The Cambridge Chronicles

Its a beautiful Spring-like day, and we've had several of them recently. I'm walking along the street. A police siren. I turn to look. They go by. Its not a regular police car, but like an unmarked, or plainclothes car. Just then a fantasy pops into my head. The police stop. They take their guns and order me to stop. I put my hands up but they shoot anyway. I'm hit! Suddenly Cheyenne is there beside me. She screams and grabs hold of me. The wound is not fatal. Suddenly the one who shot me starts to scream. His skin is starting to boil and erupt. The flesh shreds. Blood is everywhere. It becomes putrid. The entire body resembles an enormous rotting and stinking carcass. I warn the other officer the same will happen to him if he shoots. That's the end. I go on and think about writing this little fantasy. Maybe it would make the start of a good science fiction story. Then more ruminating about the problem of writing without writing for someone to read. These fantasies of having enormous success through this preoccupy me a lot lately. Simone and I did not sleep together last night. She tells me of getting sick and vomiting this morning. I wonder if it isn't because of that. She and I and Dana talk about for awhile in the afternoon. She had a long talk with Carol last night. Carol is complaining again about nobody cares about her. Especially that nobody cares about her the way people care about Simone. But she doesn't do the things that Simone does. She never goes out of her way to do anything for anyone. She then expects everyone to approach her. Simone tells her how she sees the situation. She is constantly putting me down to Simone and wonders how she could possibly see anything in me. But poor Carol never stops to look and see all the things I do for Simone. An unpleasant situation. It stays that way because Simone is never straightforward enough or forceful enough to really make her think about what she is doing. And so she goes on moaning about her sad fate, consuming gallons of ice cream, exercising like crazy, staying overweight, hiding in her room, and still wondering what's wrong. Simone asked me to fuck yesterday afternoon. Ok, I says after we talk about it. We undress. She starts complaining about something, don't remember what, starts to have second thoughts about it. This makes me mad. I decide to get dressed and go back to work. I have the feeling of having done this to get even with her for interrupting the mood. It was not easy to change it back to something more pleasant. But we talk before she and Dana leave for their dream group. Last night I dreamed of being an on-call 24-hour a day plumber, living on FH. There's a call. Its from one of the Kennedy family members. One that nobody knows about. He's 61 years old. Lives in a suburban type house. Some pipe or hose is plugged and he's not getting fuel for his furnace. Its very cold. Suddenly the scene switches to a World War II tank battle. Then back to the blocked fuel line. I find the problem. It is only necessary to shake some part of the mechanism holding the fuel line and everything is ok. Then it seems that Dana has something to do with the dream. A tall blond man. It seems like Dana but not quite. The end. I have though of a number of things to write about today. In my head it seems perfectly clear as to what its all about. The problem comes for me in transforming this mental picture to the rather dimensionally limited world of word and paper. But it is certainly good exercise to try this. So, the first thing has to do with something as simple as a phone call, and what I noticed of myself. It comes at the end. It seems as though I'm there, but suddenly there is something like spacing out. It is as though I mentally hangup before hanging up in fact. I have a strangely mechanical and out-of-touch feeling. As though I break contact before it is really broken. The end becomes like playing back an automatic message. And then I become aware of this out-of-touch sensation. Usually it happens right after hanging up from a phone call. What is the meaning of this? What great secret is hidden in this obscure bit of behavior? Who knows. Other things noticed today? It keeps flitting in and out of my mind. Not there and then a vague impression of it. Concentrate. Try to put my finger on this elusive thing. Shit. Its like a mental mirage. Its like dropping a piece of paper on a windy day. Reach down to pick it up and its off again. It is going on in exactly this moment. I sit here trying to reconstruct what was thought of so clearly earlier today. Is it a fault in my memory? Is there some reason why I don't want to remember this particular thing about myself? Curse, curse, curse. I sit here fuming and cursing to myself. It reminds me of when my motor scooter would get stuck or wouldn't start. I'd be there trying to get it going or unstuck, and from all appearances, not being particularly disturbed by it at all. My mother or others would comment how calm and matter of fact I seemed to be about the whole thing. When in reality, if they could have heard what was going through my head, they might have passed out from the intensity of what was coming out of that young fellow. This was in my more religious days. I'd managed to eliminate such things from the view of others, but the same old shit was still there in my head, rotting and smelling away. And I still have not managed to remember this very interesting thing from earlier today. I have been rather subdued the last few days because of a cold. Haven't even had much desire to fuck. Haven't been as pushy or hysterical as normal. Something to do with that. Finished Simone's laundry. An interesting thing happened when I put it in to wash. Lots of underwear, slips, dressed, and other female apparel. Slinky, slick stuff. Two older women would look my way every now and then. Suddenly an anxiety attack. Very self-conscious. A fear of being seen by these women doing another woman's laundry. Was it a fear of being a sissy? That they might think the things were mine? Something from long ago. I remember the feeling from when I was a boy. Afraid the other boys would see me and make something of it. My mother made me wear diapers when I was in the third or fourth grade. She was trying to get me to stop wetting my bed. Suffice it to say that having anyone else know this would have caused me considerable more anguish. It was a shaming thing in any case. Something I devoted considerable energy to. Always worrying that someone would find out about it. Having to change my behavior or conceal certain things. Then the anxiety continued over to when I was supposed to be working on school subjects. Everyone else seemed to be more into it than me. I had to spend all my time being certain that nobody discovered me wearing diapers. Every kid there probably had something of the same sort. All that energy tied up in worrying. So a similar thing came over me in that laundromat. It went away, but out crawls all that new dirty laundry. I have it today. I was thinking of an incident with Adele in 1971. She