<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590</id><updated>2011-12-14T19:15:25.322-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Cambridge Chronicles</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>34</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-8758373785512331690</id><published>2010-11-06T10:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-06T10:15:51.321-07:00</updated><title type='text'>this made me cry...</title><content type='html'>This appeared in the Saturday, November 6, 2010, Boston&lt;br /&gt;    Globe in the QUOTES OF NOTE section:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;         "I've realized that love is the most complex&lt;br /&gt;         sensation in the world, partly because it's a&lt;br /&gt;         mix of everything there is to feel. Finding a&lt;br /&gt;         definition for it could take a lifetime, and in&lt;br /&gt;         the end it's still only a theory."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;              From a poem written by 17-year old&lt;br /&gt;              Arlington resident GRACIE JAMES,&lt;br /&gt;              who was killed last month in an SUV&lt;br /&gt;              rollover accident in Utah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    I couldn't help myself, and just started crying trying to&lt;br /&gt;    imagine the loss of this life to her family and the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-8758373785512331690?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8758373785512331690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=8758373785512331690' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8758373785512331690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8758373785512331690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/11/this-made-me-cry.html' title='this made me cry...'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-1522211900893400252</id><published>2009-12-12T11:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-10-24T09:39:44.527-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ray Solomonoff</title><content type='html'>Grace called me yesterday to say that &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ray_Solomonoff" target="_blank"&gt;Ray&lt;/a&gt; died on Monday, December 7, 2009.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are photos and video from an event celebrating and remembering the life of Ray:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://flickr.com/photos/rlg/tags/rays/show" target="_blank"&gt;http://flickr.com/photos/rlg/tags/rays/show&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-1522211900893400252?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1522211900893400252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=1522211900893400252' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/1522211900893400252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/1522211900893400252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/12/ray-solomonoff.html' title='Ray Solomonoff'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-8763991954540237938</id><published>2009-10-26T17:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T17:51:22.309-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The end of the world? - June 17, 2005</title><content type='html'>What would I do if the world were to end tomorrow, or next week, or after the playoffs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The same thing I did on learning that the world was going to, was scheduled to, end yesterday. You can find somebody, somewhere, who says the world is going to end on any given day. But obviously, in spite of thousands of years of predictions with exact dates and circumstances... it, just as obviously, hasn't happened. And my bet is that it won't happen. On any given day the world just as obviously ends for lots of people via death in accidents, from old age, war, disease, etc. But the end of the world as in everybody going, uh-uh, ain't gonna happen. Its just wishful thinking on the part of depressed people without the energy to change their own personal circumstances, who then have fantasies about a catastrophic change that will force them, and everybody else, to change. There is often a religious tint to these desires, where the predictor imagines that evil is about to overwhelm the world and it is time for dog (sorry--I'm lisgexic), god, to change the whole kit and kaboodle. So I'm not going to do anything the next time somebody says the world is going to end. Chances are, just like every prediction in the past, they will be wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.elite.net/~ebedyah/PastorsSite/weeklystudies/questionsalways/study8.htm"&gt;Does the Bible Predict the End of the World?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.exposingchristianity.com/Watchtower.html" target="_blank"&gt;How Jehova's Witnesses have been predicting the "end of the world" for over 100 years.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/faith/article4717864.ece" target="_blank"&gt;Apocalipse now? 30 days when the world didn't end.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-8763991954540237938?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8763991954540237938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=8763991954540237938' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8763991954540237938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8763991954540237938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/end-of-world-june-17-2005.html' title='The end of the world? - June 17, 2005'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-3987234989597360598</id><published>2009-10-26T08:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T08:50:33.323-07:00</updated><title type='text'>when your scanner goes KABLOOEY! - October 20, 2004</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://static.flickr.com/12/16883159_540f63f139_o.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/12/16883159_540f63f139_o.jpg" height=100&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://static.flickr.com/10/16883164_b9a65a409f_o.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/10/16883164_b9a65a409f_o.jpg" height=100&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://static.flickr.com/12/16883160_4c4c42b7b1_b.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/12/16883160_4c4c42b7b1_b.jpg" height=100&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;when you are scanning leaves and your scanner goes... &lt;H1&gt;KABLOOEY!!!&lt;/h1&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More screwy scans can be found here: &lt;a href="http://flickr.com/photos/rlg/search/tags:scans" target="_blank"&gt;http://flickr.com/photos/rlg/search/tags:scans&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's samples of scanned leaves (click a leaf to see a life-sized version)...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://static.flickr.com/21/24845068_c6397ee3d7_b.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/21/24845068_c6397ee3d7_b.jpg" height=100&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://static.flickr.com/23/24847038_8e090b46af_b.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/23/24847038_8e090b46af_b.jpg" height=100&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://static.flickr.com/21/26071965_f352cfee41_b.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/21/26071965_f352cfee41_b.jpg" height=100&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More scanned leaves can be found here: &lt;a href="http://flickr.com/photos/rlg/search/tags:leaf/?page=4" target="_blank"&gt;http://flickr.com/photos/rlg/search/tags:leaf/?page=4&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-3987234989597360598?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3987234989597360598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=3987234989597360598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3987234989597360598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3987234989597360598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/when-your-scanner-goes-kablooey-june-24.html' title='when your scanner goes KABLOOEY! - October 20, 2004'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-4593699514021541171</id><published>2009-10-24T15:38:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T15:38:51.814-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Phone rang a bit before 1am - June 20, 2003</title><content type='html'>Take a look out your front window, she said. And outside, directly in front of the building, her silver car, looking pregnant (the car), compared to the previous model. But not her. She is all hot flesh, tight fitting clothes and enticing breasts covered by more restraining, but at the same time, uplifting and enhancing materials. OH! Yet another miracle of modern science and technology!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, there she sat, but me in my bare feet, and the dog, behind me on the sidewalk. The parking permit is in my hands, but she doesn't go for it. Her desire is to be elsewhere on this warm summer evening after an earlier evening of experiencing the results of having men exposed to the estrogen cloud the wafts around her oh-so-very-fine figure and electric, vibrating, hunting-for-something figure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I digress. She wants something. The plan is to stop by this place, ring the bell, and see if entrance, so to speak, is possible. Will another woman be there, if not, will he be receptive? That's the question for all of us and the ages. Will the person we want have us? Will they embrace us completely, totally, without reservation? She wants that too--but, as she knows, she holds back, waiting for the object of desire to be vulnerable and accepting and wanting--while she avoids those things until she knows the other will give her those things. Then she will, maybe, become vulnerable, accepting, wanting, towards him. But really, not until he demonstrates himself capable of doing those things. And so it goes. The wait for the other to step forward with an offer of unconditional love, forever, always, in every way. Who in their right might would want to take that first step? But we all ask it of others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Myself, being much too old for her, and over the hill besides, throw my usual caution to the wind and make numerous offers of myself that mostly get some good laughs from her. Well, being able to make a woman laugh is always a good sign, from my experience. For some unknown reason it seems I am this lovely woman's sweetie pie. Perhaps some day, in the far future, when all our DNA is online, and cross correlated, and calculated, it will be obvious what keeps this odd couple together. In the meantime there is no hesitation on my part to say any and every naughty thing that comes to mind and nether parts of the corpse. And, odd as it may seem, she gets a perverse, and even disgusting pleasure from words poured over her from this desirous mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But enough of that. Her plan, with my guidance, is to show up at Clint's house, ring the bell, and see if she can get him to get in, so to speak. If another woman is there, then she will be cool and exit. If he sends her away, she will be cool and go. If he lets her up then she will eviscerate her pent up longings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She goes. Upstairs with the two us. The phone rings a few minutes later. A call from Harvard Square. She can't bring herself to it. Turns around and heads home. Too late. Traffic. Other excuses. But she knows all that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She now knows what good sex is. But she had to go to men with no soul that she could fall into. There was no well of life into which she could willingly, freely, fall, give herself, melt, disintegrate, evaporate, have the feeling that you have become... us, we. Only with these men could she give herself up. She knew there was no real chance, on her part, to have that feeling of merging. They didn't let her in and she didn't let them in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, at least the sex was fun. It was good. But then it isn't everything. Not with me, of course. But then the imagination is such a wonderful pleasure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And me? There's been a hankerin fer this gal for a long time. But what's and old guy, old enough to be her father, and actually older, not much money to speak of--certainly not enough to compensate for the age, who knows her tears and the storm clouds of trying to make a life with somebody who has a chance at economic success, a smidgen of a conscience when it comes close to trying something, and... there you have it. But she is very nice to look at, in any case. So I will keep looking and revealing all the lewd thoughts in my mind. Which she seems to like, by the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued, most likely...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-4593699514021541171?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4593699514021541171/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=4593699514021541171' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/4593699514021541171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/4593699514021541171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/phone-rang-bit-before-1am-june-20-2003.html' title='The Phone rang a bit before 1am - June 20, 2003'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-3298785134410775534</id><published>2009-10-24T12:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T12:02:06.986-07:00</updated><title type='text'>RICHARD NIXON CAME TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY - May 23, 2009</title><content type='html'>He even brought a present. Then the alarm clock rang and you all know what happens after that. Some of us turn it off and go back to sleep. Some of us turn it off and get up. Next thing you know the person writing this has clothes on and is putting cold coffee in the microwave (left by the MSSO). Others came to the party. A number of women who this writer imagines are sexually interested in him. Wishful thinking. That's a thought this writer has about many women. But that's only because sex is often on his mind. You are welcome to offer yourself, should you be a woman, in this manner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, a call from my dad's stepson via his (my dad's) third wife. Doesn't that sound suspect already?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So they cut his dilantin back from 400 units to 300 units per day. That improved his state of... mind. How can you call a pharmeceutical company prop a state of mind? Ok, so he's still alive and in a state that appears to be a human being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A woman is interested in becoming his fourth wife. She has been married four times already. A Southern Baptist--the kind who doesn't believe in divorce. She's not interested in sex. He is. She wants to live in her trailer in a small Tennessee town. He doesn't. She has a continuing ficuciary relationship with her fourth husband. His last wife is dead. The current woman of interest was a caretaker in his assisted living home. There's the money he has in the bank. There's his VERY good pension. So what does a person do? Ideas considered.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-3298785134410775534?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3298785134410775534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=3298785134410775534' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3298785134410775534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3298785134410775534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/richard-nixon-came-to-my-birthday-party.html' title='RICHARD NIXON CAME TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY - May 23, 2009'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-8708910932768960438</id><published>2009-10-23T21:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T21:32:44.541-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rush Limbaugh - May 19, 2003</title><content type='html'>Rush Limbaugh says Democrats are the party of racism. That implies that Republicans are the party of diversity and against racism.  Imagine me sitting here pondering on his view of the world (assuming it has been accurately described for the moment).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A signal, an image hits my eye. It shows an average group of Democracts. More of them are minorities and women than a similar view of an average group of Republicans. That signal goes to MY brain and hits the Democract spot. In Rush's brain that same image seems to turn on the Republican switch. Not being a moralist about wiring, it would seem that the two of us are wired differently.  In this case, exactly the opposite. There appears to be a lot of people wired like both of us. We look at the same scene and see very different things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As someone who thinks himself to be a bit of an engineer and scientist, my AHA! light goes off and wonders if this way of seeing the world isn't genetic. Rush and I simply can't help but see the same scene in two different ways--because we are wired in two different ways. And if it is genetic, just how easy is it going to be to change any person's ideas about what they see right in front of their noses...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The political arena seems to be filled with scenes that are somehow seen as... something and the opposite of something. And how can I be sure of my own vision and explanation of what's going on if my own wiring inverts something right in front of my nose?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, what might change Rush's opinion, assuming for a moment, that he's the one who sees reality the opposite of my seeing? For this argument let's assume he makes $10,000,000 a year. If his audience disappeared there would be no advertising money to pay him. That money would disappear if his listeners could not buy those products. It would take a depression to do that. That is, the economic environment would have to nearly fail to put Rush out of business--or get him to reconsider his views. It took the Great Depression for voters to switch from Republicans to the Democrats. So let's get out there and cause a great depression! Just kidding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, you are probably wondering, what would happen to me if I suddenly started making Rush's kind of money every year. Would I become a Republican? Sure, that could hapen. Wasn't it Cindy Lauper would said that money changes everything?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its left as an exercise for the reader to perform the same neurological thought experiment on Rush's Democrats-are-the-crony-party view/wiring.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-8708910932768960438?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8708910932768960438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=8708910932768960438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8708910932768960438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8708910932768960438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/rush-limbaugh-may-19-2003.html' title='Rush Limbaugh - May 19, 2003'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-1613170517948195744</id><published>2009-10-23T11:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T11:25:52.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DRAGGING LITHUANIA INTO THE CONVERSATION AND THE FUTURE... May 12, 2003</title><content type='html'>C: i had a party last night (weird because nine women showed up and no men--what do you make of that?!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: You have somehow managed to break the lucky charm holding the universe together--expect a complete reversal of fortune any second and for the rest of your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: and two of the women are from Lithuania. most of the others were  Japanese. all in the 20's the Japanese love it here and appreciate the flexibility of our society. they are all artists and can make work here and find acceptance much more easily. japan, though its young people seem to be bursting with creative, still seems to be a much more conservative and stifling (aesthetically,socially and economically) place. the two Lithuanian women on the other hand do not like it here much. they think Americans on the whole lack depth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: What complex, sophisticated country of depth of talent and ability in every area imagineable bested them and their Red allies in the cold war?