polident. Not overly stimulated even to call the last one sent.

 

Feel good today. Had a nice visit at home; ate good hot dogs and beans. Summer 90 degree weather celebrated by buying short pants. new shirts, and dungarees. Haven't seen fleas for two months. Maybe the malathion worked. Two cats threw up from the stink of it and I came close, but it seems to have rid the place of said plague, at least for this week.

     I remembered my cockroaches that I kept as pets: the ones I got from Framingham State college, the offspring of breeding stock from Panama. They were two inches long and made scraping noises when crawling around in there plastic jar.

 

Last week I took the folbot to the Sudbury river with Debby. It was a perfect day; the folbot went better than all expectations, and we had a lot of fun. From the river the whole world is wilderness with muskrats a strange bird called a least bittern and white ducks.

 

5-28-86

 

Oscar is curled up in the yellow plastic chair, the Stump is being patted on the head as I write, and Pulsar is in the stainless bowl. Sirius is obviously in another room. I am glad Oscar is on the chair; these are all nice mrouts.

     In front of Newtonville camera was a driving collection of pliers: a Snap on tool truck. The ceiling was covered with pegboard and elastics filled with bizarre pliers of every description. I could have added to my collection and spent all my money easily.

 

6-6-86

 

I love the mail box and its surprises. I ordered a 4x5 developing tank a week ago, and know it will show up eventually just like the plastic jars ordered twenty years ago. Surprises in the mail are even better.

     My poor boat sits collecting spiders in the garage. It's raining, and this Sunday the News requests my presence at three graduations. One is quite boring enough; maybe Monday.

 

6-9-86

 

5:20 A.M. I just had a dream that I was a large fish working for Jacques Cousteau. I reported to Cousteau the sighting of two large red fish that looked like cardinals and he agreed to tow me by a rope at ninety knots in order to find them again. It all seemed to make sense while asleep.

     Going back to sleep it is 5:32 am.

 

6-9-86

 

Cathy Mara: liked my pictures shown at Prime; she called my tape machine all the time to pick up rolls of film.

     She was nice, I liked her voice on tape. She left Prime today. I will probably never see her again either.

     Maybe I will: she seemed like a nice person, I wish we knew each other better.

     We didn't have any kind of wild relationship: the above plus one Chinese lunch was about it, but she was part of my week for almost a year and I will miss her voice.

 

I just rescued a moth from the Stump who wanted to devour him. I grabbed the moth from the edge of a lamp and tossed it out into the darkness and life.

     The Stump is looking in confusion perched on top of a chair. All his senses are on alert.

 

6-22-86

 

A strange girl looked in the window. The Stump flattened his ears back and made a horribly hostile guttural noise almost reptilian in its guttural wrath.

     Of course when I open the door both Sirius and the Stump greeted me in a far more benevolent manner.

     Watch cats; obviously.

 

6-23-86

 

All four organisms are lying in the Sun on the floor. I feel really lucky to have them they are all the nicest creatures.

     Together sent me the name of a female Human who is only still living because burning witches at the stake is illegal. She grilled me over the phone in a hostile manner for twenty minutes. She wants a " secure ", man with lots of friends ( social contacts ) who likes to dance, and who walks on water. It would have been refreshing to strangle her with my own hands. I didn't like her very much.

 

6-25-86

 

I bought some new erasormate pens. They are like blank notebooks awaiting fulfillment. Also bought were green grapes, eaten now and then previously, but never before actually bought taken home, and eaten. One is left now; a round flower alone on a complex of twisted stems.

     Very tired: can't decide whether to go to Switzerland or Costa Rica, or just stay home.

 

6-30-86

 

A rabbit that looked like the Stump lives in this golf course. I came here to take pictures for the club, and found a rabbit, and frogs the size of Godzilla in a pond filled with golf balls.

 

Had a good trip yesterday climbing Monadnock with Sherry who never went climbing before. She did quite well only succumbing to disgust when " almost there ", turned into another hour of climbing on rock slabs the exposure of which was less then comforting.

     She didn't chicken out like most people though, and quite proudly reached the summit.

     Golf is a strange game. The actual game is fun, good exercise and all those good things, but the pretensions of a club like this are overwhelming to me.

     I just found my " quick light ", climbing stove in the truck. That was about the best surprise I ever bought. Felt sad and went to Lechmere to cheer up and found this stove which is a great camping stove. It is plastic, light , and doesn't require a match.

 

7-1-86

 

I shut the television, and put the controlling unit on the floor in the new dark room. My hand found a new rock; one of two from Mt. Monadnock. They looked at me, and had to come home and be added to the collection.

     I wonder if The Stump or Sirius or Pulsar or Oscar appreciates rocks and leaves.

     The Stump was just curled up next to me being patted when a moth set them all into a frenzy.

     Rocks are calm things, old eternal and filled with sparkles. They are ice and the Northern lights made soft and made whole.

 

7-4-86

 

Reagan is on television; the fire crackers are on next.

     I always loved firecrackers: I wish I was at live firecrackers: these on television will have to do.

     Twenty four minutes, 40,000 shells. One hell of a show. I wish I saw it in person; but then I would be stuck in New York city right now instead of at home with my cats, and water and a convenient place to pee.

 

7-7-86

 

Learnards pond: may not have seen my lucky fish but saw two of his offspring.

     First snorkeling this year. The water is algae filled and muddy, but at least I saw my almost fish. Actually I saw three fish, but one was probably seen twice in the same place.

     Sick today; had the horror of throwing up last night in an orange pot on my bed. Really hot today. First real July day. Not too coherent; haven't eaten all day.

 

7-11-86

 

No one has called me yet. My old answering machine was garbling all the thousands of messages called from all over the world so I got a new one last night. It seems to work well enough, but so far no one has called.

     The old one is back in its original box: it might be fixable, but I was afraid to be without one for six weeks of repair. It has become too valuable a device.

     What if the Pope calls, or Margaret Thatcher, or the President? I hope a computer doesn't call to ask me to invest in gold coins.

     Costa Rica or South Africa? South Africa would be quite an adventure, it would also leave me dead broke. Not sure what to do.

 

7-13-86

 

Evicted: The landlord called on Friday to fix leaky shower; he said it was leaking through to the cellar. He left a message on the new answering machine to call back in the morning. I called: he said the leak had damaged the floor and beams, and needed to be repaired. It would take a few months, and he wanted me out of the house by September, gone.

     This was my house: I lived in it longer than anyplace else. I loved the Hum there: my cats grew up there, and I would like to rip out Rogers throat with my fingernails digging into his carotids. I feel the same way I did when I was robbed in Puerto Rico at knife point.

     What about the organisms? Will they like to move? Where.

I am parked outside the Natick mall where I am going to get something to eat: couldn't eat breakfast, felt sick. Headache coming now; food will help.

     South Africa or Costa Rica will have to wait till next year. At least some money is in the bank so moving is possible. Maybe I can find a place, and spend a few weeks moving so it's not so horrible. Getting sick thinking about the kitties. I don't like this, I don't like this at all.

     I need stamps to mail my letters.

 

I just went to Century twenty one on advise of my neighbor. It is owned by Herb Taylor an old customer from Newtonville. A bureaucratic lady, Yvonne, was there. She determined that I could not buy a house with my income, and left my name with a rental agent for tomorrow. I will call at nine A.M. for more help.

     Very fast if not instant; like losing health from good to scary.

     Need to have a shower back. The landlord removed it.

     I always just want to go home. Only now I don't have anyplace to go. The Stump won't like moving, he will just hate it. I didn't want to move when I was three and I don't want to now. Maybe I can buy some land in New Hampshire or Maine and at least let the green truck live on it and maybe the red one too.

 

7-19-86

 

Taking pictures at golf place. All the birds are eating the hot dog rolls. The rolls are on a wall and hundreds of sparrows and starlings are feasting like goldfish in a bowl. A stern hard lady giving orders to a bunch of kids about setting tables doesn't know about the pocked marked half eaten rolls. I certainly will not tell her.

     In a swampy place in the middle of the fourteenth green is a small pond. I saw a turtle and was changing lenses to take its picture when a horrible writhing coiling ooze slimed itself into view. It was a large catfish who obviously somewhat accidentally placed itself in the jaws of a three foot snake. The fish about ten inches long was bitten amidships by the snake which was about three feet. The snake was trying to swallow said fish whole; an impossible prospect especially when one considers that the fish was sideways in the snakes mouth.

     I poked the snake with a monopod and it took off leaving a landlocked and very tired catfish. I squished into the ooze and tossed the fish back into a more liquid environment. Hopefully said Mrout fish will remember about snakes having big mouths.

 

Later today after looking at the help wanted pages I saved a poor fly unable to go through the window of the truck. I caught the fly in my hand like a snake striking a fish, then instead of eating it I let it go home.

     I would like to go home too while I can.

 

The program on television now is about fish. I just changed the channel from Jaws. Fish seem to be every place today: in Learnards pond, in snakes mouths, and on television.

 

The news just said that Andre the seal died. He swam from Provincetown to Rockport Maine every year. I liked him.

 

8-3-86

 

Sitting in the truck outside Lechmere. Very sad; just threw a bag of my favorite old clothes out to Good Will. They were mine and I liked them. Have to move and have very mixed feelings: sometimes mad enough to kill landlord with sharpened ax in closet, other times missing my old house, and other times glad in a way to have my own place if possible. Condominium is very nice, trying to get it.

     Powerless; at mercy of little man and mouse like wife that suffice for my landlords. Tired of life run by nematodes, I can be my own landlord.

     Getting a headache; wanting to go home, but not sure where it is.

     Looked at video tapes and found one called trout, looked at audio tapes, and found one called The Trout Quartet, by Shubert, so I still look for missing trouts.

     I feel like rescuing the bag of old clothes.

 

8-5-86

 

Brocklemans market: I always go here after work and park in the same spot next to a light.

     A small tree lives in a crack in the asphalt and today it has Summer berries, mostly green with a few garish purple. Bees are happily looking for nectar; an island in an asphalt ocean.

     I hope it lasts. It deserves to live too.

 

8-6-86

 

She always got me two jelly donuts and a medium coffee with extra sugar.

     I made lobster claws out of my fingers and she called me Larry the lobster.

     We always did the quiz from the Herald about ten in the morning.

     Carol is so different from me: likes rock and roll, doesn't wear seat belts, likes to go to Hammpton beach, and drinks wine coolers. She circles things she finds in the paper to do on the weekend.

     Perceptions change: she has a limp obvious at first that disappeared soon becoming unimportant and forgotten.

     I like the way she laughs. She quit the lab today.

A nice part of my day went with her.

 

8-11-86

 

Actually a little nauseous. I just threw out years of old things: a can of kiwi fruit from Nadine road, a foam rubber hot dog from a box of thirty year old things, shoes and sneakers in a pile, old dishes and silverware and pots, a radio, lamps, wires, rocks, old ropes and strings. I had to; no place to put them in the new house, and not enough room at Randy's to store everything. Sick about it. Horrible Summer day dripping sweat; a toothache of a day.

     Went to movies, came home; wanted to rescue my old stuff from in front of the Good Will box; Too late, all the bags are gone, my old flannel shirt too.

     This book is almost over.

 

The trees are glowing from the light in the river. This is a nice place and a nice house. I will miss it a lot.

     It was home to me for a long time.

Today I tried to throw out all the memories of this place in plastic bags.

     I can't.

 

Maybe the new place will have memories too.

I hope so.

I hope they are good.

 

Going home now, going home: it's what I always say to myself when I am sad.

     The trips aren't really important at all.

     It's going home after.

     I hope I can.

 

9-1-86

 

Learnards pond: Saw a big wonderful fish today. It wasn't my lucky fish, but it will have to do for now.

 

I don't know if God exists, but if so; thank you for fish.

 

9-11-86 to 6-6-87

 

9-11-86

 

It's the telescopes birthday a good time to start a new book. 10:48 P.M. extraordinarily tired. Took my portfolio to MIT. today for a job possibility: took pictures of some eighteen year old millionaire actor who was talking to his agent about his mothers investments; and then went home to watch a grade b Cinimax movie.

 

Two nights ago I woke up sweating, panic ridden and in terror. I was in army green in a horrible battle somewhere in Europe; probably Belgium in the First World War. No glory in this dream only hollow terror. I couldn't go back to sleep: it was four twenty AM. and I fell asleep at two; therefore it might take less than the mind of Aristotle to figure out why I am tired now. I was alone in a trench in the mud going deaf from the shells. They were so loud they seemed to disappear; but I could feel the concussion in my teeth and bones, and it just didn't stop. I just prayed in a shaking green hole for the shells to stop, but they never did.

     Tonight I will try and dream of jelly donuts and Carol from the lab ( I hope ) and leave the Somme to ghosts.

 

Last night before writing in this book I had the strong feeling that I would never write anything decent again: this was while headachy and numb before the TV. Hope this is not the case.

 

Upstairs neighbor Rick got married to Elizabeth. At the wedding I met a candlestick maker from Nova Scotia who now works in Hyannis. Never met a candle maker before. She loved going to work; described the blocks of wax in different colors like a kid describing her crayon box. Maybe I can take pictures in the factory.

 

Back at Newtonville: sad because of the lack of a large bomb. It would be a thrill watching this place shred into the sky.

 

9-12-86

 

I am standing in the dumpster outside Newtonville on a broken pallet; not an artists pallet or the roof of someones mouth, but a wood framework used in warehouses to hold boxes. I found a pallet once on the way home from the Morton theater in Dorchester. It was rained on gray, and some of its slats were broken. It lived by a blue picket fence for a long time.

 

Downstairs in the lab is a book The Good War by Studds Terkle. It is a memory book of the war written by hundreds of witnesses. The sixties had a motto " today is the first day of the rest of your life ". I have never reconciled that statement with history; ones own past collective and private - with memories of things past.

 

9-13-86

 

Hot and sticky day; night is cooler. I just ran back to Purity foods because when unpacking my bag something was missing.

     I fed my cats, went upstairs to feed my neighbors cat Pumpkin and downstairs to feed me. A little dish for 69 cents looked at me at Purity. I liked it and couldn't find it in the bag. The checkout person ( a particularly obese female lacking a hint of beauty ) remembered and produced said dish from behind a cabinet.

     I am now sitting in my truck about to read this months Modern Photography and thinking about the Summer and about various fish.

 

9-17-86

 

A perfect potato is on my plate too perfect to eat. I don't know who said bread was the staff of life, but they were obviously not Peruvian.

 

Sitting in the truck outside 94 Central St. Oscar has replaced the Stump on the window sill.

     I am still upset that I threw out that rubber hot dog and all the other things. Pam, the Hum, never wrote back when I told her I was discarded like an old twist tie.

     I applied for a real job at MIT. taking pictures for the school. They have my portfolio now, and after reviewing it will call me up and beg me to work for them.

     The cats are all inside pacing; unable to control there sense of loss at my absence. Perhaps I'll indulge them with a visit. Earlier today I was lying on the floor with Sirius purring next to me: the Stump a few feet away, Oscar ten feet away, and the stealth cat pulsar invisibly hiding on the sofa. It felt warm having them around, and lucky.

     This house is very yellow. I just found the serrated edged grape fruit spoon thought lost at Newtonville. It was on the floor at home. It must have come home in a pocket. At least I found something. I found it while sharing a steak with all the creatures. They were pacing, and staring, groveling like dogs. The only answer was to tear scraps of flesh off the slab on my plate and toss them like fish to seals.

     Now like lions they are lounging about contented and full. Two are on my bed, one on a bookcase, one on a shelf. They are wonderful things and I am happy to find the missing spoon.

 

9-20-86

 

Sick with tiredness last night; So tired it hurt an aggravated hurt. Fell asleep about 11:30, woke up at 3:20 knowing horrible headache on the way. Took fiorinal in time and had a dream, the unraveling of days of lost sleep. Dreams can be answers: and oven cleaners as well.

     Unpleasant remembrances of Pam ( the Hum ): sharp painfully awake saying " I would never leave you, not ever ", still a lot of pain there, and a lot of anger about Mr. whatever his name was, and about  "going dancing ", with him and about leaving.

     So I still miss her a lot sometime: and the anger about her perfidy, and sneakiness, and trashiness comes out even if held back. I have been angry at everything for days. This is probably the base for it: being abandoned, having to move, not even writing me an empty postcard since a few months after Christmas. It's too much for me to handle wanting her to tell me I am the nicenesses again, and wanting to slap her across the face at the same time.

 

9-22-86

 

Talked to Pam Alexander on the phone; she just arrived home via motorcycle from her shrink. Her roommate answered the phone first. He seemed resigned to his fate of never eating a home cooked meal. Pam reached the phone; strain in her voice, depression, sadness. She doesn't seem at all happy. I am really out of that triangle now. Gary is not Dan two. I miss Pam because I really like her, but she isn't what I dream about now.

     The green pliers I stole unreservedly from Newtonville camera have been added to the collection, somewhat proudly enriched by there felonious acquisition.

     The cats are licking there chops after a new meal of clams in a little can. The clams looked like minced tan maggots and smelled like low tide. They loved them to the point of licking the slime out of the bowl. It kind of makes me hungry.

     Pam Alexander is still a genius. I still love parrying word games, and jumping five thoughts ahead of her only to be outfoxed by the end of the sentence. I do miss her; in a different kind of way than Pam two.

 

9-23-86

 

The Stump was on the red sofa resting on his own paw. Now he is on the floor close by, safe. I love the creatures so much: all of them, even if some of there gray matter never fully developed, I love them.

 

10-15-86

 

At Newtonville " working "; after reading one hundred pages of The Guns Of August, I decided to take a needed rest and write in this book.

     I am going to the News tonight to shoot people watching game seven of the Red Sox playoff on TV's in bars. I don't understand drinking and bars. I liked game five though so much that I can understand the excitement. I never quite understood patriotic fervor till the Red Sox trashed that useless glitter from California. It was a vindication with honor of the glory that is rightfully given sanctuary in Boston.

     I want to go home now.

 

10-18-86

 

The red sofa is gone; an empty hole where my cats used to sit. This house seems empty: no sofa or green chair, just piles of old books. It looks burgled.

     My bed will be gone too soon. I hope all the cats won't be impossible to handle in the new place which is little. They need hiding places too.

     I wonder where my lucky fish is.

 

11-4-86

 

 

I felt so much love for that kid. His mother was rolling him onto a gurney in the hospital: he had an arm wrapped in a cast to his shoulder, and had downs syndrome. A week ago I might have turned away somewhat uncaring.

     Fear and " but for the grace of God go I ", made the difference. I just had a C.A.T. scan for headaches, and was walking around with an iv. in my wrist.

     It scared the crap out of me: no anger, thanksgiving and happy to be OK. Big problems seem awfully small.

      Glad to be alive today.

 

I felt as sad as is possible to be: my old house was empty except for cat hairs, three full litter boxes ( a gift for a deserving landlord ), and old mops and dust.

     I looked around and had to leave crying: going home, and even the Kitties were all gone. Pam ( Hildreth, Stark, Scotties wife ) is as gone as all the dust. She never even sends me a post card anymore. I don't have a trout anymore, or my old things, or my old house.

 

Third day in Acton and it is getting better. It's not so strange: an orange cat said hello yesterday, the green truck looks happy parked by the dumpster. Mrouts one two three and four went through severe shock, worse than mine, but seem to be adjusting. They were so scared it was horrible. We ( Bill and Blake Edmunds ) caught them, moved a load to Acton, then dragged them in there boxes out of there house yowling and crying. Blake Edmunds got Pulsar and Oscar together in one box; they arrived soaked in urine. Even in that horrible condition they did not leave the box. The Stump was truly afraid, his hackles were up, ears flattened eyes bulging open. Oscar left the piss box and squished under a chest of drawers. Pulsar stayed in the box saturated in kidney fluid, and Oscar moved behind a cabinet where she remained for hours.

     When the mob of helpers left the cats gradually one by one came over to say hello. Within hours they were exploring every place they could find, and all came to visit me and rub there faces on me in cat greeting.

     Today Pulsar was on the pliers cabinet just like home.

 

11-12-86

 

It occurred to me why I remembered a boat I had when I lived at 36 Mountain Ave. in Dorchester. It was a plastic fire boat; blue, and red, and yellow. Also re - floated out of my brain was a checked racing boat with a spring powered wind up propeller. The fire boat I had for years. I would have kept it with my old things, but it is lost like the small gray triceratops that lived in my pocket.

     The stimulus for the boat memories is the bath tub in this house. I had my first bath in years yesterday. 94 Central St. only had a shower. Baths are relaxing pleasant things long forgotten about.

     If Roman emperors and gladiators enjoyed them while thinking of lions and Christians than I can think of old boats and four cats.

     The Stump is crawling inside the end table where the fish hooks used to live. He is probably glad they are now removed.

     The Stump moved to the top of the end table taking all of it but a two inch space next to a slippery answering machine. Sirius wanted to reach the top of the television, and the Stump who was in the way refused to move; he glowered from his throne like an orange eyed bear. Sirius measured the situation and jumped reaching the two inch shelf with his front feet then bringing up his hind feet flowed like water uphill. I couldn't do that in a hundred years.

     I was able to take them all; my favorite things in the world.

 

Pam ( the Hum ) sent me a letter: she teaches Sunday school to three year olds, she lost a baby before it reached full term, and councils young girls who are pregnant. She has become an involved Christian like the girl I knew at Framingham State. She is even reading Augustine. All this from a trout. Is she happy; is she hiding from not being happy? I wish I had a way of knowing. Does she ever think about the Northern lights or about me? Lots of questions need answers: two thousand years of killing Jews for example, and about holding the World in darkness from the fall of Rome to the Renaissance. How about not looking at the fossil record and saying the Earth is 4000 years old - too many things just plane silly.

     I wish for her simple faith and trust: an assurance of love, of comfort, and knowledge of afterlife.

     Is my bargain like Foust's?

 

11-15-86

 

Kind of a strange vacation but a good one. Today I explored the new woods by the water tower; found a stream with red berries, and a second trail. Pine trees with soft needles seemed a perfect spot to camp. Next I went to my favorite road in Sudbury and took some pictures with a new lens. All these things were as nice as going to England and a lot quieter.

     Pulsar liked the big stainless steel bowl on top of the refrigerator and seems far braver then at any time in her life. All the cats are adjusting amazingly well to the new noises as well as to the new surroundings. I like this little town: it has woods of reasonable size slightly explored, and isn't to far from my road in Sudbury.

 

11-22-86

 

Going mountain climbing with Randy tomorrow to the death hut at Zealand. That place has doom written on it. Once I went there fell asleep while walking, and summarily stepped off a cliff. Another time I had a fever of 104, and a third time was only mildly ill. It has been a bad luck place; maybe this time will be better.

     I wanted to write to Pam last night about the " secure treatment facility", for juveniles in Worcester. I took pictures there once and was frightened of a certain room. I felt evil in its center and looked in: it was cold; on the floor was a simple Bible or rather a simplified version with big letters and colored pictures, and a blanket, and nothing else. The door was locked. The inmate was described as someone ( a murderer ) who cut his arms with a broken bottle and then ripped the stitches out with his teeth while in the hospital. He was not there, but I almost vomited: I could feel the evil in the almost empty room even before I asked.

     If this evil exists so does the good that glows and is warm; if the Devil than maybe God. This is what I would like to talk to Pam about.

 

11-28-86

 

Almost my birthday and I am sitting in the truck outside the triple A market which has become the official store in Acton. It has a pile of inexpensive books I always look at ,and is big enough without swallowing me whole like the " super ", supermarkets. Starting to feel at home: the cats love there gray scratching post and actually use it. I wake up to horrible rending of flesh sounds and turn the lamp on only to see someone busy at the post girding her or his claws for battle.

     7:01 Just saw a great meteor; lots of UFO stories tomorrow. It was unusually bright and seemingly low. I wasn't looking at the sky but down at this book when its brightness forced me to look up. Extraterrestrial dust will snow on Acton tonight.

     I saw a pet scorpion today. It didn't seem to have a head: claws, body and a stinger but no head. I guess scorpions don't have heads really, but a cephelothorax which is just Latin for a head glued to a chest with eyes stuck on the anterior end. Very glad this little creature was a little creature. It was scary enough small.

     Next week I hope to go to the zoo to see a baby polar bear and pat it and a small 110 pound tiger.

 

Thank you God for my cats. I feel like hugging them all.

 

I just remembered the last pine tree in Wellfleet bay; the one barely surviving on the end of the trail. The salt spray keeps it small, but it is always is there alive and happy to see me. Maybe I can visit it soon.

 

12-1-86

 

My birthday: in the truck at Sudbury road. I just discovered a big shortcut from Acton. Sat on the edge of the bridge like a frog and watched insects swim around under the ice. Spring like sunny day. The ice is only saran wrap thick and completely transparent.

     Had a wonderful party last night. My mother made me an official cake with real frosting and my father and Debby both said I was nice and so did Sherry. So I guess I am still the nicenesses which is all I ever wanted in the World.

 

12-11-86

 

Things are improving since this morning. I found the keys to the green truck that had fallen off the string that holds all the other keys.

     Bored to tears at Newtonville; angry and bored. I want to go home now.

      My cliffhanger is missing. It lived on my keys since the last one was stolen in Puerto Rico. I took the keys out and couldn't find it. They had untied themselves from an untieable fisherman's not. Perhaps it is in Acton next to the truck. I can't imagine why it could be missing and not have any of the keys lost. It must be in the truck, but I looked. I really want it back.

 

12-16-86

 

I just bought a stapler. A few days ago I bought one for my mother. There were two exactly the same, and I felt terrible leaving one and taking the other. Today I won twenty dollars in the lottery; an obvious sign that I should have the other stapler which is now in my possession.

     I not only like it; it's a useful object as well, and will look nice on my desk where it will live. I like it, and needed a present too.

 

The sink was full of dishes; disgusting things with week old mashed potatoes, and glued on eggs and toast. It never occurred to me to put them in the dishwasher; never before having such an appliance. It is still new to me what the ethics of said creature are. Does it eat the dishes piecemeal or in one big bite?

 

I just ran my hand across a needle stuck in the rug. It is four inches long and the same rust color as the rug. It has been buried for a decade just waiting for my foot. Quite glad to discover it easy and not hard.

     I feel amazingly good today; most of the time not nearly this happy. Maybe the stapler. I don't know.

 

12-23-86

 

I went to a Christmas party at Hutchins house, or rather the house of her newest male conquest who looks surprisingly like her old husband. I met someone from Belfast who clarified some of the places I visited. The Short Strand is a militant Protestant neighborhood surrounded by Catholics who detest them. It is a favorite IRA. hit palace because they can melt into the background with ease. It wasn't fun being in a stalled car at night in the rain in The Strand. The other place was The Pound night club. " they sing political songs there ", said the citizen, and the police never bother with the place because " they eventually get off duty ", and undergo the displeasure of being shot through the knee caps.

     The other person I met was a four year old kid; quiet, sitting very alone. I put a fish oven mitt on my hand and told him " I am a fish and I am going to eat you ". Then I said this fish eats stomachs, and " bit ",his stomach in a tickle. He laughed and it was the beginning of a long game of fish eating fish. He started a story of a big fish, but his eyes had tears in them and I didn't interrupt. He said " the big fish is dying ", and looked at me with the saddest eyes. I said " sometimes sad things happen ". He curled up on the ground like a dead fish; all quiet to the outside world. " It's a miracle", he said like Pat Robertson and got up. " The dead fish is all better now ". I didn't push him; he obviously had a very great loss and was trying to both understand it and make it better.