was thinking of leading a Youth Hostels group in Europe during August. I encouraged her to do so. But at the same time another woman was of considerable interest to me. Rina was her name. Beautiful red hair and a very nice body. She like me. So Adele says to me one day: do you want me to go to Europe so you can have an affair with Rina? No, I immediately says. That was a lie. It prevented me from really doing it. I felt so guilty. Went to visit her one evening with a friend. She was tired. Laid down on the couch beside me. Very short dress. Her ass was nearly in my lap. Nice crotch. Her underwear seemed not to be covering what normally would be out of sight. My friend couldn't see it from where he sat. It seems to have been available only to me. It was impossible to do anything. I was to wrapped up in what-ifs. Margaret was another woman who offered herself to me. She was a student in one of my computer programming courses. Beautiful red hair. No sexual experience. She asked me one day if she should get birth control pills. Don't remember what I said about it, except that I ignored the real message. She had me over one evening. It got late. We talked about how we were seeing each other rather late. She had to be at work early. Some other couple talk. I am at the door to leave. She rubs up against me. I keep my hands in their pockets. She wants something. Did I know what she wanted? Thinking about it now I have to say yes. Thinking about my state of mind then now, or now thinking about my now state of mind then, or then thinking now then about my state of mind. Well, a lot of things confused me then. On the other hand it was not unusual to resist all sorts of opportunities of that sort. Ignoring glances, smiles, looks, faces, and other messages, was very normal for me. But it took a lot of energy. A lot of will power. I am feeling a bit agitated at the moment. It has to do with Ellen, who has left Ron. She wants to have an affair with Simone. Lets just do without this jealousy problem and get a place together, she says. Well, so much for Dana's explanation of why they broke up. On the other hand one could say that she is just beginning to learn new things about herself. She has found two other men she is interested in. She votes no on Simone moving in with me. We can get a place together and have our cats, she says. But my agitation has to do with wanting credit for her new found insight, incomplete as it is. By credit I mean what really happened and what provoked it. One could say that my provocative leading of the evening caused her to think about, and finally do things she has been thinking about for some time. Its easy to see why she would leave Ron. He gives the impression that he is constantly worried about her leaving him. He seems to get nervous about little things that indicate lack of allegiance to him, or proposing my own hypothesis. Behind it is the desire to want to be the real, although not yet known to her, object of her casting him, and Dana, aside. I say to myself, this interest in Simone is just to get her away from me. I am the real power behind the thrown. Her real difficulties and desires lie with men. Simone is just a temporary landmark on the way to her real biological destination. It is entirely possible that a few more evenings of talking and being with people in that way will point it out to her. On the other hand she may not be capable of dealing with her deepest difficulties with men. This is beginning to sound more like a limerick than serious writing. Me thinks thou doest profess too much. Now Jeff is an interesting case. Simone has a date for tea with him this evening. It will take 3 or 4 dates to get him back in good shape, she says to me. Yes, I understand exactly. Its the same with some of my women friends. They have to be coddled and have their hands held. Tip-toe around and be very careful or back to first base. Simone, and Linda a little bit, are the only ones I don't have to be so careful with. Then Judy and Jeanette would be the next least vulnerable to offense. And all the other get lumped together. Long talk with Michael on the phone night before last. He was really mad at me about the using Simone's house incident. But he stayed cool and calm all the time we talked about it. A roommate later said he was fuming. Simone relayed the same to me from a conversation with him. Then the three of us are on the phone. She feels uncomfortable. I want to talk more about what really was said and meant, about the house, and about Michael talking to Daniel. It was a rousing good fight. A lot of things got talked about. Later Simone said it was a very good communication. At the time it went on however, she was trying to make me out to be jealous, or have some other nefarious intent. Maybe so, but the result was the three of us talking about very important things. About why she still hangs on to Michael, why she keeps her foot in the door, how she's worried about being left by me. And I just wanted to talk about things without sneaking around. It always makes me feel left out. Like a third party. I don't want to be excluded. And there are many things of importance to all of us. I even suggested that Michael consider living with us for awhile. He said he would think about it. He doesn't want to see Simone for 2 weeks. I say how this doesn't seem to be what he really wants, but is his way of avoiding all the feelings he has over the situation. He can't admit to it. Even when I tell him what a fantastic woman Simone is. She is far more open and honest than anyone else I know. She is very spontaneous and eager to do all sorts of things. She is never afraid to experience her sexuality. Compare this with most of the women you know, I tell him. They walk around and avoid looking you in the eye. Afraid to say what their sexual needs are. Always waiting for the man to take the first step. Simone beat me to the punch on our first date. I was going to ask her to take me home that night. I wish I could take you home with me tonight, she said. We were having soup in the Turtle Cafe. She had another sleep over date that night. And would leave for a vacation to Italy in another day. So nothing came of it. But she did ask me before I got to it. And I'll have to admit to having some anxiety about doing it. But I couldn't resist someone who would really look at me. I met her at a party, at Nora's, on May 10th. She was the only woman who really looked at me. I had the feeling she was really open to me. Very straightforward. I didn't feel as though I was being looked through. I had gone to the party with the idea of pretending to be something other than what I was. For example, that evening was my brain surgeon and researcher on the influence of art and music on brain development. It swept her off her feet. Or at least kept her interested long enough for me to get her name and phone number. She was impressed that I didn't need to write it down. Its a good trick. Tell me your number. I'll remember it, I reassure them. Later, however, I always write it down as over time these things do go away.