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: They have contempt for our freedom because they think it results in laziness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: Yes. But that often leads to comtemplation about what one really wants to do in life--and a consequent edge for the people who WANT to do what they are doing. This is just one way of interpreting that "laziness".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: and lack of training and people doing whatever they want--badly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: Right. Going to the moon... badly. Unravelling the mystery of how life works... badly. Need I go on? Except maybe to suggest that their entire view of America may be no more than watching a couple of MTV episodes of Jackass. Meanwhile, seeming to completely ignore the reality surrounding them in the city of New York.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: i tried to explain that perspective that flexibility in education, in choosing jobs, etc. was a strength and that while it might produce some artists/people who are neither here nor there, on the whole it produces a much richer and greater variety of people and ideas. coming from a place where they lived under communism as children, i thought they would appreciate America even more, but no i think they appreciate only culture defined by a narrow imposition of rigor and structure, and like-minded thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: That is what they grew up with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: they are somewhat racist as well. probably these ideas are related.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: They are also likely to be some of the elite from their country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: they believe for example that the Chinese and Latin American immigrants are now destroying the American economy and that America will collapse in 20-30 years because of them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: Have them see THE GANGS OF NEW YORK and ask them again what they imagine the timeline to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find that notion to be particularly ridiculous,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We do have one big problem on the near horizon, in my view, that could cause a meltdown of the sort they imagine. But not a meltdown caused by the "vermin" they think are overrunning the country. Its the religious fanatics here, and, to borrow a phrase recently read, the religious fanatics in our midst who: appreciate only culture defined by a narrow imposition of rigor and structure, and like-minded thinking...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: especially given how low our unemployment rate is compared to the rest of the world. the recent increase in unemployment is mostly due to layoffs of low-end white collar workers. it's certainly not Americans resentful of losing low-end manual labor/service jobs to immigrants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: And there is every reason to think that those new people will work and work and improve the lot of their children to the point where some of them become rich and famous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: these two Lithuanian artists produce art that has technical merit and a clear intellectual/philosophical framework, revealing awareness of the artist's place in the history of her art form. however, their art is bitter, desolate,not without humor, but i do not think it raises the consciousness of the viewer,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: They come from a tiny country that no doubt saw itself as elite and far outclassing the inept, but much larget Soviet people who ruled them for 70 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: except perhaps in some political sense. my japanese friends on the other hand make dances that are so full of heart and sensitivity and playfulness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for all that i do like the Lithuanians. they are refreshingly blunt  and quite bright, if somewhat brainwashed. i enjoy being exposed to their very different perspective--in small doses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: Fortunately New York has lots of alternatives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: are eastern europeans often like them in your experience?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: Yes. DP, in particular, with the race thing. On the other hand she greatly appreciates my quite large thinking range.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-1613170517948195744?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1613170517948195744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=1613170517948195744' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/1613170517948195744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/1613170517948195744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/dragging-lithuania-into-conversation.html' title='DRAGGING LITHUANIA INTO THE CONVERSATION AND THE FUTURE... May 12, 2003'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-3387428543294155465</id><published>2009-10-23T08:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T08:20:26.184-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SOME SPECULATION ABOUT THE MIDDLE EAST... April 12, 2003</title><content type='html'>C: I noted that with great interest. but i'm not sure what to make of it yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: One could see it as a kind of joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: does it mean that now-or soon--we will have secured enough oil from iraq that we can begin to put much more pressure on Saudi Arabia to do what we want?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: We won't ever have enough oil from Iraq--until we've used it all. Then it will be time to move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem with Saudi Arabia is Mecca and Medina. Its a tad harder to rationalize a war with SA as anything but a religious war--and that would mean a LOT more trouble for the US. Just look at Israel/Jerusalem/Palestine. The Dome of the Rock, just above the Wailing Wall, isn't the most important site in Islam. But enough to be plenty of trouble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: but then wouldn't having troops already in saudi arabia make it easier to pressure saudi arabia?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: There's going to be pressure in Saudi Arabia when the US leaves, but it will be the fundamentalists pressuring the rest of SA to shape up and go extremely religious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That will be easier to do with the US gone. There may even be an overt revolt against the SA military--or, like in Egypt with the assassination of Sadat, members of the military take out the civilian leadership.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: i guess there were never enough there to accomplish that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: That was probably never the objective because of the religious&lt;br /&gt;situation. Iraq has plenty of oil. So does Canada. Let SA go to hell. Let them kill each other like Iraq and Iran. Do you remember ******? He's now doing an internship at Harvard Med. His parents smuggled him out of Iran as a teenager because they figured the government wanted him for human wave cannon-fodder attacks on the Iraqi front lines. He missed that and became a short-term junkie in the Harvard Square punk pit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, where was I... Perhaps the US does intend to take SA. But it wouldn't be like Iraq. Its a bigger place. They have lots of American weapons. They have American training. It would not be a pushover like Iraq. But surrounded by American forces in Iraq, Syria, Israel on the other side...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: or are you suggesting that we are somehow covertly trying to  purchase some stability in the region&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: Covertly? The states around Iraq are likely to be very quiet for some time. The fundamentalists are another story. Osama and his minions haven't given up. A lot of been killed and a smaller number captured. But they ain't giving up. You don't do that when god is on your side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C: vis a vis our occupation of iraq by making a bargain with al quaeda and/or the other fundamentalist anti-american islamic factions?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;R: 911 was the results of a failure to make a pipeline bargain with al quaeda and the taliban--probably more like the straw that broke the camel's back. And not unlike the situation with Japan just before they attacked Pearl Harbor. The US was doing deals that were squeezing their access to oil in the Pacific region. They had to have oil from these places--still true today, because they don't have any of their own. More recently, the Taliban ended opium growing and lost themselves huge amounts of money by getting out of the drug trade. They don't have any oil to speak of--but are a good transit country for oil from the Stans. And so it goes. Pearl Harbor and 911 could probably have both been called off iF things had gone some amount the other way between the countries involved. And al quaeda, like the Japanese, made a similar mistake about the US by thinking it a soft country that couldn't stand the death of its soldiers. But then they didn't realize waht a difference having a Republican President would make with the far-rights ideas about casualties. They were an excuse to do nothing during Clinton's eight years. Once he was gone it no longer mattered--and that thousands of Americans had died. They, like the Japanese, equated a life of leisure, lust, and a seeming lack of standards and self control to mean weakness. They missed seeing NEARLY EVERY OTHER QUALITY of life in this country. We have all the things they see as a sign of weakness--but we have all the strengths and stability that their societies/religion/countries completely lack. In a society based on extreme and narrow religious ideas you do not look at many things--they don't matter. A short book typically answers any and all questions. There are no other explanations or solutions. This country, since it produces so many  solutions, is bound to find paths and ways of doing things that they can't comprehend or answer. Their 911 trick will be very hard to do again. So will many other things. On the other hand, when the US attacked Iraq there was only one possible solution or way to fight back and win--nukes. Which would have been answered with even bigger nukes. Iraq can't build a tank. They bought from the Soviet Union. So they were old. Same with everything else in their arsenal. Its a society limited and restrained by fear. Thousands of prancing fancy dressed soldiers, with no body armor or all the other accoutrements of modern warfare, is nothing more than an army designed to control unruly crowds of women and children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's some of my take on it. And I better quit before the sun comes up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-3387428543294155465?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3387428543294155465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=3387428543294155465' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3387428543294155465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3387428543294155465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/some-speculation-about-middle-east.html' title='SOME SPECULATION ABOUT THE MIDDLE EAST... April 12, 2003'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-6457599388602859849</id><published>2009-10-23T01:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T01:13:31.049-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DID YOU NOTICE THIS?  April 12, 2003</title><content type='html'>The US has quietly met one of Osama bin Laden's main demands: the withdrawl of US troops from Saudi Arabia...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;File this under "isn't that interesting." The US media isn't really saying much about this, and there's not much hoopla from DC about it either, but the US has quietly met one of Osama  bin Laden's primary demands and is withdrawing the troops from Saudi Arabia, where they've been stationed since the first Persian Gulf war.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it could be that troops just aren't needed in Saudi Arabia anymore now that Iraq is no longer a "threat". Or it could be that's just the excuse that's being used. There are lots of possibile reasons for the withdrawl at present and I don't want to speculate too far about it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...other than to say, "isn't that interesting?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-6457599388602859849?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6457599388602859849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=6457599388602859849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/6457599388602859849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/6457599388602859849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/did-you-notice-this.html' title='DID YOU NOTICE THIS?  April 12, 2003'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-8554687243841227232</id><published>2009-10-21T10:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T10:34:48.611-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother's Day call to my mother. (May 11, 2003)</title><content type='html'>Do you remember it, my birth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, she says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dropped out into a bucket, a top was placed on it, and it was necessary for me to kick my way out of it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why, yes, she assures me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A normal, fairly easy delivery.  My sister, 2+ years later, was not expected by the doctors.  Mom says she's coming out.  Doctor says no.  Baby said yes.  An older sister was there to keep the baby from falling off the birthing bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its the bad son, is my first remark when she gets on the line.  Immediately, she says, oh, its Richard.  Of course.  The baddest of the bad.  That would be me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her being my mother is not a part of my memory.  Too long ago.  They slap you on exiting and tell you its not something you want to remember.  That's right, she agrees.  She assures me, yet again, of being my mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can a person understand that?  How can a person understand that your existing, your being, came from the body of your mother?  How can anyone ever understand that?  How can anyone understand the long chain, the long line of mothers, that produced you/me?  You can see it happen when you get older.  But you can't understand, you can't realize what that means for yourself.  You only know that, like everyone else, you came from someone.  That woman you call your mother.  There will never be, in the history of the world another person like that.  That will never happen again.  There can never be another person who is that person.  She will be the only one who ever exists as that person.  Your mother.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-8554687243841227232?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8554687243841227232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=8554687243841227232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8554687243841227232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8554687243841227232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/mothers-day-call-to-my-mother.html' title='Mother&apos;s Day call to my mother. (May 11, 2003)'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-3936355927227338096</id><published>2009-10-20T09:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T09:04:12.204-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Its the women, stupid. (April 26, 2003)</title><content type='html'>What is the biggest problem in the Middle East?  Its the women, stupid.  Its not the oil, dictatorships, lack of democracy, Jews, Christians, Muslims, history or any other number of seemingly important elements in those countries.  More than a decade after the first Gulf War women in Kuwait still can't vote. And in many countries nobody can vote. Or, like in Iraq, your vote is a joke. Did Saddam really win 99.9% of the last vote for President of Iraq?  Probably not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In many Middle East and Asian countries women must completely hide themselves from the view of all but family. Millions of women are not only invisible socially, but &lt;a href="http://www.hsph.harvard.edu/Organizations/healthnet/SAsia/suchana/1210/019/table8.html" target="_blank"&gt;female infanticide&lt;/a&gt; is believed to have done away with millions. Males in this area of the world are considered more valuable than females. A hard pressed family will feed the males and let the females starve. Consequently, men, besides being more numerous, have less contact with females in a society. Polygamy simply makes the problem worse by making an even smaller number of women available for marrying. Then there are the stories about the ruler of Kuwait and his harem. He divorces one of his four wives each week and marries a new teen bride. Making one woman a week unmarriable or turns her out to prostitution. All this from a man who is good friends with many powerful, but good family values Christians, in Washington.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Taliban, during their rule, were said to place white flags above the houses with young unmarried women.  This was so that the warriors would know there were women who needed special protection. In reality it was said that the most successful soldiers were allowed to take the women as brides.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So millions of men deprived of a normal relationship with women, and no sex with any but prostitutes. But not if they were faithful Muslims. So how might this lack of the softening influence of women play itself out? Would they become more aggressive or inclined to go to war to capture women from other tribes or countries? There is certainly historical information about this phenomenon. Alexander the Great's men certainly took slaves/women from this and other areas they conquered. And any number of others before and after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we are here today. As are those millions of men unfluenced by women and many with no hope of ever marrying. Then there's the virgin solution. Kill heathens and do yourself in and go straight to heaven and have your very own private harem of 36 (or 64 or 72 or whatever--just like with Christianity, where sects are divided, and have killed each other, on the basis of how many angels can stand on the head of a pin) virgins. Or go to war against the tribe next door and steal their women. Or become successful at killing infidels and win an extra large share of the women in your tribe. All of these factors mean that women will be even more important as little more than property as larger numbers of men fight over a diminishing number of women. Similar phenomenon can be seen in first world countries and the smallest tribes in the remotest parts of the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This writer does not know how women will get the right to vote, own property, decide who they want to marry, etc. It seems very likely nothing much will change unless those qualities of life become available to every woman, half the people on this planet. On the other hand this only took 150 years to accomplish in the United States.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-3936355927227338096?