 

Pam sent me a Christmas card full of Jesus and Bible study. She read the damned thing four times and studied one book for a month. She thanked me for the book I mailed to her by Rabbi Kushner from Natick. The thank you had a twist though; the twist of the knife in the guts. She said that she had already read a book about Ecclesiastes and that she prefers to read the Bible in the original with a concordance beside it.

     What ever happened to the Hum Hum Hum? To my little trout? These cards from her are letters from Mars. Jesus might forgive all her sins: I certainly can't. She covers her guilt with meanness; I.E. if I am rotten than she doesn't have to feel bad.

 

12-31-86

 

I hate New Years. Hargrove invited me to a party; a torture with his miserable brother, and Cynthia whose own three kids when she was expecting the fourth asked her " who the father is ".

     The Stump is so nice: he woke me by clawing my head just so he could be patted, and he followed me around all morning like a tailess dog. I am coming home to pat the Stump; a much better thing than a miserable party.

 

I just read this whole book; maybe because it's the last day of 1986.

 

My measuring cup and all my favorite glasses survived the move. They are all here including the cup I got for Pam for a Christmas present last year and then kept in its box never opened.

 

Late last night I went time traveling. It was 1987 and I didn't watch that horrible ball in Time Square, but I still missed 1986 so I called the Oyers in New Mexico and talked to last year.

     They now have nine cats and three dogs, and are firmly ensconced in Santa Fe. I miss them. Alden Oyer is looking at maps, and I suggested the black rock desert in Nevada. Maybe we can go there. Deserts are ecstasy places to explore: wild, full of surprises, wipers, and storms.

 

1-2-87

 

Just had an exhausting and wonderful snowball fight at 11:30 PM with Alex and Leslie Macintosh. Nice neighbors who remind me of Alden and Caroline Oyer, and even look like them.

     Pulsar is playing with the ball hanging from the scratching post: the one that used to hang from the fireplace mantle at 94 Central St. Glad I took it here.

 

I had a fight at Newtonville today. I called at 9:00 and said I was stuck in the snow and Roy said " 90 percent of the employees are here, get to work ". It snowed two inches in Newton and seventeen inches in Acton. I really wanted to leave there, because I really didn't want to go. It was stupid getting killed for seven fifty an hour when I should never have left home. They were so irritated with my complaining that they sent me home which was fine.

     The snowball fight was wonderful: so is the snow.

 

1-7-87

 

Craig upstairs at Newtonville a coop student from Northeastern came in today and said," I got laid last night ". He says that every time he comes in late, and or drunk. " She had hepatitis B. ". What a typical college promiscuous ass hole. I always detested that kind of behavior. How can there ever be a Hum that way or any special words or any special looks or anything at all that defines two in a way of one. He sounds like someone who went to Star market and looked at the steaks. One can look at a pile of sirloins or porterhouse, and remember individuals in the bin, but stand off a dozen feet and one sees a row of flesh wrapped in plastic.

     I still say to myself " we are the Houm ", and would rather sad memories than Craig's' present or future. I really want a " nice ", girl. Craig's' sallow eyed viral infected locus of promiscuity holds no interest save a medical one. There will be no sympathy when he catches some sexually transmitted disease which is a modern euphemism for the more stigmatizing venereal disease which he will acquire in due course.

     Scientific American has a cover picture of an aids virus. People are dying of this, but I can't work up a sweat over a self inflicted misery easily avoided by what used to be called " decent ", behavior. Homosexuals I guess can't help being what they are, and this statement of mine isn't a cold indictment of them. but aids is acquired by grossly promiscuous gays. Even in there world there must be some code of behavior. If aids is spreading to the heterosexual community than I have less sympathy for them than for the gays; and the argument showing some poor six year old hemophiliac doesn't wash. It is sad when a six year old dies, but these deaths are extremely rare and a " sympathy vote ", that hides the truth, which is that aids is nothing to worry about at all for people not like Craig, and that there are more important things to be leery of.

 

1-8-87

 

Don't know if I ever mentioned the picture on the wall at Newtonville. Every day I look at the polar bear which I found in Providence Road Island; a place not famous for Arctic carnivores. He ( or she ) was found in a nice city park among whose other residents were carp in a swamp.

     The bear is in a natural looking pool surrounded by concrete rocks and looking at me so I wanted to pat it. Polar bears look like they would be good pets to sit and watch television with: of course said bear might bite my nose and lips off for a snack so maybe it is better that they live in zoos.

     Someday one of my dream trips: I would love to see wild polar bears playing in the snow. The closest place they live is Churchill Manitoba; to the west and north of Moosonee.

 

1-9-87

 

Old negatives from the Second World War: a print job from a Newtonville customer. I started to make myself a pile of pictures then decided to throw them into the plastic barrel. The pictures are all of Nazis playing in the snow: winter camping, engaging in camaraderie, and the last which prompted this entry is of a German patting a puppy by a water fountain in the courtyard of a prison.

     Did these bastards think they were doing the World a favor? I too would like to drink hot chocolate in front of my tent, and to pat a nice puppy, but might find a way to abstain from killing fifty million people in the process.

     These pictures are an education though; perhaps what the Germans thought of themselves.

 

1-10-87

 

Wondrous letter from my trout about which Bible to read. Something about her letter hit me like a blunt instrument; the idea of prime sources. I know so much about the Bible, and religion from secondary sources: from the worse kind of evidence, hearsay etc. I will take her word on which version to read; and also her word about praying before reading it, and her worrying about Satan which is no joke. I felt cold fear and nausea at the cell at the " secure treatment facility "; the evil inside was accessible to the senses and too hideous to dismiss as some little whim of terror.

     I will write to Pam about it.

 

1-13-87

 

Nose swelling under ice filled sock; almost broken. Reeling from the shock and pain.

     I was lying on the floor watching television. Sirius was lying next to me resting his head on my left arm. My feet were resting on a little table. I was relaxed and quite comfortable; so was the cat.

     Crash: a horrible noise; just a nudge really from an errant toe and a dish fell on the floor followed by a clanging spoon. The Stump on the chair beside me saw the whole business and didn't even blink. Sirius though was almost asleep, and the crash scared the crap out of him, and he leapt to his clawed feet scrambling across my face like a climber on an ice field with crampons. My face is unfortunately used to claws, but Sirius in his haste to escape the noise bumped into a rather large lamp with a heavy cast iron base, goose neck top and iron pipe upright. It was the iron pipe which fell in a graceful arc descending perfectly across the bridge of my proboscis. Sirius goes into the microwave.

 

1-15-87

 

I went to burger king in Framingham after taking a News picture of the line at the Sack theater. Caroline was there. She was a favorite student when I taught at Cammeron middle school. She left me a sad note when I left about how much she would miss me ( I saved it ). She is now in her third year at North Adams State studying early childhood. She was a nice girl when she was in the seventh grade and she is a nice girl now. She told me about going skiing and about her boyfriend. I told her about going to England where I bought the sweater I was wearing. Can't say a hell of a lot at Burger King. I forgot to mention that she was working there. I felt embarrassed that maybe I was not what I was supposed to be whatever that is; she looked a little embarrassed too.

     I only taught for eight weeks. Some students perhaps have died lingering and miserable deaths, and deservedly so; but the few nice ones made it worth it, and she was my favorite.

 

1-19-87

 

Four or maybe six months ago I was looking at bibles in the bookstore next to Lechmere. One of them was brown with a smooth cover that looked " right " to me and even felt good in my hands. I hid it to the left of all the gaudy covered ones.

     Today in the snow I went back and bought it; where it waited, maybe there is a message here. It was the New International version: the version Pam recommended as the most scholarly and well written that takes advantage of the Dead Sea scrolls and the prime sources whenever still known.

     We will see. Pam does have one very strong point about prime sources; an old principal of historians and scientists. Everything else is like playing telephone.

     Sitting in the truck outside the News in the raining snow combination typical of all there weather shot fantasies.

 

2-6-87

 

Can't sleep it's been days now; too tired to even be safe driving around.

     Wonderful orange binoculars are sitting on my table. Nikon 7x50s' oversized, over heavy, and just the best binoculars I have ever placed my eyes upon. The seven power is on the low end, but the reason for the size and weight is light gathering, and I can see in the dark with them like a cat. I also like there garish orange color, and the ridiculous lens caps that stay attached like two flaps or the ears of a large friendly dog.

     They looked at me when I saw them in a catalogue, and Roy called me up from my Newtonville catacomb when they arrived. I waited a few days: nelson insulted them, someone else said I should get Swarovski ( Austrian ), I made up my own mind. I liked them; I bought them, for sculpture and to use.

      I like them a lot. I think that glass in any form is my favorite thing.

 

2-8-87

 

In Acton looking at new full sized Chevy trucks. Ate breakfast and noticed a Chevy dealer across the street with a really new truck I expected to hate. The re design is quite round looking quite aerodynamic. It looks odd, but OK , still a truck. My Toyota is just fine; but maybe in a few years when the bugs are out? Anyway I like the new Chevy. Its new but not destroyed. It still looks like a truck; I was afraid it might be like an El Camino or worse.

 

2-11-87

 

I just committed a felony. Over a month ago I noticed the traffic signals on the corner of Walnut and route sixteen in Newtonville were out of sync with the pedestrian walk signal.

     Just now I watched a girl almost get run over because she saw a walk signal and believed it. Cars whizzed around her. She didn't notice the green light for them.

     The " walk " sign is no more: I kicked a twenty pound chunk of ice out of the road and used it to smash it to bits. I could have gone to the police who will do nothing; or to the city who would pass the blame down the line.

     I committed a " crime " in the public good. I would do so again.

 

Very sad and very angry today; probably would not have taken out the light if I felt otherwise, but not sorry I did.

     I miss the old Pam, the one who became Christian. I just thought of the time she asked me if she could live with me and I said no that it wasn't right, that we didn't know each other well enough. What good have my old fashioned morals been to me. Meanwhile she became holier than thou, and is gone.

     So far the Bible ( Genesis + Exodus ) is awfully vengeful, and filled with: He who doesn't keep the Sabbath, or screws a sheep, or butters his toast on the wrong side, " will surely be killed ". These early people were no paragons of virtue; some of them were scum. And what about all the burnt offerings?

     It's an interesting book far more Human and complex then I thought, but what it all means I don't know.

      It would be nice to fall on my knees and become a true Christian and have Pam leave her husband and move in with me: anyway so goes the fantasy; so far I need a lot of convincing, and might just come out of all this Bible reading more Jewish more interested in my own people.

     I am too angry today to be cool. There are lessons in the Bible not the least of which so far seems that those early people were serious doubters also, and that God himself was demonstrably pissed off a number of times ( golden cows etc.), but God could be cajoled by Moses or Lot or whoever and even Jacob it seemed had a wrestling match with God.

     So maybe there are lessons; but what they are I am going to let them take a natural course and teach me what they will. Pam got me to read the Bible; I do not have to receive the same lessons as she did. I just wish she was here to talk about it.

 

2-12-87

 

I think that in some ways these books are good headache diaries. Last night I got a severe headache; perhaps it built all day. Whether the anger causes the headache or the prodrome of the headache causes the anger is a good question.

     Left eyeball hurt; sharp stabbing throb. Left upper tooth really hurt, ( could be dental problem ).

 

2-15-87

 

Home: dark depressed, got out to bright clear crisp winter day. I took pictures today and enjoyed it immensely. Had to get out: took a long ride, tried t-max film out on ice pictures, and a white church with a black door which is as good a film test as can be found. Binoculars are as good as I imagined. I saw a fishing bobber stuck in a tree a quarter mile away along a river. Last nights TV. had a border patrol agent looking for aliens with a pair of Nikon tropical binoculars with some funny flaps hanging in front only black instead of orange.

     It is really cold today. Down coat keeps me comfortable but hands quickly become painfully numb and face hurt from the wind.

 

2-16-87

 

 

I was cleaning more boxes and throwing out more things I liked: a film clip I stole from Newtonville, an old red tie, the box the binoculars came in.

      I looked in the dumpster later for the film clip but could not find it. I like my old things. Things like film clips are individual beings to me which is why I like to keep them.

 

The Stump has a scar; or rather another scar across his nose which was bleeding today. Sirius probably gave it to him. He was a real ass hole today yowling trashing everything, and picking on all the other cats. Sometimes he gets in a bad mood. Asa Cole former editor at the News would say " he had a hair across his ass ". Maybe he gets headaches or toothaches or maybe he is just possessed by a demon. Hard time in Walpole might alter his behavior, or a good beating or maybe a turn on the rack.

     The creatures are completely adapted to Acton. I was very worried about them.

 

2-16-87

 

Trouts don't always know: 6:02 am. dream. A six year old girl, a trout, was being put to death by lethal injection. I was a witness. I kept saying," what did she do she is only six years old ", let her go. Five minutes the executioner said if she lives five minutes I will let her go. Trial by torture like the dark ages, I couldn't stand it. I kept asking," what is her crime ", and no one would tell me.

     The executioner had a cane which I used like Moses would the Egyptian; I beat the crap out of him, but was restrained from killing him. I " awoke " from the blows of the executioners assistant changed and powerful. I grabbed the cane, " five minutes is up she is still alive ". The executioner looked at me and said " two minutes only is over ". I ran out with the cane, " I am going to see the governor" whom I would surely beat to death. On the way I became dizzy and opened a door. Behind it was a family disturbed but happy, together no matter what. The time was a few days before the execution before the trial. I looked at the little girl who was wearing a blue shawl much too old to be hers, the shawl of an old lady, she smiled at me then continued to play and laugh.

     I am on the jury and I knew I was: I told the family that I was a trained actor, I went across the street to practice at the door of complete strangers telling them in the style of an orator of the innocence of the girl. It was a show and the family was laughing, only not a funny laugh, they were happy there trout would live.

     I was reading Leviticus last night till 12:06.

 She looked something like you only she had red hair.

 

2-18-87

 

I wrote a letter about the dream: but didn't send it, maybe I wont.

     Feeling very sad today; also I would like to twist off the Stumps head. He woke me up last night at least once every hour by impaling my skull with a paw bristling with extended claws. Once Sirius was asleep on my back, and the Stump awoke me by drilling holes in my face the surprise of which caused me to jump which caused Sirius to jump also leaving a trail of red claw marks.

     Maybe there kal kan was less than pleasing; maybe I can bandage the Stumps feet or put little boxing gloves on them or just cut them off. Then I can rename the Stump, Stumps.

 

1-19-87

 

I just felt like me for a second and liked the way it felt. I was looking at a spoon and a knife in a sink with water on them full of wonder. The water sparkled. Nothing is as good as water. When I was two and a half years old and spilled a glass of water out the window I was awestruck at the way the drops gleamed in the Spring light. Water is still the best thing.

 

2-28-87

 

I was just looking through an old notebook. I found the mileage from a Mobil gas station in Maynard to North Bay Ontario (697)

It was 1980; seems an hour ago.

 

I have the flu again; writing in a kind of blur. The best French fries in the world come from a town near North Bay; chips from a white roadside stand soaked in vinegar. I drove back to North Bay for some pliers which lived in the red truck till Randy took them

     I hate being all alone. I love my kitties but miss my trout.

 

Maybe my lucky fish is still alive in Learnards pond. I hope so.

 

I just flipped through the channels and discovered Sherlock Holmes; quite pleased, I have become a fan of his.

 

When I worked at Lechmere I always liked a large yellow clock. Today I bought one and hung it in the new kitchen. It's bright like a spring flower. It is nice to have something new too in a new kitchen. Maybe I will put other yellow things in it.

 

3-1-87

 

The mrout family is intact and happy and I have the two best neighbors; Alex and Leslie. Leslie came over and actually picked up the Stump. Now they are all happy and all in sight. I feel like hugging each cat in turn; which is different from yesterday when I wanted to micro wave Sirius. He walked over to me and rubbed my leg; then he turned his backside to the closet and urinated on the door. Oscar is on the new chair curled up in a c shape, her head resting on her hind legs.

 

3-6-87

 

Last night I went to Prime Computer to pick up a roll of film; something not done since I moved three months ago.

     I was met by a smiling face which said," haven't seen you for awhile". The face is of an old man who has suffered eight operations, and is ready for his ninth. The watchman asked," where have you been ", and I told him I had moved never thinking he would remember who I was with such severe troubles of his own. He had cancer on his face. When I last saw him one eye was swollen shut and bandages were all over his face and head. He told me he might lose the eye. I told him I moved and he asked about my cats. He remembered all the trouble I had about being evicted and refusing to give them up. He said," when you live with them so long they are a part of the family ". He also said I was a nice man to care that much about them.

     He is an awfully nice man to remember the troubles of a visitor who did little more than drop off pictures and pick up film when he had cancer.

     He looks pretty good now. The cancer was into his brain and around his eye and it's gone now. The ninth operation is simply to put his face back in order. His eye was saved.

     I hope his grandchildren appreciate what they have. He has a good face; the scars only improve upon it.

 

3-7-87

 

The Hum

 

I think of the sadness in the snow. When Pam was drawing with oils beside her; the pool on Nobscot mountain.

     The greatest of oak trees reflected in her eyes, and I had everything: along with an empty loneliness.

I don't know why; I helped to push away everything that meant anything at all.

The snow came in soggy oversized flakes.

The light was gone from the sky.

And from me. And I don't know why.

It doesn't help to cry anymore, but I still cry.

And sometimes I walk to the same pool, and wonder how empty something full of water can be.

 

Tomorrow the other Pam the Alexander one is coming I thought to visit me, but instead wishes to meet at a bird sanctuary with an entourage of Gary his sister in law and brother.

     When I was at Nobscot that early time with the Hum I kept thinking of Pam Alexander and how we once walked past the same pool with Pfoxer behind us, and was so sad she was gone. The new Pam wasn't the old one, and I was too stupid to know that she was real, and nice and I'll miss her.

 

3-10-87

 

( * ) This is supposed to be a picture of a film clip; like the one I threw out and then tried to rescue. They are stainless steel and last forever. I like simple things. On the enlarger at Newtonville are a red triangle of plastic: source unknown, a blue tab from a bottle of spring water, a penny, and a nail all as intrinsically valuable as all the crap upstairs.

     Maybe I will actually take some pictures I like this week. I haven't really used the Novatron lights for much. I might as well experiment a little. The 4x5 is rotting; this summer I will use it.

     I feel a little better today; I made a decision about time and told the News that they can live without my company on Monday so that I can have two days off in a row.

     I have been fixing a lot of little things: bought a globe for my camping lantern, and installed six way plugs in the new house, and a bright new yellow clock. I need the time to make this place nice. I even started the green truck last Sunday and went for a ride.

 

3-11-87

 

Finally Pulsar said something. She yowled hideously from the top of the pliers cabinet just like she always used to and I gave her a good pat. What a strange organism always hiding and running away. She only allows herself to be patted when on top of something where she can look around and feel safe. I wonder if I will ever be able to hold her and carry her around like Sirius.

 

3-21-87

 

A new green pen for Spring. This morning all the brains were around me like a big blanket with eight eyes. I didn't want to go to Newtonville at all. It was so comfortable lying on the floor surrounded by the creatures. Sirius was purring while lying on my left arm, and Oscar kept walking over for pats on the head. The Stump lied down in an orange pile next to my head and even Pulsar was only three feet away in a wary heap. They are good company.

 

3-24-87

 

I just almost had a fist fight with an obnoxious salesman. Eight months ago he came to Newtonville with an over engineered overpriced German tripod that cost five hundred dollars. I took it apart to see why it should cost so much whereupon the salesman became outraged. Today he brought in nylon camera cases which are as unbreakable as laundry bags. I touched one and he pulled the whole pile away and put them on the floor saying I would ruin them. He started saying unpleasant things about me and I returned the favor implying that I had a higher IQ. He said I was weird: I said he was an anal sphincter using the vulgar terminology and charged him like a lion ready to do damage. Chris Fraize the snake owner ( he has a ten foot python ) jumped between us to break it up.

     I just hate salesman; the man sells camera bags he doesn't help anyone or do anything wonderful. He is probably well rewarded financially for pressuring people into buying his crap. He is also profoundly stupid, and insensitive; probably goes from store to store telling the same unfunny dirty jokes. Now he is fifty five years old, shriveled and wasted.

     Chris ( another one ) at the News reviewed my portfolio. He doesn't like any of the " Scenics " , said the Irish stuff was " grab shots ", and was basically unimpressed with everything else. I don't feel bad I feel angry because my pictures are good. I am sick of this whole photography thing. My pictures were originally taken to tell someone " look this is what I see ", and also to open a few eyes and also out of awe of what exists in the world. It seems that what is rewarded are salesman not nicenesses; but I will always remain me. I would rather die alone surrounded by my pictures and notebooks than become like that salesman.

 

3-25-87

 

Piles of old cameras and lenses sit in a corner upstairs in Newtonville: the stuff of salesman's dreams; tomorrow's junk. The value in lenses is that some are useful for taking sharp contrasty pictures and some are not. Some of them are also nice to look at: polished glass, and black metal, aesthetically pleasing in there own right.

     The lenses in the pile at Newtonville looked sad, alone, and covered with dust. That's about how I feel in this place too.

     Time to get out of here.

 

3-25-87

 

I was just looking at a map of Acton with conservation land marked in green. Some of the places are marked " community gardens ". Once I had a " garden " in Framingham. It was the worst garden other then the few that were never visited on the lot, but I really liked it. I grew a few potatoes, and fed a lot more to Colorado potato beetles. I grew a watermelon the size of an orange, and two orange red flowers. I wanted to grow a sunflower like the one next to Sudbury road, and actually grew a few small ones. The corn is better off not discussed, and some of the squashes were big enough to see. It was fun: I make no pretenses about being a farmer, a toiler in the fields, a peasant or a surf. It was just nice to put seeds in the ground and watch them turn into flowers and strange vegetables.

     I would grow kiwi fruit if I new how.

 

4-1-87

 

The Stump kept following me around the house and I kept patting him. All the mrout brains were close together and all looked at me when I left to go to Newtonville. Such nice things. I miss them; I wish I was home now. They deserve Bumble bee tuna fish and beluga every day.

 

4-13-87

 

Rt.126 industrial park Ashland;

One of my places; of spring flowers and floods.

The sound of frogs, and a certain fish.

This seems a good place to end this book.

Today is Passover. It's cold rainy, and snow mixed with the rain covers the lichens and new flowers.

It's a good day to be led out of Egypt.

 

6-6-87

 

I have since written in another book; but I just found my cliffhanger under the seat of the Toyota truck, and I am going mountain climbing tomorrow with my new neighbors Leslie and Alex. The cliffhanger is the best possible good luck.

 

 

 

 

7-20-87 to  5-22-88

 

I was the sand monster covered with a sheet on the beach at Marthas Vineyard. I grabbed a sneaker, and pretended to eat it, then spit it out with much lion like roaring, and growling. Caroline laughed the wonderful way a four year old laughs, and I did it again. She was most pleased though when the sand monster " ate " her little brother Dougy ( who was not pleased ), and laughed almost to hysterics.

     A girl on the Cape Cod beach said " Middlesex News?"( upon seeing the sticker on my truck window ), " I am from concord ', she said. She was the guard of the private beach, and told me I didn't have to pay to park. " Explore my beach ", and I did, and I liked it, quiet, and hidden.

     Prudence is the name of a red white, and blue boat built in 1911, and re-engined in 1947 that cruises around Hyannis harbor. The captain looks like a captain ought to with a gray mustache, and a dignified uniform with a white hat.

     It was nice to see Debby in her office, and Randy on the island. All the boats were fun: they are islands unto themselves with long, and interesting lives.

     Now I am home again. The Stump is across the street, and a Pepsi bottle is rolling across the asphalt in front of CVS.

     Followed Alex, and Leslie home; my wonderful neighbors. They stayed at Randy's house, and met Ned and company. They liked Ned, but the two setters were tongues attached to eyes, and slobbered like mops.

 

7-21-87

 

The cylinder is gone, and I am not surprised. I should have taken it home. It was a cardboard cylinder I used to prop open the Royalprint machine at Newtonville. I wrote don't throw this out in large letters on it so a blind person could see. I liked it; it was one of the things that marked this lab as my territory. Naturally when Roy took over for a week he threw it out, and claims to know nothing. I can't be sure it was him, but I hate being here just the same. It's just a little thing really, but it's not, and to throw it out is like breaking into my house. It was mine, and I liked it as much as some expensive store acquired things.

 

Maybe Roy is giving me a peace offering. He showed me a 135 mm E lens. " it's yours for a real fine price, take it home for a few days, try it ".

     Nikon only made this lens for a few months. It was replaced by a 70-150 zoom because it was not popular. But not everything " not popular " is bad. I like the looks of it: I once gave Pam ( the Hum ) a 100 mm.f-2.8 E lens. They were good lenses Nikon made to compete with Vivitar et. al. The optics are excellent, but the lens barrel is plastic. Plastic is OK for lots of things, and probably OK for cylinders designed to hold glass. It looks well made.

 

I just put my first contact prints into the Royalprint, and realized that I always used the cylinder to catch them as they fell out. I am really mad. It said " don't throw out " on it. It was mine.

 

This notebook is extraordinarily blue. I never had a blue one before,

 

7-23-87

 

I seem to always write about things that are missing. Last night at the News I discovered my bottle of developer marked " cyanide " to keep it safe from prying hands was missing. When I asked I found that John McDonalds D-76 was also missing. At least I wasn't singled out; someone filched some bottles probably on Sunday for there own darkroom. Sherlock Holmes might think it someone lacking in elementary education. Who would ever touch a bottle of chemicals plainly labeled cyanide unless they were pretty stupid. I had that plastic bottle since working at the Marlboro Enterprise.

 

7-28-87

 

The flowers are out: either fireweed or purple loostrife, I was never expert on flower names. The Sudbury river banks ( really a flood plain ) are eye sore purple; almost an unnaturally saturated color. Yesterday I took some pictures with 35 mm, and today dragged out the 4x5. I haven't used the 4x5 once since I moved telling myself that it was too heavy or too much of a pain. I didn't use it once last week on the cape. I think the reason was The Art Institute of Boston where I went to learn how to use 4x5. The school was quite a disappointment. I am still at Newtonville, and the News and I went to school to learn something better, but it seems studios hire students for peanuts or " interns " for free.

     Today I finally took a picture I liked with it; maybe that will break the trauma of the school which had real problems, not the least of which was blasting music in the darkroom.

     I am sitting in the truck at Pelham island road. It's quiet here, and lonesome.

     Maybe I will look for my lucky fish.

 

I ripped an orange plastic ribbon off a tree marked for death. The ribbon was a sign that said " cut me " , and I removed it. Trees have a right to live too.

     The Stump tried to squeeze between the television stand, and the wall, but could not turn around. He stood there like a cow at a feeding station till the brilliant thought " back up " dawned on his little brain. Leslie's cat has just jumped onto the window of my truck meowing.

 

7-28-87

 

Is Pfoxer behind me?

