The Cambridge Chronicles

Reading an article about why normal cells become cancer cells. Makes me think back to an old common fantasy of mine. Immortality. Often I would have anxieties about dying. From this would come the fantasy of an immortality drug being invented. In the fantasy I am about 50+ years old when its done. It is questionable that it will work for me but I try it anyway. I don't want to die. Sometimes another fantasy about certain physical things about myself that I pretend are indicators that I will live forever. Once I broke a bone in my right hand. The finger next to the little finger. The joint part was broken. The one next to the joint connecting that finger to the hand. The doctor took an x-ray. He said I had the bones of a 12 or 13 year old person, but in fact I was about 24 or 25 at the time. My mother gave birth to me at a very early age. She had even then what was called an immature uterus. From this I conjecture that my body has some special quality that will enable me to live longer. But behind all this seems to be something else. Don't know exactly what. Maybe just a normal fear of dying. Maybe just a reaction to not really feeling alive. Maybe a reaction to not really living my life as best I could. There are many things like this that cause me to imagine myself special in some way. They always seem to follow feelings of insecurity and inferiority. Like the body reacting to disease. The mind tries to react to damaging information or ideas. This is not quite what I mean. But a constant searching for explanations about things, but outside myself, or for things to make me feel better even when I don't.

Simone had an interesting revelation last night. I can't blame you for it, she says. She can't blame me for her inability to let go sexually and have an orgasm with me. She has never talked like this before. It was the first time she has spoken so directly about the problem being inside herself. Resistance, she called it. She described it as a thing that was so obviously inside and a part of herself. It happened as she was about to have an orgasm. She turned away from me and said it was time to go to sleep. At first it seemed like a little game, but even then there was something different about it. She was very tired last night. She hoped I wouldn't try to seduce her. She said nothing. Went along with everything. I wanted to fuck. She gave some silly reasons for no. She had a tampax in her. I'll tell it to move over, to make a game of it. A very good orgasm for me. She is able to enjoy it a little more after awhile. She spoke about it more this morning. Feelings about being rejected by me. I tell her it will happen if she spends all her time talking about and trying to get me to reject her. Who wants to live with that all the time. Why be with someone who lives in constant fear of rejection. Then she wonders about overcoming all the social conditioning that has made her that way. Is it worth it? Better she should be with someone else if she doesn't want to try. That's not for me. Its like a fight inside, she says. Exactly the same for me. Almost a constant fight. She wants it to be over quick. I make jokes about the two-weekend cure. But it will be a hard and long fight. Lots of energy was used to make her the way she is. It will take a lot to undo everything.

An interesting little story when Roberta visited. Something to do with long hair and fat. It seems she has always worn her hair long and tried to stay thin. It had to do with being beautiful. She never thought she would cut her long hair. But with me she has felt loved and that it didn't really matter. The same with her weight. Roberta overhears this and says she has always thought the same. As for me, I always am conscious of my stomach sticking out and what people will think of me for that. So a lot of energy goes into keeping the stomach flat and controlling my breathing. This will give the impression of my being in better physical condition than is really the case. And so, I imagine, a better image with the women.

I have just had this idea about my notes. Why not get a group of other people interested in the same thing. Compile writing from many people into a magazine like format and market that. Readers could vote on who they want to have write more, or in the next issue. And of course, I imagine, immediately, that my writing will be the best and most often voted for. These little conversations in my head are interesting. Now I'm having one in my head about having little conversations in my head. I remember reading something once about the borders and limits of consciousness, and what could be thought about. Is there such a thing? I make a mental image in my mind of some arbitrarily shaped place or thing, and then immediately break through the boundary at any place. Its the same with thought. I can think of something not thought of before and then go beyond that thought. It is easy to carry any thought some distance more. Yesterday I had a feeling of being light in a way such that if I had pushed a little harder it would have been possible to float away.

Today I had this idea about videotaping some of the group interactions that occur here. More specifically, the way we talk about trying to do something about difficulties between us. Images of me trying to say something in front of the camera.

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

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