Saturday, April 6, 2013
February 27, 1981 - help me understand why I can't get in your pants
Walking down the street. Two fantasies. The first is on FH. I come back for a visit. I've been very successful. Well dressed, fancy shoes and a long green coat. Floppy hat and sunglasses. Otto invited me into his room. I pull out a machine gun and shoot him and the entire first bag. The second is here in Cambridge. I'm with Simone. I see someone beating up a small child. I yell at her to go for the police while I do something about the child. She hesitates. I return and hit her. Its to wake her up and get her going. I try to help again. She has to be beaten again. The end. Suddenly I become aware of this fantasy.
Lots of low-level stress today. Some people for breakfast. Me, Simone, Gail, Lotti, Dana, and Suzanne. Pleasant enough but Suzanne has to relive her nightmare of some days ago. She is completely into it. Her voice and body resonate with the whole incident. A rising sense of something in me. This will be the last time I listen to the story. She stays in it by retelling it. The whole thing is disturbing. She is very good at projecting that quality. And does it as much as she says she wants to be rid of the whole thing. Do I say something this time or put an end to it when it starts again? Next time definitely. A funny thing just now. How to finish off the end of that last line. Should I start another line, or think of a good word that will fit? Writing to fill the page? Or filling the page with writing?
Simone had a date with Jeff last night. It ended badly. She tried to lie to salvage the situation. Maybe Jeff should meet Judy, she says. Why don't we just forget about other people, she says. We have each other. I'll just concentrate on my relationship with you, Michael, and Dana. Well, thank you very much Simone! She is constantly making little digs at my difficulty in making progress with Judy. Its so easy for me to get a man to sleep with me, she taunts. You are jealous of my ability to do this, she says. Its true. She can do this more easily than me. But, as even Judy said, its much easier for a woman to do this. A man is looked on very suspiciously and as though he's on the make, by a woman. She realizes this and has never argued against it. But it has always been necessary for me to lie at the beginning of any relationship. Only when it gets more secure has it been possible to really say what's on my mind. Most of it would be too much for any of the women I've known. She knows she has to lie to Jeff. He could never stand to hear what she really things about him. On the other hand she really does like him. It makes her cry to retell the story. She will keep trying. And so will I. We both know its necessary to stay healthy. It keeps us awake and alive. The stimulation makes life interesting and in turn attracts still more people to us.
Recently I've had the feeling again that it is possible to have a group of people to live with. I am still disturbed by Lee's criticism. It makes everything written seem distorted and crippled. Awkward and clumsy. Suzanne says my writing flows very smoothly. But to me it seems like the jagged edge of broken glass. Like a fantasy I had often as a boy and adolescent. It started with an image of my arm. Then acid. The flesh would slowly be eaten away. Fumes and dissolved flesh float away. It began to resemble swiss cheese broken in two. The bone is all that remained. At some point I realized some connection with this fantasy and my life. It has not come about in some time. It seems it stopped around the time of the understanding of it. But exactly what I thought of it escapes me.
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A Memoir About Art & Sex During The Reagan Years (The Cambridge Chronicles, 1981 Edition)
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