The Atlantic is out and on page 42 is the poem by Wipe 2 about me.

     About mountains and bears

     About pictures lost in yellow boxes,

     and about fisheye lenses seeing too much and going round, and round in circles.

 

Strange happy sadness. Someone might care who I am among all those readers: someone knows I am all alone.

     I wish the Hum would come home: she never will; I wish Pfoxer was behind me, she is fat and citified.

     I wish sand would sting my eyes again, and the Sun wash over the sadness.

 

 No one cares about my road, or about the purple river flowers in August, or about my life running out inside empty walls.

     It seems that the quiet spaces, and the warm shadows in the desert sun remain silent in the wind.

     The little things look at me most: staying home alone and seeing the Stump jam himself into a space where even a cat couldn't turn, and backing up so undignified for so perfect a being, or watching a single leaf in the water float away in its loan redness.

     My life in draining away unnoticed. I hate " photojournalism " , it's mostly shallow stuff. I love beautiful things both quiet and alive, and what can only be the terrible beauty, the beauty with the Fear of God, that comes alone in the wilderness.

     The Kodak Royalprint Hums its boring song. And my quietness mixes with rage. I am not a businessman, I am not a " salesman ", I am not an egregious self promoter.

           I don't know what to do.

 

7-29-87

 

Downtown Framingham across the tracks; last Summer I thought I would have to move there.

     I am in Ashland waiting for my Dairy Queen order to be called out. Horrified that I almost lived near here; in an ugly house with loud music, and drug dealers.

     Extraordinarily happy to have a nice place to go home to. It's still too small, and my old green truck is a convenient closet, but much better then living in this greater Framingham Ashland dump.

     I left a copy of the Atlantic for my nice neighbors to read; it's in an envelope leaning against there door.

 

8-5-87

 

Dizzy from the flu. Roy Delonga at Newtonville camera said upon being questioned that " if being sick was fun it wouldn't be called sick". He has a point.

     Fever, chills etc. have now broken, and this minor ill has turned into an ordinary miserable cold.

     I guess the poem from Pam Alexander meant that she really cared about me; which is somewhat healing. I always thought I was pissing into the wind.

     The fool.

Mark was saying how both Pam relationships were really unhealthy; both were me rescuing someone. One was a triangle, the other was much too intense too fast; we didn't have time to know each other. Only what happened was that I really did fall in love with her too late. I want some of that intense feeling back. We were the Hum, Hum, Hum. I wonder if anyone will ever make me feel that good.

 

I thought of Oscar while in a flu induced dream, and of how much she looks like the little china cat I had in Dorchester when I was ten years old. Pulsar demonstrated her innate ability at jumping by missing a window sill from a table two feet from it, and falling on her ass. Why does that poor cat lack any sense of balance? I have known dogs to be better climbers. She is an embarrassment to the species. Sirius at the same time slept with his eyes open in Pulsars stainless steel bowl on top of the refrigerator, and the Stump rested by my side dog like and content.

 

8-16-87

 

Hottest day of the year. The last two weeks have been cool, but yesterday Summer came back, and today it's like Panama.

     At Learnards pond looking for my lucky fish. I couldn't find him, but a school of twenty one of his great grandchildren swam by. In total volume twenty one small fish might equal one very large lucky fish. I hope so.

     My fan croaked last night; a big window fan that cost $19:95 ten years ago, and worked fine till last night when the accumulation of cat hair, dust, and slime finally froze the blades. I took it apart and vacuumed out the motor, but when plugged in it had the smoky smell of barbecued wires. At 94 Central St. this fan was my white noise whenever the stereos got too loud. I am going to look for another one today; the cheapest one I can find: hopefully loud, and ugly, made out of stampings, and plastic. My old one worked wonderfully for a long time.

     I am dripping water on this page from snorkeling, but am already hot again. It's about 95 or 96 degrees; definitely Summer out.

 

8-26-87

 

Cool almost cold out; ten days from the heat. The Globe has an article about blue bluefish, and the blues of Summer. It's not my lucky fish either, but I like it.

     Pam Alexander came out for a visit; perhaps a post Atlantic poem visit. We climbed a little mountain, and sat in the frozen ( for Summer ) chair lifts. One of the chairs was # 41. It was bright yellow, and at the top. It's the same number as my age; the analogy is circumspect since the chair is frozen in position about to go around the bend and down the mountain at the first sign of snow.

     It was the first time she ever liked my cats. Sirius curled up next to her on the sofa and purred. Only the Stump refused to say hello.

     Pam became an EMT. and works on an ambulance crew. She is shocked by the blue collar people who laugh at the depth of Saturday morning cartoons on TV. She is also amidst very Human pain: a four year old girl barely able to breath was taken to Mass. General hospital only to die anyway of asthma.

     I have been thinking about the little girl all week; choking to death. She might have been ( almost surely ) saved if her mother contacted some medical authority only sooner. She was probably too poor to go to a doctor, and had to wait for an emergency.

 

8-26-87

 

I went to a " job fair " to take a picture for the News.

     Account temps gave out free pens, and now I have a white fat ball-point that says " account temps "  on the barrel in brown letters. It's the same kind of pen that I have at home in a drawer in an orange, and silver incarnation. I kept losing these pens, and then finding them, and losing them, and finding them. They are of the same vintage as the Pam Alexander time, and like bad pennies always showed up eventually. They have been retired to a desk drawer where the danger of there loss is nil: along with these notebooks and stories, and the ghosts of the two Pams.

 

8-28-87

 

Three nights in a row I have come home to find a large brown cat turd gracefully arranged on the kitchen rug. Last night I caught the Stump urinating on the floor; not even " marking " just squatting down, and emptying his bladder. This behavior was quickly negatively re-enforced by chasing him all over the house and smacking him on the behind. I hope he stops it; the disturbance is really aggravating. I am not sure what to do if he keeps it up.

     So aggravated I just called a vet. A-a bladder infection which is curable; B - behavioral; a real pain in the ass. I hope he is sick and cured with some penicillin, and this problem stops or I will feed him to the raccoon who raids the dumpster. I hope it's just him too, and not all of them. I once saw Sirius pee against the wall: that was territorial marking, bad enough, but not just squatting on the floor.

     Speaking of shit. This is the day, August 28 that Christy Waterstradt called me up on a long time ago. I am always a little frightened of August 28 ever since.

 

9-3-87

 

My neighbor Leslie calls the Stump " Stumpus ".  He went to the vet who said the irritation at the base of his tail " might " be the cause of his problem. He was miserable in a cage; the look of fear never leaving his face till I brought him home. Leslie showed me how to give a pill to a cat demonstrating on Mary who spit it out twice in a white foam. The next day I was able to trick Stumpisitis ( another neighbor name ) by quickly inserting the pill into his food immediately preceding his over eager jaws which he closed with unabashed stupidity around the offending pills.

     The vet wanted to keep him another night, but he ( the Stump ) was so miserable I took him home instead.

     My neighbors are going on a hike this Saturday, and invited " Jane " along for a date for me. Jane is in quotes because she is an unknown, a mystery. All I know is that she lives in New Hampshire is 34 years old, and seems to like a lot of the same things I do. I hope she likes cats: I also hope she isn't a real dog. That's mean, but the precedent of " Together " looms like a wet towel.

 

9-7-87

 

Tired and sad today: I drove across the street to the CVS. store. There was a small plastic basket: I looked at it, really liked it, and then put it back. It had a small broken part, and didn't have a price on it.

     A few minutes later I bought it, and a lady in a checkout line wanted to buy a similar one, but it was the last one. She liked it too. For 89 cents I can get something, and like the red and white checked cup I bought once for 77 cents is just as valuable as something that costs more.

     The Stump seems better. Sirius has taken over the bathroom sink for a bed. He fits perfectly inside.

 

9-9-87

 

Balogna and cheese sandwich; across the bridge to the Greek sub shop.

     One of the dimes for change reminded me of the 1946 dime I always used at Worcester Jr. college to call home. I kept it in a glove; always knew where it was. The busses back, and forth to Worcester were endless and sad.

     I liked the orange chair in my room: and the fruit fly with the red eyes who visited the wall, and the two cast iron beetles that sat on my table, and still do.

     These are the kinds of things in Randys garage: and the red truck camouflaged in weeds, I hope they won't be thrown out.

 

9-11-87

 

I fixed it. The Toyota has been without a left low beam headlight for about two months. It only took about five minutes to fix it myself: a good lesson, the last time it took almost an hour since the entire grille has to be removed in order to reach the headlight bezels, and the grille is held on with strange plastic clips. This time I only removed a few clips and bent the grille just far enough to wheedle the old headlight out, and pop in the new one. It only took five minutes, and I used a phillips screwdriver I found lying in the street once. I also bought four taillight bulbs as they always seem to blow out; and an old fashioned round headlight for the green truck.

     Bill Edmunds will help me start the red truck this weekend. Hopefully it won't be too hard; that way Randy will keep it, and I won't lose it. It's been sitting alone in the weeds for about a year.

     It's my telescopes birthday today.

 

9-16-87

 

Pine Cone brand tomatoes in a can," everyone likes it ", announces the recipe for sloppy Joe's on the label. I certainly do.

     I just saw an ad for Pine Cone tomatoes, and remember buying a few cans at White Hen pantry, and being very gastronomically satisfied.

     Vacation next week with no real plan, and no one to go with. Jimmy Hargrove was going climbing with me, but trashed his knee, and instead faces a surgeon. I told him I would use a crow bar, and rip his knee cap off. The last time; he whimped out of a climbing expedition just because a hurricane dumped 19 trees on his house I went to England with Debby.

     Money is a problem this time; though England isn't that far away really, maybe.

     Left eyeball hurts in classic ( for me ) migraine pain; but not too bad this time. Probably sad about vacation and no place to go, no one to go with me, and no money. This is quite depressing actually. At least I have my cats; though of late I have wanted to skin them alive, I still love them.

     The sadnesses today: just really sad, I keep looking at my mailbox and finding it empty.

 

The fool killer. I found my brown AMC. trail guide; the map opened to a trip one October.

     I bought Pam a stuffed crow; I was alone and camped on the North peak of Mt. Tripyramid. It rained through the tent. Supper was a can of tuna fish, and the water was gone. The day before I was kicked out of the parking lot below by the cops. I drove around for awhile then drove back and camped up the trail in the dark. In the morning I followed the guide, and took a sharp right at a stream. I got as they say lost, on a mountain named the fool killer. I followed the book, but the trail whose directions I was following like a blind man follows his dog was not the trail I was on. This minor fact was undiscovered till a summit was reached, and it was not the one in the guide. The sun was going down, and I camped where I was, on top, without water. It was a safer bet then stumbling along at night. It was three miles across " The Sleepers ",till the next water.

 

9-23-87

 

Pam Alexander's poem talks about bears, " once in tame New Hampshire ". I just saw a bear print in the mud a few yards from that very spot.

     You can't drive there anymore: dirt piles defile the way; the states way of abandoning the old route three.

     Pfoxer lost her leash here. Now my ears ring from the silence.

     There are nice leaves here: green, and yellow, and orange.

     It's 9:43 Am and I feel a lot better. This is a good place to camp. It was before I met either Pam, and it always will be. Last night I wanted to go home, but today I feel like seeing what's North. The trees are at peak foliage.

    

Back Home: I found a trail North of the big White mountains; gentle but wild. The woods are partially cut over, and dense, a perfect place for animals. I saw moose tracks, a hawk, and the lichens, moss, and weeds of sub  Arctic woods.

     Now I am home again. Lonesome there; lonesome here. Here my own bed waits, and not even an hours drive there are wonderful woods, and the cool of Arctic winter coming.

     Tomorrow I will make up a kit to keep in the Toyota of food, a can opener, little stove etc. It will be both a survival, and quick getaway kit. I will include the small pot I bought at the North Woodstock IGA.: some tuna and beans, some jars of Miracle Whip, and peanut butter, some crackers, and spaghettios.

     The Stump is on the window sill. Yesterday he crapped on the floor again. The problem might be fleas. His skin under his fur is oozing, red, and raw. Another capturing of all four, and a dip in raid for them.

 

9-26-87 

 

Nobscot is as refreshing as anyplace. I rested by the tree next to the pool, and watched the Sun glow through the trees. Still the sadnesses but better; this place at least stays the same. A new house is hammering together on the periphery, but thanks to the Boy Scouts of all people this property remains inviolate to development. As long as they don't " improve " it, it will remain a wonderful place.

     The pool was the place we painted once; and the place Pfoxer ran. Like the North woods a place wonderful before, and after and always.

     Most of the houses around here including the new one next to the entrance to Nobscot are decidedly boring " garrison colonials " or other pseudo revolutionary war era ugly houses. The Victorians had nice houses; maybe ugly also, but designed for Human beings to live in not just to show off to the yuppies. They had big parlors, eat in kitchens, porches, and room for kids and dogs, and cats, and old trucks.

     I am looking at another " modern " colonial, it seems what white trash aspires to. Perhaps we should offer praise to Alfred Nobel the inventor of dynamite for the ease with which these blemishes might be erased.

     Please: let a house be truly modern, or let it be designed for living, but rid the planet of these tumors.

     I am going to buy some paint now for my yellow ceiling, the onus of a smoker. Perhaps it might be a white ceiling by tomorrow.

 

On the way home I made a " mistake " a wrong turn, and wound up in my favorite place in the world.

     Sudbury road: still the best place; fall colors now, the poison ivy thinned enough to dare a walk through, and the moss greener then in at least eight years. It's almost Icelandic green; as though growing in the mountains for years.

     I hope this road never becomes a Shell station or a house. It's too perfect: I would care enough to take out the house. The water is also almost a flood. The air smells of fermenting grapes, and berries.

 

     This is my favorite place.

 

I suppose I could have " gone someplace " for this vacation; but really didn't want to. Today I took some more walks. I saw a snake after hearing it crawl across dry leaves. It kept biting a stick, and hissing, and acting like a serpent.

     Now I am home with my wonderful beasts. They needed some company for a change. Maybe they were " stressed " in the words of the vet because I am never home except at eleven at night. They seem relaxed for the first time in weeks.

     I just didn't want to drive around again all alone in the cold. I wanted to go home: and see my road, and climb Nobscot, and look at my brass fish from Marthas Vineyard.

 

     I am very worried about all the stuff in Randys garage.

 

10-5-87

 

At Randys garage.

 

I threw out a box of toys, ropes, and a drum rim from Nadine road. All my books almost; piles of old things. An old knapsack was torn up, and a house for a family of mice ( it went into the woods ) a newer knapsack was moldy. Notebooks full of forced notes went, and about fifty dollars lying in the rubble in the bottom of boxes.

     The red truck also was cleaned out. There was a contact sheet behind the seat; pictures of the Hum taken with the Olympus. They were my favorite pictures of her; the one that lived in the old Newtonville darkroom was on that sheet.

     I am still the sadnesses when I think of her, there is nothing left to write; the empty feeling never goes away.

     I don't know if we can save the red truck; it won't start. I still have the advertisement for it torn from a newspaper and attached to a clipboard; $3195 delivered. Now it will probably be towed away to a crusher. A wonderful truck with a faded picture behind the seat, a few pounds of scrap.

 

Two sponges one light green, and the other purple lived with all my old stuff. They were both gray and moldy. I threw them out too.

     The box with the mouse family had a gray placemat in the bottom. It was my particular placemat stolen from Mountain Ave. Now it's a floor for mice.

     My first tent too; not green anymore, but black and rotten with mold. It was cotton canvass with wood poles and stakes, and with its old fashioned waterproofing always smelled like camping and woods. Nylon tents smell like astro turf; the old one was heavy, and I liked it too.

 

10-6-87

 

Its been about a year since I moved. I couldn't have thrown out all that stuff a year ago. I feel rotten enough as it is, but better then if I had just moved. It's unfair about the red Chevy rotting in place. I still have the green Ford which is ten years older; it's just unfair.

     If I had an old barn I could keep all my old trucks. It's an odd thought; I wonder if I will ever own a car?

     One of the pieces of " junk " was a rope I found underwater. I remember dragging its waterlogged self onto the beach, proud of my underwater exploits. It is hemp; a kind of rope rough when new but that softens with age and looks like old wood. Nylon ropes are stronger, but like nylon tents lack the personality of the old things.

     I would have taken the placemat, but didn't want to disturb the mice any more then moving there house 100 yards away is disturbing. There were babies there not the worm like pink things that are infant mice but brown fur covered " toddler" mice with shiny black eyes: mini mice so to speak 1/4 sized; not even as big as grass hoppers.

 

10-10-87

 

I just found a potato chip that looks like a fish. I wonder why I like fish so much that they come in clouds, and potato chips, and even fish.

 

10-17-87

 

A lady brought in a picture of Hawaii to Newtonville. It was a caldera, a smoking volcanic landscape. I loved it, a desert in the ocean. Maybe I will have to go there.

 

10-20-87

 

Flea removal day;( also the stock market crashed ). Even Pulsar was walking over to be patted, and when I went to sleep there were cat piles ( piles of cats ) on my bed, contented and happy. I never realized the extent of there misery; the infestation was biblical, something God visited on the Egyptians. They were suffering agonies of itching, plagues of bleeding sores, oozing patches of raw flesh.

     The Stump being the Stump was quite vociferous concerning his suffering ( he defecated on the kitchen table ) and Sirius was a jumpy irritated pain in the ass. Oscar suffered in martyred silence, and Pulsar hid under the floor someplace.

     Now they are all animated: thrilled it seems to smell the wind coming in the window, and content to lie around like happy cats. All last night semi dead fleas crawled away from the cats. One also crawled out of my blanket, and was burrowing into my head when I decided to wash all my blankets midnight or not. Fleas truly deserve the epithet vermin. The collective pleasure on the cats faces was worth the hell of dragging them to the vet.

     Pulsar looks quite embarrassed though with the lumps of matted fur shaved off her back punk style.

     The stock market " re - adjusted " yesterday also, and some Iranian oil wells no longer direct mayhem in the Persian gulf; but I am more concerned with fleas then with Iranians, and am very glad all my money is out of the fidelity funds.

 

10-25-87

 

Relaxed cats for once. The Stump purred in my lap completely calm. Only Sirius seems disturbed. He sits on the edge of the cold bathtub, and runs back there alone and confused it seems after first running outside in the hall a few minutes. Worried about him although he walked on my head this morning which is normal behavior for him.

 

10-26-87

 

I have been down this road before: just wrote a letter to Kate McMorris. She comes to Newtonville camera, and we talk in laughter and riddles, about cats and rodents, about other relationships, about edges avoiding the center.

     A few months ago she mentioned a boyfriend she lived with, and I told her before any semblance of a relationship developed that I wasn't interested in a triangle. Her " friend " went to Guatemala without her, and she now has a female roommate. Those are the facts as Sergeant Friday might say on Dragnet. All else is conjecture. All I know is she spins on my mind: I like her voice, and her playfulness, and the way she looks.

     I don't know if ever again anyone can call me the nicenesses, or be a Hum, or even a sly wiper; all I know is that Kate boils up the beginnings of all these wonders.

     Something tells me not to mail the letter; a knot in the stomach, but I will anyway, and let the dice roll out on the table.

 

10-29-87

 

A red fox ran across the road almost where I live. A flash across the headlights. A magnificent creature: bushy tail, little white feet, and scrawny fox face. Wonder if I can find its den.

 

 

11-2-87

 

A small tree about two and a half feet high: I am at Pelham island road, and so is the little tree, backlit green, and glowing. Its a perfect fall day; cool and clear near sunset. This place needs the footprints of wolves rustling in the leaves.

     I should be running around with a camera, but don't want too. It's enough to be lucky enough to see the tree.

     I love all the seasons. New England is still the best place in the world.

     All day I did nothing, but lie around till I got a headache accomplishing nothing but getting closer to death; watching the clock roll out its numbers

     Sitting here in the woods feeling the cool chill on my fingers and listening to the birds; that's accomplishing something.

     My face is against the rough bark of a larger version of the baby tree, only time makes the trees different, both are the same. Now only the tops of the biggest trees glow: the day was worth something; something more than picking up my fixed vacuum cleaner or buying another can of cat food, or devouring another egg.

     Two pair bonded ducks just skimmed the trees headed North. A short time ago ducks and gees flew South; now they seem to hang around till hard frost ices over all the ponds, and even then some linger.

     A few minutes ago I was hungry: almost starved, ready to eat road killed skunks if necessary. Now the hunger is of little importance; the bird song fills my soul, my stomach can always wait awhile.

     Someday I would like to live with woods like this in the back yard. I would love to look in my cats eyes, and see the awe.

 

 

 

11-3-87

 

Oddly warm November night; tomorrow maybe seventy degrees.

 

I went camping a few years ago in November during the same odd warmth. The trees were bare. It should have been near Winter on Cannon mountain: but it wasn't it was Spring before the leaves opened up; as strange a forest as when gypsy moths turn Summer back into Spring.

     On the way down the mountain was a beautiful girl with long red hair, and a roundish face. She smiled at me almost asking me to speak; but neither said anything that mattered, and we walked away.

I ached to know her name.

Maybe this was better.

That way she is perfect.

Sweet, and kind, and gentle.

And always will be.

 

11-6-87

 

I read a story in the paper. Someone in Alaska discovered a twenty two pound forty year old lobster about to become cooked at a party. He bought the lobster, and flew it back to Maine where it came from, and had it let loose in the ocean.

     I always want to do that whenever I pass the lobster tank in the store.

     Good for him.

 

11-10-87

 

I have just eaten four " assorted fish " brightly colored candy from CVS. They look too much like real fish despite the colors, and I felt like a cannibal eating them. The orange one was last down my gullet; like a shark in a feeding frenzy. I should be a vegetarian except I would have to eat vegetables.

 

11-25-87

 

Blue flippers: I once sneaked into a pond in Stow during an assignment with the Marlboro Enterprise.

     Many times they searched for my lucky fish. They were the new flippers the ones bought after the Puerto Rico robbery. Now they are rotten, and torn, and I threw them in a green dumpster; emptied another box.

     The splinter I got from an old ladder while dragging old things past: festered, and I dug it out with a utility knife; a needle would no longer do.

 

12-1-87

 

I went swamping; having missed the swamp on Thanksgiving.

     It's really a small place the swamp, but its extreme difficulty of exploration turns its isolation into an Amazon free of tourists.

     My favorite tree knocked over by hurricane Carol in 1954 is still happily alive leaning against a maple. It used to be " easy " to find, now I can reach it only because I know exactly where it is as it's not visible till almost touched; like a White mountain hut in a cloud.

     Small shrubbery trees about two inches thick, and ten feet high are like grass needing to be mowed. Moving through them is almost impossible.

     Sitting in the truck next to the swamp being inspected by two birds; gray on top, white on the bottom, and the size of fat sparrows. They hop on the ground, and on branches at least as well as they can fly.

     It's my birthday today. I called Newtonville this morning, and told them I was sick. Perhaps my conscience should throb because of society being short changed a day of my valuable labor, but it doesn't.

     Conscience dictates seeing my old friend the tipped over pine tree; not forgotten lord of the swamp.

 

12-18-87

 

I drove home last night overwhelmed with the idea of not having to listen or worry about listening to a loud stereo. I dreaded waiting for one of my former neighbors ( any of at least five ) to come home and " listen to some tunes " as they used to say. It was like needing a root canal and waiting for a particular tooth to explode; knowing sooner or later the pain would be back. The relief was overwhelming; it felt good, the peace and quiet.

     I thought the bank forgot: nary a word about car payments for a year, and I found myself at a loss of words when it came time to ask the bank for an explanation. The evil thing has happened, a stylish blue payment book arrived gift like in my mail box last night with the missing ten payments lined up ready for an accounting whose fate was inevitable.

     Actually I had been forced to pre pay twelve months of the loan in order to qualify for a mortgage. That way the debt didn't show. Only a banker understands the logic of borrowing from Visa at 18 percent to prepay a loan at twelve percent. The car loan bank said " I was obligated to continue payments immediately ", after paying $1700 a year in advance; but alas this idea had little appeal and there evil computer remembered and sent out a bill.

 

Last Wednesday I had an irritating " tension " headache. Before the pain I was angry all day, then really sad. When I got home from " the News " at 11:00 PM. I took a fiorinal, and later two aspirins. The pain was only moderate. I thought I needed one fiorinal to knock out the headache so I could fall asleep.

     At precisely 3:50 am. a pain like a hammer in the eye woke me up. Every heartbeat throbbed: every minute the pain got worse, and to make a painful situation unpleasant, waves of nausea took over when I moved. What would the pain be like if I hadn't taken the aspirins, and fiorinal already? I took a second batch of barbiturates, and rolled around with my head in a pillow counting the throbs which increased in severity till the drug did its thing. This really hurt. I wonder sometimes if I actually have migraine symptoms, and not just ordinary " tension " headache.

     Every time my left ventricle contracted a blood vessel behind my right eye roiled in pain. I could consciously ( a sort of reverse bio-feedback ) slow down my heart beat. Every time it pumped it hurt so it became a game to delay the pain. I asked my heart to slow down: of course the consequences of playing this game " in extremis " was of itself less pleasant then a headache. It was best to let the old pump continue in its work albeit at a minimal hibernating level. Lets try and be a bear: its winter and cold; fresh grass to nibble in the Spring.

     The pain was gone by sunrise. I awoke with a barbiturate hangover, a little numb, in one piece but shaken.

     Once or twice a year I can put up with this; if the frequency was greater I am not sure I could handle it. Some people suffer this way once a week, or even every day. God save them.

 

12-25-87

 

Christmas at Randy's; an orgy of presents and giving. In a way it's too much; glad it's over. I have a radar detector though, quite a nice gadget to keep the cops away.

     Randy has a great house: my few remaining things are in boxes in the cellar. I badly missed, and looked for my table. It lived in the corner at 94 Central St. piled with years of papers, and notebooks with boxes left underneath till they became secret finds. The table, and all the other old stuff I miss it, and Pam also who sent me a card telling of her second baby soon, and how wonderfully perfect her life is without me.

     One of my presents is a radio with a crank generator so you never need batteries; I am going to try it out now.

 

12-27-87

 

I bought a cast iron pan with a cover as a present for Lisa, but couldn't stand the idea of not keeping it. I just took it out of the box; a present to myself.

     It's great. I love cast iron; indestructible and heavy, like the square pan I bought in Gibsons and abused ever since, burning steaks till black.

 

1-3-88

 

Two entirely different worlds: high, and cold, silent and crisp, " still  hunting", in the woods for lichens and ice.

     I looked out of one world through Louis Carol mirror, and saw a shopping center through binoculars. One was real; one seemed disharmonious and out of place.

     In the woods were gray green rocks, and a wonderful stillness: the heart of Winter, dried weeds, still green moss, odd twistings of ice filled earth. The quiet of winds.

 

The best is just sitting on a green rock waiting for individual trees to speak, each as bright as the Sun; itself a gentle glo in a universal gray sky.

 

1-9-88

 

The Stump died; like a lump of garbage. Twenty minutes ago he was alive sitting on my lap; yowling in the kitchen, being a pest.

     I heard a smashing sound in the kitchen like a bag of groceries dropped, and I looked, and saw the poor Stump lying beside the wastebasket screaming. I squeezed his stomach thinking he may have choked then whacked him on the chest.