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3936355927227338096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=3936355927227338096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3936355927227338096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3936355927227338096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/its-women-stupid-april-26-2003.html' title='Its the women, stupid. (April 26, 2003)'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-8070464911149591818</id><published>2009-10-19T16:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T21:56:19.181-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Okey, dokey, honey, she said, just before hanging up...  (April 23, 200)</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ending with, I need to know what's written about me on the Internet, on my reminding her about my writing on this blog. We will have lunch tomorrow in Central Square. Those readers living near Cambridge are invited to stop by and overhear our conversations, laden with the sexual tension of years of denial, loaded with them non-French double entendres. Or maybe its just my imagination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her parents will be visiting next week. There's my suggestion of meeting them for the first time. There's always been the problem of introducing them to a friend who is older than they are. And last Saturday's party for the boyfriend was another opportunity for me to show up and sow some psychic discord. But that won't happen. My pressing her to invite me was no more than entertainment for the both of us. My being there would, on the one hand, lead to the possibility of things being out of her control. On the other hand its easy for me to make the meeting of new people an entertaining event--which she likes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A recent dream has me back in high school where there is nothing but a mountain of late and overdue work in front of me. But then real life on a daily basis is much like that. Not much has changed for me since high school, even after decades removed from the event. And Mrs Kuiper, an English teacher, even made an appearance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What does one do with their body after death? Of course, being dead, the person asking the question about their own body won't likely be able to do anything. &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0393324826?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=artdeadlineslist&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=0393324826" target="_blank"&gt;Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers&lt;/a&gt;, is about a cadaver farm where corpses are investigated as they age and decay under a variety of conditions. So the idea came to me to join that select group of individuals to participate in a long-range project to aid forensic science. The thought left me with some uncomfortable feelings with an inexplicable origin. Those feelings would be gone with the onset of death. Not a lot happens from that point on that one can do anything about. You can only sit and imagine the idea of not being able to think of be aware of existing anymore. It seems unlikely that one would be able to do that after death--me being one not believing in any form of life after death. Should it come about that this writer ends up on the cadaver farm, readers are invited to stop by for a visit and look-see. There will be autographed photos for those of you who do show up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many visitors should one plan for? Perhaps a trust fund to keep the site constantly supplied with photos. After all, writing on the Internet could be around for years, centuries even. There's no reason for it to ever go away. There will be backup copies. The first versions stored at various locations on the Earth. Then at least one or so in orbit around the planet. Some copies on the Moon. For the long term, the Asteroids. Really long-term on Pluto so escape the consequences of the Sun exploding in a billion or more years. Finally, sending copies out of the Solar System and on the way to other stars--with a note asking the finder to please make a copy of this before reading. And will aliens pay royalties?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-8070464911149591818?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8070464911149591818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=8070464911149591818' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8070464911149591818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8070464911149591818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/okey-dokey-honey-she-said-just-before.html' title='Okey, dokey, honey, she said, just before hanging up...  (April 23, 200)'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-2757671230875487205</id><published>2009-10-19T09:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T09:55:59.027-07:00</updated><title type='text'>RELIGION - an overview and theoretical investigation (April 15, 2003)</title><content type='html'>Ron Paige, Bush's secretary of education, gave a speech in Boston last night. He's better known for his remarks about the value of an investigation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post is an attempt to present some of the author's views about religion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To start with, revivals, and the best movie ever made about them, Elmer Gantry, with Burt Lancaster. This is a phenomenon that reappears frequently in American history. But the question is why does it reappear, as though the previous events never happened, as though they failed in their goals. For one these revivals always call upon many of society's lost and failed. They enter the religious institution--along with all their problems, placing enormous stress on the institution they have joined. Then there is the inevitable, or so it seems, corruption and failure of some or all the revival leaders. And the faithful drift away, some forever, others remain at a greater distance and reduce their financial support. This can be seen with the Catholic church today because of the child sex scandal--which is not just a phenomenon in that church, but others as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the lost and failed become part of the church. Another component, group of people in any religion is the fakers. This is not meant in any perjorative sense, but some people join who don't believe and have to pretend in order to gain the benefits of the groups resources. They tend to drain a revival movement. Then there are those who want to believe but there is no seeing or feeling for the "truth" evident to the true believers. Another drain. So after some time the initial energy rewards of the revival have sapped the institution, causing the leadership to believe it is time for a new revival. Or a subset of the group thinks the leadership no longer sees the true light and goes off to start their own sect, making the need for a revival imperative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;England has been wrestling with the church/state separation issue for 700+ years--since the Magna Carta. This struggle is nearly 400 years old here in America. How peculiar our experiment, where the Pilgrims come here to escape England's religious persecution then turn, themselves to persecuting un-believers. The Salem Witch Trials and the Scopes Monkey Trial come to mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Americans, like much of the history of the world, have been attempting to create a theocracy. One could say that the current administration has gone a considerable way in that direction. But, like any "revival", it contains its own internal contradictions and hypocrites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we divide the country into blue (democrat) and red (republica) states, we find some evidence of this. Divorce, on average, is higher in the red states, as are STD rates, murder and some other negative social indexes. But then tax rates of certain types tend to also be lower in these red states--leading to a consequent lower total social services provided by those states, and, perhaps, higher rates of various social problems. But then one can also say that perhaps the need for religion as a way to solve these social problems is greater, as opposed to having higher taxes and more social services. But these trends have been in place for some decades, indicating that neither religion or social services will make much difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Higher tax rates indicate greater prosperity. Leading this writer to think that perhaps prosperity and religion are inversely correlated. That is, religion is less prevalent in a more prosperous society. One can see, worldwide, that none of the prosperous first world countries could be considered a theocracy--but this does not mean that some people in that country agree with that. America being one where many people think there should be no separation between church and state. One could say that Italy is a first world country that has a strong church state relationship. It is also not a first-world barnburner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the second world, Russia, for example, the newly revived church is in a struggle with the forces of modernization and criminal elements. Then there is Iran, theoretically a democracy, but with an authoritarian religous element that doesn't allow the democracy to go where it wants. Religious states are, universally, authoritarian. They can't maintain their hold without repression. This is, in general, true of religions, which must constantly press the "faithful" to remain in line. This is true of religions in first world and other countries. In a first world religion you can be excommunicated. In a third world country you can be executed for heresy or endangering the rule of the faithful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Democracy does not seem to be a good model for a poor uneducated country. Religion has no reservations about stepping in and doing whatever is necessary to bring the population into line and working for the good of the society. In a democracy religions compete with each other for souls. In a religious state one religion attempts to force everyone into a single set of ideas about how the world is, how the world came to be, your role in it and what will happen to you on leaving the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A religious state is inefficient compared to what seems to be the chaos of a democratic state. You have your position in a religious state based on your family and religous connections. In Iran or Iraq, for example, you get to be a fighter pilot on the basis of these unrelated values. In a democracy you become a fighter pilot on the basis of merit. The average Middle East army is designed to control unruly crowds of women and children. Most of the soldiers in those armies don't want to be there. They have little to no choice. The war in Iraq easily makes clear this connection. American soldiers come from a prosperous democratic society where the soldiers have a choice. They can do something else. All there are then selected for a variety of jobs on the basis of merit. Front line combat troops do not need an elite force of regime members behind them to move forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my best estimate of the future of religion is that prosperous states will become less religious, with less prosperous to poor states going the religious/authoritarian route as a way of maintaining unity and national progress. And while there is a resurgence of religious influcence on government in the US, it will likely exhaust itself from previously mentioned internal inefficiences and contradictions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-2757671230875487205?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2757671230875487205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=2757671230875487205' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/2757671230875487205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/2757671230875487205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/religion-overview-and-theoretical.html' title='RELIGION - an overview and theoretical investigation (April 15, 2003)'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-4472626119201455766</id><published>2009-10-17T10:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T10:18:26.452-07:00</updated><title type='text'>a dream...</title><content type='html'>A dream last night brings an ex back to life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And like many of my dreams, lots of things from the past get all mixed together. But the ex was the biggest thing. Every tiny element of the relationship could be turned into an event that might mean it was over for good or would last forever--and obviously the latter didn't happen. In any case, that small matter would become a thing with a complete life of its own. It would suddenly consume everything else. It seemed like there were times when not even a local nuclear war would be insufficient to move that issue off the top of the list of things to be handled immediately and constantly--no matter the cost, no matter what else was second on the list of things to be handled right now or you will be dead if you don't! Just in time a state of being awake arrived.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-4472626119201455766?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4472626119201455766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=4472626119201455766' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/4472626119201455766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/4472626119201455766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/dream.html' title='a dream...'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-7636610851345239956</id><published>2009-10-16T16:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T16:53:39.393-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Blogging Network History/Statistics</title><content type='html'>Interpreting the numbers/codes below:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The left-most 8 digit number is the date.&lt;br /&gt;To the right of that is the time of day.&lt;br /&gt;Next is the number of posts as indicated on the main BN page:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://bloggingnetwork.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you can probably guess the number following that with&lt;br /&gt;the comma and decimal point: money earned by BN posters!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The three letter codes indicate the rank of my various blogs&lt;br /&gt;at the time and date indicated:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ACL = Art Contests List&lt;br /&gt;EAG = Erotic Art Gallery&lt;br /&gt;SCI = Sex, Cats &amp; the Internet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last dollar signed number is the amount of money my blogs&lt;br /&gt;have earned:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20030413 16:48 12453 4,579.48 ACL=72 EAG=80 SCI=109 $4.97&lt;br /&gt;20030412 20:50 12342 4,557.54 ACL=58 EAG=75 SCI=103 $4.58&lt;br /&gt;20030412 04:31 12248 4,500.47 ACL=58 EAG=75 SCI=103 $4.13&lt;br /&gt;20030411 19:31 12209 4,492.89 ACL=40 EAG=72 SCI=98 $4.13&lt;br /&gt;20030410 02:22 11969 4,404.37&lt;br /&gt;20030409 04:58 11818 4,386.61 ACL=30 EAG=93 SCI=100 $3.32&lt;br /&gt;20030408 20:17 11777 4,334.51 ACL=22 EAG=195 SCI=105 $2.91&lt;br /&gt;20030408 04:47 11645 4,321.72 ACL=27 EAG=162 SCI=93 $2.91&lt;br /&gt;20030407 18:11 11597 4,275.60 ACL=21 EAG=175 SCI=98 $2.50&lt;br /&gt;20030406 01:39 11519 4,229.42 ACL=13 EAG=245 SCI=92 $2.08&lt;br /&gt;20030405 18:28 11374 4,184.58 ACL=11 EAG=481 SCI=91 $1.67&lt;br /&gt;20030405 02:34 11284 4,120.23 ACL=12&lt;br /&gt;20030405 00:42 11270 4,118.72&lt;br /&gt;20030404 20:25 11252 4,115.30&lt;br /&gt;20030404 14:52 11222 4,110.89 ACL=12 EAG=522 SCI=96 $1.26&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20030403 14:04 195 $0.85 EAG&lt;br /&gt;20030403 01:39 645 $0.44 EAG&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20030404 01:15 11153 4,088.21 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030403 19:26 11119 4,083.58 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030403 14:03 11049 4,079.34 ACL=18&lt;br /&gt;20030403 01:38 10987 4,035.40 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030402 13:52 10915 4,026.14 ACL=19&lt;br /&gt;20030401 22:10 10835 3,953.52 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030401 17:50 10813 3,950.14 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030401 15:26 10794 3,948.33 ACL=14&lt;br /&gt;20030401 00:36 10732 3,911.10 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030331 14:20 10659 3,892.13 ACL=18&lt;br /&gt;20030331 02:23 10571 3,877.28 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030330 23:41 10555 3,875.23 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030330 14:11 10497 3,867.91 ACL=13&lt;br /&gt;20030330 03:06 10446 3,848.96 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030329 13:45 10379 3,838.78 ACL=25&lt;br /&gt;20030329 15:00 10333 3,758.55 ACL=31&lt;br /&gt;20030328 13:15 10260 3,748.28 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030328 01:53 10212 3,723.36 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030327 16:10 10164 3,716.13 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030327 01:14 10108 3,639.14 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030326 16:14 10056 3,632.55 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030226 13:16 10036 3,630.36 ACL=8&lt;br /&gt;20030326 12:39 10034 3,629.90 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030326 03:12 9994 3,616.32 ACL=9&lt;br /&gt;20030225 17:23 9937 3,609.13 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030325 14:10 9913 3,606.79 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030325 01:56 9866 3,531.59 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030324 20:29 9850 3,527.65 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030324 13:54 9784 3,522.92 ACL&lt;br /&gt;20030324 01:00 9716 3,502.19 ACL&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-7636610851345239956?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7636610851345239956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=7636610851345239956' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/7636610851345239956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/7636610851345239956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-blogging-network-historystatistics.html' title='My Blogging Network History/Statistics'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-8655415775019173035</id><published>2009-10-16T10:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T10:12:28.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ben Affleck</title><content type='html'>Ben Affleck picked up Don when he was hitchhiking in Cambridge one day late last December, 2008.  You look like a famous movie star, Don remarked to him as Ben took him all the way to his destination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now he's gone and bought a house in the Boston area with his true love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ben and I met on May 10, 1990.  It was at the front door of my house.  He'd helped my mother carry her bags from his car to the front door.  This is Ben, my mom said.  Tall, dark, handsome, polite, he shook my hand.  And was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later I would learn that his girlfriend at the time, my daughter, stayed in the car, declining to come in and meet me after 15+ years of no contact.  But that's another story...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Update: about a month ago Ben and the Mrs were shopping at Whole Foods at the Fresh Pond Mall in Cambridge.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-8655415775019173035?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8655415775019173035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=8655415775019173035' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8655415775019173035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8655415775019173035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/ben-affleck.html' title='Ben Affleck'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-6350999822845875838</id><published>2009-10-15T11:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T11:04:35.881-07:00</updated><title type='text'>promises, promises</title><content type='html'>Four days since the last post to this blog?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What about that promise to write every day?  Clearly, something has gone wrong.  