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Friday, April 5, 2013

February 23, 1981 - murder and a disoriented expression

Suzanne called a little after two this morning. Someone was trying to break down her door and kill her. An ex-convict, drunk, and living downstairs, didn't like her complaining about his playing loud disco music. The police came and rescued them before he managed to break either the front or back door in. So I says why not come over here tonight. She originally asked if Dana was with anyone as she thought he might be with Carol Davidson. A long story about the event. She is quite loud and I have to remind her to lower her voice several times. The whole incident reminds me of her telling about the sexual advances of her boss. The words say she doesn't like it or contribute to its happening. But her whole body and tone of voice says that something about her likes this attention and excitement. The killer story gives me the same impression, but more that she contributes to the rising up of violent feelings in a person like this. She denies it, of course. But one can detect an air of superiority in her when it comes to describing the kind of person it is and how he treated her when she confronted him about the loud noise. She is a great believer in good and bad spirits and psychic energy. She is going to call on all her psychic friends for energy and light. Best she should stop bothering mean and nasty characters. This is the third assault on her in as many years.

Dana was feeling sick at Friday nights party. He and Suzanne left early. At one point I noticed how she clung to him and followed his every footstep. I said, don't trip over your umbilical cord on the way out. Next day he tells me the sick feeling is one of being smothered. Its beginning to overwhelm him. More and more things about this lovely redhead and coming out. And Dana, that lucky devil, is her new knight in shining armor!

But something about me. Its getting to be as though my only life is chronicling the lives of others. On the way to the party with Joe a feeling of doom, gloom, and depression suddenly overtook me. It was not till later that I connected it with an earlier incident.

Sten is back from his three day trip to FH. He enjoyed it very much and didn't want to leave. He told me how Otto asked him to his room after the SD evening, and that Otto told him how he had developed a lot in the last year. This is what did me in. Otto didn't say as much to me. He didn't pay as much attention to me. Sten did better than me and so I get depressed. The next day it continued. Competition fantasies. In the beginning I am doing ok. Then things start to get out of my control. And this is in my fantasy! Where one would as least think me to be in control. But no. My cool gets blown. I get nervous and distressed. It happens to my body also. The fantasy spreads from an image in my head to my entire nervous system. And soon I am pacing around, doing compulsive things, getting agitated.

A realization about Dana and Suzanne. He has gone to visit his sister in the mental hospital. Suzanne went also. It seems that she dumps some new thing on him and he has to strike back. She is going to press on him till he can't stand it anymore, then poof, he will go away.

Something about Simone: her voice has a different quality in it these last few days. She calls and I don't immediately recognize her. Or, a few minutes ago, she came in the door and said hello. I couldn't tell who it was for a moment. Yesterday she was in a bit of a whimpering mood. She often starts to yawn as a way of hiding a little crying. I point this out to her and she says that only her therapist is supposed to know that. It has been obvious to me for some time, but I never said anything about it till now. This happened with something right after I returned from Europe. We were sitting at the table eating and I started to mimic her eating a small piece of bread with two hands. She does it something like a small child who can't really hold something well with one hand. She asks me, why didn't you ever say anything about this before? Well, I says, there are lots of things to notice about anyone, and I've noticed lots of things about you. This one never really came up till now. And its the same with me. Sometimes I will become aware of some little thing I've been doing, in some cases all my life, and only then become aware of it. Like saying the same thing twice in the same sentence.

I am a bit frustrated at the moment trying to hold so many things in my head at one time. Events of the last few days, things noticed about myself, and so forth. My ability to make sense of things is disintegrating. Definitely lightweight. So says Lee's latest response to a copy of my latest Cambridge notes. I die for just a moment. A horrible, failing, sinking feeling. Why so traumatic? Then I think, he's pissed at my last letter about his analysis of my Christmas FH notes. So for a moment I defend myself. But the feeling in my body persists. It can't be argued anyway. Why not read my old FH notes? Try to recapture the mood or method or whatever it is that makes them different. Obviously its FH, and I can't recreate it here. He's right. The weight is light. Continue to fight. Take a bigger bite. Keep revelation in sight. Try with all my might. I have fantasies about calling more of the women in my little green box and trying to start something with them. Fear or rejection. Then the idea to get a local contact to publish my book. More deviation from confronting myself. Things are so compartmentalized and people so separated from each other here. On FH everything seems to merge together, almost, and I hate to say it, organically. Socially organic development. You live, eat, work, fuck, play, sleep, and everything with the same people. No need to go somewhere else to get some of any of these things.

Simone and I talked about bringing people together. Its so lightweight. So contrived. It has to be for some reason. This immediately puts limits on what will happen. Its ok to just put on blinders. No need to look at anything else. There is a jargon to simplify the already superficial conversation. The artificial boundaries will make sure that nothing will really happen. One gets the impression something is being done and that no progress is being made. Everyone will participate and let out just so much. No more is necessary. Any more and the lid will be clamped on. But, again, I'm not really writing about me. Just complaining about some nonsense that is not more than a variation on myself. What am I doing sending copies of this to people? Bragging, trying to get credit?

Did you know that The Cambridge Chronicles, 1981 Edition, has been published on Amazon? Buy the whole thing for 99 cents and read it on a kindle (or kindle software for your Mac or PC), here:

A Memoir About Art & Sex During The Reagan Years (The Cambridge Chronicles, 1981 Edition)

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