     I took him to the emergency vet, but he was already dead. Much to fast; I don't feel it yet or believe it.

     How can I open the door tomorrow, and not have him there to greet me? How can his life just end? He was still warm at the vets. A knowing flea crawled off his back hungry.

     He enriched my life; I hope I enriched his. This past week he would lie on my stomach: he needed comfort, he probably didn't feel good, he yowled a few times in the kitchen.

     Lately he would lie next to Pulsar, and they would lick each other, and sleep in a pile of comfort.

     The other cats look awful. They are staring around.

     Sirius was always The Stumps rival. I don't feel anything now; just blank. How could he die so fast? Maybe I should burn this place down because it is empty.

     I knew him when he was small enough to put in my pocket. He was the ugliest kitten I ever saw, and he turned into the most wonderful cat.

     He was part of my life with the Hum too; and a lot more, eleven years being my friend, greeting me at the door. I will be looking for him in the corners, and on the sofa, and chairs for a long time. Mostly; behind my head on the rolled up futon when watching TV., Ill turn around and he won't be there.

     The Stump; he helped hold me together.

 

1-10-88

 

I miss him; I woke up at 5:00 AM. the time he always woke me up by poking me in the eye with his claws. I always liked to grab him by the hind foot, it was a game: he stood for it only so much then tried to nail me with a front paw, but I would release him ( usually ) in time only to repeat the game in a few seconds.

     His picture is here in the lab in Newtonville: looking at me from the wall; he sits in the window at 94 Central St. in the Sun.

     Now I feel awful. It didn't seem like he was really dead till today.

 

1-12-88 

 

Mrout brain, I haven't used that word in awhile.

 

1-14-88

 

I didn't even write about the broken pipe, and flood when I got home: or being rear ended by a police car on route two because it seemed minor.

 

Now what: do I file the Stump in a jumbled memory pile like the old stuff in boxes in Randy's barn?

 

Yesterday a Pam Alexander letter from 1977 fell out of a removed box, and landed on the green rug remnant floor in the Toyota pickup bed. It was about Pfoxer ( then new ), and she mentioned my cat Oscar. Now I am not sure when the kittens were born; 1976 or 1977.

     Lots of things happened during the Stumps life: pocket cats, Mahusic Notch, mrout brains.

 

I took such good care of my first Nikon, and it was stolen at knife point in a jungle in Puerto Rico. I cared for my second one as well, and it was stolen.

     Right now I feel that way about cats in general as though so much feeling is just empty. I feel like putting the remaining three in plastic bags, and throwing them in the garbage. They are just going to die on me too, maybe I should just give them all away.

     Now they are all purring. They make me change my mind. I love them all, mrout brains. It's natural to be angry when someone dies, and the Stump is a someone not an old shoe.

     It's quiet, and empty, and no one yells at me because he is hungry. I saved a fortune this week in cat food - the three live cats ate less than the Stump did alone. No wonder he always yowled for food, and poked me in the eyes at five AM. or ripped my lip with his claws; he was always hungry, he was a roving stomach.

     I particularly liked to look at him on the chair with Pulsar with a sleepy glow about him. He was a wonderful thing alive.

 

I want him to come home.

I wish he knew how to knock

on my door.

 

I just saw the Stump. I looked under the table, and he was sitting there. It was really Oscar, but for a second I saw the Stump.

 

2-6-88

 

Very intense dream. I was at 94 Central ST. I was living there; most of my old stuff was there.

     I was also living in Acton, but was in the process of moving. The landlord did not know I was taking my time moving, and months after " I  moved ", I secretly lived in my old house. Debby came over to help me move some of my furniture into the green truck in order to move it out before the landlord found out. When we reached the truck it was as empty as a cupboard in Ethiopia. Someone had taken all my old things including a box with all these notebooks in it. I ran across the street to the white house, and tore the railing off the wall with my bare hands, and raged about my things stolen by the neighborhood kids.

     The dream ended.

 

2-18-88

 

I feel happy today for a change, and did yesterday also. The Sun was warm; the day finally warm enough.

     I just thought of the glint in polished granite, and the wonder of rocks, and received great pleasure from it.

     It hit me that most of the time I am sad. Happiness hits like a flash of brilliance; it would be better to reverse this order.

     When I was three, and poured a glass of water out a third floor window the shock of discovering that water doesn't fall as a solid lump, but splits, and splits again into a world of sparkles and glimmer made me as happy as I had ever been. Since then clear blue sky, and bright days, and glimmering things have been too rare, but always welcome.

     I keep old things around to refresh my memory of those lightning strikes that lit up a few dark corners; and to keep the bane of dullness away, and the rain soaked cold ill on its feet. Throwing all those old things out: the red truck, boxes of feeling wrought in old things, hurt, it hurt greatly.

     Finally the Sun comes out at least once in a while.

 

2-24-88

 

I always liked that pen; the broken one lying on the moss in Sudbury road. It finds me like my lucky fish; something that lives in a favorite place.

     This red pen was lying in the sidewalk looking at me. Ball-point pens are a lot better then the old fountain pens. Fountain pens were symbols of " growing up " they were expensive gold nibbed tortoise shelled jeweled medallions of office power. They always looked like cobras to me dripping venom. Ball-points are a lot better.

 

3-1-88

 

I bought a little vacuum cleaner called a dirt devil: its bright red with a bag on the end like a hornets abdomen. It mows cat hair off the sofa like grass. It has a beater bar like a big vacuum. I like it.

     Today I bought some chives in a pot. I hope they live. I really like the vacuum cleaner: the design is simple, and understandable. I can figure out how to replace the belt; how to get the dust out etc. It's not a computer full of little chips. I enjoy its simplicity. It's like a hammer or a pair of pliers.

 

 

3-3-88

 

I stomped on the brakes for a white gray movement on the right. It was a possum forlornly looking at traffic.

     I was afraid to stop, and pick him up. I hope he made it across the street. Horrible to be squashed. Nice woods only twenty feet away. Maybe he made it; I hope so.

 

3-6-88

 

I just looked in the bottom drawer of my cabinet and found Pam's hat; a black beret she used to wear. No one has come close to being what she was. Maybe no one will ever call me the nicenesses again.

 

I took pictures at a miserable wedding today. A mixed marriage: by mixed I don't mean a Jew and a Catholic, but all mixed up with offspring from previous marriages upset and upsetting roaming around being lovable, and brat like, all confused about new mothers and fathers. This seems the standard wedding now. A few months ago I heard a toast from the brides son, " I hope this marriage lasts longer then the last one ".

 

6-8-88

 

The Toyota truck has a new bumper. It's not the same as the old one which had black rubber end caps, and chrome sections attached to a black base. It's garish chrome in one piece: different but OK, and the rusty dent on the tailgate is painted, and not a dent anymore.

     Stayed home all day with the truck gone. Watched old movies, played with the cats, ate leftover generic potato chips.

 

I am worried about the opossum I saw a few nights ago. Maybe I should have helped it; chased it into the woods. It didn't belong on Edgel road. The woods are too small now for little animals to live in. Much too many houses and stores around here.

     Once I sat on a rock at night in October. It was next to a stream in the mountains, and an owl sat next to me in a tree a few feet above my head. How often do owls sit next to you?

 

Cats and plants don't mix. I came home and the house looked " tossed " as though burglars or vandals violated it. It took a while to figure out why smashed dishes were on the floor along with broken bits, dirt, and shredded leaves.

     On top of a large chest holding dishes mostly, and old pictures is a cabinet usually glassed in, and full of glass and china things: a centipede Sherry gave me, a fossil from Debby, a gas station pump from Randy, a clown of porcelain from my father and mother plus some old things valuable only to me, but all fragile.

     Do to the flood I had to move the furniture so I emptied the display cabinet into a box and removed the glass windows till a new rug replaces the waterlogged one I removed. The only thing inside was a plant that survived claws and fangs for at least five years.

     I discovered this cabinet on the floor; the plant dismembered, its dish smashed, and Pulsar sitting in an unfamiliar place in the other room looking guilty. The cabinet was her perch; her high sacred place from which she could rule the world, and like babble it came tumbling down.

 

3-14-88

 

Still waiting for the plumber. Aggravated beyond ulcers: no show last Thursday; four days later the condo people called back saying they might come next Thursday.

     I hate them: I hope they all die lingering deaths alone in a dank cell with only roaches for company. Patience is obviously thin as I write this. The floor is bare cold concrete. A new rug is on the horizon, but when.

     At Newtonville now about to eat another " turkey " sandwich, a processed bit of dead flesh in a roll.

     I just ate a pear ( eight hours after writing the above ) it was delicious. I don't have much money, and I picked out one pear in Donelans market the Acton equivalent of Purity foods.

     I always liked pears: there was a small tree in Dorchester, it always had a few pears in the fall, usually wormy, but a miracle nonetheless.

     Pears are an early wonder; the Kiwi fruit of a long time ago. I still like them.

 

sitting on the floor is a plastic pear. It's garish green with sparkles. I found it in Hudson once for a nickel. It's been following me around ever since: living on the fireplace mantle at 94 Central St. and now here. When I bought it I knew it would always hang around like the dried up Kiwi in the refrigerator.

 

1-24-88

 

Eraser face; the dog had a nose like an eraser. He was in a " cat carrier " the size of a train, and extraordinarily friendly with oversized feet. When he saw someone paying attention his eyes lit up and his tail whipped against the sides of his plastic house. He was a Greyhound. I thought they must be mean like Shepherds or Dobermans because they chase the rabbit around race courses, and were bred for hunting deer, but I was wrong. The one I was looking at was typical; Greyhounds are big friendly playful dogs. They need space, they obviously like to run, are probably not good city dogs, but if you have the room they are OK.

     If I had a farm I would have bought the dog on the spot. The look in its eyes was one of friendly playfulness: of Pfoxer like climbing ability, a good mountain dog.

     Sacrilege; the cats would probably eat him alive. This " Greyhound " was white with a few gray spots, and a pink nose.

 

Most of the rug finally came. One piece was torn so another was ordered; but what is already on the floor is infinitely better then cracked concrete with paint splashes, and a bit more comfortable to walk on barefoot. The color has a touch of pink in it like feldspar, not an obvious garish pink, more like gray, and tan paint to which a touch of red was added - it really looks like feldspar.

 

3-25-88

 

Last night the frogs came back; Spring peepers peeping. They are loud noisy things that sound like birds. They are also definitely Spring creatures, the first ones to crawl out of the mud.

     Winter is over. Even if its cold and snows, day length and intensity of Sun have told the frogs to awaken. Green things are not far behind, and flowers and insects.

     Brown long legged paper making wasps are the second (after the frogs) stage of Spring to me. They are the first large insects out after Winter. They seem to like bright Sun early April days.

     I will be starting a new book soon. This one began July twentieth at the height of Summer. Spring seems a better time to write something new: although July is the time to look for my lucky fish.

 

3-28-88

 

I had a pumpkin since before Halloween. It finally started to rot so I took it out behind the dumpster. Today I saw an orange blur in the woods and walked through the scrub to find my pumpkin all smashed. Someone found it, and tossed it down a hill.  Maybe it will grow new pumpkins where it landed. I hope so, and I wish something wouldn't change. Everything seems to go away even pumpkins.

 

For months I have wanted a Glock 17 pistol. It's 9 mm. Made in Austria, holds 17 shots, and is quite remarkable in every way.

     Today I bought its opposite a Smith and Wesson 357 Magnum. It is " low tech ", only has six shots, was designed in 1902 ( with improvements ), but it as also beautiful. It has real walnut grips; is wonderfully manufactured in all the old ways of machined forgings. It is a piece of jewelry in stainless steel.

     I can always buy a Glock sometime in the future. I don't know how long " old fashioned " guns such as this one will be made. The Ruger equivalent is made out of castings leaving only Colt, and Smith and Wesson.

     This gun is simple ( therefore safe ); and I am not realistically going to take on an army where I need a twenty round capacity. I still like the Glock and someday will add one to my collection.

     What a strange sight; Oscar curled up on a comfortable pillow with a 357 Magnum under her chin.

 

4-18-88

 

Extremely strong dream about Pam ( the second one)  the strongest one I ever felt.

      I unplugged the phones at 10:20 and went to sleep instead of staying up to mindless TV.

     Pam came with her little girl ( cute ). I told her that she was wrong: that I never found anyone else to love, and didn't think I ever would. She was crying and we held each other. She said she couldn't love two; me and Scott. I said she wouldn't have come unless something was wrong. She drove away. It was raining, but filled with hope she would come back.

     Next I was roller skating up a steep hill to discover the " Mars Hill " shopping center which didn't exist. It looked old city. I woke up.

 

4-24-88

 

Cold and rainy: I took my 357 to the range. I was shooting high, but tight groups, and upon adjusting the sights started to print in the black.

     Someone poorer than me drove up in an old Chevy pickup that made my old red one seem new. He had a new 45 automatic with a new frame, but old surplus parts. It had never been fired, and its owner missed not just the black scoring part of the target, but the paper it was printed on as well.

     Now home and all the cats ( maybe the Stumps ghost too ) are lined up like the battle ships at Pearl harbor. I don't think they would appreciate the analogy.

     They are good beasts.

 

4-24-88

 

A new strange fruit; an oriental apple  for 1.99 each looked at me a few weeks ago from a pile at Donelans market.

     I just ate it; a truly outstandingly delicious apple. The texture and juiciness were like a pear, perfectly perfect i.e. I really liked it and will now add this strange Oriental vegetable to my culinary repertoire. It isn't red like a Macintosh, but pear colored yellow with brown overtones. This is a dessert.

 

     This book only has a few more pages.

 

Maybe you cant teach an old dog new tricks, but an old cat is not a dog: Pulsar has become less afraid, and actually allowed herself to be patted while lying on the floor.

 

4-25-88

 

Only mildly nauseated. I just finished nautilus exercises: last week I almost threw up so this is an improvement.

     A violent beeping of horns and loud obscenities intervened upon my lethargy. The driver of a blue Chevy van said " fuck you, I remember the old Maynard." He was driving up a one way street the wrong way ( it used to be a two way street ) and he was affronted by the poor bastard who objected to his driving habits. Perhaps also his quiet understandable little town had grown big and loud all around him, and this was his way of rebelling " forgetting " the one way nature of the old street.

     It was good to see I am not alone in being upset by constant useless change. The traffic pattern of a quiet mill town changed because it's now an unquiet yuppie town groveling to Digital, and all the townies are lost and out of sync. in there own town.

 

4-30-88

 

I came home late after reading magazines in the store. I turned on Star Treck the next generation just in time to discover one of the characters had died. It's just another show, but I really felt sad; I turned on the television because I was lonesome not to increase being sad.

 

5-2-88

 

The helicopter stopped in the air 100 yards above the rainy school yard, and turned on a light like the eye of God.

     An eleven year old kid was severely injured in a car accident in Bellingham. His head was soaked in blood. The father screamed he wanted " life flight " to take his son to a reputable hospital. The ambulance crew removed the kid from the smashed Honda tied to a back board with his head immobilized, and drove slowly to the helicopter landing site. The intense light was to make sure there were no wires or trees in the way of the rotors. It took ten minutes from the time of the call to Worcester till the helicopter landed. The police were so busy giving orders they failed to listen to there own radio, and I told them the ETA was three minutes for the landing.

     I hope he survives; If he does so it's thanks to expert emergency crews. I was sick looking at this and helpless. I respect these rescue people; they know what they are doing. The local police seemed really bumble footed in comparison.

 

5-5-88

 

All the cats are purring this morning, surrounding me with smiling cats eyes.

     Oscars new habit is to sit on top of the cable box on top of the television. Last night I came home to discover my video tape of " the Equalizer " was one hour of static as channel 61 is a blank one. Oscar probably did me a favor giving me an extra hour of sleep.

 

I went to a bruins hockey game for the News last night. Certainly anyone doubting evolution should see the mob chanting death that suffices for fans. Rome had nothing to compare. These people would eat raw meat if tossed to them. They are the lions; they would eat the Christians themselves.

     All the scum that picked on me in junior high became hockey fans. I have been to Celtics games, and the crowd is completely different. These Humans are ravening beasts. A Southern gentleman would call them " white trash ", and they certainly are.

 

There is a picture of me in the Globe today. Someone was taking a picture of hockey players smashing each other, and I am prominently displayed behind them. A nice lady from New Jersey is also in the picture. She had an English accent, and seems to have been dragged to the game by a New Jersey fan. He probably was in ecstasy having such a good seat next to me; she enjoyed the excitement, and wanted the Devils to win, but otherwise didn't care about it too much.

 

5-78-88

 

Very tired. An old lady came to Newtonville at 9:00 in the morning. She didn't know how to take the film out of her camera or to load in a new roll. I was almost ready to tell her to learn how, to save me the time, when I noticed she was upset and sad. She said her husband loved wild flowers: he was hit by a car four years ago, and was house bound. She took pictures of the flowers he liked to show him what he cant see a hundred yards past his window.

 

5-22-88

 

Thunder and rain: very Humid out, like Summer. I have to get a new fan. The Stump always hated thunder. He hid in the rug; almost under the rug, and yowled in terror.

     The green leaves glowed wonderfully next to the buttercups, and gray clouds; now I am hidden Stump like in the truck as rain pours in desert like wildness. I once saw it rain like this in New Mexico; so hard I had to stop driving, and watched the road submerge in six inches of roaring flood. Deserts have the best rain of all.

 

5-28-88

 

I threw out the cat litter box bought for the Stump when he was sick. It's in the dumpster beside the house. I thought he was going to the bathroom on the floor due to rivalry with Sirius.

     The poor Stump: I still miss him, his unopened UPS. box containing his ashes is in the truck still. I will take it out soon, and open it. I would like to bury him next to a tree, someplace he would like to be.

     I finally bought a fan; ( I kept the old broken one ) since my old one croaked last August, and none were available till Spring. The plan was to buy the noisiest cheapest third world fan I could find. This " third world " fan was made in the USA. but in New York which is like the third world. The workmanship is awful: the blade is lopsided, and wobbles, it is exactly what I wanted. It moves air; keeps the place cool, and provides white noise if needed.

 

Pulsar meows all the time: I wondered if the other cats missed the Stump. She would always sleep in a pile with him on a swivel chair; two purring lumps. Now Pulsar wanders around meowing. I am sure if the Stump walked into the room at least Pulsar would lick his face, and purr.

 

This is the last page in this book.

The yellow clock ticks,

and the kiwi fruit is still in the refrigerator.

 

 

6-2-88 to 1-6-89

 

6-2-88

 

A new book: sitting in the Toyota truck outside the News at 9:00 PM.

     A few days ago I went for lunch, and saw some flowers. They were purple red roses somewhat bedraggled, but glowingly Spring time bright. Three of them formed a triangle in three dimensions. The World faded beside them; maybe they were the World, or the keys to a better one. I was glad my camera was someplace else; it would have only been in the way.

 

6-6-88

 

Three days later I am in a triangle of cats. Pulsar has been meowing, and actually came to sit beside me. I don't know what cats really think: it's a secret of the universe; or what they feel. but it's easy to guess, and I know that if the Stump walked in the room he would jump up on a certain round chair to sleep, and she would curl up beside him and purr.

 

I felt vacation lonesome today; dreaded going someplace by myself. Glad to be going to Wisconsin with Randy instead, to Oshkosh. We will fly in ourselves. Looking forward to this trip a lot.

 

Finally shut the television off. Peaceful without it; white noise from the new fan, and a purring cat the only sounds. It would be nice to be in the mountains beside a stream listening to owls.

 

6-7-88

 

This morning a black cat with yellow eyes waited for me out in the hall. It walked toward the open door with its tail held up apparently friendly. I closed the door quickly telling the black cat " they will eat you, stay out of there ". He ( or she ) then climbed up some steps to the level of my face. It walked over to my eyes; I patted it, and it hissed like a raving alligator. The noise was base, reptilian and could not be interpreted as overtly friendly.

     I hope this is not an omen. An attractive somewhat scary beast that seems friendly, but really wants to rip my eyes out. It reminded me of certain female Humans I have known.

 

It's so easy to misread someone else. Betsy is the prettiest girl; she works at Newtonville camera. She was eating lunch in the lab, and noticed a picture of Linda Rondstadt on the wall wearing a pink half slip half slipped off and an obviously sexy pout. Betsy saw a crucifix around the singers neck which I never noticed, and was appalled. " that's sacrilegious ", she said, and meant it. I was really glad to see such a pretty girl have some real moral values. She went up two notches in my estimation in two seconds.

     I am not Christian; to me a crucifix is a decoration. To Betsy it means something else.

 

6-20-88

 

Strong dream last night about being at 94 Central St. I have had this dream before. All my old stuff: I hadn't moved it yet to Acton; no one knew I was there. The old stuff was supposed to be moved, and I hoped the land lord wouldn't find me there.

     The only thing different was that I was able to pat the Stump again: he might have been in Acton; I  Was surprised to see him. I miss him.

 

My fingers hurt. Hopefully it is just a sports injury from a Universal gym machine. Stiff joints, painful knuckles, and wrists. Arthritis would not be fun. Dr. Vogel prescribed Naprosen an anti inflammatory drug. Hope it's just a minor thing that goes away. Its hurt for two weeks so far.

 

6-22-88

 

Summer: I looked around for the tack I kept; the one I used to hang Pams picture from. It was still impaled inside the cabinet where I left it a year ago. The picture itself has been retired to a drawer. There is only so much I can torture myself. I keep certain things around because I have to, to remain sane, but they are not all over the place glaring at me every day

     Only the cup she gave me with the cat on it, and the fish inside is kept out. I drink cold water out of it, and only cold water, and then put it back where it is safe. If I ever dropped it I would glue all the pieces back anyway: the same way I glued her pieces together. At least the cup won't leave. nor will it become a " Christian " or get married to an " old friend ".

 

Maybe I'll go to Nicaragua in the fall. I just don't want to go anyplace all alone. I imagine all the people who go there are dazzle eyed ex hippies, communists, or extremists of some stripe or other. Maybe I'll discover some other adventure junkies there though looking for the same adrenaline rush as I am.

     It would polish my tarnishing image: too many old war stories, I need some new war stories. I need the excitement, and would like to learn for myself what is going on down there.

 

6-25-88

 

I had a news assignment about a bar that served non alcoholic drinks in Waltham. It was 6:30, and the bar opened at 8:30 so I wandered around bored.

     Then I met Ernie by the river. Ernie who is 77 said he fished in the Charles river since he was two. He said," I would rather be fishing than playing bingo with the old ladies." He told me a " fish story " about a 35 pound carp which I never believed, but while talking a local kid named Victor hooked a forty pound carp, the biggest fresh water fish I had seen outside of an aquarium. The old mans eyes glowed with happiness: the kid was in for a three quarter of an hour fight. In the end after dragging the struggling fish across a bridge to the other side of the river where it was possible to land it the great fish boiled out of the water like Godzilla about to eat Tokyo, and snapped the line. I was glad the fish escaped till they told me they had no intention of keeping it. They wanted to catch it and then let it go. The old man at least was concerned about how the fish felt. He said before the great fish was hooked," they have no feelings", which by his explanation meant no feeling of pain in there mouths. He later said that the hooks were biodegradable, and would fall out of the fishes mouth in a few weeks. Moody street by the river it seems is a local hangout: and the story of the kid, his elder coach, and the great fish are now part of the lore of the river. One doesn't have to go to Peru to see great things.

 

6-30-88

 

Sudbury road.

 

The News sent me to take a picture of a fencer who was going to the Olympics in Korea. She lived in Concord so on the way back I came here.

     It's a perfect Summer day: more like an early Fall day, which I like. It's cool, and blue 7:30 PM. yellow light. The poison ivy is lush this year; so much so that I couldn't use the usual entrance next to the road, and followed Pantry brook instead.

     I wonder the first time I came here maybe twenty years ago. It hasn't changed one bit which is perfect. Only the seasons are timed here: sometimes the grape leaves are more abundant than the poison ivy, sometimes the ice is clear enough to see through; all pleasant interesting changes.

     At least it hasn't been cut down. I hope it always stays the same. It's my favorite place in the World. I feel like taking pictures here because it is beautiful. " News " pics. aren't meant to last; they are not the same.

 

7-3-88

 

Hand still hurts; doctor on July 13. Saw a large raccoon in the dumpster eating my pizza that my neighbor gave me, but my stomach couldn't take. I carefully looked to see that no one was looking than fed the dumpster the pizza. At eleven that night after a day at the News the raccoon was there. He or she waited till I changed lenses, and put on a flash. It was the biggest raccoon I ever saw; like six cats. I once saw a badger that looked like eight cats: it turned and growled at me, the raccoon was much more friendly.

 

7-4-88

 

Hot and tired; decided to look for my lucky fish. Now I am refreshed and the kind of pleasant tired one gets from exercising. I couldn't find my lucky fish, but saw three of his offspring one of which was about fifteen inches, and obvious lord and master of his territory. He didn't even run when I swam within two feet.

     I swam into clouds of almost microscopic hatchling fish. these fish might be one quarter of an inch including tails at the biggest. Most of them were about an eighth of an inch. I could hardly tell they were fish.

     Spanish music is blasting. Half the people here are Puerto Ricans. They are OK and have never bothered me. They seem nicer then the white trash that used to inhabit this part of Framingham. I am sitting in the truck listening to Spanish being spoken.

     Hand is still a piece of trash, I wonder if the 357 magnum has anything to do with the pain.

     I hope my fish is still alive lurking someplace; big enough to frighten a cat.

 

Waiting for the fire crackers all alone. It would have been much better with someone for company.

     Walking back to the truck after the rockets sad when my foot rolled over a pile of cylinders. A cop was directing traffic with a flare: I looked down, and discovered the mother lode of flares. The temptation of stealing from the police proved too much for my mortal flesh, and I fell gleefully into sin. Right under the baleful eyes of two grumpy traffic policemen I stole two twenty minute highway fusees by sticking them in my belt like my father always did with drum sticks. I pulled my sweat shirt over them, and walked off as satisfied as the Brinks robbers. Today flares: tomorrow the crown jewels; I have discovered a new career both profitable, and fun.

 

7-12-88

 

Watching television last night; watching the grid pattern out of which the image is made. Most people probably cant see or don't notice it. Certainly they are not supposed to. Perhaps I am just lucky to see so well. To me a TV image from six feet or so is an obvious grid of square " dots " discrete and fly like. I have to de-focus a little to get the effect of motion. No wonder I like insects. Eyes seem to have sharpened this past few weeks; good.

     Hutchins got married to an Alan Stoppel clone in 97 degree heat. The Stow town hall could have been the New Delhi town hall. Obese women fanned there indelicate faces with wedding invitations: lungs wheezed in a tubercular hiss, overweight rolls of flesh slumped in chairs, I doubted if I would get home alive.

     Her new husband looks just like the old one. Perhaps I am unfair calling him a clone, but the similarities are astounding not only in looks, but in sense of Humor, and in a quiet way of dealing with problems. I like him actually. She might not see the similarity. It's almost funny for an outside person looking in. They are off to Norway which sounds like fun to me.

 

Hand still hurts; doctor tomorrow. I went to Zayres and bought the first one that looked at me; a Rival electric can opener. There was a plethora of brands, and subsets of brands. I wanted a present for myself, and it's painful to use a regular hand can opener. X-rays have been taken; the results await. I probably have osteoarthritis; it never gets better.