The US military has nearly finished fighting a war and this blog couldn't manage to get updated in that time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something has to be done--even if its trivial, less than nothing, or not really much at all.  You have to write to become/be a writer.  That means to write something--no matter what, every day.  But maybe that's too demanding.  There could be extentuating circumstances.  Laziness, for example.  Or going off an having a baby.  That would be suspect as an excuse for a man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps next time the writing will be about getting my name in the credits of a major documentary film--a possible Oscar contender next year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-6350999822845875838?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6350999822845875838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=6350999822845875838' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/6350999822845875838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/6350999822845875838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/promises-promises.html' title='promises, promises'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-5391956098872557015</id><published>2009-10-14T11:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T11:02:32.048-07:00</updated><title type='text'>blogosphere and spoons</title><content type='html'>Meanwhile, in &lt;a href="http://www.bloggingnetwork.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/SexCatsInternet/" target="_blank"&gt;another blog&lt;/a&gt;, far far away from here...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You paid money to read this? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's what it looks like. This blog is now #195 in popularity and has earned 85 cents! Whodda thunk it? Writing and responding has also influenced the state of mind. Its gone from equanimity to being ablaze with... who knows what. The forehead is hot and sweating, there's the feeling that something has to be done. Something has to be said--and a couple of things were said (that is, written to comments). But that don't help the state of mind. A good nights sleep has done that. Now its back to the war in the blogosphere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, the peanutbutter spoon is doing strange things. The writer and dog really enjoy a large tablespoon of peanutbutter at some point in the day. The SO wonders what goes on between the dog, the spoon and the writer--but then decides not to want to hear the details. Who knows where that spoon will end up. Some days its here, then over there. Today it ended up in a specific, intended place--wedged between the front door and lock on said door. Then it was removed and placed amongst the banannas. Stay tuned for tomorrow's spoon story...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-5391956098872557015?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5391956098872557015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=5391956098872557015' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/5391956098872557015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/5391956098872557015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/blogoshere-and-spoons.html' title='blogosphere and spoons'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-6337303015705756342</id><published>2009-10-13T21:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-13T21:10:43.772-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do dreams mean anything?</title><content type='html'>You may want to reconsider watching &lt;a href="http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/corpse/" target="_blank"&gt;Virtual Corpse&lt;/a&gt; on HBO. It could lead to some strange dreams: there are three people, at a gas station. They have the foot and lower calf of the body that was used to produce the above mentioned &lt;a href="http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/corpse/" target="_blank"&gt;Virtual Corpse&lt;/a&gt;. They are washing the body part with gasoline to remove germs. One of them tries to eat part of the flesh. It tastes like very dry chicken--white meat. They try to spit it out. It has disintegrated into very fine, dry, dust-like particles. Its nearly impossible to get all of it out of the mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've been warned.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-6337303015705756342?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6337303015705756342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=6337303015705756342' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/6337303015705756342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/6337303015705756342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2009/10/do-dreams-mean-anything.html' title='Do dreams mean anything?'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-1477235157064287753</id><published>2007-03-13T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-27T21:29:59.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friday the 13th, February 1981</title><content type='html'>I wake up this morning and Simone says to me, I wish I didn't love you. Last night she said we could sleep in the same room whenever guests, like her friend Luca from Italy, are staying here. Her little mind is still at work trying to get what she wants. You haven't given up, I say to her. There is a twinge of anxiety about continuing to fight against this. What a drag. She accuses me of trying to find things wrong with Michael. He finally confessed to having people over to her house, after denying it twice. I have the same suspicision about her car. The front door has a new dent. The registration has been taken out of its envelope and something done with it. As though the car had been in an accident and someone had to present this information, either to another driver or the police. But on the other hand he keeps asking her to trust him no matter what. I have the paranoid idea that a court summons will appear for her some day because the car was involved in an accident. She thinks its only my jealousy. I think you doesn't pay enough attention to what's going on. Have I seen it right? At the moment I am not aware of jealousy. On the one hand I certainly say good riddance if she goes back to him. It won't get any better. They are both swimming in poison. He won't really expose himself, and she doesn't want to see what it means. They are like little emotional time bombs. Each of these unadmitted and unseen traps. I get furious at myself when the opportunity to really show myself passes. Next time, I think to myself. But the same happens again and again. A vulnerable feeling, jealousy, rejection, fear, pops up in me and the opportunity to say how I feel is there, but ............... and then the chance is past. The feeling subsides. The situation changes. The opportunity is lost. Enough of this. I just can't say it right. Everything comes out of me so contrived. I have to stop and think of each sentence. What is it today? Its a little bit about the lack of money even though I've just deposited almost $1300 in a new personal account. Joe could make over $3000 today and I kick myself about not doing the work to get my seminar ready. Fantasies about buying a blender, one of those tooth irrigating machines, and a washing machine.  Imagining the house we will live in one day. A dream about Adele and Cheyenne last night. Its a birthday party for me. Ive are trying to arrange same chairs around a table. There aren't enough. Its very crowded. There are ropes or strings hanging down from the ceiling. Just then Adele and Cheyenne walk into view. I pretend not to see them at first. Don't remember any more.  Yesterday was my last day at Sturbridge. The first bus back went by without stopping. A second bus rerouted to get me. No seats. I have to stand. It makes me a little selfconscious. There appears to be a seat next to someone. For a moment I wonder if its a child covered by a coat to keep warm. I get warm and remove my coat. Then ask the person next to that seat if I can sit there. Its only a coat and a bag. Standing was uncomfortable. But it was a struggle for me to ask about the place. It seems so stupid. I might have ended up standing all the way to Boston. But some sort of strange fear of speaking up made me stand there for some amount of time. All the while struggling inside myself about asking for this seat. It seems crazy to have been so anxious about such a simple situation. It seemed as though everyone was&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-1477235157064287753?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1477235157064287753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=1477235157064287753' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/1477235157064287753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/1477235157064287753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/friday-13th-february-1981.html' title='Friday the 13th, February 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-8375561148481538406</id><published>2007-03-12T08:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-12T08:13:36.197-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday, February 11, 1981</title><content type='html'>Simone has just asked me for a pen. What color, I say. I don't care'&lt;br /&gt;It is not a pleasant tone of voice. For the second night she has been&lt;br /&gt;struggling with me. Tonite it is about whether or not people, other&lt;br /&gt;than her, will sleep here, the place where both of us will be living,&lt;br /&gt;or at the other person's place. She talks with Michael about it now.&lt;br /&gt;She talks with everyone about it. Trying to raise support for her&lt;br /&gt;position.  Last night we fought, but first about whether we would&lt;br /&gt;share the same bedroom. It was the same. I want my cwn room. She wants&lt;br /&gt;to have it with me. Its a fight that's happened at least 3 times&lt;br /&gt;before. But its getting close to her moving here.  I tell her that&lt;br /&gt;restrictions on my relationships with other people are not possible.&lt;br /&gt;It is possible that someone I'm very close to may want to live with&lt;br /&gt;us. She already has me and Dana. But she says Dana tells her he won't&lt;br /&gt;sleep with her when I'm here.  This is | his problem. In the end she&lt;br /&gt;may have to leave me and find someone else who will do ; what she&lt;br /&gt;wants. She won't gaurantee how she'll act if anything happens in front&lt;br /&gt;of | her. Last night in a bar in Brookline, five of us, me, Simone,&lt;br /&gt;Dana, Donna, and Carol, talked about it. Donna said she couldn't do&lt;br /&gt;anything like this. She leaves alone most of the time. She has a&lt;br /&gt;boyfriend on the West Coast. She's the sort who prefers a little&lt;br /&gt;distance. Carol wanted to talk about Disneyland, San Diego, and the&lt;br /&gt;rest of her recent trip to California. She did not like the&lt;br /&gt;seriousness of the talk. I She also felt left out and that the&lt;br /&gt;spotlight was being taken away f m m her. But people are more inclined&lt;br /&gt;to join in an interesting conversation rather than superficial&lt;br /&gt;chatter. There is a lot of tension between us. She stills talks to&lt;br /&gt;Michael on the phone. I don't know how to be more straight tf onward&lt;br /&gt;with her. These little rules of hers are only to prevent situations&lt;br /&gt;where her own difficulties come out. She knows she wants exactly the&lt;br /&gt;same for herself. She wants a deeper relationship with Dana, and has&lt;br /&gt;probably thought of Michael living with us. It is probably only their&lt;br /&gt;difficulties that prevent it. If they could do it I'm sure she would&lt;br /&gt;be quite agreeable.  None of the others want this though. Jeff told&lt;br /&gt;her today that he wouldn't sleep with her again l if she moved in&lt;br /&gt;here. She uses every little angle and trick to try and dislodge me&lt;br /&gt;from my position. She is talking with Michael about marriage right&lt;br /&gt;this very moment.  Trying to cover all the bases, just in case things&lt;br /&gt;don't work out here. They won't l for just this reason. Imagining that&lt;br /&gt;something might go wrong soon leads to the first tiny clue that,&lt;br /&gt;indeed, something is going wrong. Maybe the first clue is not even in&lt;br /&gt;| the right direction, but it is a clue' It can be interpreted in the&lt;br /&gt;right direction.  Now they are arguing about who left who and under&lt;br /&gt;what circumstances. Should I endure the pain now, get out of it and&lt;br /&gt;start again, she asks him. Dana doesn't want her to marry Michael&lt;br /&gt;because of his fucked up parts, again, I'm am overhearing more of&lt;br /&gt;their phone conversation. You started going out with Linda one week&lt;br /&gt;after we broke up, she throws at him. Will you sleep with me when&lt;br /&gt;Richard's here? (more overhearing) But I have my own things.&lt;br /&gt;Compulsion today. Touching my fingers. It sounds strange, but is an&lt;br /&gt;old habit. Michael says he's sleeping with two other women now, and&lt;br /&gt;Simone | makes three, and that's too much to handle. I can't seem to&lt;br /&gt;escape it. Its time to try something else to get out of this rut. You&lt;br /&gt;know sex and love have been the same for me ever since I've gone out&lt;br /&gt;with Skip. More Simone there. I can't keep my ears off the&lt;br /&gt;conversation. Michael, you know we have the best sex together. You&lt;br /&gt;don't want to come inside me because you don't want to totally let go.&lt;br /&gt;I don't have great orgasm with Richard. I do with you. It turns out&lt;br /&gt;that I have the best orgasms with Linda.  Do you remember the first&lt;br /&gt;night that I met you and said that I wanted to fuck you?  You have the&lt;br /&gt;same problem that we all have Michael. Its hard for you to feel loved.&lt;br /&gt;If you cant feel loved by me then you won't feel loved by anybody. Its&lt;br /&gt;my own fear. I don't know if Richard's going to hurt me. You're saying&lt;br /&gt;no sex, because I can't handle it.  Why am I getting sexually excited&lt;br /&gt;right now, he asks her. Its stupid all these people rejec- ting each&lt;br /&gt;other because they are afraid of being rejected. I go to Simone while&lt;br /&gt;she is on the phone and kiss her many times, very loudly. Michael says&lt;br /&gt;he won't see her for a week. I go back and kiss her some more. Now&lt;br /&gt;Michael won't see you for two weeks, I say. And then a third time. Not&lt;br /&gt;for three weeks, you won't see her, I say. I close the door. She is&lt;br /&gt;trying to rescue her relationship with him. Best to let them dig up&lt;br /&gt;their graves and really see what's there. A compulsive day. My&lt;br /&gt;fingers. Touching the four fingers with the thumb. Both hands at the&lt;br /&gt;same time. Mathematical patterns.  Touch them in one direction, then&lt;br /&gt;the other. Thumb on index finger, move it and touch the middle, and so&lt;br /&gt;on. Other patterns. Start with the little finger and go the other way.&lt;br /&gt;Do it one direction twice, then the other direction twice. Reverse it.&lt;br /&gt;Reverse a combination of both these patterns. And so on with great and&lt;br /&gt;increasing complexity until I have lost count, or my thoughts take me&lt;br /&gt;away from it. My stepfather used to mimic me when he saw me do this.&lt;br /&gt;It went on for awhile. Then I stopped doing it so overtly or often.&lt;br /&gt;Don't remember when it started. Maybe about 14 or 15. It stopped after&lt;br /&gt;some months. Still do it, but very carefully, when nobody is around.&lt;br /&gt;Today, for instance. This thing with Simone. It causes lots of&lt;br /&gt;anxiety. I get nervous.  Have some fights in my head about it. Start&lt;br /&gt;this finger touching thing. Catch myself.  Scrapping my feet also. I&lt;br /&gt;touch the toe and heel with every step. Always trying to touch the&lt;br /&gt;same number of times with both feet. Its a compulsion to try and make&lt;br /&gt;it the same number of times with both feet if I miss. Grandmother&lt;br /&gt;always told me to stop dragging my feet. It usually went with the head&lt;br /&gt;bent down, looking at the ground in front of me as I walked along.&lt;br /&gt;What did I fret about then? I was only a little boy.  What do little&lt;br /&gt;boys fret about? Would there be any friends around to play with? Would&lt;br /&gt;I get an ice cream bar that night? Would I be able to watch something&lt;br /&gt;on TV?  Or was I having fights with someone then? Did I fight with her&lt;br /&gt;about what I could or couldn't do? I can't remember. For some ten&lt;br /&gt;years it has been fighting with one woman or another. Or murderous&lt;br /&gt;fantasies about offing someone. Sexual fantasies about some of the&lt;br /&gt;girls I liked. Or what life would be like when I finally got out of&lt;br /&gt;there and away from home. I remember running and shooting games in the&lt;br /&gt;dark. I never wanted it to end. Someone always called me home. It was&lt;br /&gt;total catharsis. Yelling and screaming and killing. Nothing was held&lt;br /&gt;back. It went on to exhaustion. But then it went on still more. In the&lt;br /&gt;third grade we played a running game. In the beginning one person I&lt;br /&gt;was it in the middle of a big field. All the others were on one side&lt;br /&gt;of the field. The object was to run to the other side without getting&lt;br /&gt;caught or tagged by the person who was it. You were on that person's&lt;br /&gt;side when he tagged you. Then everyone had to run again, to the other,&lt;br /&gt;original, side. It went on till the people who were it had tagged&lt;br /&gt;everyone. I played with the older kids, up to highschool.  Sometimes I&lt;br /&gt;would be the last one caught. I was only 8 or 9. It made me like a&lt;br /&gt;wild animal. I put the fear of death in me to keep going. It was&lt;br /&gt;unbelieveably exciting. The twisting and turning | and dodging needed&lt;br /&gt;to escape. Every sense became magnified. Balance and coordination were&lt;br /&gt;not normal. Sometimes I would have the feeling of tearing myself apart&lt;br /&gt;to move in a way that would allow me to escape being caught. This&lt;br /&gt;image of the playing field and their relationship to the school&lt;br /&gt;buildings is a vivid image in my mind. The tricks and fakes to get&lt;br /&gt;away from a chaser gave me the chance to be creative. I would always&lt;br /&gt;come up with same new move. In second grade I managed to keep a ball&lt;br /&gt;away from all the other boys in my class.  They took turns chasing me.&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't caught. Finally I threw the ball away.  It was clear they&lt;br /&gt;wouldn't catch me. But then I ask, is this the way it really happened,&lt;br /&gt;or only my desire rusting away at memories. There are same parts of it&lt;br /&gt;I know to be imagination. But what parts? Simone asks if I really&lt;br /&gt;wrote down her conversation with Michael. Now she reads it and makes&lt;br /&gt;corrections to what I have written. Carol didn't go to Disneyland or&lt;br /&gt;San Diego. Jeff said he wouldn't sleep with me here, Amory Street, not&lt;br /&gt;that he wouldn't ever sleep with again. Maybe those are the only&lt;br /&gt;corrections? She just reads now. Dana has gone out for the evening. He&lt;br /&gt;doesn't tell Simone or me as he doesn't want it written about in these&lt;br /&gt;notes. Then an idea' Why not call some of the possibilities and say is&lt;br /&gt;Dana still there? This will tell me who it is or who it isn't. Simone&lt;br /&gt;has to correct me on same other points about Michael. He says he will&lt;br /&gt;see her 3 times next week. You have some weird perceptions, she says.&lt;br /&gt;He didn't say he wouldn't see me for three weeks. In fact he said he&lt;br /&gt;would marry me if things continued to go so well for us. Aha! Exactly&lt;br /&gt;my prediction of same weeks ago. I remind her of this.  She has to&lt;br /&gt;modify it further. No, he said he was open to the possibility, not to&lt;br /&gt;marrying me. He wants to know if he can trust me. Can she I tolerate&lt;br /&gt;not having sex with me' Michael asks? That would make you a lot more&lt;br /&gt;acceptable to me. Simone tells me a clue about Dana. He says something&lt;br /&gt;about walking down to the office with her if she wants to go there.&lt;br /&gt;That means it must be the redhead' She's the only one in that&lt;br /&gt;direction. But now the question is, who called who? He mentioned&lt;br /&gt;having a date with her tomorrow.  