 

7-19-88

 

The can opener is never going to get top billing in Consumer Reports. Someone else would take it back, but I never would, and it gave me good luck.

     The doctor was pretty sure of my " degenerative joint disease " i.e. osteoarthritus. I called his office, and his secretary nurse said there was nothing i.e. no arthritis on the X-ray. Now either the damage has not shown up yet, I don't have arthritis, or I have something else worse or better. He will be back in a week, and I will call.

 

Betsy came down to talk to me. She had tears in her eyes. Roy was really putting her under pressure telling her about store " policy " just giving her a hard time. I felt like the nicenesses again that she came to me for help. She trusted me when really vulnerable: just a few tears away from really breaking down she said she just wanted to go home; feelings I am very familiar with.

 

Karl threw out one of my darkroom containers; a box for film clips that lived in a certain place for three years quietly doing its job hurting no one. He said " it was wet, it was just an old box ". It was mine. It marked a little bit of me; my territory. Every day I looked at it and was glad it was there. I hope his hands are cut off, and the stumps dipped in salt. He is obsessed with cleaning. I liked that box, it was mine. He should have asked me if he could throw it out.

 

7-21-88

 

I just saw a " buy of the week " in the New York Times; it was a zucchini with picture of same. It reminded me of the " garden " I had in the coop patch next to the prison in Framingham.

     I remember all of the things I grew there even if I am the worlds worst gardener. My specialty was Colorado potato beetles, and assorted weeds. But I loved the bright red orange flowers, the three inch diameter watermelon, and the few potatoes, and squashes big enough to eat.

 

7-31-88

 

The plane left Minnesota three hours late; I was numb. The first plane left Logan an hour late. I couldn't sleep the night before. A black lady with garish rings and bracelets sat beside me. She had intense blue eyes which if not contacts she must be one of the famous Norwegian blacks. She was fun to talk to. She works for the national urban league, and is actually getting off in Detroit. I looked out the window and saw thunderstorms: which impressed my companion after the pilot made an announcement and we had to fly around them. The plane was a DC-10, and was as packed as a bus in Sanora. Thankfully I had a window seat which seems less claustrophobic. The lady lives in Lincoln Mass. and commutes to Boston via train.

     The connecting flight out of Detroit waited for me to run through the airport. It was a packed to strap hanging 747. The flight attendant was kind enough to provide me a second airline meal of the day; peanuts and Pepsi, no Coke. We arrived at the Hub of operations for North West airlines Minneapolis St. Paul where to my infinite surprise the plane to Alaska was an hour late.

 

OK. so I was on my way to Hyannis to visit my sister Debby; these things happen. Jimmy Hargrove was bounced from a flight to North Carolina a year ago, and was given a free ride any where on North West's USA. flights within a year. The year ran out; he couldn't get away, I am on my way to Alaska free of charge.

 

Minneapolis airport provided a new 757 which seemed odd as it is a medium sized plane not a wide body. It was like a new car inside brighter and friendlier then the bigger planes with a fresh smell of new vinyl.

     The first announcement was that "this flight didn't have in flight movies", I didn't care: it was 11:00 PM my time, all I wanted to do was eat a TV dinner and attempt to sleep sitting up.

     All along I met nice people. I thought I might be lonesome, but instead new people kept appearing. Before taking off from Minnesota I met John from Dayton Ohio who wants to see Denali National park. I might go with him. On the plane I met an old lady who has relatives in Alaska and flies up at least once a year. While sitting in the airport the kid from Ohio went for a walk, and I " stole" his bible. When he returned I watched him rummage through his luggage for a few panicked minutes then I " found " the Bible under my camera case and said " I always wanted to steal a Bible ". He didn't mind the joke too much; he was a " born again" Christian, but not over the edge.

     Finally a new plane, a safe plane, the comfort of being able to fall asleep in relative discomfort. Looking out the window I noticed a strange yellow strobe light  where such a thing ought not to be. I kept staring till my eyes bulged open: the strobe light was really a fire in the engine. The little orange flashes were flames. " This is the captain speaking. we are having a little trouble with our hydraulic system ". " We have two back ups, and have lost one of them, we are turning back ". An hour later he said we had 9000 excess pounds of fuel on board we have to burn off before we can land, and this was a fuel efficient airplane. He never mentioned the flames. Two hours later I watched the runway oddly lit by two rows of fire engines, and ambulances get uncomfortably close. I remembered all the pictures of B-29's belly landing on Iwo Jima, and practiced my running skills in my head, but other then neglecting to inform us of the complete lack of brakes there was no grating of aluminum or untimely deaths.

 

A hydraulic line had broken in the engine cowling so the flames were merely hydraulic fluid burning on the way through the jet. Nothing to worry about compared to the in flight meals being spoiled do to being half baked then cooled before completion. A lackey of Northwest airlines announced that the plane would be fixed in a hurry, but that new meals would have to be found, and loaded on board.

 

The flight out was merely boringly long; the Sun rose above snow covered mountains at 3:30 AM. and we landed at 4:00 in the morning really tired.

 

I am now in the house of John Fitzgerald brother of Chris Fitzgerald of the News. He was decent enough to meet me at the airport at four in the morning.

     Have not seen any bears yet.

 

I now have an official Alaska pliers, and a rock from a river. I am camped about forty miles from Mt. McKinley. I rented a car, and drove up here with the kid from Ohio. He seems a decent person: carries a bible around, but is not preaching to me so that's OK. He is off trying to catch a fish: it's about 12:30 AM. and light enough to write without a flashlight.

     Arctic light; like Iceland.

 

Mt. McKinley is out of proportion, and fools my sense of perspective. It is so immense that from forty miles away, the distance between Boston to Worcester it looks big. It looks like Mt. Washington from Pinkham notch.    

The barrels next to this campsite have bear proof covers. Nervous about bears having never met one. I wish Pam Alexander was here' she would love this place, and I could tease her about bears till she was beyond anxiety. She probably couldn't sleep at all.

 

A lady describing herself as Alaskan ( from Detroit years ago ) loves this state. Everyone I meet loves it here. It seems people come up here in trouble or looking for a new life, and to my surprise actually find it. The shrinks say there is no such thing as a " geographical solution " to problems, but there is a cultural base here that accepts people for what they are. It is legal under Alaska state law to posses four ounces or less of marijuana for personal use. It's against federal law, but not state.

     Met a country lady in a store with pictures of fish, stuffed fish, and stories about fish. She was from " outside " Alaska, but described herself as Alaskan and loves it here. She talked about boats, rapids, and fish.

 

Earlier in the day I saw Mt. McKinley from 140 miles away by road. Tomorrow bears.

 

Denali national park seemed nervously crowded. There was a car camping area, and a mob asking the ranger about hiking. The crowd was due to there being only one road into the park, and cars are not allowed on it. There are six million acres, and only one dirt road 87 miles long into the middle of it. The way in is by old school busses that stop along the route for pictures, and geography lessons. The few hikers get off en route to an assigned area on a grid. My hiking partner insisted on riding 87 miles to the end; thus adding five more hours to the pleasure of sitting in an old school bus. In one way it didn't matter at all: it never really gets dark here, in another way it became a penalty, I know my hiking limits, and was tired enough to drop before taking a step.

 

It's wonderfully quiet sitting in this new Eureka tent in the rain. It doesn't leak like my old one. I am in sector 14 of Denali park. Only four people are allowed in each sector. There are no trails. John from Perdue is decent company, but I prefer the solitude in my rainy tent. He is off looking for a " better " camping area. I know my limits, and what is safe, and roaming around trailess wilderness in the rain when exhausted to tears is stupid. There is a stream a mile away: I assume John is looking for it. I like this tundra without the stream. it is quiet, and oddly green, and spongy. I would like to come here alone, or with someone I really know.

     I heard plaintive moaning sounds outside. It was John soaked, and freezing; his tent was singularly under water. He decided to pitch it only a hundred feet from mine, in a depression in the spongy tundra in which it soon sank. I looked at hit tent in disgust, and he said," I don't want to be a pain, I'll just hike out". Seeing he would surely die if he attempted this ( there are bears big enough to eat him in two bites), I am now exhausted from lack of sleep as he slept squished and snoring beside me in my tent. The hike out was among the most brutal of my life. It was trailess swamp: beaver ponds, chest high shrubs with interlocking branches, and holes filled with water. This was area 14, the map grid I picked back at the crowded ranger station. The bus driver who picked us up hitchhiking on the only road said," I wouldn't send my worst enemy to area 14 ".

 

     Now it's eleven PM the next day and John doesn't quite know where his cousin lives ( he is staying with her ) or where she works or what her phone number is. I insisted on going to Chris Fitsgeralds brothers house as it was late; he is now driving my rented car around Anchorage searching for his sisters condominium. I will wait up till he returns so I can go to Seward alone tomorrow. I want to see a glacier, and feel a glacier not just take its picture; like the glacier in Iceland.

     I am really pissed off I guess because it is my vacation and I let myself be talked into camping ( I liked the idea at first ), but when the car comes back it's on my own. John is a decent person; vacation for me though is more of a quest where I need to be alone.

     7:30 Am. and I am on my way to Seward; stopped at the tidewater cafe. I saw two rigs outside; truckers know where to eat breakfast. John from Ohio came back with the rented car. He may have been a pain in the gluteus but he was a good part of this adventure. We did drive around Anchorage till 1:00 AM. looking for his cousins house. He called home at four AM. Ohio time, and got her number. Now I am on my way to a glacier; three hours sleep again. Desperate for real food. I have lived on Hostess cupcakes, orios, and cokes for three days. Just ordered two eggs, and a hamburger. My guts are telling me something.

     This road even though driven in a near delirious tiredness is among the most spectacular I have ever seen. Glaciers hang in valleys. Snow comes down to the ground in places next to the road. This restaurant is five miles from a glacier.

     I plan to look at the glacier, and have a slow day. I Need to sleep till I get up naturally; then tomorrow a boat ride along glacial edges, and fjords.

     Hutchins is in Norway looking at fjords also. Now I can gloat when I get home about wimpy Scandinavian fjords.

 

Finally I feel like me on a trip. Tired but not sick from hunger, stopping whenever something looks at me.

     Glacier is blue hanging from the side of a very green mountain. Mt. Washington probably looked like this eight thousand years ago.

 

This is why I came to Alaska. Exhilarating ice. I will stay here awhile., A lake full of blue icebergs. I sat on a rock, and saw an ice swan - melting ice - best picture all this time. I felt like me taking it.

 

Stopped in a roadside rest area, and walked on an outwash from a glacier: river rocks, sooty colored water from ground glacial dust. I took a nap on the gravel in perfect comfort. I said " why go anyplace else I am here," . It's beautiful mountains lower but more aesthetically pleasing then the ones in Denali. Of course McKinley was spectacular, but most of the mountains surrounding it are desolate. These near Seward are covered in trees, and glowing green, and it is downright hot. I am back at the car with my shirt off getting a tan. This trip is looking up. I really like this part of Alaska, and would easily come here again.

     The size of this state is too deceiving. This " short " ride from Anchorage is 140 miles; the entire length of Massachusetts, and it hardly shows on the map.

     It's quiet here except for cars, about one a minute; after all this is route one the busiest road in Alaska. There are nice flowers everywhere. I never knew much about flowers, but anyone with a guidebook who loved them would be in ecstasy here, as are those who catch fish. All the Alaskans talk about is fish: salmon, and halibut, all at least forty pounds.

     I might get a sunburn if not too careful. It's about 80 degrees out. This rest area is opposite a trail to grayling lake; I can find it again. I collected a perfect rock to take home from here my favorite place so far, and one added to a small collection of such places.

     Best national park in the country, Kenai Fjords - visited Exit glacier; wonderful like my Icelandic glacier. I crawled around inside it: very dangerous, chunks can ( and do ) fall, I could have been squashed, but the pictures will be worth it.

     I sat on a rock for an hour, and just looked. This is what I hoped to find; overwhelming wonder. It's more than beauty. It's Humility: the feeling of smallness that allows the greatness of creation to swallow you up, and feel whole.

     I found a rock I liked. It has been added to the collection. At first I threw it into some trees, then felt bad for it, but I found it and it is going home. I found this park by accident. The best things on trips are usually surprises, and this one certainly was. This place I would like to visit again too.

     Seward: hotel is 38 dollars a night without a bathroom. It looks like an old house of prostitution converted into a cheap hotel. A cheap motel is 68 dollars a night, and another hotel with bathroom is 72. The room is spotlessly clean, and the bathroom is acceptable; and I am not the first person in the world to cast an eye on the sink for late night need.

     This town looks like a cross between Laramie Wyoming, and Akureyri Iceland. The fjords look interesting, same as Iceland, even the color of the water.

 

I liked the baby eagle best sitting in a tree, and the seals lying happily on the rocks.

     I sat next to Christian a world traveling girl on the boat. We talked for eight hours. She is a designer in California; saved her last few checks, and took off to see Alaska. She is living in a ranger station, and makes ten dollars a day. She is very intelligent: fun to talk to, and attracted me in the fashion that good looking females are want to do. She has my card: said she would write for pictures, probably will forget me in a few days. She did smoke, and go to bars, a mystery. Would like to see her again.

     Wonderful day worth the seventy dollars for the boat ride. Saw orcas, an otter, seals, puffins, and other strange birds, and jumping Humpbacked whales. I have a sunburnt face.

     Now I have seen enough, and feel like going home, and having Sirius jump with excitement, and Oscar, and Pulsar, and almost the Stump. A week of this is long enough.

     Seward is most unusual. The post office has rows, and rows of post office boxes; far more than ordinary.

     Really burnt out; should go back to the Seward hotel, but won't. It was too lonely there, and it didn't have a bathroom in my room. Seward is not just Laramie Wyoming, and Arkureyri Iceland, but Hyannis Mass too. Its filled with " Quaint " stores, filled with the same things you can get on Cape Cod. I bought an eighty nine cent fish anyway, and an expensive ivory manta ray. So what if I can buy the same things in Hyannis; they looked at me.

 

9:29 PM. pitched my tent on the edge of a river. It's gravel and rocks down the end of a dirt road. I will try and sleep in a few hours.

 

I just remembered planes used to have a magazine rack in back; it was a standard feature of flying.

 

Glad to be stopped. Nice mountains, and woods. The two mountains across the river are probably bigger then Mount Washington. They probably don't even have names. 9:36 PM. I just took there picture.

     I had the window rolled up to keep the mosquitoes out, and just noticed the hatchback was open. This is really a nice car. The seats fold forward giving lots of room: it's easy to drive, gets good mileage, and it looks nice too. Why not just drive it home? Increasingly peaceful here sitting in the car listening to the river, knowing the tent is all set up, watching the two mountains.

     I know when I get home it will seem like I didn't do anything, and even here I miss home, but now other feelings creep in. These mountains are as wonderful as anything I ever saw. I like them. This is why places like this mean something. Only they must be slowly contemplated. Too much driving from scene to scene; it's more important to find a place, and this one has no name, and just sit, and watch the mountains, and listen to the river.

     I sent my former neighbors now friends a post card, " I was on my way to Cape Cod, and wound up in Seward Alaska - these things happen ". I have been laughing about it since.

     They happen to me a mix of really wanting to stay home; and really wanting to see places of great beauty. I cant believe this is my own country and people speak English.

     10:36 PM. The mountains are still completely visible in this strange Arctic light. Sunset lasts for about an hour, and even the dark of 12:30 AM has a glow to it where the Sun skims just under the horizon.

     It's a good time to think about sleeping. The river is pleasant noise, and the mountains are uniform in color now, not color really, but light intensity. It's like a night light is on; enough light to see clearly, but not with the intensity of a hundred watt bulb.

     9:02 AM. rain and fog: packed up tent and just took another picture  of the same two mountains, now invisible.

 

10:40 It's pouring out; should be depressed , but I am not. I passed a sign about sockeye salmon with a smaller sign saying " trail to stream ". I expected a stream: what I found was salmon by the hundreds; big salmon two and a half feet long, red like tropical fish. I was more thrilled to see these fish then all the other animals including the bears seen from the bus at Denali

     Alaska is a zoo and an aquarium; going back down the trail to see these fish again, a wonderful surprise.

     There was one trout in the middle of all the salmon. I wish my trout were here; she would like all those fish.

 

Another accident; Turnagain arm. On my way back to Anchorage I saw the road to Hope. I didn't know where it went, sounded like something out of the twilight zone. On the way there was a scary turbulent bay mud colored and full of chop.

     I didn't care about seeing the ocean here as I thought it would be just like home, but it has been my favorite thing among lots of favorite things

     Can't believe in two days I will be home and sweating. Yesterday I wanted to go home, now I wish I could stay here a few more days. I am continuing the ride to Hope. Stopped at the discovery cafe appropriately named. Tiny place. Yesterdays news is in a pile' " don't get the papers every day ", the Red Socks are page one of the Anchorage news.

     What a good idea coming here; tomorrow I look for giant vegetables, and a last quiet place.

     I will miss those mountains on the river where I camped alone, but not lonely.

 

I'll miss this little car.

 

Two Indian brothers panhandled me for a dollar each. They were thankful, and friendly, reminded me of Henry the Cree Indian from Moosonee.

I am in Anchorage buying Christmas presents in August. I am going to rescue a Yellow leaf from the street; after bears, and ice it would be most unsatisfactory to be run over by a truck.( The leaf survived all the way home. I still have it ).

 

I am in the mountains above the city. It's like going to the White mountains if they were only a half hour away. A lady hiker came running out of the woods screaming " watch out for the bear ", and this is just some hills on the edge of Anchorage. There are suburban houses next to this little park.

     Sadnesses: all packed ready to go home now. Hard to say good-by to such a wonderful place. Anchorage is just a spread out boring city; but right outside there are bears.

     Going looking for a bear. People on the trail warned me not to go on the middle trail because there was a bear acting like a bear.

     Time really puzzles me. Here I am rubbing my eyes in a blue car on a mountain with bears on it in Anchorage Alaska and it's real. I can feel the pressure on my eyeballs. Tomorrow I'll be home thinking about this trip.

     Most of all I'll remember the salmon - they were a river of surprises. When I thought the day was going to be a lonesome ride to a miserable crowded campground: it was a wonderful ride, and I camped by a river and two mountains the size of Mt. Washington all alone but not lonely.

 

8-7-88

 

Just flew past Oshkosh Wisconsin where I was going with Randy. He couldn't go so I was going to the Cape to visit him; then Jimmy Hargrove gave me tickets to Alaska. I can se Oshkosh out the window right now.

 

8-7-88

 

I just put away my ugly bulgy eyed cast iron fish, and my ivory manta ray, and soapstone whale. The ivory ray was supposed to be a Christmas present ( rationalization ), but despite the cost I wanted it, and the whale, and I am about to unwrap the two Alaska cups that survived hand carrying in a stuff bag 4000 miles.

 

8-8-88 

 

I went to the post office and paid my August mortgage; now I know I am home.

Miserably hot.

Fading to dreams.

 

I was just wondering about going home, and thinking about being where I was in the mountains above the city looking at rain soaked moss, and wild flowers, and thinking about bears, and now I am home and the bears are all in dreams.

 

8-9-88

 

I just drank some cold water from a gallon plastic bottle. It reminded me of the spring water " pure artesian well water " with a green label and a picture of a happy drop of water I left at the airport next to where I dropped off my rented car.

     I wanted to take it home; nothing is better than water.

 

 

8-10-88

 

 

Hot insect noise night. I saw two foxes on the way home from the News. One was in the middle of the road: I had to beep before it moved; and the other one was on the side of the road 200 feet past the first.

     The night of the foxes. They look half dog half cat: spindly legs - fox faces - pointed ears, tails to be jealous of.

 

8-11-88 

 

Air conditioner the most wonderful thing. Miserable out fungal Humidity. The world is turning slimy. Cooling off at home. Now only 80 inside, and it feels cool.

     Oscar jumped from the little table to the cat condo about four and a half feet. I have seen her, Pulsar, and Sirius all at least touch the condo. It took only four months: I thought it would be cat ecstasy, maybe slow ecstasy. Sirius went inside it once then decided to use it only as a scratching post. Both Pulsar, and Oscar seem to like lying on top. No one goes inside it.

     My Alaska rocks now live here; the new pliers are on the floor.

 

8-15-88

 

I loved reading about bears in the library. Maybe a good course at school about something I like will improve the way I feel. Had a real headache last night, two fiorinals, and one with codeine. Headache still here but much reduced. Dizzy from drugs though.

     Bears on my mind. I would like to know more about them. I wonder if a Biology course in the area might spend any time on them, actually an animal behavior course would be better. I would like to know more about how they live not about how much there livers weigh or how long there small intestines are.

     I keep thinking about orange and green salmons swimming in a river.

 

8-24-88

 

I know certain things are going to happen. The News called to cancel my job for the next four days. They " ran out of money ", but this insight might be nothing more than logic. It was no great psychic mystery that the News is in trouble or that my position lacked an exhaulted status. I need the money, but am glad to go home for once.

     My father is very sick. He said I was a good son on the phone, and I feel really sad and angry. I can't really reach what I feel just yet. I just hope he doesn't die. His heart is only twenty five percent, and his arthritis has crippled him.

     I hate to see such pain. He was always strong: he always valued his reflexes, now he is week and in pain, and unhappy. His knees can't be operated on, his hands can't be repaired. He has nothing to look forward to but a wheelchair if he lives, and I am not sure he wants to. His depression is overwhelming.

     I don't know how to help him.

 

8-31-88

 

I just found this pen in the News parking lot next to where I park. It must be mine stolen from Newtonville.

     Sadnesses tonight: lots of thinking about the Hum, she always creeps back, very sad.

 

Read some Sherlock Holmes books; they are wonderful.

 

9-2-88

 

Sitting in the truck " looking for features " for the news. I went to a pond and had a nice walk. Caterpillars are living in heaps in safe silk houses; purple flowers glow. I started to have a headache, and this place is taking it away.

 

9-6-88

 

My father said I was a good son. Very worried about him.

 

9-10-88

 

Stupid landlord cut down nice trees in front of 94 Central St. I was reading in the Globe about houses and was reminded of my old house. Trees are such nice things. They shouldn't be cut down " because they hid the porch ". In two minutes a tree that was alive for forty years becomes trash, and the house looked naked. Maybe cutting down the trees made him feel powerful; it made me feel sad.

     Five years later the house still looks diminished because the trees are gone.

 

My hands are hurting again; makes me nervous. Not sure if I should call the doctor or just wait.

 

9-12-88

 

I went exploring. I found a perfect orchard with apples, and pears: a squirrel flying among the oak trees, and a library in Harvard. Not Harvard college, but a little town called Harvard Mass.

     I was lying on the floor not really wanting to play golf with the Hargrove clan when it dawned on me that such a nice day didn't have to end in a headache. It was almost two PM. when I left the house, and headed down route two. Now it's 5:49, and I am sitting in the truck with a new rock collected in Acton woods, and a stomach full of Donelans brand potato chips.

 

9-14-88

 

My neighbor gave me some donuts, I ate three of them. Oscar devoured one. She picked a fat cinnamon roll covered with the same goo " honey dip " donuts are dipped in. Cats are not donut eaters. I wonder if Oscar remembers living on the street when she had to eat donuts.

     At first I discovered a small piece missing. I gave up and left it on a plate, and when I looked it was gone.

 

9-17-88

 

Elbow sore as hell along with fingers and thumbs.

     The polar bear on the wall has a nice face. I took its picture a few years ago in a zoo in providence and sent a picture to Pam who told me how pleased her husband was to hang it in his office.

     Well; I like it anyway.

 

9-22-88

 

I just read that the aquarium is going to move. I remember the old aquarium with its bulging eyed fish, and seals in South Boston. The " new " aquarium is twenty years old. I felt sad reading about it being replaced, but am exited about the new # 3 aquarium which will be wonderful. It is being built in an old dry dock 700 feet long, and 40 feet deep. It will have transparent walkways underwater surrounded by fish, and outside exhibits of walrus, penguins and whales. If it were complete I would skip work and go there right now. I couldn't be the only one who likes fish: the " new"  old aquarium is being replaced simply because half the visitors each year are turned away from lack of room. It is a mob there even on week days, and on Saturday it is impossible to get in. As long as the electric eel doesn't mind the move it will be OK.

 

9-25-88

 

I went on a long hike today in Medfield after showing Alaska slides to Chris Fitsgerald.

     There was a nice hill where some people dragged a cooler full of beer. A ten year old girl borrowed her fathers knife, and cut down a small tree as old as she was for a hot dog stick. It was a beautiful tree. It had a right to live. Very upset seeing this. It made me feel something that means a lot to me; a basic core. Plants have a right to live too just like animals.

     The girl will forget in two days, and the tree will be dead. Her father had another Budweiser.

 

9-29-88

 

I feel like writing in this book but don't know what to say. Maybe I do know what to say, but it is an old record.

     It is cold and crisp like the last days when I had brought a stuffed crow back from the mountains to Pam to remind her of me. She has probably thrown it out. It's been a long time; its been half an hour.

     What difference does the time make.

 

9-28-88

 

Yesterday at the News I saw a skunk on the lawn not figuratively but actually. It waddled away. It made me laugh at the way it walked.

     Today I saw a blue Heron flying over Newton like an old B-52. It is a gigantic bird with an oversized beak that opened and closed noiselessly as if muttering to itself.

     Darwin might have answered how all the creatures got here, but not why.

     They are wonderful things: waddling skunks, mumbling birds.

     I expected the beak to snap like a trap but it didn't.

 

10-10-88

 

Sudbury road. Perfect: sat in one spot and looked; saw a red tick walking over everything in its path in a straight line. It walked over a moss mountain instead of around it. Favorite month of the year; by far the most beautiful.

     Horror seeing a man with a camera, and a girl with him with a map. I thought they were builders. They are from the town conservation commission trying to buy the road. I hope so; that would be the best imaginable news. It would be safe. They could turn it into a park with benches, but I doubt it.

     If they were lying? They were not very friendly. I hope it's OK.

 

There are lichens growing on the road. Some like the ones in the White mountains, others more jungle like. There were other " primitive " plants that look like liverworts. It was nice to see my road.

 

10-24-88

 

Looking at rainy plants on the edges of beaches. I am at Hyannis at Debby's house. Drove to Chatham and looked at old places I like; Sudbury road places worth visiting again, and I saw some new beaches I never saw before. Nice rocks: chunks of asphalt, and bricks, and whole entire trees washed ashore in a great storm. Cormorants sat on buoys like skiffs at anchor, and gulls sat every place else.

     Binoculars are wonderful things, long distance eyes, good things for a rainy day at the beach.

     Haven't used the RB. in so long that I accidentally opened the back and exposed a picture of a flower. It's a really exceptional camera. It deserves to be used too.

 

10-25-88

 

I was nervous; maybe the tree wouldn't be there.

      On a trail at Wellfleet bay Audubon sanctuary is a pine tree; the last white pine tree half alive at the end of a salt swamp. I always visit this tree surviving on the edge: it's small stunted, and admirable, it lives where other pine trees are afraid to live.

     I found a dead skeleton of a tree at the end of the trail so frail a goat could push it over. I felt awful, and went back to the Audubon headquarters on the off chance that it wasn't my tree as the plants have numbered plaques and a guide book with a story to tell about each kind. This was how I learned of the pine tree, and have been coming back to find it for twenty years.

     It was wonderful the guidebook description didn't match the dead tree I found, and I ran down the trail, and found the original still alive smiling at me. Trees are just animals that stay in one place.

 

11-10-88

 

Sirius looked old last night: maybe its just the flea dip grunging up his fur, and his tail usually squirrel like has the aspect of a rats.

     He peed on the door a few days ago; I grabbed him, and shoved his face in it, then ignored him all night. I think he was just mad at me for not giving him enough attention. He likes to be patted while on the white table next to the sofa, and I was tired and hungry, and left him pouting on the table.

     The next day I held him, and patted him till he calmed down, and purred.

     I wish they had more room to explore; maybe even to run around outside.

 

I sent Pam ( the Hum ) a picture yesterday of apples on a tree in an orchard. Maybe she will write back to me. Maybe her letter will even say something.

 

11-11-88

 

Sirius sat comfortably watching television today. He looked a lot better. The flea dip takes a toll on all of them. Cats lick themselves so they get a stomach full of raid every time they are treated for fleas. Oscar was drooling, and Pulsar was looking like a string mop. The fleas are worse though. In the Spring I will have them dipped again before they get too high a population.

 

11-12-88

 

Allah lives: I didn't have enough money for a big bag of kitty litter so I got a small bag and walked out of the triple A market. Behold! a miracle, a 16 pound bag of litter was forgotten, and waiting for me under a shopping cart on the bottom shelf. I looked around, rationalized like any common criminal that " it should be mine " anyway, and I took it.

     I do feel a little guilty. Maybe the buyer discovered the loss when they got home, and rushed back to the parking lot only to find an empty cart.

     It's cold and cloudy typical November; my thumbs, and other joints hurt like Hell. The doctor was awfully brief with his diagnoses of Arthritis which he changed to tendinitis. I hope they are just strained.

     I went to Sommerville Lumber which is a new store in Acton and bought a window shade. It impresses me that such things are easy and possible. A few years ago I would probably let the old window shade shred itself into vinyl fringes. It looks good, and the store is great to have a mile away.

 

I mailed Pam the picture; it's been about six years since I saw her. The other Pam, the first, is in New York. Pfoxer is dead.

     I wonder if I will always write in this book. The best thing would be a new job where I would meet people, and have enough money to do things like taking courses at some college or going on an Earthwatch expedition. Lonesome sitting here in the rain. Application is in to the Airforce base for photog job. Slug pace of government action is typical of government.

 

11-14-88

 

Started out asleep. Awoke at 10:30 did nothing of value. At 3:30 I went to the exercise torture place. Headachy and uninspired.

     The exercise despite painful joints was exhilarating. After I found a nice trail in Acton and watched the late Sun glow on the trees. I took my old Nikormat, and felt like me.

     The woods are quite wonderful in November. Most of the leaves are down and you can see strange distances through the trees, and the few leaves remaining are brown like old blankets.

     I am glad to come here. The day went from less then nothing to a warm glow.

 

I always want to rescue old things: I looked in the dumpster for the old window shade, but it was already gone

 

I bought an ECCO serving spoon with an ugly black plastic handle: it's a new style of handle, and I liked it as beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. I am certain the handle was not designed in Italy or By Braun of Germany. Instead it is simple, functional, and in its way good looking like a pickup truck looks or an oar for a row boat. I like it anyway.

     The creatures are worshipping me like Zeus. It's almost embarrassing. They are acting like dogs.

 

11-21-88

 

 

RT. 126 industrial park Ashland. I just got back in the truck, cold, scratched up with thorns, but happy.

     This is one of my old places. The " park " was stopped do to the wetlands protection act, and despite building on the edges most of it is still beautiful.

     I used to go shooting here with guns and cameras. It was a good place to bring some old cans, and blast them till they sank in the little pond. It's still a barren Alaska place hiding next to Framingham.

     This is a good time of year. Cattails brown in the swamps, little plants are still green, refreshing temperatures.

     This is still a nice place.

 

12-5-88

 

I went swamping yesterday in the official swamp. It was cold and sunny with skim ice on the ooze. I found the official tree that fell during hurricane Carol in 1954. It's still alive with two thirds of its roots in the air. It rests against a maple tree.

No one visits it but me.

     Today I saw two peregrine falcons released to the wild. One was injured and found on Cape Cod, the other one was from Canada. They were fixed of broken bones: fed, and weeks later ( today ) let go to the wild.

     They flew better then any birds I have ever seen both flapping there wings for maneuverability, and gliding at high altitudes. They might stay in Concord, or fly to Central America.

     Where does a two pound falcon go? Anyplace it wants. Those beaks, and claws looked as friendly as chain saws, and grappling hooks. These are not ducks, they are F-16's that eat flesh. Either one could have eaten my lips for lunch. They certainly could fly.

     Someone else at the wildlife sanctuary had a big turtle in a cat box. It had a broken shell, and three legs. Both the carapace, and appendages were healed pretty well, but the Audubon people decided survival in the wild would be too tough for a three legged turtle, and were going to take it to a zoo.

     This was the first Winter day; cold, and blue, and wonderful.

 

12-16-88

 

I liked not having any money. When I finally got some and went to the store with twenty dollars it was vaguely unsatisfying.

     I ran out of money last week, and only had laundry quarters to survive on. I ate delicious mashed potatoes with onions in them, and grated cheese on top. I was thankful to have hot dogs in the refrigerator, and planned on eating oatmeal tonight. It was like camping or surviving: living on my wits, planning each meal in advance, taking stock of how lucky I was. Strange, it wasn't sad or depressing; quite the opposite. It was a bit panicky thinking of the bills, and the Visa ladies calling me on the phone, but I ate, and my cats ate and the box of laundry money was more then enough. It was just fine.

 

I was walking across the bridge over the Mass. pike and saw a dollar on the sidewalk. It was crumpled as though carried in a pocket; and still dry in the rain. I looked back and saw two girls across the street past two red lights and four lanes of hungry cars.

     The dollar must have belonged to them. I took it and put it in my wallet; not wanting to chase them, and being greedy at the same time. It was blood money, and later that day I folded it up and dropped it in a slot for some charity or other.

     The dollar was a test that I failed. Putting it in the charity can was too late maybe; but I feel now that I only half failed.

 

I was in Star market thirsty. A gallon of Poland spring water looked at me. Unlike the others it was cold; probably just brought from the warehouse, or from a truck from outside. It is delicious water.

 

12-17-88

 

I miss my old truck a lot. It is rusting in a pile of weeds next to Randy's old house, or is already crushed in some junk yard.

     It was big, and red like a big kids idea of a truck, and it went to Lake Superior, and the Maine woods, and to Moosonee Ontario, and the place in Canada with the chips.

     It was a nice part of my life, and I miss it like a person. I once drove it along a river bottom, and kept telling Pam " it's a road ", and she kept thinking the gravel rocks and water was really a river. It was a divine miracle that allowed it to drive backwards out of the " road " in the morning as it was up to its axles in rocks.

     It's snowing out, and I am in Newtonville instead of at home.

 

I went to Hanscom field in Bedford too early ( 7:00 am) to fill out an application for a job. For weeks the bureaucratic lady kept telling me on the phone that " the job isn't open ". Yesterday she said' " you better apply right away, the job closes on the thirty first. "

     Now I am looking at my old lab in Newtonville. I worked here a long time. I know it's time to move ( I want and need another job ), but I will still miss my lab. Its like a house: I can think, and be quiet. I won't miss the being bored feeling, and being Humiliatingly poor. I will miss my room, and know I will feel pretty bad the day I leave.

     Hanscom is only fifteen minutes from here not forty five, and I can take pictures instead of spending all day printing other peoples rotten negatives. The new job might actually lead to one with decent pay, and at least real holidays off.

     Its not exactly what I want to do but, its closer then this, and I might even find a niceness there. I saw a guard at the gate; a beautiful girl with a red beret, and a black Beretta. It could be an interesting place to work; like being in the Air Force without having to salute and grovel, and being able to quit. Maybe I can learn to fly too.

     No one has hired me yet, but it looks very possible this time. It will be odd having Saturday and Sunday off instead of Sunday, and Monday.

 

I am getting a mountain bike in the Spring. They are old fashioned looking things with fat tires, and heavy frames. I tried one out, and it was like running where I could only walk. They are two wheeled Jeeps with pedals, and look like fun which I haven't had too much of lately.

 

1-6-89

 

Finally got a letter from Pam. She talks about her new kid crawling around and getting into trouble. And about taking singing lessons. She seems to have a nice life. Not bad for a trout. I miss her. I always miss her.

     Yesterday two fluffy kittens with blue eyes, and frightened faces crawled over to look at me. They were in a glass case at Debbie's petland; more an aquarium then a place for cats. I wanted to take them home. If Pam were with me we would have called them mrout brains.

     Once we looked at a strange tropical lobster in another store. I went back to look at it for months after she was gone till it was gone too.

     Strange I don't expect her to knock on my door now. She really has another life. At least she is happy: her kid seems wonderful, she turned out OK. I am happy for that.

 

1-12-89 to 10-26-89

 

1-12-89

 

Yesterday I thought of the wood row boats at camp Timberlane first seen in 1956. There was a blue one hidden in the woods about eight feet long surrounded by weeds. Whenever I had to escape the loneliness around me I found that boat in the woods abandoned, out of water, pealing blue and quiet.

     The camp might be Timberlane condominiums, the quiet woods tennis courts, and the boat gone to all but me: maybe this notebook keeps it alive a place reserved for quietly thinking alone.

     Amy Speiler came to me in a dream. She was wearing a bright green sweater and a big smile. I wanted to show her my cats and my pictures and eat a big feast at the Wayside Inn and show her where I came from, and ask where she had been. Since Wyoming and orange roads, and desert noises, and laughing howling things in the distance.

     She was suicidal; always talked about how. She had a pill collection, and a Swedish army rifle, and loved to sharpen knives on a black oilstone rubbed concave through years of grating steel.

     Maybe she has written about me in a notebook somewhere. She finally became lost; married a Mormon mechanic in Idaho. Maybe she only exists now in this book, in my dream, in a quiet place with pealing blue boats.

 

The yellow book ( the one just finished ) now sits in a drawer with all the others. I hope it doesn't rust away.

 

I wish I had my gray place mat, and the green rug with the fringes, and my old cotton tent.

     Yesterday I took home the remains of my old things from Randy's house. Most were destroyed due to a leaky roof, and getting soaked, or were left at his old house. I wanted to go back and collect the old ropes and wires that held me together when nothing else did. Most are gone, but I saved a few: the candy container that my snails lived in, and a few broken old planes that were presents when I was sick with one fever or another.

 

2-9-89

 

I didn't get the job, " insufficient automated machinery experience " at the Air Force base.

     Still in Newtonville, still at The News. Where is my lucky fish today.

 

2-25-89

 

I put the new television in the back of the truck. Everyone said " Sony, get Sony " so much that I got a Panasonic instead.

     It's in an unopened box; I haven't even seen what it looks like. Opening it up will be a surprise when I get home and a lot of fun. I like the whole idea of buying a 27 inch television as a surprise. I am not even sure what color it is.

     It has every imaginable TV gadget ( I checked the catalogue ), stereo, direct cable, a remote control with ten thousand buttons. I kept walking by the box with the hidden TV inside. Newtonville actually tries to sell TV's without putting them on display, and this television in its unopened box looked at me, and said Mine. This is the best 27 inch TV Panasonic makes. How can it be bad. I just was getting sick of having Sony shoved down my throat, and this TV is 200 dollars less money which I don't have. It will be fun opening it up when I get home.

     Television is on a lot mostly as white noise; might as well be able to watch movies on a big screen. I'll invite my old neighbors over to watch it with me.

 

2-26-89

 

I used Pam Alexander's grabber, a pliers like object used in stores to reach high shelves, to turn the television louder and softer. I had that television a long time. I still have it, and now this new one, as good as all expectations.

     It was fun opening the box and finding a mystery television inside. My old neighbors came over to see it.

 

A lady was interviewed on the radio for not wanting to boil a lobster alive. She was trying to find an aquarium for it. She was upset because the " media " kept asking her to hold the lobster to take its picture, and she was worried it was so beat up it might die. " Its just a little story " , she said. No its not its a big story more important then all the rubbish I heard this week.

 

today I looked around Newtonville for another Panasonic TV like mine, and was pleased to find that none were there. Mine was the only one. Very pleased with it, and pleased I was stubborn enough to get what I wanted, and not the Sony other people wanted me to want.

 

 

2-3-89

 

I wonder if Pam still has my alarm clock; or remembers it's mine?

 

3-7-89

 

Bright garish Easter eggs; candy with marshmallow inside. Every year I eat some with a certain hesitancy and fear. They taste wonderful. They look like crocus flowers and Spring; and two years in a row I broke a tooth eating them. Crunch, and candy tastes like bone fragments: spit, and glistening enamel ringed with old filling, and a new ragged need for repair.

     This year I saw the same candies: I carefully ate some crushing them whole slowly and carefully.

     Yesterday I broke a tooth on a turkey sandwich. Looking at candy Easter eggs causes tooth breakage. Now a visit to Harry Kushner: a wonderful probing with a mirror, crow bar, and a smile ( his ) as he informs me of the need for another gold crown. Maybe I will get by with another patch. I would rather stick my tongue in an electric stapler then have a root canal reamed out again. Maybe it's not so bad.

 

My black and white television is on the floor. I used to wish the ultimate luxury would be a remote control so I could turn the sound low if the phone rang.

     Now the color television which is the old television is in the kitchen.

 

3-14-89

 

I bought a lettuce today wrapped in plastic in a green cardboard tray. It joins a long list of kiwi fruit, cactus pads, and strange Mexican vegetables I probably will never eat, but always buy anyway.

     The lettuce just looked at me all green and Spring like, and a little sad wrapped up - it reminded me of the original kiwi fruit too much to leave in the store.

 

3-17-89 

 

I asked the waitress at the local grease pit if she had ever been to Ireland. She said " no I would like to see my own country before I ever see Europe ". I asked her if she had seen much of the US; " no I have a 95 year old mother who would have to come with me ". The other waitress has a five year old boy and no money. I said he must be fun to take to the zoo and to play with. " He is expensive", she said.

 

" Assault rifles " seem to be on the way out. They were banned from importation last week, and Colt " voluntarily " suspended the sale of there AR-15. I am in a dilemma. I like reading about these things, they are real rifles. The argument against them is that they have no " sporting " use. I am not a hunter; if I buy one of these rifles its because it's a real tool for serious social engagements. That's the whole mystique of these things.

AK-47 too crude: FN-FAL too much dinero, HK-91 possible, AR-15 HB most likely candidate as its accurate at distance and a surprisingly good target rifle. I might have to buy one - upset about pending illegality. I have nothing against a reasonable law concerning these serious weapons; a police check perhaps or a pistol permit instead of an FID card, but am opposed to an outright ban.

 

I was in a train station in Scotland. It was cold and the color of old smoke from the burnt coal smoke color never washed off the walls.

     I saw a girl in a beret, and skipped two heart beats. For a quarter of a second it was Pam waiting for me in a haze of coal smoke, but trains haven't burnt coal in thirty years, and it was someone else.

 

The Cardinal embarrassed me with his pompous robes; he looked like someone escaped from a Monte Python skit. I didn't belong in Boston; it was scary, dark, and foreign.

     I had to go to the bathroom. It seemed obvious that even Cardinals had to pee, so I asked at the cathedral where the News sent me, and was told I had to use the high school across the street. Ill bet the Cardinal with his entourage of obsequious priests urinate in the high school as well so I ambled over and down the stairs. Before the " gentleman's room " a gray blur appeared through a small window leading to the cafeteria. A cat thought I, but it was a pleasant gray rat instead nibbling tid bits off the floor.

 

4-1-89

 

The oil spill in Alaska is heading for Kenei fjords national park.

     I couldn't sleep in Seward. I had put myself on a waiting list for an all day boat tour. Its hard to write clearly I am tired with a wandering mind sitting at the kitchen table looking at a glass candy dish I bought when I moved to Acton because it reminded me of one at 36 Mountain Ave. when I was three years old. Really feel sad today - felt horror over what had just been another news story ( the oil slick ) when I discovered it was floating death on its way to the singular cleanest place on Earth.

     The water glistens there: seals bellow on the islands rocks, gleaming ice crashes off glaciers walls, otters float in the sun, and thousands of birds racket up the sky.

     I saw dozens of orcas hunting in family groups, broaching Humpbacks, and a river filled with orange salmon so dense in number I could have caught them like a bear in my hands.

     The world was pure as October blue sky. I wonder what happened to Christian; the girl on the boat who worked in a ranger station. She came from California and looked it; wanted peace and found it.

     Exit glacier: fields of purple flowers, the hunting ground of grizzly bears.

     I miss it. I hope it will always be.

 

4-4-89

 

A lady called to ask if I had voted; I hadn't so I went. The only thing on the ballot was a new tax, an override of proposition two and a half. Seeing as I have two dollars and change I voted against the tax, and for a lady running for works commission who buttonholed me in the parking lot. Why not vote for her? Everyone else on the ballot was unknown to me.

     Back home with Mrout brains.

 

4-5-89

 

There must be a lesson to be learned about being poor. Never is the lesson overly harsh. An envelope with eighty five dollars just happened to be in my mailbox when I have three dollars in the bank and seven in my pocket. Why would these things just happen without a reason? I have never starved or been desperate: just close enough to feel the sting,  to know it can really hurt, but never in a mean way. Its as though there was a teacher, and I was a humble student.

     I always told Pam " there is always money in my mailbox when I need it ". I will have to write her a letter, and let her know it is still true.

 

The frogs are out squeaking. It must be Spring.

 

4-14-89

 

A purple balloon followed me to Newtonville. It was alone in the street. Some drivers swerved around it. Some aimed for it, but it always blew away to safety.

     I ran over and grabbed it from in front of a yellow cab. Its in a plastic bag now and safe from cars running it over.

     I feel like that balloon lately; just barely safe in a world of large hungry cars. Newtonville is still a stupid place to be, and the News a trivial one.

     I might climb a mountain this Sunday; even if no one else comes.

 

4-29-89

 

I kept the purple balloon that I rescued from the wind, and a piece of Styrofoam, from Newtonville.

     Old things, nice things, even if they are new.

 

I just shut off the television: it is sixteen past ten, and I am tired enough to hurt, and I don't care if I ever find out if Hunter shoots another thief.

     Watching the clock tick. Glad I rescued the Styrofoam, and the purple balloon, and a stick from the sidewalk. A rock on the table has wonderful glistening things in it. A scientist might say it was gneiss, and the shiny bits are mica, a poet drops of water in the Spring Sun. To me it's eternal: the rock, something that lasts forever, and the sparkles are its mystery.

 

I hope whoever stole my alligator; the one bought in New Orleans dies a slow hideous death.

     I just walked by where it was supposed to be. It always moved around with me like my beetles. Someone stole it along with my cameras and money. I forgot about the money, am irritated about the camera, but would cut the tongue out of the thief for taking my alligator.

 

5-3-89

 

I made a feast of rice with spaghetti sauce mixed in and a chopped up green pepper.

     Its the most delicious feast. About a billion people eat rice every day and I eat it about once a year. It's very bland, but a good base for other things. I will have to cook again with this unusual ingredient. Its cheep and tastes good.

 

5-8-89

 

Perfect Spring day. I shut off the heat, and slept better then any time this year.

     Last night two little girls insisted on seeing my cats; and then played in the hall hanging by there feet from the backside of the steps. They live in the apartment beneath Phil and said he blasted his radio day and night and they hated him and were trying to move. I liked them. I wonder who there mother is.

 

Found two jobs in the Globe: one, a teacher in Lowell; two, a photographer in Boston. Both interview on Wednesday when I have to call in sick. This distresses me ( lying ) even to Newtonville, and I have a headache which may or may not be related to this dilemma. A new job by itself is distressing enough: who are the new people, can I teach a class and not panic and let it get wild. Can I park in Boston. Job three was applied for last week; a photographer at Liberty Mutual.

     My eye hurts like hell: drugs help, but only mask the pain, the symptoms run there course. A mask though despite being dopey is better then writhing on the floor, though it's probably  a good idea not to learn how to operate a chain saw tonight.

     Lonesome, and sad: this morning I felt rested and refreshed and just superb. Maybe these headaches have a real organic component. Which came first the chicken or the egg.

 

5-17-89

 

Another purple balloon floated into a fence in Newtonville. They must breed near here. I took it back, and put some tape on a hole in its side.

      Most balloons break when they have holes in them: these purple ones are survivors.

     Waiting for my crystal ball to come. Bought it on the Cape and its coming UPS. I love things to come in the mail.

 

I want to write a book. Maybe a series of essays about purple balloons is better than a magnum opus that isn't happening or a formula novel that is forgotten before it is written.

     Who are these balloons anyway? The new one is living in a corner with tape over its usually fatal injury, and the other one is at home in a drawer quite protected along with a piece of Styrofoam that lived in this miserable lab for a year.

 

5-21-89

 

I looked in a box in the Green truck and found a pile of old stabilized prints stuck together. It was Humid enough to peel them apart. I found the Red truck with only a little rust on it taken with a new zoom at each end of its range. At the bottom of the pile was a picture of Oscar looking younger then she does now lying beside the Stump who was only a little bigger then a kitten. Even though it was a yellowing black and white his orange eyes looked at me. He was a good boy and I miss him.

     I moved the Green truck so the neighbors wont think its broken and ask to tow it away. I will leave it parked plainly, and irritatingly till late tomorrow when I will move it back to its designated spot on the far edge of the lot. There are two dead cars here both Mustangs, and I can see a new ordinance on the horizon about deceased cars being forced to move. So the truck placed so visibly is a political statement.

     The new truck may have an oil leak. I hope not because I don't have the money to fix it. It is a good truck.

 

Purple and orange peppers. I saw the most colorful peppers ever created. They were not only orange, purple, yellow, red, and green, but saturated intense iridescent things singing in a corner.

     I have no knowledge of how they taste and little need; they tasted fine by my eyes.

 

6-5-89

 

The fan is going; it turned to Summer. I found a flower on the floor next to the hamper. It fell out of a pocket. I found it on the sidewalk someplace. It wasn't a real flower, but that didn't matter. Now it joins a small collection of plastic flowers found in places that make me happy.

 

I wonder if Betsy will call me back. She used to work at Newtonville, and always talked to me when she felt picked on or sad. She is awfully pretty with blond hair, and bright eyes. She always " had a boyfriend ", and was " too young for me ", so I just felt sad by myself when she left. Now she called my answering machine. With my traditional luck concerning pretty girls she probably wants me to take her wedding pictures.

     There is something very nice about her: probably just another dream.

 

6-8-89

 

The cats must trust me or they wouldn't surround me groveling for attention.

     This morning Sirius was walking on me ( he was waiting impatiently for breakfast ), and Oscar, and Pulsar were at my head purring and looking comfortably sleepy as only cats can. I patted them all.

     I had a good nights sleep for a change: cats are such good things, every Human should have a few dozen. Of course rats are also soft furry things. Maybe instead of a few dozen cats a few hundred rats would do as well. What could be better then waking up to those naked tails dragging across your face, or those bulging black eyes, or the chatter of rodent teeth? I wonder why people are so afraid of rats? Maybe the tails: or they associate them with garbage, or the plague.

     There is nothing innately so different between a squirrel or a chipmunk ( cute ) and a rat ( repulsive ). I like rats. Perhaps waking up to a room full might be vaguely upsetting, but I can't really figure out why people hate them so much.

     Certainly Newtonville camera would be improved by the tenancy of some large gray Boston rats.

     Rats make an interesting thud when they jump: and the word scurry belongs in rat lexicon, the very paradigm or rodentia.

 

6-20-89

 

Sometimes particular water is particular. I cut the spout of some Poland Springs water accidentally when opening it.

     After a day of freezing in the refrigerator it was delicious, and wonderful, like the water from the dented bottle last year, or the water dripping from the rock on Mt. Lafeyette.

 

This is supposed to be " important " Cardinal Law and the men of the two hundred in a tent eating.

     They were self important; I would rather have a drink of cold water. It is hot and slimy out; babble, and clinking glasses. Pigs rooting in the woods: " his eminence " a fat toad from the dark ages, I am impressed.

     In the middle of this was a dead lobster, the center piece of a food display. It must be forty years old, and twenty six pounds. Yesterday it happily hid under a rock in the ocean cool and refreshed - now it's as dead and as red as the cardinal, but not quite so fat.

 

6-21-89

 

New sox: last Modern Photography magazine, and a lion for a troutlet.

     I bought three pair of irregular sox as my newest pair were about six years old, and literally not figuratively threadbare. It occurred to me that they would become " Irregular " after one use, and I saved some dollars and now have comfortable feet. The sox are puffy like new towels.

     Modern Photography, my favorite for decades was swallowed whole " acquired " by another company, and will disappear forever. I hate all this megalomania of big companies eating small ones, like fish in a small pond. It was a good magazine that always named real names, and I trusted it more then the ones that say " this picture taken with a 35 millimeter SLR. on slide film ", and the rest an obeisance to whoever has the big ad that month. This trend is undemocratic and ugly.

     Pam ( the Hum ) sent me a letter saying that Heather ( now 4 ) loved the lion picture I sent. I sent her an 8x10 of the same picture. She said lions made Heather feel strong and she likes to pretend being one. Heather seems like a wonderful little girl; I hope her mother takes her to the Zoo.

 

6-28-89

 

I went to the movies with Betsy Cox to see Batman. She has a wonderful sense of discovery. I grew up with Batman, and knew Bruce Wayne was the caped crusader. When she discovered it she said, " Bruce Wayne is Batman " with the excitement of a little kid. I guess that's why I like her; she kept her sense of wonder.

 

6-30-89

 

Someone broke my five little magnets to pieces. They were already broken two years ago; I used them to hold pictures down on a metal board in order to copy them. Now they are shredded magnets.

 

7-4-89

 

It was the forth of July and I stayed home. The firecrackers boomed and I slept.

     I just rode home four and a half hours from Randy's house in Vermont and was too tired to go out. It's a yellow house with a black roof on a ridge with mountains all around and a lake across the street.

 

7-19-89

 

I am sick of reading the Globe; I just threw it away after reading only half of it. The last sad story was about the housing authority in Boston cutting down an apple tree a poor lady planted in front of her window. It was a " weed " not authorized by the authority. I hate the Globe: not only do the authors go out of there way seeking sadness and misery, but they do a poor biased and miserable job of reporting. The Herald trash that it is, is actually better due to its lack of pretension. It is trash by definition. The Globe: the elite Boston paper is a paltry minor league player to the New York times. I used to like burning it in my fireplace on Central street.

 

Going to Belgium in October to eat Brussels sprouts, and waffles. I expect to be lonesome and bewildered ( My Flemish is a little rusty ), but am really looking forward to a pile of adventures. I will rent a little car like a Fiat, and drive to Switzerland. I expect to see Belgium, Holland, France, Luxembourg, and maybe Italy, and Austria. All new; interesting as Hell.