Just now Simone says Michael asked&lt;br /&gt;her to come over this evening, but you have to sleep on the couch, he&lt;br /&gt;says. No thanks she says. Why not go out this Friday, Simone asks. No,&lt;br /&gt;you weren't clear about what you wanted and I've asked someone else,&lt;br /&gt;he says. Michael tells her he will see her at least once a month&lt;br /&gt;forever, regardless of who she is with or married to. Just now another&lt;br /&gt;idea. That rascal Dana, its about him. I think that if it were&lt;br /&gt;arranged so&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-8375561148481538406?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/8375561148481538406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=8375561148481538406' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8375561148481538406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/8375561148481538406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/wednesday-february-11-1981.html' title='Wednesday, February 11, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-7245907640822650373</id><published>2007-03-11T10:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-11T10:23:07.738-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tuesday, February 10, 1981</title><content type='html'>So many things in the last few days - where to start? Just talked to&lt;br /&gt;Sten about his going back to FH. On the surface he seems quite cool.&lt;br /&gt;But there must be some kind of fight going on. Some internal pressure.&lt;br /&gt;Thursday is the day. Maybe and maybe not. I was assaulted by Deanna&lt;br /&gt;last night. Fortunately my size and strength were sufficient to&lt;br /&gt;overcome her intensity. She still claims to be owed money. The police&lt;br /&gt;came.  I don't feel competant to handle violence. The animal in me&lt;br /&gt;really came out.  Had she been a little more vicious I might have done&lt;br /&gt;more than get her out of my way. She threw water in my face and&lt;br /&gt;refused to let me leave the office. The police told her to file a&lt;br /&gt;court complaint. I was shaking and extremely agitated by it. Almost 24&lt;br /&gt;hours later I am still shaking a bit from it. Hopefully it is over.&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday started as a very good day. At the beginning Linda called,&lt;br /&gt;about 7 in the morning. We meet at the Harvard Square bus station and&lt;br /&gt;take the subway to her place. Our original intent was to have&lt;br /&gt;breakfast. So we wait at her place for someone to show up with paints.&lt;br /&gt;No show. The subway to South Station. Inside she suddenly is startled&lt;br /&gt;by something, says, oh, I forgot something. Stops at a newstand for a&lt;br /&gt;book of matches. She wants coffee and something to eat from the deli.&lt;br /&gt;You have to have a muffin or something, she insists. I almost ask her&lt;br /&gt;if she is my mother. No, I don't want anything, I say. Yes, you've got&lt;br /&gt;to have something she insists. Ok, one of those pastries. Come into&lt;br /&gt;the train with me, she insists again. Put her stuff on the seat, go to&lt;br /&gt;the space between two cars. She turns around, back to me and says&lt;br /&gt;don't look. She's doing something. Lights a match. It goes out.&lt;br /&gt;Another. Turns around and presents me with a pastry and a candle - a&lt;br /&gt;surprise birthday cake. She sings happy birthday' And then its&lt;br /&gt;goodbye. This is a new typeface. These two balls came in the mail&lt;br /&gt;yesterday. Certainly is smaller. ~. Here's the other one. Didn't have&lt;br /&gt;it on right the first time. Seems to be a little difference. Now the&lt;br /&gt;question of the one being in the right place - llllll, and now the&lt;br /&gt;lllllll.  They are both the same. But there is no real exclamation&lt;br /&gt;mark' I have to type it with a period, backspace, and the a single&lt;br /&gt;quote. What a bother' The two type balls have to be cleaned. Walking&lt;br /&gt;to the post office yesterday with a nagging sensation of having&lt;br /&gt;forgotten something. Then it turned to the idea of am I doing enough.&lt;br /&gt;Is there anything I'm leaving out, not thinking about. I have this&lt;br /&gt;feeling of so many things to write about, but can't discipline myself&lt;br /&gt;to do. And not only that but I feel a very strong urge to do so&lt;br /&gt;lately. I have been getting some interesting impressions or pictures.&lt;br /&gt;Its like a picture where you make a single brushstroke and it doesn't&lt;br /&gt;mean much. But in time, with many strokes, a picture begins to appear.&lt;br /&gt;It is not clear what the picture is yet, but only the sensation of one&lt;br /&gt;appearing. Lots of things happening often leads me to new ideas and&lt;br /&gt;explanations. New directions, new things to try. Simone has been&lt;br /&gt;feeling this with all the people who are in love with her. Why can't&lt;br /&gt;only one person love me, she asks. You must become an emotional&lt;br /&gt;fascist and stop them from loving you, I say. Tell them to stop having&lt;br /&gt;these feelings. Only one person should have them. But it doesn't work&lt;br /&gt;that way. Who wants to have these feelings controlled by another&lt;br /&gt;person? Mark, who still works at the Quarterway, calls and asks if she&lt;br /&gt;has came back to me, or left ~ as he wants her to. I think he is in&lt;br /&gt;love with her also. Dana also is getting a little agitated by the&lt;br /&gt;situation. An outburst at her for saying he has more than a simple ~&lt;br /&gt;friendship with her. But its obviously more than that. With all the&lt;br /&gt;sexual things ~ l they do together, the intimate times we all spend&lt;br /&gt;together' clearly indicate he has more of a relationship with her and&lt;br /&gt;any of the women he sleeps with. Simone tells me an interesting fact&lt;br /&gt;about Dana - that he has not had, until very recently, a relation-&lt;br /&gt;ship with an unmarried, or unattached woman' They have all been with&lt;br /&gt;someone else. This makes it emotionally safer for him. And if he&lt;br /&gt;succeeds in pulling her away from who he is with, then it clearly&lt;br /&gt;indicates how attached the woman is to him.  Simone is making more of&lt;br /&gt;her veiled hints at monogamy, having children, the value of having one&lt;br /&gt;good relationship versus many casual affairs, like Dana, she&lt;br /&gt;frequently adds. And 3 Dana has botched another relationship. m e&lt;br /&gt;redhead invited him over yesterday. She all but raped him. Jumped in&lt;br /&gt;his lap, sung him love songs. She wants to fuck him, but is not, as&lt;br /&gt;she thinks she is, able to be direct about it. There I go again, a&lt;br /&gt;little bit of resentment creeping in. Perhaps its not evident in the&lt;br /&gt;words just written, but I notice it, just a little in myself. Anyway,&lt;br /&gt;she is probably too much for him. He prefers less intense, more&lt;br /&gt;subdued women like Lois or Carol. He can be the one to dominate.&lt;br /&gt;Simone and I are having sexual difficulties.  Its ok at the beginning,&lt;br /&gt;but she soon gets very dry. The last two times have made my prick&lt;br /&gt;almost raw. It smarts a little. She has a burning sensation also. mere&lt;br /&gt;is this impression I have of her faking lots of little things, pushing&lt;br /&gt;to hard, tightening up at unexpected times. I can't feel connected to&lt;br /&gt;her. It gets better sometimes when I just stop everything and tell her&lt;br /&gt;what's going on. I find myself unconsciously fucking but preoccupied&lt;br /&gt;with something else in my head. This morning I ask her and she is&lt;br /&gt;thinking about how big Joe's prick must be. She notices a change in&lt;br /&gt;Michael's behavior. He is mare open with her, more loving. But at the&lt;br /&gt;same time says that there can't be any sexual activity between them.&lt;br /&gt;God knows why, but that's what he says.  He has asked her to cancel&lt;br /&gt;the birthday surprise party for me next Saturday and go out with him&lt;br /&gt;instead. Aha! Forcing her to make decisions. Last night she admits to&lt;br /&gt;wanting to do this. She is struggling over it. She has come up with&lt;br /&gt;the idea to try and get Cheyenne to my party. Or even Otto' Or my&lt;br /&gt;mother. A thought just now.  That Michael's idea for no sex with her&lt;br /&gt;now might be turned around by him if they go back together. He&lt;br /&gt;mentioned indirectly such a thing just recently to her. I don't-&lt;br /&gt;remember exactly how, but he still has the wish to do it. I talk with&lt;br /&gt;Sten about all these things and it agrees that things are heating up.&lt;br /&gt;Same violence will be next he thinks. Not overtly, but Michael's&lt;br /&gt;asking Simone to cancel my party is more the sort he means.  It is a&lt;br /&gt;though Simone is feeling tossed between to poles and has to make a&lt;br /&gt;decision to stick with one of them. Sometimes I get this feeling, but&lt;br /&gt;it never lasts for long. A violent fantasy on the subway.  A young&lt;br /&gt;black guy starts smoking next to me. A shotgun blast puts an end to&lt;br /&gt;his face - and the cigarette.  Another new customer for my business&lt;br /&gt;while stopping at TERC in Harvard Square. I begin to feel myself go&lt;br /&gt;out of control with all the events of these days. Like being whirled&lt;br /&gt;around by a tornado. A feeling of no place, no solid place to put my&lt;br /&gt;feet. As though anything could happen. Yesterday I felt very good.&lt;br /&gt;Thinking about my various relationships, and that something may&lt;br /&gt;develop from them. Sunday afternoon with Judy. I gave in to the way&lt;br /&gt;she wants to do her resume. We didn't wrestle on the bed. Only a short&lt;br /&gt;chance to be a little perverse. I like to feel through a woman's pants&lt;br /&gt;or dress to the edge of her underwear. Then to slip a finger just&lt;br /&gt;under the edge of the underwear and run the finger all the way around&lt;br /&gt;her leg. Very gently, to tickle her just a little. From this I can&lt;br /&gt;tell how far I have to go. It's a very horny game for me. She let me&lt;br /&gt;do it several times in the hallway. I try to be sensitive to the&lt;br /&gt;places that cause the most sensation or excitement. Just now the&lt;br /&gt;impression that this writing is being done to fill paper. The&lt;br /&gt;typewriter is turned on and off. On and off, to decide if even to&lt;br /&gt;write this. Turn it off and go do something else. Later. A thought&lt;br /&gt;about writing more about last Saturday nights party. Or continue with&lt;br /&gt;today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-7245907640822650373?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7245907640822650373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=7245907640822650373' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/7245907640822650373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/7245907640822650373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/tuesday-february-10-1981.html' title='Tuesday, February 10, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-3685012202313489571</id><published>2007-03-10T09:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-10T09:42:23.055-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saturday, February 7, 1981</title><content type='html'>Depression again. I don't want to get up. Curl up. Suck my thumb.&lt;br /&gt;Masturbate.  Afraid of being seen by Dana. Not really. An old anxiety.&lt;br /&gt;Something from a long time ago. Finally I'm up but still feeling in a&lt;br /&gt;daze. Go to work. The post office and bank. Lots of money in the mail&lt;br /&gt;today. I feel better about that. Some bills will get paid. I hang&lt;br /&gt;around the office but don't get anything done. Judy calls. She will be&lt;br /&gt;here at 3 for me to help with her new resume. And so we work on that.&lt;br /&gt;She has lots of resistance to my suggestions about how to do it. I&lt;br /&gt;take a break, make a sandwich, and she reads my most recent notes.&lt;br /&gt;Those just before today. She makes the most positive analysis of&lt;br /&gt;anyone who has read them. m ey cover the present, sometimes digress to&lt;br /&gt;the past and how it influences the present, and ideas for the future,&lt;br /&gt;she says. It has lots of interesting, creative metaphors. There are&lt;br /&gt;lessons every now and then.  INteresting insights about you and the&lt;br /&gt;world. Some good generalizations. But the lessons and conclusions are&lt;br /&gt;not preachy or propoganda. There is stream of conscious- ness and also&lt;br /&gt;monitoring of events. It is something where you really want to turn&lt;br /&gt;the next page to learn what happens next, she says. One also learns&lt;br /&gt;little things about life. I am very pleased at what she says. If you&lt;br /&gt;say anything more positive about it, I'll ask you to marry me, I say&lt;br /&gt;to her. She thinks it would be of interest to people of all ages. But&lt;br /&gt;she also suggests that her view may be clouded by knowing me. Why not&lt;br /&gt;give it to someone you know to read, I suggest. At first I think maybe&lt;br /&gt;it should be presented as a novel, fiction. But no, just as someone's&lt;br /&gt;memoirs. She will do this for me. We go back to her resume. My heart&lt;br /&gt;is not in it. I wrestle her to the bed.  Bite her back, spank her,&lt;br /&gt;grab her by the neck, growl like a bear, and then lie beside her. She&lt;br /&gt;spanks and pounds me. We hold each other and talk. I like her a lot&lt;br /&gt;and want her. I feel neurotic and fucked up when around you, she says.&lt;br /&gt;Its hard for me to let go. But she likes holding me. It is very&lt;br /&gt;pleasant. How far I get with her surprises me. It goes very easy. Its&lt;br /&gt;much farther than ever before. Maybe next time we will do more, I say.&lt;br /&gt;Time to go. She asks me why I push so hard to develop my&lt;br /&gt;relationships. She does not mean this in a negative way, but that I&lt;br /&gt;keep trying no matter what, and others don't. Perhaps I need it more.&lt;br /&gt;It seems like a very necessary thing to be healthy. But I learned&lt;br /&gt;something very important from this time with her.  That's its possible&lt;br /&gt;to develop my relationship more with someone by paying attention to&lt;br /&gt;how comfortable things are. Other times I would have pushed on her and&lt;br /&gt;not realized it until too late. This time I was aware and sensitive to&lt;br /&gt;what was possible with her.  She knows about her resistance. We talked&lt;br /&gt;about her relationship with Steven and how she often wished someone&lt;br /&gt;were there to say you are doing this and you are doing that.  It can&lt;br /&gt;be done when people live together and talk to each other and do things&lt;br /&gt;together.  And pay attention to each other. Dana, Simone, and I do&lt;br /&gt;this. Just then she calls from LA and says how she misses us here. I&lt;br /&gt;have missed her a lot this last week. I've never been so aware of how&lt;br /&gt;important contact with women is as this last week. Most everything has&lt;br /&gt;not gone well for me. Depressions, not getting up, tired, and being&lt;br /&gt;something or other. It is the next day and its all forgotten. We had a&lt;br /&gt;big party lad night. 60-70 people came. As many as 30+ at one time. A&lt;br /&gt;beautiful redhead named Suzanne, who played the harp and did psychic&lt;br /&gt;readings. She was very lively. Kissed me as she left. Deborah's old&lt;br /&gt;roommate. She gets invited again' She was interested in FH for a&lt;br /&gt;while. She read some of my notes. Peter was the first to arrive.&lt;br /&gt;Mostly no, all men for the first 45 minutes. Suzanne was the first&lt;br /&gt;woman. The next big surprise was Liebe. Absolutely gorgeous. I would&lt;br /&gt;have tried to start something with her if she'd stayed longer. She&lt;br /&gt;definitely gets invited again' I could not believe the difference from&lt;br /&gt;when I last saw her. Then it was as a hippie/artist/farmer. Now she is&lt;br /&gt;somewhat like a chic New York fashion model.  And so stylishly&lt;br /&gt;dressed. Dana's sister came with a woman, Kathy, who I would have&lt;br /&gt;swooned all over, if only she hadn't kept retreating from me. She was&lt;br /&gt;very beautiful and soft looking. I was having fantasies of getting a&lt;br /&gt;normal job, dressing normally, and asking her to marry me and have&lt;br /&gt;children. The idea just overwhelmed me. She reminds me of Joan Hale.&lt;br /&gt;The first woman I fell in love with after leaving Cody. She worked in&lt;br /&gt;the bookkeeping department of a Washington DC department store. I&lt;br /&gt;became ga-ga over her. But she wanted someone more normal. Or at least&lt;br /&gt;someone who looked more normal. For awhile I managed to change my&lt;br /&gt;appearance to try and attract her. It was a very uncomfortable thing&lt;br /&gt;to do. I wanted to do whatever was necessary to get her, but it was&lt;br /&gt;all such an act, or so it felt to me. I was not comfortable doing it.&lt;br /&gt;I failed anyway. I think of her sometimes. A woman like Kathy&lt;br /&gt;hypnotizes me into that time. And Jeannette, another surprise. She and&lt;br /&gt;Gina came dressed as runk pockers. Dressed to kill. Some almost didn't&lt;br /&gt;recognize them. She is not living with Vinnie. A few days ago she&lt;br /&gt;seemed quite satisfied. But she's like that. She'll end a situation of&lt;br /&gt;that sort very quickly for one reason or another. She said to me, you&lt;br /&gt;were right. But I'm not sure exactly what I she meant. Was it about&lt;br /&gt;things changing back and forth, or did I say something about what I&lt;br /&gt;thought would happen with her and Vinnie? A phone call from someone&lt;br /&gt;who left their sweater here last night. No matter, but she came,&lt;br /&gt;kissed me, was her usual affectionate self, stayed for awhile, and&lt;br /&gt;left. For parts unknown, or to be a bad girl like her old days? Or to&lt;br /&gt;abuse herself. I don't know what it is with her at times. Such a lot&lt;br /&gt;of life energy, and so much of it goes to self-destructive behavior. I&lt;br /&gt;really don't know what to do when I hear about these things from her.&lt;br /&gt;She seems totally honest about it to me, but as though she is a&lt;br /&gt;helpless victim of it, like it is being done outside her control. I&lt;br /&gt;worry that she will get herself pregnant again. I have the urge to be&lt;br /&gt;very protective of her but helpless myself. What can be done?  Who but&lt;br /&gt;her can do it? She is very good at resisting any efforts from me.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I think maybe that pushes her the wrong way even more. She&lt;br /&gt;reminds me of my sister. Complete self-confidence, l but in reality&lt;br /&gt;like a baby at the controls of an airplane. Who wants to fly with&lt;br /&gt;that? And why am I so attracted so much to someone like this? Could it&lt;br /&gt;be so I am always the one who is in control at the times things are&lt;br /&gt;bad for her? No, that's not quite it.  So I can be superior with a&lt;br /&gt;fallen woman?  I danced, or tried with her, for a little while.&lt;br /&gt;Certainly I envy the way she moves herself. A long phone conversation&lt;br /&gt;with Linda. I tell her about the party and what happened with&lt;br /&gt;different people. How I am feeling jealous of Dana and that he has&lt;br /&gt;more success, by numbers, with women. He is more able to attract them&lt;br /&gt;to him in the short term. I tell Linda about my feeling of confidence&lt;br /&gt;about the women I like now. Her, Simone, Judy, Jeannette, Liebe. And&lt;br /&gt;how everything could turn to shit in two days. At the moment I feel&lt;br /&gt;positive about all of them. And they are positive about me.  Its like&lt;br /&gt;an emotional roller-coaster. But I don't want it to continue like&lt;br /&gt;this. How to get things more stable? Certainly if we all lived&lt;br /&gt;together.  But now its a problem to get close to them when they just&lt;br /&gt;knew of the others. Dana is making some sort of moves with Carol. Lois&lt;br /&gt;seems to be responding to this by giving more of her attention to Joe.&lt;br /&gt;Speculation. I find myself with an odd feeling. One moment talking&lt;br /&gt;with people, seeming to have some connection. The next walking down to&lt;br /&gt;the other side of the party and feeling like I'm in some sort of&lt;br /&gt;twilight zone. Completely disconnected. Lots of people making long&lt;br /&gt;drawn out thanks yous for inviting them to this lovely party. Big&lt;br /&gt;smiles, grins. Something artificial about it. Fake. It makes me a bit&lt;br /&gt;uncomfortable when people carry on at such lengths. I get the feeling&lt;br /&gt;its not genuine, that its forced. Its better with those who just put&lt;br /&gt;on their coats and say goodbye. Or like Jeannette, hug and kiss me,&lt;br /&gt;and then say goodbye. S ten shows up and returns my notes.  