 

7-19-89

 

I wonder where my lucky fish is? I am at Learnards pond " looking for features ", for the News. I would love to go snorkeling and look for my fish. Next Monday I have to have a cavity drilled out and filled. I will look for my fish after.

     A sparrow is eating a piece of bread on the sand; a crumb for a person, a feast for a little bird. This is a good place to live for a sparrow: a beautiful beach, free food, nice trees.

 

7-20-89

 

Oscars big adventure.

 

I heard a loud smash in the middle of the night. A cat had evidently trashed something: it could wait till morning, it would still be broken.

     At 8:15 I looked up to see the screen from one of the two windows outside, and a giant space big enough for eight cats beckoning them all outdoors. Actually I didn't notice this till after feeding them, and then couldn't believe Sirius was still inside. Pulsar is too ill balanced to jump out the window, and too lacking in insight to realize it was open.

     Where was Oscar? I panicked, and poured out some milk which always makes her sick, but always makes her run for the kitchen. No response.

     I closed the window and went exploring: looked under cars on the road for Oscar pancakes, looked in the trees, no Oscar. I crossed the road, and hunted in the woods. An Oscar flash; a blur in the deepest woods. I hunted, and hunted after that. No response.

     Maybe she went back to the window? I closed it to keep the other ones in.  No Oscar.

     Leaving the window I found her cringing by the other window yowling softly in fear; trying to get through the closed screen, the one with the fan humming in it.

     I opened the screenless window, and Sirius jumped out. I chased him in and backed off.

     Oscar crept over, looked in, and disappeared. She hid so deeply she couldn't be found.

     Later on she might find the milk.

 

7-22-89

 

Paul bragged about selling some old Pentax binoculars; " we got rid of them ". He loves to sell things, and felt happy. I knew which ones they were, and felt sad. I liked them. Old rubber covered gray ones. I would have bought them a year ago except I already have four pairs of binoculars. I liked them anyway - no one else will ever miss them, or notice they are gone. 

 

I bought a yellow notebook to take to Belgium with me to fill with adventures.

 

Pam Alexander came out. She brought a plastic snake, and a book of Mormon, one of which was a joke present.

     She is still quite wonderful: word games, and puzzles, puns, and double meanings. I wish she were around more. The " game " we played is on a back shelf someplace.

     I surprise myself not caring too much she is with what's his name ( OK so a little mad ), but a long way from obsessive or what it used to be. She is still a wipe.

     I was going to the dentist and then snorkeling to look for my fish yesterday, but got sick instead. A moderate sore throat with a fever and chills. Not too bad as such things go: but I would rather be looking for my favorite fish on a nice Summer day than pretending to be a vegetable rolled up in a blanket sick.

     Much improved today: headache and fever gone, and not too much pain where my tonsils used to be. Getting sick is a strange experience. Before the sore throat I just didn't feel right. I had a nice day visiting a swamp in Rhode Island with Sherry, and was looking forward to another nice day ( minus the dentist ) at Learnards pond. I wasn't particularly aggravated, sad, or anything else on the mood end of things that might kick in a " tension " headache, stomachache or the like. This was a simple invasion by hungry little creatures. It's odd how you can be healthy one second, and slide down a slope of illness the next. I felt overtired, and " not quite right ", it seemed sleep would do the trick, but it was not to be. Napoleons bacillus marched to war; Waterloo of the epiglottis.

 

I finally got to fix something. About twelve years ago I bought a plastic pear; gaudy green, with sparkles, that somehow became an official thing. It went into the same box that held my cast iron beetles when I moved. It's one of those things that defines my space, and that I would rescue in a fire.

     Yesterday I squashed it accidentally, and it popped and broke into a raggedy plastic squash. Well: I glued it all together, and it actually looks OK, and holds, and doesn't fall apart.

     I always liked glue. It's a miracle thing: it brings life to the dead, it heals the broken, and gives hope to the living. I may go on TV and urge the masses to donate money for more glue; maybe it can even save broken people.

 

The New York Times obituary page wrote of a fighter pilot who shot down 21 enemy planes in World War two and Korea. After two wars in which he lived; he died from the air so to speak from a yellow jacket sting. Brought down by an insect where ME 109's and Migs feared to tread.

 

My old friend streptococcus hemoliticus B has colonized my throat, and I am now committing mass murder via penicillin three times a day. So far the colony is hanging on, a valiant effort against difficult odds. The doctor said, " it looks like a viral sore throat, lets take a culture anyway ". It seemed he was interested in collecting twenty extra dollars as he was quite surprised to get a positive reading.

     This was the fever, and chills of a week ago, it just didn't go away, and the pain was too irritating to let go. It's curable: penicillin is wonderful stuff, an homage to moldy bread.

 

A girl came into the camera store, and asked about cameras in a very vague way." What about that one? " I like this one," etc. She picked out an " old fashioned " Minolta; was satisfied with the one lens left over that fit it, and left the store happy. She liked the camera she picked, and that was that!

     Most Newton people spend weeks reading Consumer reports: making lists, taking notes, and then going home unsatisfied anyway.

     The girl came behind the counter picked out what she liked, and went home happy.

 

8-7-89

 

I couldn't find my lucky fish, but found two turtles, and a television. The only thing I saw from last year was a chaise lounge.

     I still like Learnards pond wherever my lucky fish is. The turtles were together, and hid in the slime on the bottom.

     As a paean to having a strep throat I didn't dive deep or go over my head. Drowning never seemed a fun thing to do on a hot Summer day. I am glad I came here; choking or not. The turtles looked wonderfully wild - not aquarium turtles at all.

 

9-10-89

 

I just drove past 94 Central St., and felt very sad. There are new doors, a wood wall which raises the front lawn ( now a big dirt pile ) , and a new car out back where my long lost little trout used to live.

     I wanted to go inside, and see what was left of the old house, and at the same time didn't. I wanted to see the Stump on the window sill, and knew everything would be different inside.

     I wonder, and don't understand time: I was just there and thinking about tearing up a chunk of the linoleum from the kitchen floor to keep when I moved; and now I have moved, and long since tore out a linoleum piece, and put it in a drawer along with some drawings from Pam.

     The third old sofa was thrown out: and the folding red one tunneled through by the cats, and the green chair I actually bought and carried home, and the yellow plastic table, all gone.

     Well: so are the stereo people gone, and Acton is quiet, and no one robs me. It's still not home yet, but it's getting there, and I met my nice neighbors there, and have a giant television, and my old landlord can go hang.

 

8-11-89

 

I just bought a bright yellow camera case. It was a case of liking the box as much as the cameras. It is a divers case really; waterproof to thirty feet, and it floats so if the plane crashes on the way to Belgium at least my cameras will survive. I might not even put cameras in it. It is just so garishly yellow I had to have it. Might use it as a suitcase or a chair. Wonder if the 4x5 might fit in it folded? Anyway it's a great thing of itself: the color of my old table, a place to hold this notebook, and a portable table to write on.

     No thought or planning whatsoever went into the decision to buy the case, and I am glad. The world needs some impulsiveness; it felt good tossing it in back of my truck, to take home, and put things in.

 

8-17-89

 

The moon decided to undergo an eclipse last night. I drove up Bose hill behind the News to see a sorry Moon almost completely covered in clouds, but when I got home it came out into the clear; a perfect coppery color just like I had always read, but never seen.

     I gave the cats short hellos, grabbed binoculars, and sat on a rock in a field looking. I felt like me; the eclipse was a great thing to see. Today I am tired, but don't care, as I had to go out again at 1:00 AM. to look again at the half moon bright, and the half copper dark. It sat surrounded by stars.

 

The cat in the hall was yowling on the stairs above my head. It has the same approach avoidance waver that Pulsar has.

     I opened the door, and Sirius bounded out, and didn't see the other cat. I let it look around, but protected Sirius from the sight

     They missed each other: a good thing probably; teeth and claws and rent fur avoided by one cat who didn't look up, and another who didn't look down.

 

9-9-89

 

Getting headache thinking that Summer was over, but changed my mind when outside. Over 90 degrees, and I came to Learnards pond to look for my fish. Nice day: I found a grand child fish a foot long, the chaise lounge, and television found last time, and a plywood tabletop near where I found the coins years ago.

     This is one of the places I time my life with, like the Sudbury road, and the swamp where the pine tree lives in the middle.

 

Angel called: my barber from Cambodia. She opened a new store in Framingham, and asked me to come in. It has been three months since my last visit so a new haircut didn't seem an over extension or a superfluous waste.

     On the way there I turned into a restaurant parking lot past her place, and decided not to go out on route 9 again. The only reasonable alternative was to bash through the curb stones and rocks placed as a barrier to mere cars with my truck which gladly obliged.

     I got a flat tire for my moment of glory, and Angel came out to watch me search for my jack, tire iron, and WD-40. She saw a sling shot " a Japanese slingshot "' she said, that lived in a box in the back of the truck. She said something like " can I use it ", and I said yes. After my haircut I gave her some money which she put in a drawer containing my slingshot. She didn't steal it she meant : " can I have it ", to chase away dogs. I was stuck with the awkward situation of asking for it back or letting it go without comment.

     I didn't say anything; but it was mine. Not an old thing or I would have grabbed it despite the social confusion, so I let it go. Maybe she will think of me when she sees it.

 

I bought a lettuce today. I know I will keep it till it rots like the kiwi fruit.

     I took the picture of Pam ( the Hum ) out of my portfolio today, and put it in a drawer. It's been a long time. Sometimes I still expect to open the door, and her to tell me I am the nicenesses again. The picture is when she was lying in the grass the time we went to Mt. Cardigan, and climbed the roof of the hut, and looked at the stars. She was still a broken cup then, and she loved me till all the pieces were glued back together.

 

9-22-89

 

A loaf of bread jumped out of the pile at Star market. It landed on the floor next to me.

     Maybe it fell, but it appeared to jump. No one was there: it was bright and wanted me to buy it.

     It is sitting on the table now. It was a lucky thing. I am hungry, and would not have been able to eat a sandwich now without it.

 

 I bought a word processor so someone other then me can read my stories. The directions are an entire book. It even corrects spelling: presents a list of alternate words, and replaces the misspelled with the fixed word all by itself. It seems almost miraculous, a " homework " machine that correct errors, and types my unsynchronos pages in Tutonic order.

     It is a " personal word processor " relatively inexpensive, but more then adequate for what I need. I can store pages on computer disc, and recall them later I.E. cover letters, resumes etc. This PWP. may find me a decent job - at the very least it's something new to learn, and a lot of fun. It's a great gadget.

     I looked at fancier ( more expensive ) word processors and decided I needed a Pentax not a Leica, and would be perfectly happy being in less debt then more. Now after looking at the instruction book I am even happier as this machine has been designed for beginners ( I can barely type ) and the instructions can be followed.

     I will take the beast out of its box on Sunday and play with it. If I can commit a resume to its memory on day one I will be happy.

 

9-23-89

 

Horrible dream: I was in Belgium, but forgot all my cameras and film. I was also there a week early, and didn't have anyone to feed the cats. I tried to go home, but the ticket lady wouldn't listen to me.

     One doesn't need Freud to see this as an anxiety dream. I hope the real trip is better than the dream; if it isn't I will crush one of my fingers with A hammer so I can wake up fast.

 

My mother had one of the original IBM. typewriters with the ball in it. I remember thinking at the time how advanced it was, and wondering if I would ever think it obsolescent. The idea frightened me. Now I have its replacement, and wonder about the typewriters I can speak to being replaced by the ones where I only have to think the words.

 

9-27-89

 

Sirius looked at the television in such an unusual way. I was sitting next to the word processor in the kitchen; not a usual place, and turned on the old television. he sat up on the table with a look of wonder curiosity, and a little fear all together. His expression was what I would expect on seeing Martians for the first time. The other television must just seem a noisy light to a cat. For one brief instant he took an intellectual leap, and understood something cats are not supposed to know: the great secret of Humanity; the box.

     Piaget has always bothered me. He said that kids can only understand certain concepts at certain ages: I.E. the world is magic, and not logical at one age. If one said " the sky is green " a little kid might say " you are a liar the sky is blue ", and entirely miss the subtlety of lying that comes with age.

     What is missing from the final stage of Piaget's " adult ". What can't we see. The cat had a jump; a new level of understanding, a light bulb in his head. The other cats were chewing pork chop bones - he was relatively speaking in the stars.

     What about me? What is the next level?

 

9-29-89

 

The News is sending me to the Rolling Stones concert to take crowd shots at the entrance, and to collect film taken by another photographer to rush it back to the News. It's interesting to note that the collapse of the Soviet empire in Eastern Europe, the crushing of democracy in China, and forty wars being fought all over the World, the story all the papers are writing about is the Rolling Stones.

     Cat burglars are more honest then journalists. This is just one of a hundred media circuses I have been to. I would rather write in this notebook, or pat one of my cats, or brush my teeth.

     At least there are still purple flowers in August, and snails, and lucky fish.

     I started these books when I first saw Mark Klauk for therapy AKA wipe trouble ten years ago. Group ended earlier this week, and I am deeply sad about it, and also glad to be through it. Much has been gained though not all I had hoped. The story never had a happy ending: I never found wipe 2 or trout 2 or a combination or an entirely new unknown sort of animal. I am still stuck in a stupid job, and still often lost in a fog of being sad, and handcuffed. I do have much better tools for helping myself though, and more understanding of other Humans, and the strength to grab at opportunity when it shows up; or maybe I have to make it show up. Mark might be very surprised; but the best leftover of therapy are these books, and the stories they tell.

     The other people in the group have unfinished stories too. A very sensitive, and decent lady with a husband who deserves an old fashioned beating: her marriage is still not a resolved item, but she has the tools to resolve it. Another member also has a stupid job, and is way down on what his potential is; and another dropped out too early stuck in a rotten job on a graveyard shift with almost no friends. I will miss these people. The best part of group was learning other people have deep feelings, and there own stories to tell. Very, very few of the stories are finished; maybe if they were there writers would be dead.

 

I am thinking a lot of Pam, the trout, because of losing the group. When I feel sad at loss the biggest loss takes over the feeling.

     She should be eating chips with me by the roadside stands in Belgium. 

 

 

Trip is in another book

 

10-26-89

 

Confused to be back. I kept reaching for the emergency brake in the wrong spot, and the door opener on the wrong part of the truck. I was still driving my little white car with the water bottle in the door.

 

11-11-89 to 8-7-90

 

11-11-89

 

Pine Cone tomatoes come in a can that says " everyone likes it ". I followed the directions, and cut up an onion with a pound of hamburger, and a can of the tomatoes; I certainly liked it.

     Pine Cone tomatoes the color of this notebook. I bought them once before at the White Hen in Saxonville, and made the same supper at 94 Central Street, and ate it surrounded by cats.

 

11-18-89

 

The sadnesses today: I just found my map to Camping Versailles. I was just wondering about being home seeing my cats, feeling safe, being bored. Now I am home; the trip is over. Can't think clearly with headaches: no money, throbbing head which is dizzy, purple map to Camping Versailles in Porchefontaine; a suburb of a suburb on the train to Paris.

 

Thanksgiving 1989

 

I decided to go to the swamp even though it snowed 7 inches. The woods before were covered in new fluffy snow, and the field before was all tufts of grass dusted white. The swamp awaited with the broken tree I have visited every year since 1957. It's a white pine tree with two trunks that leans against a maple. It fell probably due to hurricane Carol in 1954. It's still alive; anyway last year it was alive. The tree is one of the things that I time my life with

: I used to dream that one day some one would share it with me, and once someone did, and that is past, but the comfort of the tree hidden in a swamp known only to me remains.

     I was in a field and someone yelled " who do you think you are, get off my land ". I said " all I want to do is take a few pictures ". He said, " get out ". I politely told him to go fuck himself. It almost came to blows. I almost wish it had. I hope he dies a slow miserable death all alone; and then wakes up in Hell.

     He reminded me of all the scum from the seventh and eighth grade who became car salesman, who in fact grew up to be him.

     I thought of putting the Stumps ashes by the tree. I thought of killing a man. I was reminded that in the World mixed in with plenty of nice people are some genuinely evil Human beings.

 

11-27-89

 

Sudbury road at least is still there; I took my RB-67 for the first time in about a year, and took some pictures that I cared about. It felt good. it felt like me.

     Pam ( the trout ) is trying to educate her kids at home. She doesn't want to " poison " them with public school. Maybe she is right - I sent her a long letter suggesting she start a private school as it would have more legal status than  " home study ". Sometimes I wish she would just come home at 9:00 o clock in the morning even though I know she never will.

     The original Pam ( wipe 2 ) called. She has a new phone number, and address; probably dumped Dan 2 or whatever his name was. Didn't ask - dangerous to get too involved in an old pattern. Her pattern is too evident: the fool she was living with probably asked her to marry him or otherwise become closer, and she bolted like a rabbit. I actually feel sorry for him.

     Pam said she once asked her father what he said when she was born, and he said, " I wanted a boy ". I don't think she has ever felt good about being an " unwanted " girl or about much else. I would like to go back forty years, and smack her father with a large stick. How can anyone say anything that hurtful?

 

12-1-89

 

It's my birthday, and I am still in this stupid camera store without any money.

     Debby just sent me a wonderful alligator. I feel better. It's malachite or jade; wonderfully green with wood like grain. Maybe its a crocodile: its face is narrow like a croc, it is made in Zaire where crocodiles are as common as squirrels or rats in Boston. It is made from one piece of rock carved out, even the feet it's heavy, and the colors are deep and complex. I like it a lot.

     African crocodile: it looks like my old rubber one that got stolen along with most of my cameras a few years ago.

     I like it very much.

 

I can still taste the green pepper. It was delicious cut up and fried with an onion and slices of steak.

     The cats ate raw meat with carnivorous gusto - like wild beasts on the African plains - mine was served on a bed of rice along with fried peppers and onions. Can't say who enjoyed the eating experience more.

     I lost my keys attached to there cliff hanger. I reached into my pocket in panic and horror at the Newtonville Christmas party in Boston. The keys might be lying in the snow lost forever, or in the truck, or on the Moon. The flashlight beam revealed them on the truck roof: the relief was complete joy. I drove home in the snow very happy.

 

12-17-89

 

I saw a baby bird frozen on the ground. Its nest and mother were only six feet away directly above seeming oblivious.

     Later I saw three orange kittens in a cage in a pet store. They were in a pile, and every time a bird chirped all six eyes moved as one.

 

I just ate Brussels sprouts, and just got a Christmas card from the original sprout.

 

12-29-89

 

My alarm clock broke. I awoke at ten minutes of nine.

     Last week I looked at clocks in CVS: I was desperate to find a little alarm clock in Belgium, and looked in a furniture store, a food store, a gas station: I walked a mile down a sleazy street in Brussels; drove to outlying towns, and couldn't find one. I was afraid of missing my early morning flight home, and couldn't sleep thinking about it. I didn't know the Flemish words for alarm clock: I was lost.

     Two identical clocks with round faces, and red circles looked at me. I couldn't decide which one to get so I bought a square one with a square face instead. I wish I had it in Belgium. Next trip I will bring it. 

 

12-22-89

 

New wrapper for peanut butter cups; intense orange, even brighter then the old wrapper. I always liked that color almost unnatural in intensity. It makes me happy to look at it.

 

12-29-89

 

The sadnesses today. Cold cloudy and dark outside and inside. I have been singing about trouts to myself and wanting to go home.

      I bought a new VCR., and should be all excited, but my old one was just fine until its insides decided to turn to charcoal, and I didn't even take the new one out of its box because Oscar was comfortably sitting on top of it.

 

1-23-90

 

The cats can be a pain sometimes; but this morning it was nice to see them lying around, and purring. They all seemed warm things like blankets or stuffed animals.

 

1-25-90

 

I applied for another job; at Boston college as a " photographic coordinator ". The word processor is a wonderful thing. I was able to type a perfect letter and matching resume on the same good paper, and send it off the next day.

     At least it gives me hope. The word processor allows me to go after jobs that look interesting without going through weeks of aggravation finding typists etc.

     Very glad Sears gave me a card; otherwise I couldn't buy it. Not only a fun thing to have, but extremely useful as well.

 

2-2-90

 

The oil was at the bottom of the dipstick: the water pump made squeaking noises, and I drove home by flashlight after the alternator died. I was thrilled to get home. The wipers didn't have enough power to wipe, and the clock dimmed out, but the motor never stopped till I shut the key in the Shell station in Acton.

     I got home.

     It was a nice day.

 

2-4-90

 

I didn't have any money at all save the six dollars left over from a rubber check cashed yesterday. Almost no gas: choices were 1. run out of gas, 2. eat, 3. feed cats.

     I always loved to look in my mailbox when I didn't have any money at all there would always be some to save me.

     I was at Newtonville, and I looked into the box where my " mail " is put, the orders of lousy film. In the box was a check with my name on it for 65 dollars. It was an insurance check for the strep throat of  months ago.

     Always look in your mailbox when you need money; if you really want it enough it's always sitting there in an envelope.

 

Looking at tiny rocks; feeling they are alive. Wonderful life forms. Maybe we go too far separating life from non life, as well as Humans from animals.

     I always liked rocks - they are the predominant life forms in deserts.

 

Horrible dreams and no sleep. My old green tent was in the garage of 94 Central St. or 36 Mountain Ave. I am not sure. I was hiding it there set up in a corner.

 

2-18-90

 

Snow fleas: little animals, " primitive " insects. The order collembolla to which snow fleas belong is apparently more common then ants. They are unnoticed because they are small: but they are one of the most successful creatures. Enough biology: they were out by the millions this weekend; jumping black spots on the snow. What do they feel? What is it like to be a snow flea?

     Pam Alexander was here walking with me on the ice, looking at snow fleas, playing with her new lens.

 

Sometimes it feels like nothing changes. I had a wonderful time looking at snow fleas, and sliding around on the ice with Pam Alexander, and today five minutes ago the brother of the other Pam ( the Hum ) came into Newtonville camera and said , " Pam says hi ". I said, " I miss her I think she knows that ", and had to keep from crying. I miss her like she wasn't home, and will come home tonight or at 9:00 o'clock in the morning. Also her brother is going to Haiti where I dreamed of big trouble for Pam's little girl. I knew Haiti was in the picture and Pam must not go there.

 

3-5-90

 

There are more than four seasons. This is the one of melting ice: early Spring or late Winter, or a name of its own.

     I am at Pellham Island road looking at patches of ice and melting snow. I walked out onto a swamp reserved for frogs in the Summer. The ice held this time, and the weeds of last Fall were beautiful. Last week in a different swamp the ice didn't hold, and I fell through up to my belly button.

     This week was luckier

Swamps are the best places. The frogs will be out soon.

 

3-8-90

 

I went to sleep early, and dreamt I was in Iowa. I remember going outside in the rain at night, and waking up to a sunny sky on one side, and a gray one on the other. It was a beautiful Iowa sky which was always the best feature of the landscape there.

     The cats were all wonderful this morning: it felt exceptionally good to have there company. Sirius was on me purring, and Oscar and Pulsar were on the floor together with contented looks on there faces.

     Pulsar has finally learned to come over to me for attention. It only took ten years; but she likes to be patted as much as the others.

 

3-20-90

 

Purple pen is back. I found Lindy purple pens again: and the frogs are out, and I got a new lens. Spring has arrived. The lens is a 25 to 50 mm. zoom; a most unusual lens in all the wide angles I like. Very pleased with it.

 

3-26-90

 

I just took Oscar to the vet. She has milliary dermatitis; a raw oozing sore. She is a good kitty. I worry about her, she is fifteen years old. She hated going to the vet. I had to chase her all over the house. Now at home she is purring.

 

4-11-90

 

I haven't been writing much in this book because I have been writing my trip story on the word processor

     I found a new rock on the street in Newton. It has scratches on it from being run over. I didn't like the idea of it being scratched so I took it home. I don't think a rock should live four billion years only to be squashed by a car in Newton.

 

I wanted to keep the box the fixer came in. Its just an old box. I always like found things.

 

4-19-90

 

The News sent me to Mendon; and I drove along the road leading to Southwick animal farm.

     It made me very sad. I always went there with my trout. It was the most special place we went. I never went there since she left. We saw baby goats playing at being goats: and had picnic lunch, and most of all we saw a strange African cow with great horns. Whenever we went to the farm we looked for this cow. We also looked at a strange lobster in an aquarium in a pet store; I looked at it for months after she left.

 

4-25-90

 

Wonderful mountain climbing trip with Randy. We met at Pinkham Notch, and climbed to Carter notch hut. It was wet ice: snow that was crusted, and broke beneath our feet, and it was a long way up.

     We climbed on a boulder field of serious risk; both of us with tremendous balance. I fell once gouging a chunk out of a finger; and stepped into a hole scraping my leg. These were all honorable injuries earned in noble battle.

     We met nice people in the hut: a pretty girl who used to be on drugs, but gave them up, and her brother , and his girl friend, and the hut master. I was thrashed in Monopoly. I sold the girl three railroads for Mediterranean, and proceeded to land on them till bankrupt.

     They were nice people. It was a great trip. I still love the mountains, and water flowing over boulders cold as ice.

     I remember the light at 4:00 AM. a gentle glow pre sun rise. It was 15 or 20 degrees; the air was like cold water.

 

5-2-90

 

I just bought a wonderful new pen. It is an obvious copy of a Mount Blanc hundred dollar pen, but only cost 5.98 and is just fine. It takes Parker refills: is made in Korea of red plastic, and is a statement. The statement is that Mount Blanc pens belong in the hands of people from Newton. This pen already has a worn look. It belongs in my pocket, and writing in this notebook.

 

I finished my story about Europe. I left out the last few days, and Holland, and the sadness of leaving my little white car.

     Maybe I will write another story. Advise to writers is, " write about something you know ". What I know best is about trouts and about wipers: maybe I can write an entire book, we are the Hum, why not?

 

I had a dream. I was climbing Mt. Washington in the Winter. It was terribly steep, and the way up was wet ice. I was riding a dog sled up a steep part, and Sirius was as big as a lion and was pulling the sled. His claws dug in the wet ice. I held onto the sled, but stepped off the runner in order to help push on the steep part.

     Dog sleds are a good idea, but cat sleds are much better on wet ice.

 

5-22-90

 

I took the cardboard tube with the face I drew on it home. I had another one a long time ago and someone threw it out.

     Now I feel too sad today to risk someone throwing this one out so I am taking it home. I like things like that much more than gold Rolex watches or the like; not just empty talk, it's the way I feel.

     I wish taking it home: a part of Newtonville, was also saying good-by to this place forever.

 

5-27-90

 

This is the second time I found a Milky Way hidden in a drawer. Survival food.

 

5-29-90 

 

She had five cats: Mr. Spike was missing. She stood behind a screen door: she was wearing kitchen things; and her apartment smelled of cookies. She was very upset, and sad, and I told her not to worry, that my cat Oscar went exploring for five days only to walk on my head at four in the morning as though she never left.

 

6-10-90

 

I was looking at endless boxes of slides: Pam was there looking at me with wonderful loving eyes. She would have said I was the nicenesses if I was there. Finding that buried picture is more than sad. I miss her more than anyone.

     All of the special things she was: the Hum, and the trout, and the mrout brain. She should have been my wife. She should have always been here.