He wants&lt;br /&gt;to read the second half. He says its very good. That its a good way&lt;br /&gt;for me to come out with myself. His advice is to just write for&lt;br /&gt;myself.  To not let the idea of getting published influence what I&lt;br /&gt;write in any way.  I am pleased to hear this, but lately worry about&lt;br /&gt;exactly this happening. I sit here and write this and say to myself -&lt;br /&gt;there is a fight going on inside me to try to continue to write just&lt;br /&gt;for myself, and to not let it be influenced by y fame and fortune&lt;br /&gt;fantasies. Karyn comes just after Ron, about 1 in the morning. Its an&lt;br /&gt;odd feeling with her. Would she stay if asked? Do I really want to&lt;br /&gt;ask? It goes back and forth. She seems to linger. My imagination? But&lt;br /&gt;this Kathy keeps coming back into my head.  Sexual fantasies. Fucking&lt;br /&gt;with her. She is several months pregnant. From behind. The suburbs. I&lt;br /&gt;almost can't believe this. Its like a flood. Washing over me. Trying&lt;br /&gt;to consciously think of other things. But it comes back.  Out of my&lt;br /&gt;control. Images of total passion. Always fucking. We are delerious.&lt;br /&gt;But I recognize this. Anyone really out of my reach can generate these&lt;br /&gt;fantasies. With Simone I don't have it. I have her. With Linda I have&lt;br /&gt;the fantasies a little, but don't have her as much as Simone. After&lt;br /&gt;yesterday with Judy I notice a drop in the intensity of my fantasies&lt;br /&gt;about her. For awhile there was something with the redhead Suzanne,&lt;br /&gt;but she seems totally fixated on things like dreams, fairy tales, and&lt;br /&gt;psychic phenomenon.  Maybe it is paranoia but it seems she avoids me.&lt;br /&gt;More paranoia that she kissed Dana with more affection when she left?&lt;br /&gt;It seemed a little stiffer and forced with me. Could I be jealous?&lt;br /&gt;Over a gorgeous woman with fantastic red hair and a very nice body?&lt;br /&gt;Dana asks to read the notes. So he gets the first two Sunday pages.&lt;br /&gt;Its my birthday. 36. Two times 36 is 72. Is my life half over? I don't&lt;br /&gt;want to face it. But everyone in your family lives to be much older,&lt;br /&gt;you say. That means you really have more time. Don't worry about it&lt;br /&gt;you say? Why a feeling of panic? Why do I always think time is running&lt;br /&gt;out. It happened the same even 10 years ago.  Ten years before that I&lt;br /&gt;was waiting to be older so I could really do something with my life.&lt;br /&gt;Here I am, and wishing it was twenty years ago, but knowing what I&lt;br /&gt;know today. 50 why don't I know what I'll know in another 10 years?&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I think, yes, you know what you will know in ten years now.&lt;br /&gt;The real problem is that you are not doing as much as you can imagine,&lt;br /&gt;or as much as you want. So the answer to that is to just do all those&lt;br /&gt;things in your imagination. Don't be so afraid. What, after all, do&lt;br /&gt;you really have to *****. I can never remember, is it lose, or is it&lt;br /&gt;loose? You know what I mean. It feels like I will break down and cry.&lt;br /&gt;It comes a little ways out and then fades. This woman keeps jumping&lt;br /&gt;back into my mind. Its like in the movies. Her face suddenly fills the&lt;br /&gt;entire screen. She does not look directly at me. Always a little down,&lt;br /&gt;or to one side. I tell her how beautiful she is. How attracted I am to&lt;br /&gt;her. But she has another idea of what she wants in a man and withdraws&lt;br /&gt;from me. At one point she moves around behind the kitchen table, which&lt;br /&gt;is already pushed nearly against the wall. She seems to pick up&lt;br /&gt;another cigarette each time I approach her. She is uncomfortable from&lt;br /&gt;my attention. I imagine what sort of man she would like. There is one&lt;br /&gt;like that here. He is reasonably well dressed. Very normal. Also very&lt;br /&gt;dull and boring. But that's only to me. She would want someone with&lt;br /&gt;those qualities. But probably not just this one. Dana asks me about&lt;br /&gt;Ann and Elizabeth. He found them | both very seductive, especially&lt;br /&gt;Elizabeth, who is the older. He thought that Ann, especially, was on&lt;br /&gt;the prowl. Very sexual, like an animal. Last time I saw her she was&lt;br /&gt;very subdued, squashed. Maybe she's trying to let some of this out.&lt;br /&gt;She was certainly more lively this evening. Dana comments on my notes.&lt;br /&gt;Interesting, he says. ! I found it interesting what you perceived&lt;br /&gt;about the evening.  Where did that comment about me trying to start&lt;br /&gt;something with Carol come from? Out of nowhere. Or so he says! But I&lt;br /&gt;notice just a touch of his not liking what's been written. He is not&lt;br /&gt;explicit, but there is the impression that he doesn't want it to be&lt;br /&gt;seen that way. An awkward moment with Carol.  We are talking about&lt;br /&gt;writing, creativity, thinking about writing for publication. Then on&lt;br /&gt;to more personal things like what's happening with me and Simone and&lt;br /&gt;Michael coming over for breakfast tomorrow. She wonders about the&lt;br /&gt;problems. There are some parts to it. One is that Simone feels no&lt;br /&gt;contradiction or problem being with me and Michael. She likes us both.&lt;br /&gt;It makes sense. She feels good] But when she and Linda are with me it&lt;br /&gt;is something else. If not, then she will manage ' to create something.&lt;br /&gt;She knows enough about her past to suddenly discover enough wrong with&lt;br /&gt;her in the present. She mentions how some people can make a decision&lt;br /&gt;to not have this be a problem. To me this is nothing more than a&lt;br /&gt;temporary fake, or resisting what is really going on, what the person&lt;br /&gt;is really feeling.  She says that&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-3685012202313489571?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3685012202313489571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=3685012202313489571' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3685012202313489571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3685012202313489571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/saturday-february-7-1981.html' title='Saturday, February 7, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-5841673390311913640</id><published>2007-03-09T08:28:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-09T08:28:56.508-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tuesday, February 3, 1981</title><content type='html'>It seems like a depression. Difficult to get up. Slow to fall asleep.&lt;br /&gt;I lie in bed resisting getting started. Thinking about all the work&lt;br /&gt;that must be done.  Spending the time on sexual fantasies. Reading&lt;br /&gt;Nietzsche's Beyond Good And Evil. It seems to be about what's wrong&lt;br /&gt;with philosophers of the past and what philosophy might be like, or&lt;br /&gt;how it might approach things in the future. Nothing's happening.&lt;br /&gt;Boring.  Lotti asks me for some advice about her relationships last&lt;br /&gt;night. Seems the men involved are always saying she wants to much from&lt;br /&gt;them. She's smothering them. I tell her it is a common complaint from&lt;br /&gt;men about women. Try some other relationships, spend some time with me&lt;br /&gt;and the people I live with. I tell her she has too many expectations&lt;br /&gt;of them and they can't stand the pressure. Judy called-me last night&lt;br /&gt;to help her move some furniture. Then she wants to have lunch. I&lt;br /&gt;suspect it is more like a bribe. She knows I like her and will do most&lt;br /&gt;anything to get her attention. Its true.  She only has to ask.&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, she doesn't ask enough. But recently I have noticed&lt;br /&gt;something very interesting about her behavior. The first thing is a&lt;br /&gt;certain quality in her voice. It is much softer and more open. The&lt;br /&gt;second thing is what she tells me about her other relationships.&lt;br /&gt;Namely, the difficulties. Her doubts about continuing the way it is&lt;br /&gt;with Steven.  Almost like a panic about having to make a choice about&lt;br /&gt;going somewhere with him if he leaves the area. And at times that she&lt;br /&gt;wants to end it.  Myself I feel a little like a piece of cheese being&lt;br /&gt;used by a cat to bait a mouse Not that she does this consciously, but&lt;br /&gt;I am certainly not above using one of my relationships as a lever to&lt;br /&gt;improve or move another. But on the other hand, one good one makes me&lt;br /&gt;more secure in trying to start another. She could be doing this also.&lt;br /&gt;But it is so slow. I want to blame her for this. But I look at myself&lt;br /&gt;and see all the mistakes. Each one has slowed or crippled progress. So&lt;br /&gt;I help her move this chair. We get it from Michael's house. He won't&lt;br /&gt;help her. He doesn't want to go into her house.  Anybody but Steven&lt;br /&gt;can help her pick it up - but not him! She is 3 very aggressive today.&lt;br /&gt;Pulling my hat over my eyes. Keeping it away from me. Not watching how&lt;br /&gt;she is driving. Talking loud and in spurts. She wants to fight. Its&lt;br /&gt;good she doesn't have much experience being aggressive. Lots of&lt;br /&gt;problems with the job as its ending in a few months. Doesn't know&lt;br /&gt;what's going to happen to her relationship with Steven. He may just go&lt;br /&gt;away. She really wants to fight with him to see if he can take it.&lt;br /&gt;Will he run away?  Will he turn tail and become a wimp? Will it freak&lt;br /&gt;him out? Will he still want her after its over? Stay tuned. I suggest&lt;br /&gt;rewriting her resume. I volunteer to help. But I've got to be off for&lt;br /&gt;downtown and my luncheon date with Susan. She's interested in my notes&lt;br /&gt;and me after a two hour conversation about FH and related things. It&lt;br /&gt;doesn't go. She thinks I perceive things too differently from her. Oh&lt;br /&gt;well. A bit of rejection. Some chocolate. A chocolate-chip cookie.&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly everything is much better.  Evening. More calls for next&lt;br /&gt;Saturday's party. I have called many people. A lot who I would&lt;br /&gt;normally pass over because of anxieties. A question. Do I manage to&lt;br /&gt;call them because the anxiety is being held down, or because the&lt;br /&gt;problem is being overcome? Is it being done from feeling or from&lt;br /&gt;compulsion and/or an idea of what should be done? Am I guided by&lt;br /&gt;desire or craziness?  How do people manage to convince themselves&lt;br /&gt;something is happening in their life when they live alone? Stuck&lt;br /&gt;again. I think about writing something then see it as propaganda,&lt;br /&gt;dogma, a personal party line, my own ideas, with no connection to the&lt;br /&gt;facts. How to say this. Nonsense. Most of what I say.  Its hard to&lt;br /&gt;separate the real feeling from the past echo still reverberating&lt;br /&gt;around inside me. Its mostly stuff that just spills out, like a&lt;br /&gt;garbage can being tipped over. And the shit inside' Sometimes a&lt;br /&gt;valuable thing gets thrown out. But who would notice or even want to&lt;br /&gt;look? The Garbage Can School of Personal Development. Get rid of all&lt;br /&gt;your garbage.  Two consecutive weekends. $500.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-5841673390311913640?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5841673390311913640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=5841673390311913640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/5841673390311913640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/5841673390311913640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/tuesday-february-3-1981.html' title='Tuesday, February 3, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-3671410168091270514</id><published>2007-03-08T10:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-08T10:31:52.083-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday, February 1, 1981</title><content type='html'>Resistance. I make up little things to distract me. Read the&lt;br /&gt;newspaper. Look for something to eat in the kitchen. Why am I&lt;br /&gt;resisting calling people about the party next Saturday? I have an&lt;br /&gt;interesting idea. Introduce some of the people I have known for many&lt;br /&gt;years and say something about them. It could be quite amusing. But I&lt;br /&gt;avoid making the calls that will bring people here. I begin to feel&lt;br /&gt;the difficulty of communicating with people. Something. Its like many&lt;br /&gt;times in the past. There is something I want to do, but have enormous&lt;br /&gt;resistance to getting going. I anticipate how uncomfortable it will be&lt;br /&gt;talking with some people, and that stops me from calling anyone. So&lt;br /&gt;why not just call those that are easiest? I think ahead to how hard it&lt;br /&gt;will be to have something to do with people at the party. One side of&lt;br /&gt;me says to just stop calling people. Let those who I've called not&lt;br /&gt;come, or get here and then go home.  A crazy idea. Last night, just&lt;br /&gt;before falling off to sleep, two voices were calling my name. They&lt;br /&gt;were like elves with very strange voices. They kept calling my name. I&lt;br /&gt;am also putting off doing certain work. REsisting lots of things that&lt;br /&gt;would make things better for me. More money. Get a bigger place. But I&lt;br /&gt;don't do the things needed to bring it about. Reading about the war in&lt;br /&gt;El Salvador. Having science fiction like fantasies of having an alien&lt;br /&gt;ally with enormous power capable of stopping all the fighting. I am&lt;br /&gt;their earth representative. I threaten to make demon- strations of the&lt;br /&gt;enormous power available, if they don't stop fighting.  There I am in&lt;br /&gt;the corridors of power negotiating with followers of the adversaries.&lt;br /&gt;This is an old fantasy of mine. Stopping crime, wars, fights, trouble&lt;br /&gt;anywhere with my all powerful friends from the stars. More fantasies&lt;br /&gt;about Judy. She has promised to call me back twice this week and&lt;br /&gt;didn't. Why not send her an its-all-over-between-us letter, and a copy&lt;br /&gt;of my notes, and a message about how she can get future issues by&lt;br /&gt;subscription.  Something like that. It always comes out better in my&lt;br /&gt;fantasies. Everything comes out better in my fantasies. But then in&lt;br /&gt;those fantasies I do more to bring them about than I put into real&lt;br /&gt;life. I am mostly fearless, always clever, ever able to do the next&lt;br /&gt;best thing to cause something to happen in my favor. But then I never&lt;br /&gt;have to worry about pesky other realities. Everybody does my orders&lt;br /&gt;perfectly. I always know exactly what everyone should do. For example,&lt;br /&gt;in my fantasy about Judy, she is quite taken with my letter, really&lt;br /&gt;nothing more than an ingenious ploy to get her attention, and falls in&lt;br /&gt;love with me. And wants to be with me more. And so it works out just&lt;br /&gt;fine for me and her. But really she has all these other things pulling&lt;br /&gt;at her and I'm not attractive enough to push them out of her life. So&lt;br /&gt;I think of more clever ideas.  This has happened in the past. Once&lt;br /&gt;when she did not want to have anything to do with me, and was quite&lt;br /&gt;disturbed about my wanting to sleep with her, I managed to reverse the&lt;br /&gt;situation by sending her a poem something like this: Roses are red,&lt;br /&gt;Violets are blue, Even if you won't, I still love you' And things have&lt;br /&gt;improved since.  She told me last week of having thought of sleeping&lt;br /&gt;with me - mostly when I was in Europe. So maybe I should go away&lt;br /&gt;again? I will call her right now and invite her to next week's party.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-3671410168091270514?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3671410168091270514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=3671410168091270514' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3671410168091270514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3671410168091270514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/sunday-february-1-1981.html' title='Sunday, February 1, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-3087299661609546085</id><published>2007-03-07T10:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-07T10:03:23.307-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thursday, January 29, 1981</title><content type='html'>Mush. Everything feels like mush today. Can't tell one thing from&lt;br /&gt;another.  Thinking about lots of things but can't remember much. Last&lt;br /&gt;night with Dana and Simone. We sit on his bed and talk for an hour or&lt;br /&gt;so. He and I were talking alone. About the tension between Simone and&lt;br /&gt;I over Sundays events.  It made me nervous and hungry the whole day.&lt;br /&gt;An uneventful day teaching in Sturbridge. Boring bus ride there.&lt;br /&gt;Boring bus ride back. Simone is at Donna's for her dream group.&lt;br /&gt;Michael has decided to join. She will not say what her plans for the&lt;br /&gt;evening are. Who will she stay with? I sense a bit of getting even in&lt;br /&gt;her voice. Anyway, remoteness. Her last day at work. A visit to the&lt;br /&gt;doctor about vaginal bleeding. Its stopped. At first she doesn't want&lt;br /&gt;to talk about something I ask her, I've got to get back to the group,&lt;br /&gt;she says. Then she starts about the visit to the doctor and her&lt;br /&gt;therapist and goes on at some length. Maybe I will try to make another&lt;br /&gt;date for tonite. Call Judy but no answer. The dream group was talking&lt;br /&gt;about me when I called. Last night was two or more hours with Simone.&lt;br /&gt;She also notices the tension between us. She still wants it her way.&lt;br /&gt;Tells me how she is better than Linda, has been more reliable, how&lt;br /&gt;fucked up she was to have had an emotional breakdown last spring.&lt;br /&gt;Tells me the whole story of how she fell in love with me. It goes back&lt;br /&gt;and forth. Fighting and loving. Talking and arguing. A one point she&lt;br /&gt;shouts at me, Michael is a better lover' But none of these things seem&lt;br /&gt;to bother me like they did on Sunday. I don't feel caught up, wrapped&lt;br /&gt;in knots. I a only tell her that I can't agree to any sort of&lt;br /&gt;limitations on my relationship with Linda, or anyone else. She cries a&lt;br /&gt;lot. I comfort her. In the beginning we were both horny. She was very&lt;br /&gt;dry. She noticed how closed she felt. It got better. We were fucking&lt;br /&gt;but she was not wet at all. Saturday, January 31, 1981 I don't want to&lt;br /&gt;leave you, but I have to, says Simone one tear filled night. Tears l&lt;br /&gt;and thoughts of leaving. The story of this week. And catastrophe.&lt;br /&gt;Simone fainted getting out of her car while going to the dentist.&lt;br /&gt;Blood pressure much too low, and still constipated. She wants me to&lt;br /&gt;talk to her dentist.  She is half an hour late meeting Ellen and me in&lt;br /&gt;Harvard Square. We get worried. I imagine she may have fainted again&lt;br /&gt;and decide to go ask the police if such an incident has been reported.&lt;br /&gt;But, no, I meet her at the bank entrance. Later that night she is an&lt;br /&gt;hour late to her house for a party. Again I, and Dana, am worried.&lt;br /&gt;Later, five of us are lying on her bed. Me, Simone, Dana, Lois, and&lt;br /&gt;Carol. Some idle conversation leads to me saying something about her&lt;br /&gt;health. That I also have second thoughts about living with her. Do I&lt;br /&gt;want to be a nursemaid to someone who will be dead of multiple causes&lt;br /&gt;by age 35. She gets extremely offended. Enraged, she accuses me of&lt;br /&gt;always criticizing her. Jumps up and goes to run downstairs.  Then,&lt;br /&gt;another surprise from Dana. He say the same, telling her that fainting&lt;br /&gt;on the street and being late is not good for her or us. I feel better&lt;br /&gt;it is out. We talk about it and she comes to lie beside me once more.&lt;br /&gt;All this was yesterday. I have to stop and think to write this. It&lt;br /&gt;doesn't pour out of me anymore. I sit here thinking over the day, what&lt;br /&gt;has happened, how I felt, and its all a jumble. A sense of panic today&lt;br /&gt;about ever being able to make anything of my life other than a series&lt;br /&gt;of events that might one day come to be seen as historically&lt;br /&gt;interesting. Perhaps to someone reading about me, or someone trying to&lt;br /&gt;write about me. The great pretender. Fantasies about being a great&lt;br /&gt;writer. I can't write in a month what some do in a day. It preoccupies&lt;br /&gt;me the greater part of some days.  Last night reading about someone&lt;br /&gt;else's life, a good writer, one who tells a good, well organized&lt;br /&gt;story. But it is about trying to make some sense of all the things he&lt;br /&gt;has done in his life, and the people he identifies with.  How so many&lt;br /&gt;of them decided not to have children, or only one or two. He has one&lt;br /&gt;and thinks about the one he might have had but for an abortion. I have&lt;br /&gt;had this twice. But what is this feeling I have about what he says.&lt;br /&gt;That his life was different from most of the people around him, but my&lt;br /&gt;impression is that he has the same regrets and sadness, but only&lt;br /&gt;because he didn't manage to change the rest of the world a little&lt;br /&gt;more. Giving up his own life at times to save the rest of the world.&lt;br /&gt;My attitude has been the for much of my life, when thinking about it.&lt;br /&gt;Trying to do some good, and one disaster and catastrophe after another&lt;br /&gt;creeps up and grabs me. They start out like little things.  Not so&lt;br /&gt;important that it has to get in the way of the good deeds I'm doing.&lt;br /&gt;But it gets bigger with time. Once started it has never gone away.&lt;br /&gt;Then it starts to influence the important work. Time after time.&lt;br /&gt;Always these personal things do it. Why isn't it possible to create a&lt;br /&gt;more stable personal situation? I call Linda in NYC about visiting&lt;br /&gt;this weekend. She is very distant and under the surface quite&lt;br /&gt;disappointed in me. You should have called me earlier in the week, she&lt;br /&gt;says. Someone else is coming to visit me. And so my relationship with&lt;br /&gt;her takes a turn for the worse. All from not making an earlier phone&lt;br /&gt;call. I call Judy, but she is now more distant. Doesn't think I'll be&lt;br /&gt;interested in a party with people from her work place. I'll call you&lt;br /&gt;back, she says. But I don't feel its true. But things are much better&lt;br /&gt;with Simone. In spite of half the people at last nights party saying&lt;br /&gt;she should leave me. Some odd behavior by people there last night. A&lt;br /&gt;strange friend of George Ferrar's didn't want to leave at three this&lt;br /&gt;morning. Three of the men who were just leaving escorted him away. He&lt;br /&gt;wouldn't go when Simone asked him. George was a bit fixated, and maybe&lt;br /&gt;jealous about the short blurb written about me in the latest issue of&lt;br /&gt;the Whole Earth Times. He mentioned it some three times that evening.&lt;br /&gt;I have just wondered if the mood was from what Simone has been telling&lt;br /&gt;everyone about the situation of last Sunday. Dana was in a pickle. He&lt;br /&gt;wanted to go home with Ann. She was a bit cool to the idea, but he&lt;br /&gt;kept trying. Finally Lois came around and stuck herself between the&lt;br /&gt;two of them.  It seemed as though he was guarding Dana. If I can't&lt;br /&gt;have you tonight, then nobody gets you' This would effectively put an&lt;br /&gt;end to Dana trying to get Ann, and at the same time lead him to resent&lt;br /&gt;Lois. She talked to me for some time, left for the bathroom, and never&lt;br /&gt;returned. I have some difficulty engaging in natural conversation with&lt;br /&gt;her. She seems always on the defensive. I spoke about how it seems&lt;br /&gt;others are able to deceive her about their real intentions, but not&lt;br /&gt;me. Its as though she doesn't want to see anything from me as being&lt;br /&gt;direct and straightforward. She seems quite content to indulge her&lt;br /&gt;romantic fantasies with Dana, and know nothing about what's really&lt;br /&gt;going on with him, or not to face any of these things. It is doubtful&lt;br /&gt;she will ever talk with him about her guard duty of last night.  But&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to be able to fool her, no siree. Do I sense a little&lt;br /&gt;bit of resentment in my words at not being able to win her over?&lt;br /&gt;Surely not from me' She needs someone not so adventuresome, who&lt;br /&gt;doesn't try too much.  But Dana is getting to be less and less that&lt;br /&gt;sort of person. He talks more and more openly about himself. From time&lt;br /&gt;to time he inserts some new piece of information in a fairly uniform&lt;br /&gt;type of conversation that we have.  Lately a lot of talk about sex and&lt;br /&gt;how he wants to try more things. He met Kathy for the first time&lt;br /&gt;yesterday. I liked her look, he says. She may be looking for someone&lt;br /&gt;new shortly. An interesting observation about Simone from m m the last&lt;br /&gt;week. It has to do with her behavior with me when we are in bed. She&lt;br /&gt;always likes to suck on my prick. Not once so far this week.  She&lt;br /&gt;kissed me there this afternoon after we fucked. But that's it. Such a&lt;br /&gt;thing hasn't happened before. Its because I'm still upset with you,&lt;br /&gt;she says. She has also spent more days with Michael this week than&lt;br /&gt;normal. She can't get over it. Linda is like some disembodied person&lt;br /&gt;for her. I heard the story about that woman, as Carol described her&lt;br /&gt;this after noon. Simone and Linda have said the same thing about&lt;br /&gt;leaving me. I don't want to but I have to.  Her (Simone) therapist&lt;br /&gt;asks her why she has to make a decision now. Why is everything so&lt;br /&gt;black and white. Linda at least treats Simone as a person with same&lt;br /&gt;dimensions. She admits that its possible for her to have a real loving&lt;br /&gt;relationship with me. Not so with Simone. She wants to see everything&lt;br /&gt;about it as a bad joke or trick on her. All this while Michael and I&lt;br /&gt;are in her car and she talks about the two men she loves' But it is&lt;br /&gt;not possible for me to have such a situation. But maybe I get&lt;br /&gt;resentful again. Tell me, dear reader, do you notice this also? By the&lt;br /&gt;way, what interesting things have you done for yourself today? Or have&lt;br /&gt;you only had thoughts of such things? Only fantasies? Do you want to&lt;br /&gt;live with a group of people, to be free of jealousy, free of fear,&lt;br /&gt;free of being rejected, fear of not being loved? What are you doing&lt;br /&gt;about it? Are you the sort of person that other people want to be&lt;br /&gt;with? Do you make their life interesting and satisfying? Why not? What&lt;br /&gt;crazy things did you do today that caused someone to run away?&lt;br /&gt;Selfish? Asked for more than you can give?  Well, I'd want to get away&lt;br /&gt;from you to. Forget to call and say hello? Well, I wouldn't want to&lt;br /&gt;see you either. Pushed somebody too hard to accept more than they are&lt;br /&gt;able? Well, I'd think you were an asshole too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-3087299661609546085?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3087299661609546085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=3087299661609546085' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3087299661609546085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/3087299661609546085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/thursday-january-29-1981.html' title='Thursday, January 29, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-7896402406969897821</id><published>2007-03-06T19:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T19:09:02.984-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday, January 28, 1981</title><content type='html'>Feelin fragile - the opposite of feelin groovy. I have been nervous&lt;br /&gt;much of the day. There is still something in the air with me and&lt;br /&gt;Simone. We talk about something that has happened and she thinks some&lt;br /&gt;sort of resolution or solution has come from this. But the problem&lt;br /&gt;with Linda is still there. Its as though she is hoping I will change&lt;br /&gt;somehow. That the pressure and threats of leaving will bring me&lt;br /&gt;around. Stu has asked her to marry him again. He won't see her again&lt;br /&gt;if she continues to live with me.  I've said I don't need someone who&lt;br /&gt;would leave me to be with him. It seems like a little joke. I watch&lt;br /&gt;the clock. Its not plugged in but the second hand seems to jump ahead.&lt;br /&gt;Time being thrown away, wasted. Last night a two hour, 11:30 to&lt;br /&gt;1:30am, conversation with Susan Parker. Someone who knows Joe. We&lt;br /&gt;talked about couple relationships and FH. I asked her about coming&lt;br /&gt;over with a bag of potato chips. Fine, she said, if you had asked an&lt;br /&gt;hour ago. She must be at work by 7 or so. But I spoke with her this&lt;br /&gt;evening and we have a date for next Tuesday, February 3. She said how&lt;br /&gt;about tomorrow, but I'll be out of town. A sinking feeling when she&lt;br /&gt;says she can't see me till then. I am churning and spinning my&lt;br /&gt;emotional wheels again. I am jealous of Joe who was at her house, for&lt;br /&gt;a meeting. Nietzsche: The consequences of our actions take hold of us,&lt;br /&gt;quite indifferent to our claim that meanwhile we have improved. The&lt;br /&gt;results of our behavior ruin our lives, and doesn't care about our&lt;br /&gt;saying that we have grown a lot.  what faces he might be making at&lt;br /&gt;today's human potential movement. And when will I realize my&lt;br /&gt;potential? When will I be more positive about myself and when will my&lt;br /&gt;self be more I? That Nietzsche writes so good. So many interesting&lt;br /&gt;ideas, such good paragraphs. And I struggle to describe my own&lt;br /&gt;condition. Incredibly hungry today. Again. What can I point to today&lt;br /&gt;as a gain, again? When was the last time?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-7896402406969897821?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7896402406969897821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=7896402406969897821' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/7896402406969897821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/7896402406969897821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/wednesday-january-28-1981.html' title='Wednesday, January 28, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-6836946386995621407</id><published>2007-03-05T20:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-05T20:47:21.662-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tuesday, January 27, 1982</title><content type='html'>More arguing in bed with Simone last night. The same old stuff. Who's&lt;br /&gt;ahead of who. Who did what, when, and where, to whom. It goes on and&lt;br /&gt;on.  What is it about? I can never remember. Nothing of importance.&lt;br /&gt;But I had to do something to end the rather nasty circle of blame and&lt;br /&gt;counter-blame we were in. At first I just told her to go home, get out&lt;br /&gt;of here. Then I pushed her a little. She resisted, not wanting to&lt;br /&gt;really go. Then I just decide to turn my back and be quiet. To stop&lt;br /&gt;fighting with her and say nothing. She goes on. I tell her to shutup&lt;br /&gt;and go to sleep. Then the whole mood changes. She starts to cry and&lt;br /&gt;tell me how love is more important to her than what goes on now. I&lt;br /&gt;surrender also, turn to hold her and talk. She says that wanting to be&lt;br /&gt;loved, and her fear of rejection has created a lot of difficulties for&lt;br /&gt;her. And there was more, but the mood was totally different. We were&lt;br /&gt;not struggling against each other. The voice and words were softer and&lt;br /&gt;more genuine. It was much better than lying there, on our backs,&lt;br /&gt;staring at the ceiling, feeling tense, hitting back at each other with&lt;br /&gt;past pasties, accusations, meanness, and all the other things that&lt;br /&gt;people say to the other when they hate, and want to come out ahead,&lt;br /&gt;and feel superior, and self-righteous.  Its still in me. Today, more&lt;br /&gt;fights inside my head. It carries me away. A life filled with&lt;br /&gt;imaginary fights, and imaginary victories, and tension, and no real&lt;br /&gt;resolution. I get knocked off my feet so easily by these past events.&lt;br /&gt;Not enough satisfaction now? Not enough security now? I give in to&lt;br /&gt;this mood and feel like crying. A lump in my throat, and a dam at my&lt;br /&gt;eyes stops it. Suddenly I am thinking about Otto and the time he was&lt;br /&gt;on TV with Eva and the moderator bit her finger. I saw it in Der&lt;br /&gt;Speigel about two and one-half years ago. Rudiger and Virginia were&lt;br /&gt;staying with me at Hampshire Place. He was very sick and Virginia and&lt;br /&gt;I did all the work. I am a bit paralized at the moment. So much work&lt;br /&gt;to do, and so many projects I want to get going. I've just talked with&lt;br /&gt;Simone on the phone. Something is still between us. I could feel l it&lt;br /&gt;jump up from time to time as we spoke.  A little thing would set me&lt;br /&gt;off or some thing I say upsets her. It gets a little tense. Mostly we&lt;br /&gt;drop it. There is a new sort of defensiveness about her attitude&lt;br /&gt;toward me. A little cooler. A little more matter of fact. A little&lt;br /&gt;more definite. A little sharper. A feeling that she is putting a&lt;br /&gt;subtle form of distance between us. She still sees it as my having&lt;br /&gt;hurt her. With no indication of her understanding that it was just&lt;br /&gt;something that I wanted. It is only a game, a trick, played on her.&lt;br /&gt;It was not something real.  We didn't really want to do what we did.&lt;br /&gt;It was only to get at her. I point out how Michael is showing more&lt;br /&gt;interest in her. That she is threatening to leave me before I have a&lt;br /&gt;chance to reject her. She hasn't done that for some time.  Her stern&lt;br /&gt;voice warns me of other consequences if I continue on the same track.&lt;br /&gt;You don't understand yet, do you, she says. But it is perfectly clear.&lt;br /&gt;She doesn't want to have it any other way. She wants things arranged&lt;br /&gt;so it won't happen again.  At just this moment I feel a shifting in my&lt;br /&gt;attitude toward her. One of not really caring what she thinks. A&lt;br /&gt;willingness to take my chances. A strange thing.  At the moment it&lt;br /&gt;doesn't matter if she stays or goes away. A new feeling about her. A&lt;br /&gt;small, insecure, petty, nasty, conniving baby. Willing to throw away&lt;br /&gt;anything to avoid those feelings. I will be brutal and give her&lt;br /&gt;another chance to chuck it!  Then it is a question of should I plan&lt;br /&gt;something or just let it happen? But not I start to soften a bit. Why&lt;br /&gt;do it anyway? I just don't want to live like this, to have to think&lt;br /&gt;every moment about who might be bothered by what I do. Then I imagine&lt;br /&gt;we are living together, and she doesn't want Linda there. A plot to&lt;br /&gt;find another place, with Linda, and then move. They would not know&lt;br /&gt;anything till the day it was to happen. People are so easy to deceive.&lt;br /&gt;Only by revealing everything can one avoid being deceived. Last night&lt;br /&gt;she told me the story of Renee and Gary.  They are or have been, under&lt;br /&gt;the impression that I am related to the Gardners of the Isabella&lt;br /&gt;Stewart Gardner Museum. I have told them about the private quarters in&lt;br /&gt;the Museum that are available to members of the family. Also, that&lt;br /&gt;someday Simone and I would go there with them. A few days ago they&lt;br /&gt;went looking for the private quarters and asked several people there&lt;br /&gt;about me. Nobody knew anything. The workers there said the person who&lt;br /&gt;said these things must be psychotic. Renee came to Simone yesterday&lt;br /&gt;with some very bad news. It was that I had deceived her about my&lt;br /&gt;relationship to the Museum. She told Renee the truth today. Renee was&lt;br /&gt;pissed and said it made her look like a fool. She was a fool. Its so&lt;br /&gt;easy. I noticed a flushed, hot feeling in my face. I get it when&lt;br /&gt;something makes me mad and then I hold back. Its like holding down&lt;br /&gt;something that wants to explode. My hands are quite cold in&lt;br /&gt;comparison. Sunday evening I was having fearful fantasies about&lt;br /&gt;Simone. That she would attack me. It would happen very suddenly. I&lt;br /&gt;kept looking over my shoulder for her. One thing that has not really&lt;br /&gt;come out in the open, but something she keeps hinting at, and never&lt;br /&gt;saying directly. Namely, she doesn't want IT to happen again. She has&lt;br /&gt;not asked me straight out. Should I be brutal and say I won't stop it&lt;br /&gt;from happening again, or lie and say, or waffle, about its happening&lt;br /&gt;again? I'm sure the possibility will present itself again. What should&lt;br /&gt;I do? See if its ok to enjoy myself? I don't know how to say this. Its&lt;br /&gt;getting to be like a well thought out plan that will go awry on the&lt;br /&gt;first step. No, even thinking of the plan is the first wrong step.&lt;br /&gt;Very strange how my face is so hot. How do I tell the difference from&lt;br /&gt;fantasies that arise naturally, spontaneously, and those that I&lt;br /&gt;willfully create? The latter are not nearly so interesting as the&lt;br /&gt;former. Reading about John O'Hara yesterday.  If I become a famous and&lt;br /&gt;rich writer will I also gets lots of sex? I certainly find it pushing&lt;br /&gt;me on, trying to write better. But this fantasy is different from&lt;br /&gt;others about being famous and getting lots of women. Its more&lt;br /&gt;realistic. Or so it seems to me. How so, the reader asks. I don't know&lt;br /&gt;exactly, but probably women would get fixated on me as a character,&lt;br /&gt;and not because of something like money. Does that make sense? How do&lt;br /&gt;ideas like this get into people in the first place?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-6836946386995621407?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/6836946386995621407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=6836946386995621407' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/6836946386995621407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/6836946386995621407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/tuesday-january-27-1982.html' title='Tuesday, January 27, 1982'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-9011919869118731961</id><published>2007-03-04T22:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-04T22:13:30.395-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Monday, January 26, 1981</title><content type='html'>No, its not really behind me. A day of arguing inside my head. Walking&lt;br /&gt;along, head down, feet scraping, having fights with Simone, countering&lt;br /&gt;every argument she tries against me. Catching myself wrapped up in it.&lt;br /&gt;Cursing at myself for falling into this old pattern. When, I ask, will&lt;br /&gt;it be possible to just live and enjoy myself. And not have to fight&lt;br /&gt;against everything. She blackmails me and threatens to go to another&lt;br /&gt;man. What is the clever argument she uses? She threatens to leave me&lt;br /&gt;before I get a chance to leave her. I am inclined to say go ahead. But&lt;br /&gt;she can leave any time she wants. Nothing holds her back but herself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-9011919869118731961?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/9011919869118731961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=9011919869118731961' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/9011919869118731961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/9011919869118731961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/monday-january-26-1981.html' title='Monday, January 26, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-2786803164874314608</id><published>2007-03-03T20:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-03T20:23:26.594-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Cambridge Chronicles - Sunday, January 25, 1981</title><content type='html'>Its getting hard to write again. The other day I was thinking, Hey,&lt;br /&gt;what if I become a famous writer, and someone is reading this in the&lt;br /&gt;far future? What would I say to such a person? You stupid shit' Forget&lt;br /&gt;it and go do something. But I have these what-if,&lt;br /&gt;in-the-future-dreams, often.  