 

I once had a pet hornet. I found it in the snow dying beneath its paper nest. I took it home, and fed it some maple syrup. It lived a long time on a diet of honey, syrup, and food scraps: in a bowl with a red plastic glass as a house.

 

6-12-90

 

I saw three wild animals on my way home from the " news ". An opossum walked in the road in Maynard; big, rat like, friendly looking. I was glad I was driving slow so I could avoid hitting him. I was worrying that the car behind me might run him over when a raccoon jumped in front of me. When I got home and parked beside the dumpster another raccoon jumped out.

 

 

Looking at slides is the hardest thing. I keep finding Pam 2 looking at me. She probably doesn't even have the gray hat with the pin in it, or the checkered " tablecloth shirt ".

     I never found anyone else like her again. It's been about ten years. I went out with Didi Atlas, and a few others; I struggle to remember there names.

     The light just went out when she left. All the time it feels like she is late coming home.

 

7-7-90

 

I just bought the ugliest sneakers possible, and am laughing about it. I bought some unassuming but comfortable white sneakers, and for half price could get a second pair. I found the ugliest black sneakers with strange soles with wobbly cleats - they cost six dollars, and I think they are wonderful.

     It's the Summer, and everyone ought to have new sneakers in the Summer; even six dollar ugly ones.

 

7-11-90

 

I played golf in the black sneakers: they are comfortable, it is Summer.

 

I had a strong dream last night. I was in a European city and saw Bill Edmunds there, and Pam Simpson ( her new married name ). I said hi surprised to find Bill there, and a confused hello finding Pam. They both wondered off, and I spent the rest of the dream wondering around looking for them.

 

I got a new telescope; it felt good looking at things, and being like me. I saw a moth on the ground from a hundred feet away. I walked over, and found a beautiful creature with purple edges on his wings. From twenty feet I could see its proboscis searching for food.

 

A road full of cats last night. A mother cat, and about eight kittens. I hope they ran home so they wouldn't be hit by a car. They were beautiful.

 

7-22-90

 

 

I just looked for my lucky fish. Maybe he is hiding, but I found a monster fish anyway. I found the television underwater, and the chaise lounge, and three almost big fish, and lots of healthy babies.

     I am sitting on a yellow curb stone at Learnards pond; glad to look for my lucky fish.

 

7-29-90

 

A big spider attached itself to my truck, and dangled through the window as I drove. I closed the window causing the spider to rope itself to the door just outside my window. It was tan: seemed to have more then its allocated eight legs, and curled up in the wind. I pulled over, and pried it off the truck with an envelope, letting it settle into the grass in search of a spiders meal.

 

8-9-90

 

Stopped on the way home from work; Sudbury river flood plain wonderfully purple. The swamp flowers are spectacular; much better than coming home to television. I met a girl taking pictures of the same purple flowers. Her name is Lisa Cohen, and she is going to Eastern Europe tomorrow.

     I was on my way home, because the idea of going to exercise club was hideous. Had a vacation instead.

 

Dream: I was leaving the house ( 94 Central St. ), and saw Pam in her house. She was wearing her red checked shirt. Her little boy was with her. She was putting something in the oven.

     I drove to " Newton " which looked like Belgium. I was lost trying to go home.

     I woke up.

 

8-3-90

 

National Geographic has an article about salmon. It reminded me of the place in Alaska with a river full of bright orange salmon.

     It was a rainy day on my way back, and I stopped at a road sign marked " salmon run ", and walked through squishy moss covered woods to a stream with so many big fish it made my eyes bulge. I liked this place better than Denali or all the standard places. It was quiet, and filled with wonder.

 

8-7-90

 

I bought a gallon picnic water jug, Maybe it's for lemonade or iced tea. It was 1.99 at CVS. and though broke I bought it anyway.

 

Oscar was lying on my stomach. Sirius always sits on me, Pulsar never,  and Oscar for about the second time in her life.

     Last night I walked outside to look for meteors. It was too light in the parking lot so I walked to a big field, and sat on a rock. I saw one meteor, and two fireflies in the grass, and walked back home to find two of my neighbors kids outside at 1:00 AM. They said," they heard something in the hall ", and were out till 2:00 AM talking to me.

     It was fun.

 

 

8-29-90 to 6-17-91

 

8-29-90

 

I called my sisters to look at the turtle. Soon there were seven turtles, heads poking up, some as big as plates.

     An alligator swam to greet us; the first one I ever saw outside of a zoo. I am looking at it now; two and a half feet long. It chewed gently on a cheerio crunching on it slowly, and letting the unswallowed oat scum float out of its mouth.

     This is at a pond at a condominium at Hilton Head island in South Carolina.

 

I am sitting under a porch writing this letter after midnight by the light of lightning strikes; a bit nervous being barefoot as the lightning has revealed an alligator resting out of water twenty feet away. It's only three feet long, but might bite off a toe or two given a tasty chance.

     I have just gone inside! The alligator is now fifteen feet away, and I like my feet.

 

I rented a blue Chevy Geo and drove to Pinkney island wildlife sanctuary. Hot white gravel road with salt water swamps on both sides. A mile up was a fresh water pond with Ibis resting in a tree like a picture of Africa.

 

I went out for Pepto Bismol to swig down out of the bottle. Does anyone drink out of the little plastic measuring cup on top? On the way back an alligator appeared on a golf course. It rested on the rough next to a " water hazard ", and was eight feet long.

     Sherry was playing golf already, so I got Debby, and we drove back to look at it; a wonderful beast. I went around it over a bridge through the woods through a yard. When I got too close the alligator jumped in the water, but he floated close enough to the edge to let me take pictures of his face. 

 

The poor fish flopped and died too slowly. It was a sting ray or a skate with shiny brown skin. The people who caught it just let it die on a board. I don't think they even wanted to eat it. It was a " junk " fish and it died too slow.

 

Other fish were jumping in the pond at the golf course. They were eating flies right out of the air. One fish made three evenly spaced jumps in a straight line. On the fourth jump a six foot alligator snapped the fish out of the air like a fly. It didn't die too slow; it was swallowed whole.

 

The pond behind this house contains giant fish possibly carp. A school of about eight fish up to two feet long, and quite fat swam up to the shallow end. They seem to have displaced the two alligators, and the turtles.

 

I am hiding in an air conditioned car watching the alligators swim. This is the Savannah wildlife refuge, and an eight foot alligator is swimming towards me now. They are wonderful things fulfilling all my expectations.

     I talked with a Black family fishing. The accent is so strong I missed a few words, but had a good conversation about some " White northern boys ", who came into the swamp with fancy black rods, caught two fish and went home. The man I was talking to had a bamboo stick with a worm on it, and a basket full of fish. He nonchalantly moved his worm whenever a large alligator swam too close. There are three alligators in view now.

 

Later I saw seven alligators swimming in a canal. I took off my shirt and rested on a small dam I fell asleep with no worries about being eaten: though I looked once in a while just to make sure.

 

It was 95 degrees: beetles covered the car, it was amazingly hot. I asked the black man fishing, " is this winter for you, or is it hot ",and he said " it's hot ". Things became blurry: I took a picture of a white bird through the window of the car, looked for alligators, it was hot.

 

9-20-90

 

I found a margarine container at Triple A. It was white with red polka dots with a red top. It didn't have any label, and none of the other unopened packages had a tub like it.

     I took it home: a mystery spread. It was like my television; a surprise.

     I bought some blue cotton gloves too. I felt sad, and they made me happy. Last week I was with alligators: this week Newton.

 

9-27-90

 

A small spider lives in a tangled web at the bottom of the steps leading to the lab at Newtonville camera. She probably lives on fruit flies of which many hover about the barrels down here.

I wonder what a spider thinks.

 

I walked back from the leaf. It was a Maple not quite walked on. but squashed flat somehow; maybe from the rain.

I picked it up and took it home.

 

Two years ago I painted the ceiling, and taped the wall along the top in an attempt to keep the paint on the ceiling. When pulling off the tape chunks of paint fell off.

     I just filled in the chipped wall with spackle. I don't know why, I had the spackle for four years having bought it when I moved. Maybe I will paint the walls.

     It is wonderfully quiet here; only crickets, and birds.

 

10-3-90

 

The New York Times had a letter about my little white car an AX-10 Citroen from France. I always wondered why it only needed gas three times in a thousand miles. It seems like it gets 76 miles per gallon. I loved that car, and wanted to take it home.

 

I wonder who the pigeon was who was eating seeds in the parking lot. It had bands on its feet, and didn't seem to mind humans getting close.

 

10-18-90

 

It is a very severe thunderstorm: the Stump would hate it.

 

10-20-90

 

I just found a blue thrown away piece of a ball-point pen. It's bright shiny metallic; a pretty thing on a rainy day.

 

Yesterday I was climbing in the Berkshires with Paul Kaptyn, and Chris Fitzgerald. The hike was too long. I knew it was dangerously long. My stomach felt as though punched: sick, climbed anyway.

     It got dark as I knew it would. I assumed that Fitzgerald who knew these mountains picked an easy trail out that twilight would be good enough to light. Twilight turned to plain dark, and clouds made it hopeless. After falling in a stream I had had enough of this foolishness, and took a roll of toilet paper a stick, and a Bik lighter, and made a torch. If not for this solution a truly miserable night in the woods would have been the result: rainy, blanketless, and filled with mosquitoes.

    

11-13-90

 

Oscar ate some of Sherry's beef stew, even the mushrooms, and a green bean. The other cats didn't even look at it.

 

11-25-90

 

It's Thanksgiving, and I went to the Sudbury road. I couldn't go swamping. I feel like going there now to see my tree. I hope the person who owns the swamp goes to hell.

 

11-29-90

 

I was looking for a fish in Pier One. Randy saw a plate in the shape of a fish in a window in Montreal, and said he liked it. I found a similar fish in Framingham for thirty nine dollars which I might not be able to afford.

     I saw a candle holder of heavy glass covered with bells, and leaves. I bought it as a present for me. It was gaudy, but bright and shiny, and I liked it.

 

12-14-90

 

I want to get a computer to write with: also to store all these notebooks in. Most of the items of an electronic nature are not creative. A television is good, or wasteful depending what is on, but it is not a creative thing; nor are stereos. One can play the seventh symphony of Beethoven or top forty, but a record player can't do anything but play someone else's music.

     Computers can be like televisions. There are lots of games to be lost in or it can be as creative as a good pen, and notebook, and when finished someone else can read it. I really like the word processor I already have. It's what interested me in computers. It seems a magic homework machine. I can write without anyone saying they can't read my writing, and it fixes my spelling.

     A computer simply holds more, and I will be able to shift from one half finished story to another at the same time.

 

Newtonville camera made an error, and paid me twice at one time. My old mortgage check which had already bounced twice ( forty dollars in fines

) was resubmitted, and would have bounced a third time were it not for Newtonvilles error.

     Last week I wrote a new mortgage check to replace the bounced one. It apparently was accepted as this months double payment covered it. If it were not for this error I would be living in a dumpster right now. Next week I will probably not be paid at all, but I have received a 396 dollar check in the mail from the medical insurance company for x-rays. It will pay for food instead. What a way to live.

 

I woke up at 4:00 AM. and can't fall back asleep.

 

I saw a TV. movie about the man who made the Wizard of Oz as told by his wife. It made me cry. His wife stuck by him no matter what. Maybe people in 1880 had better lives then ours. The family as depicted in the movie was wonderful. Dorothy it seems was a real person; a cute little girl that Frank Baum knew, and who died still little of pneumonia. He gave his wife an emerald, and it meant something.

     I have been having angry dreams about Pam Alexander: what I always wanted it seems was the love of an 1880's family, and she always wanted the vacant emptiness of a 1980's " relationship ".

     Baums life was hard: full of pain, and smashed dreams, it wasn't a " success ", till late; but he was never alone, and that is the difference. He always had someone at home to come home to.

 

12-26-90

 

I said mrout, and it jumped on my shoulder; one of the kitties at Randy's house. I sent a letter to the second Pam months ago from Vermont. She answered with a Christmas card inquiring about my stomach aches and health. I wrote mrout to her because she is the only one in the world it would mean anything to so she will know I still love her.

 

12-28-90

 

I got a new battery for the green truck. That and a cutting board cheered me up immensely. Both are things I had wanted for a long time.

     They always seemed extra; like luxuries second to something else. The cutting board is hard wood filled with imperfections odd grain patterns, and soon cuts. It's a nice thing I will have as long as anything. It will eventually have a used old look.

     The battery means I can start the truck without jumper cables. It's like a new heart. For some reason I think batteries are like glue: they fix old things, they make them alive again. They make me happy. Car batteries are also wonderfully heavy solid things; cubes of new life.

 

1-1-91

 

I always like the old things. I liked the old cast iron lamppost in Dorchester. I like my old things. I like something to stay the same.

     I refused to watch that hideous ball go down in Times square. Millions of people celebrate getting closer to the grave.

 

1-4-91

 

I got a roll of slides back of Sudbury road, and of woods in Concord, and Acton. One of the pictures is of two backlit " weeds " . The leaves glow yellow. This picture brings me back to my center. All the pictures on this roll do, but this is particular. It was just a " dead weed ", most people would pass by or step on, but it was and is the greatest beauty; alone in the cold, bright, and beautiful.

 

1-15-91

 

The war started today. I heard it on the radio in the parking lot in the rain. It made me cry. I have nothing against the Iraqi people. It's very sad: people will remember, and be hurt by those they lost for a hundred years.

     I thought the president was right though: even, and despite all the pain. I feel sorry for the people in Kuwait too who had there country stolen, and will feel safer for Israel if Saddam is squashed.

     Maybe it will be over quickly. Maybe all the new weapons ( cruise missiles, stealth fighters, radar jammers ) will work, and this will end. Who knows.

 

1-27-91

 

I am sitting in the truck in Donelans supermarket parking lot at 7:33 PM.

     Inside the store in the center of the first isle are white plastic flower pots I walked past, but kept thinking about what It was that was in them. The leaves were thin scraggly things pale green with white stripes. I ran back, and looked at the label stuck in a plastic spike in the dirt of the scraggliest one of all, the one in the upper left corner. "Crocus" it said; a nice thing to wonder about in the middle of January. It is two degrees outside, but crocuses live, at least in white plastic flower pots.

 

Oscar is digging in the garbage. No matter what food is left out she searches for more; happily licking some slime out of a can. She is more a jackal than a cat.

     I just called her a bacteria to no avail: insults won't help. I went over, and tied the garbage bag shut to keep her from suffocating in an orgy of yesterdays food.

 

1-27-97

 

I bought two green peppers last week. One I chopped up into spaghetti sauce, and the other one lived in a bag along with some cat food, and some crackers.

     Today I made soup out of vegetables, tomato, turkey, and rice. Long after it was boiled down to a feast, and the stove turned off I found the green pepper next to the cat food in a brown paper bag.

     It is in my hand now: it has two eyes on it where it has rotted through. It is quite a beautiful thing even half rotten: the softness gives it a weird texture; heavy, and damp.

     I wonder if green peppers have feelings. If it does it is saying, " I am the most beautiful thing in the world ", and certainly its at least as smart as certain cats I know.

     The pepper isn't really green, but greens. There is yellow in it, and black, and a subtlety of tonality and reflectance.

If the television was on I would not be studying a vegetable I would BE a vegetable. This half hour has been the best spent all week. Wonders really are everywhere.

     I wish I could keep the pepper

     Like the kiwi fruit in the refrigerator.

 

2-4-90

 

Today I went looking for owls with Pam Alexander. It was sixty degrees out: like early Spring, and all the owls were hiding.

 

I remember sitting on the roof of the hut on Mt. Cardigan, and looking at stars with the other Pam.

 

I went out with three answers to my ad in Jewish Singles magazine. They were all a long way from what I had and lost, and from what I want. One was overweight a city person: she had an old wreck of a car I liked, and seemed a decent enough person, but not for me. Two was a therapist who was late for breakfast due to a lecture on Woman and the Bible, and why they are not much mentioned. She also was too old for me. Three was a short round looking creature with pudgy fingers. She also was not a bad person just not for me. She never went camping and didn't have the feeling for nature that I do.

 

These notebooks are like pictures. Last night I looked at the Colorado trip from 1967. Some of the things I remember were not in the book at all; but the book certainly helped I if not forgot put in hiding. It was like a set of notes that triggers a symphony instead of a tune.

     I didn't write about Shiprock; how much it scared me. It took fifteen years of avoidance before I dared look at it again. Something lives there: not human, and not overly pleasant.

 

I found a few buds from a nearby tree lying on a wet sidewalk. I just put them in a plastic jar; they are the first beginnings of Spring.

 

I am looking at a cardboard tube, and a bottle of orange juice. They seem to be glowing; light falling on them from one side.

     I have always felt everything is alive, and has feelings. I felt this way since I was two.

Nothing else makes sense.

 

I wrote the Hum about the green pepper and how it wasn't green: but greens, a subtle interaction of colors near each other, but different.

     I found it in a bag next to some cat food. It looked at me with two eyes which were the beginnings of rot. I looked at it, turned it around. It was a wonderful collection of colors.

     We are strange creatures who eat beautiful things in order to stay alive.

     We should at least appreciate the great beauty. Everything alive around us.

 

2-28-91

 

Yesterday I found the strangest nail lying in some gravel. It was about three inches long, and much thicker then an ordinary nail, and it had a series of grooves along the length of it. It was also strangely heavy. I took it home.

 

I didn't have anything to eat at home; but found some Bisquick flour, and a little milk. I made some thin dough and cooked some cookie sized loaves of bread.

 

The nail is home now in front of the television on a table with three rocks, two metal fish, a little clock, and a plastic pear.

     I bought the pear for five cents once. It is green sparkly plastic; garish, and wonderful. I stepped on it once, and it popped like a run over ball; but I glued it back together with vinyl cement. Unlike Humpty Dumpty: I fixed it.

3-7-91

 

 

I always liked the sunshade. It always fell off, and I always found it somehow: on the floor of the truck, or behind a seat, or outside next to the door.

     I liked the fact that it was always likely to do something quite unexpected, and  that it was an old thing from a lens I used to have. It lived on the " new " 85 mm for 15 years.

     I just remembered that it lived on a knob in the green truck when it lived on Nadine road; so I had it longer than fifteen years.

     I always dropped it, and I always found it again. There are only two things saved from my original Nikon: a gray flash shoe, and the sun shade from my 50 mm. f 1.4 long stolen lens. This lived for 15 years on an 85 mm lens of a heavy metal type not available anymore. Modern lenses in order to be able to autofocus are mostly light plastic. The old lenses are brass, and aluminum with the glass elements held in place by brass rings screwed in place in the barrels, and not meant to be anything, but lenses that last forever.

     I just left the Natick town hall where I covered a meeting for The Tab. I went to the bathroom, and after flushing closed the door which knocked off the sunshade with a ping. It landed in the flushing toilet and was gone.

     It was a nice old thing. Gone in such a stupid way.

     People die like that too.

 

3-17-91

 

I walked to the new bridge over a stream across from Wampus Ave. The trees were orange with late sun; the first insects out, and I took my old Nikormat along with the FM-2. I liked being there.

     I saw some white foam on the water, and wondered that the island of bubbles will never be the same again in exactly the same way. It changed before my eyes: white almost like snow only moving.

 

3-29-91

 

Driving home almost dark: I barely saw a small herd of deer in a field. It was a flash of deer; like seeing a sign. I stopped, and walked back. They were gone back to shadows.

 

4-25-91

 

One of the covers was missing from a film developing can. Someone threw it away " because it leaked ". It was alive to me. It had marks like old scars. I had long ago planned on stealing it when I left the place.

     I dug it out of the barrel, and am taking it home. It's black plastic with gouges and old cuts. I will put it on my shelf of favorite things. It will remind me of what I liked here: the quiet of shutting doors, and not being bothered, the ability to think what I wanted in a little room.

     I am seeing an employment councilor who is very good. For the first time in years it seems possible to leave this place. It seems the only thing I like here is the ability to shut the World out: there is nothing else nothing challenges, every day is boring. Most of the time I want to go home. Little things like friendly plastic covers make me happy; most of the day is lost.

 

4-30-91

 

All the job information so far has been kept in a single 9x12 inch envelope stolen from Newtonville camera. It is bulging, and torn, and the outside is covered in notes.

     Yesterday in order to save the envelope further suffering I procured a new notebook the color of decaying tongues. It was so repulsively ugly I put it away and bought a bright yellow one; but could not resist the pinkish hue of the ugly one. It now resides in a knapsack - it's certainly easy to find. I just flip through the stack of papers till one sticks its tongue out.

     It reminds me of a ball called a pinky that was a standard item in the two corner stores in Dorchester. I must have owned a hundred of them all of which eventually rolled down the same sewer. Actually the color of this notebook is precisely that of a pinky that has resided in a sewer for a hot June, July, and August.

 

5-13-91

 

Incredibly hot: sitting in the truck in the bookstore parking lot. I went into the secret woods behind the bookstore. I froze:  something is moving through the leaves, something big. Crunch, crunch, crash; where is it? It was at least as big as a fox; maybe a dear, but nothing.

     Then sproing, sproing, leapt a frog out of the dry leaves, and onto the road followed by a snake. I read that snakes hunt by stealth carefully sneaking up on there victims for one quick strike. Evidently this snake never read Petersons field guide to reptiles, it was almost flying. Snakes " can not go faster than a man can walk ", I read somewhere else. This snake couldn't go faster if it had legs. The frog was losing the race; it tumbled down just reaching the edge of a puddle, and safety when its left thigh was snapped with a fleshy thunk as the snake snapped its jaws shut.

     Snakes swallow there food whole. They can't bite out chunks, and therefore need to eat things head first. The frog was screaming horrible sounds. Bubbles came out of its mouth, and its eyes were open as can be in horror. The snake didn't coil around being exhausted which gave me the chance I needed. I ran down the hill, and when it released its hold I chased it away. The frog leaped away to deeper water, and buried itself in the mud. 

 

5-18-91

 

Ticks still live on Sudbury road. It was a perfect day there with new leaves: tiny grape leaves, and poison ivy. I am trying new film out " Velvia " made by Fuji in a bright green box.

     Wonderful cool Spring day; perfect weather to think about things.

 

5-26-91

 

N-6000 is the name of a new camera. I drew a blue stripe on the bottom of its box, and hid it for three months.

     I haven't bought a camera in at least five years; being perfectly happy with my old ones. No one seems to buy this particular camera which is no reason why I should not. It doesn't have autofocus, and it's not an old fashioned design: therefore it falls between two large holes. A traditional camera buyer looking for a chrome plated aluminum, and heavy metal would detest its black plastic, and a " new " camera buyer would say " no autofocus, why bother ". For me it's the best of both worlds. It uses all my old non auto focus lenses, and has all sorts of things I never had before like a motor winder DX film reader, and a very bright focusing screen.

     I like this new camera a lot. I like it because no one else does, and it does everything I want it to do well, and for less money then an autofocus which at this time is a positive attribute.

 

It was so hot I went home: but walked to the pond in the swamp across the street. I really like the new camera though I might not tell the " professionals" at the News. They all insist on " professional " cameras. What really feels good is going outside today, and taking the pictures I wanted to take, and like taking. It has taken three months of being away from The News to get the bad taste out of my mouth.

     Today I liked taking pictures.

 

On the counter next to two rusty can openers, and a tipped over jar of mustard is a bottle of olive oil. It's really quite beautiful: both the bottle, and the color of the oil.

     It's raining out now; a good time to be inside with my cats.

 

All the stores were closed, and I " didn't have anything to eat ". It was such a nice day I refused to let such a minor dilemma be a problem. I found six month old Eggbeaters in the freezer. I made scrambled eggs with chopped up hot dogs in them ( old dogs, a new trick ), and found some potatoes with too many eyes in them which I gouged out, and made a big plate of mashed eyeless potatoes to go with the hot dog eggs. It was a feast from scraps. I needed this peaceful day: it was nice.

 

5-31-91

 

Oscar said good-by to me last night. I knew she was sick; she looked sad. I patted the brown spot behind her ear. Not brown really almost peach.

     I was afraid to open the door. She was lying on the floor. She was alive, buy barely, and I brought her to the hospital where she is now. Kidney failure probably; she will die of it. I paid anyway for tests to see if she can come home and sit on the television or behind my head on the rolled up futon.

     I liked when she broke the window screen down, and went bounding through the woods: a happy cat on springs.

     Over the last year she started looking a little weak; but she never stopped being a nice cat.

    

The vet just called; Oscars kidneys are working. Maybe she will be all right, Mrout. They strongly hinted at the emergency cat hospital that instead of spending the money on a lost cause I should think of " putting her to sleep ". I would have wondered all my life if she might have recovered. If Oscar comes home I am getting her some Bumble Bee tuna for lunch. None of the cats have much of an appetite lately. Maybe the heat, maybe they are all infected with something. The vet doesn't know why Oscar is sick.

 

 

6-1-91

 

 

Oscar died.

 

I saw her lying in the hospital with a tube going to her arm with tears running out of her eye. She could hardly move. I could not let her be killed like the Vet wanted. She died naturally a few hours later.

     I am looking at all the places she liked: the bath tub where she insisted on drinking the disgusting water next to the drain, and her blue pillow, and the television, and behind my head on the rolled up futon.

 

I just called to have Oscar cremated like the Stump.

 

Sirius is running around as though nothing has happened. Pulsar, I worry about her. Oscar was her mother, and always licked her face, and they both purred. Now she is all alone. The only attention Sirius ever paid her was to bite her.

 

I just looked in the freezer, and found some fish sticks. I always made extra ones because Oscar liked them too. I crumbled them, and ran cold water on them while she chirped and stared at me. Oscar always liked chicken too and had to always have some of mine when I made it.

 

6-2-91

 

I took the Stump out of the truck. His ashes were in an unopened box for a year or two. Today I opened the box and found a Japanese scene painted on a small metal box with the Stumps ashes inside. Oscar will be next: soon enough four little tin boxes will be all that is left of my Mrouts.

     I miss the ones that are gone.

 

6-15-91

 

Pulsar just lies under the cabinet: she actually let me pat her today. Her fur is all matted; she looks old. I pat her and see such a sad thing. Pulsar was always a big fluffy thing; she looks scrawny, and empty now.

 

6-16-91

 

I threw out the old cat litter pans; two of them. I thought Oscar was going to the bathroom outside the litter boxes because she was sick, but obviously the urine on the floor isn't hers. Maybe she was sick, and the smell of her urine made the other cats avoid the box.

I bought a new one today as an experiment; I hope it works.

     Poor Pulsar doesn't look good at all. She actually let me pat her, but spends all day alone.

 

5-17-91

 

I took Pulsar to the doctor today because she looked horrible. She probably has cancer; the doctor found a tumor. The poor thing; too sad without Oscar to want to live. It's too quiet, only Sirius left. Pulsar probably won't live: the cancer is probably all through her; she is too skinny.

     Mrout: I think of all four when they were healthy, and of Pam next door in her tablecloth red and white checked shirt. and her hat with the pin in it.

I am all alone and empty.

I can't imagine ever loving someone like that again. Pam Alexander  for some odd reason has become closer as the friend she wanted then she has been for a long time; but I miss my Mrout most of all, and being the nicenesess again.