Why? Always hoping something I want will&lt;br /&gt;con. about. Today I was thinking how everything seems to he going&lt;br /&gt;well. My relationships are holding together. It looks like more people&lt;br /&gt;will be living here. Linda wants to live here if she decides to leave&lt;br /&gt;art school. But its not solid. Everyone is still subject to being&lt;br /&gt;nudged by too much feeling and going off by themselves. Only Simone&lt;br /&gt;seems determined enough about what she wants to put up with present&lt;br /&gt;and probable future difficulties. Can I say my believing there will be&lt;br /&gt;future difficulties cause them to be created? So I get excited about&lt;br /&gt;the present and fail to see the situation as it really is, and then&lt;br /&gt;expect the worst of the future. Simone has just read these notes. She&lt;br /&gt;freaks out at the possibility of Linda living with us. She wants to&lt;br /&gt;"confront that asshole about hanging up the telephone on me". It is&lt;br /&gt;only her jealousy. She becomes loud and vicious. Incredible tension.&lt;br /&gt;She is afraid of being abandoned, rejected. She has no distance to the&lt;br /&gt;feeling. She lets it eat her alive. Its gets a little calmer. Dana&lt;br /&gt;likes the idea that she thinks enough of us to want to live with us.&lt;br /&gt;He thinks it quite complimentary. But I have a very nervous feeling.&lt;br /&gt;She continues to be confrontational.  Accuses me of being incapable of&lt;br /&gt;having an intimate couple relationship. I remind her of others who&lt;br /&gt;reject her and how it is related to smothering. By her. My face feels&lt;br /&gt;very warm. My hands are quite cold. Shaking a little bit all over.&lt;br /&gt;Feeling hyper. I hide the scissors in my room. She has picked up&lt;br /&gt;weapons and thrown things at me before. Dana says he wants to leave&lt;br /&gt;and go to the movie. Tell me about it later, he says. We convince him&lt;br /&gt;to stay. He is a part of this. I play a joke about going to the movies&lt;br /&gt;with Dana. Leaving Simone here alone with Linda. She says I am afraid&lt;br /&gt;to go and leave her with Linda. I go to my room and write this. She&lt;br /&gt;can call me if she wants. It seems Linda is here. I continue to type.&lt;br /&gt;She can get me if necessary. It seems I get a little more nervous.&lt;br /&gt;Didn't I say that already? But now I wonder what's going on in there?&lt;br /&gt;I hear just a little bit of someone talking. How can I keep my mind on&lt;br /&gt;another topic? Can't. Do I hear them talking or not? Now I hear&lt;br /&gt;something.  Not clear. But something. Everything is washed away. Not a&lt;br /&gt;thing else comes up for me. I leave the two combatants to battle it&lt;br /&gt;out. What if this happens every time someone new moves in with us? How&lt;br /&gt;would it go with Judy Levy? Jeannette Tremblay? Michael Jaro? Simone&lt;br /&gt;always asks me what it would be like if Michael moved in. Wouldn't you&lt;br /&gt;feel jealous, she asks.  Yes, but it wouldn't be so bad that I would&lt;br /&gt;start thinking of reasons why not to or why he should leave. What is&lt;br /&gt;this warm feeling in my face? Its like a constant feeling of being&lt;br /&gt;embarrassed. But not really. Its also fear. I can hear more talking.&lt;br /&gt;It seems to be a bit louder. I open the door and listen. Linda is&lt;br /&gt;getting the better of the situation. She understands there may be&lt;br /&gt;problems, but she hasn't decided to move in, its only speculation. We&lt;br /&gt;will have to wait and see, she says. Should I decide to move in, then&lt;br /&gt;I'll have to spend time to get to know you better, she says. But now I&lt;br /&gt;want to spend what little time left today with Richard.  I'd like to&lt;br /&gt;spend some time just with you Simone, but not now. Another time. She&lt;br /&gt;comes to me in my room. I tell her she won this one. The score is now&lt;br /&gt;tied one to one. She has forgotten about the last interaction she had&lt;br /&gt;with Simone. She is very sassy with me. I see another, more assertive,&lt;br /&gt;self-knowledgeable, side of her. She wants to fuck and takes my&lt;br /&gt;clothers off. We are under the covers. Simone enters, I'll see you&lt;br /&gt;later this evening, she says, and slams the door. It amuses me. Linda&lt;br /&gt;thinks it rude.  In the beginning its difficult to get an erection.&lt;br /&gt;The tension from the situation is still in me. We talk while fucking.&lt;br /&gt;Then I come into her from behind. It is one of the best times we have&lt;br /&gt;had together. It seems as though I have gotten over a hurdle and&lt;br /&gt;something, once bound up inside me, has come unstuck. Linda says she&lt;br /&gt;has learned a lot from her relationship with me. Today I learned a lot&lt;br /&gt;about her. But she jumps up right away and is gone. She takes same of&lt;br /&gt;my FH notes to read. I will go to visit her next weekend. Simone will&lt;br /&gt;be on her way to California.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the one hand I imagine myself orchestrating the whole situation.&lt;br /&gt;That I am in command, and know exactly what to do next. But mostly&lt;br /&gt;things are just developing. I have an idea about what things might be&lt;br /&gt;like, then make little experiments to see if it can be created. But&lt;br /&gt;the situation could reverse very rapidly. Its happened to me before.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I imagine that, like Otto, I've found my Claudia, Teresa,&lt;br /&gt;and Eva. But there isn't so much difference between me and them, as&lt;br /&gt;there is between Otto and the others. Mostly it is my imagination that&lt;br /&gt;I'm like him or capable of what he's done. On the other hand things&lt;br /&gt;have not fallen apart. Simone probably will survive this incident.&lt;br /&gt;Dana tells me her interrupting was from trying to figure out what sort&lt;br /&gt;of "Richard Gardner trick" I'd try at a time like this. She almost&lt;br /&gt;pulled it off but the door slaming gave her away. I was only amused.&lt;br /&gt;Now she will probably think of trying something like this. Maybe I&lt;br /&gt;will come over and she will be in bed with another man. Like a poker&lt;br /&gt;game. But we learn a lot of important things with every new hand we&lt;br /&gt;play. She could make a date with me and then cancel at the last&lt;br /&gt;moment. Or maybe start introducing me to a lot of her other men&lt;br /&gt;friends. Or change her behavior so Michael is more comfortable and&lt;br /&gt;wants to spend more time with her. Maybe go away on that vacation he&lt;br /&gt;suggested to her just recently. Or maybe just make lots more dates&lt;br /&gt;with other men. The next chapter should be exciting. Don't you think&lt;br /&gt;so? In the beginning it was a heated argument with lots of emotions&lt;br /&gt;coming out. In time it settled down. The world did not end. We have&lt;br /&gt;experienced a new threshhold of ourselves, and learned that it is not&lt;br /&gt;so bad. I may have to face this situation again, but once done it&lt;br /&gt;really feels behind me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-2786803164874314608?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2786803164874314608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=2786803164874314608' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/2786803164874314608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/2786803164874314608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/cambridge-chronicles-sunday-january-25.html' title='The Cambridge Chronicles - Sunday, January 25, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-2210165834640029391</id><published>2007-03-01T17:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-01T17:13:04.326-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thursday, January 22, 1981</title><content type='html'>Last night a surprise from Dana. He suggests we have an SD evening. He&lt;br /&gt;has been reading my notes from when I was first on FH. It seems he has&lt;br /&gt;been doing that every time I see him, for the last 3 days. At one time&lt;br /&gt;he told Simone they were boring. She tells me he enjoys talking&lt;br /&gt;together but it is more comfortable when she is there. We spoke for&lt;br /&gt;some time about being in love, just the two of us. Me and Dana. It was&lt;br /&gt;the most real conversation I have ever had with just him. Mostly its&lt;br /&gt;about the weather, furniture, this or that trivial thing. He seems&lt;br /&gt;quite interested in the SD. That it is a very powerful thing for&lt;br /&gt;discovering ones weaknesses and strengths. I tell him how a weakness&lt;br /&gt;disappears the moment you show it.  How difficult it is to be open to&lt;br /&gt;people, to love them. I can't recapture the mood. This is a completely&lt;br /&gt;intellectual description of it. Why do I write? This is something I&lt;br /&gt;asked myself two days ago. For one, to become a better write, second,&lt;br /&gt;to get another picture of myself. Third is something like research. To&lt;br /&gt;discover some new ideas and pictures of life.  But also to solve some&lt;br /&gt;practical problems in life. Like how to write every day about what's&lt;br /&gt;going on. How to be more steady in the things I do. How to enjoy what&lt;br /&gt;I do. Writing has become very enjoyable these last few days. Its a&lt;br /&gt;real thrill to be able to pour this stuff out in some way. Not that it&lt;br /&gt;satisfies me, but when I think about the times past when trying to&lt;br /&gt;keep a diary and how naive the writing was ... Maybe I will try to dig&lt;br /&gt;some of that up. I also have the idea to put some other things, like&lt;br /&gt;pictures, poems, drawings, in the book about me - if it ever comes to&lt;br /&gt;that. Otto's green lady. Maybe in color. Some of the drawings by Regi.&lt;br /&gt;Donald Faugno has just called from Sturbridge. I did not go today&lt;br /&gt;because of not feeling well and having so much work to do. It made me&lt;br /&gt;a little nervous. The job interview yesterday was interesting, but not&lt;br /&gt;enough to give up more than 40 hours a week for $25,000 a year. The&lt;br /&gt;interviewer suggested some other frindge benefits but I don't think&lt;br /&gt;so. In any case, I will go visit the school tomorrow and have a closer&lt;br /&gt;look at things. A teaching job still interests me, and there are other&lt;br /&gt;possibilities. My body starts to fail me in some more little ways. I&lt;br /&gt;think again about doing some exercise. It is like everything else, a&lt;br /&gt;lot of momentum to just keep doing the things I am doing now. Its so&lt;br /&gt;difficult to just make a phone call to get it started. So I have just&lt;br /&gt;called about where to get mats for exercising on. They may be too&lt;br /&gt;expensive for now. Today I wiI1 look for some smaller and cheaper&lt;br /&gt;versions. Temporary. Also, to get a tape recorder for playing music.&lt;br /&gt;And some Canned Heat music. I found that to have the best tempo. I am&lt;br /&gt;having trouble getting to the events of last night. Jealousy. To put&lt;br /&gt;it in a word. It started with a phone call from Linda. She was on the&lt;br /&gt;other line. I could tell right away from her voice that something was&lt;br /&gt;up. She switched back to the other line and seemed to drag it out.&lt;br /&gt;Dana noticed it also. Then I switched back to Linda. Until that time&lt;br /&gt;she was not feeling well and was going to just stay here. m en she&lt;br /&gt;decided to go stay with Michael, as she had originally planned.&lt;br /&gt;Before leaving she jokingly said maybe the four of us should do&lt;br /&gt;something together. Me, her, Michael, and Linda. Have dinner, and then&lt;br /&gt;later sleep together. She suggested that Linda would be just perfect&lt;br /&gt;for Michael because they have a similar "problem". I begin to feel&lt;br /&gt;jealous. But very mild. It comes and goes in waves. One moment&lt;br /&gt;desperation. The next its ok. Abandonment. A sinking feeling. Out of&lt;br /&gt;control. She starts to get a distant edge to her voice and behavior.&lt;br /&gt;Her contact with me becomes stiffer. Less eye contact. Even a goodbye&lt;br /&gt;kiss is more formal. I go to the office. She - calls me. Something is&lt;br /&gt;up. She has to confront me about the telephone incident. Points out to&lt;br /&gt;me that I kept her waiting once when she called long distance.  And&lt;br /&gt;another thing that escapes me now. The feeling is back. I try some&lt;br /&gt;tricks to keep her on the phone and away from Michael. He doesn't want&lt;br /&gt;to speak to me. It reminds me of the tricks with Regi on FH. Whenever&lt;br /&gt;she slept with another man I would try all sorts of things to disrupt&lt;br /&gt;it or get the attention of everyone, or just do most anything to fight&lt;br /&gt;off the feelings of panic and tension. Sometimes I would attack them&lt;br /&gt;with a pillow, try to force myself between them. All sorts of&lt;br /&gt;confusion and time consuming ploys. Anything to drag out the moment&lt;br /&gt;she would be totally involved with "him". Here its a little different.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone tries to arrange the situation so those feelings don't come&lt;br /&gt;up. Its called an open relationship. But in fact it is closed to the&lt;br /&gt;sort of feelings that are created by the situation. What one doesn't&lt;br /&gt;know won't make you jealous. Michael seems to be putting himself more&lt;br /&gt;into the Competition for her. He wants to arrange more time with her.&lt;br /&gt;I will have to work harder. She says he knows exactly what to do to&lt;br /&gt;get more of her. I think she uses the ambiguous situation of her&lt;br /&gt;moving in with me as a means to get him to come after her. She still&lt;br /&gt;has her doubts about me. Even while saying that I am afraid to get&lt;br /&gt;close to her. She still believes it is necessary to decide absolutely&lt;br /&gt;on one of us. That once married she will suddenly not have the same&lt;br /&gt;feelings about the other. And of course I am still not convinced of&lt;br /&gt;her proclamations of undying love for me. She has doubts, every day,&lt;br /&gt;just like me. The only problem is her idea that she must decide on one&lt;br /&gt;of us eventually. She was having a difficult time on the phone last&lt;br /&gt;night. My tricks were getting to her. I noticed that the way she tried&lt;br /&gt;to get distance from me had more than one quality. One thing would&lt;br /&gt;fail as I chip away at her, and so she tries a different tack. But&lt;br /&gt;still some subtle difference that is difficult to put in words. A&lt;br /&gt;definite feeling. The feeling was that this person is trying to avoid&lt;br /&gt;contact with me, I know it. It was an unmistakable sensation, but done&lt;br /&gt;in several different ways. Its so IMPOSSIBLE to describe this' Very&lt;br /&gt;Frustrating. To be able to do this would be like solving an&lt;br /&gt;existential puzzle, a life paradox. It eludes me. A mirage. I look in&lt;br /&gt;the wrong place? Where to look? I sit here pondering this like a&lt;br /&gt;mathematics puzzle. But it holds my attention quite unlike any math&lt;br /&gt;problem I've ever done. Am I the mirage? Is she the mirage? Not the&lt;br /&gt;person, but rather the feelings evoked. Maybe the place to look is&lt;br /&gt;reality. How trite. But I think if there really were more people and&lt;br /&gt;we had a group living situation then    But I imagine that everyone&lt;br /&gt;will really be dedicated to doing something about their difficulties.&lt;br /&gt;From experience I know this isn't so. Its true of me. I avoid these&lt;br /&gt;difficulties by being stubborn, and show that stubborness is one of my&lt;br /&gt;difficulties. Most people will make excuses to avoid their feelings.&lt;br /&gt;Even Simone, who is one of the best people I have found here, will do&lt;br /&gt;this when it comes to jealousy. Others insist they are not comfortable&lt;br /&gt;and so it your fault, and leave. m They can't stand the way they feel.&lt;br /&gt;that's not what I want to do at this point in my life." But why do I&lt;br /&gt;suddenly get so tense and angry when someone says this? Its the same&lt;br /&gt;for me. I don't want to confront my- self now either. When I get so&lt;br /&gt;mad at someone being closed up. NO. Forget that.  What do I mean? I&lt;br /&gt;see someone being really stupid, saying something like its not for me&lt;br /&gt;now. Suddenly, without any conscious effort, I get enraged. They don't&lt;br /&gt;want to have any contact with me. I can't stand this. On the surface&lt;br /&gt;they may be perfectly calm. The explanation may be perfectly calm. But&lt;br /&gt;I am boiling.  It almost overwhelms me. I stay calm. Try to think of a&lt;br /&gt;clever reply. But mostly being so mad jumbles everything around and I&lt;br /&gt;can't make any sense. I take it as a personal rejection. I don't&lt;br /&gt;understand on an emotional level that it is someone else's problem. It&lt;br /&gt;has nothing to do with me. I think of the many times people have had&lt;br /&gt;this sort of reaction to me. Of course it felt like I was being&lt;br /&gt;personally rejected. They were rejecting me, in a sense. But sometimes&lt;br /&gt;I am so crazy, or push to hard, that it is the most sensible thing to&lt;br /&gt;do. This is always so uncomfortable.  I have a warm feeling in my&lt;br /&gt;face. Almost like feeling a bit ashamed of myself. It often happens&lt;br /&gt;when I think of times my behavior turned people off to me.  It is&lt;br /&gt;usually obvious afterward what I did wrong. How I shouldn't have said&lt;br /&gt;this, or how I pushed to hard on something. How to avoid this&lt;br /&gt;rejection inducing behavior? It obviously needs to be avoided at the&lt;br /&gt;moment it happens. A stupidly obvious statement. Well, it is almost&lt;br /&gt;2pm and I am feeling quite satisfied about the amount I have written.&lt;br /&gt;Like a communist quota system. A silly thing, I suppose, but not bad&lt;br /&gt;when I think about how blocked the last week has been. The second hand&lt;br /&gt;on the clock sweeps around and seems to go faster, then slower. But it&lt;br /&gt;seems really to be getting slower. Maybe it is just me. The body is&lt;br /&gt;not working right the last few weeks. Yesterday I had the impression&lt;br /&gt;of cancer. Not in one place, but pervasive.  Something feels wrong.&lt;br /&gt;Not enough exercise. Not enough regularity. Not enough of the right&lt;br /&gt;foods. I feel the need to push myself but not to the point where life&lt;br /&gt;is uncomfortable. I have done that too many times in the past. Try to&lt;br /&gt;push in a direction where things are enjoyable. Finished.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-2210165834640029391?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/2210165834640029391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=2210165834640029391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/2210165834640029391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/2210165834640029391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/03/thursday-january-22-1981.html' title='Thursday, January 22, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-4193012167351157994</id><published>2007-02-28T07:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-28T07:22:06.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Cambridge Chronicles - January 20, 1981</title><content type='html'>A sinking feeling, desperate, on my way to the post office.  Will I&lt;br /&gt;ever get out of this rut?  Will I keep churning my wheels and getting&lt;br /&gt;nowhere?  A feeling that time is going too fast for, of being left&lt;br /&gt;behind again.  I think of how to change the situation.  Last night&lt;br /&gt;late to bed.  Simone and I talk about her moving in.  She talks about&lt;br /&gt;"our" room.  I want my own room.  She wants to share one.  A struggle.&lt;br /&gt;Tensions.  She argues that we will have to share a room only&lt;br /&gt;temporarily, until we get a bigger place.  I think she has just made&lt;br /&gt;up this rationalization.  She knows its true, but in the beginning&lt;br /&gt;denies it.  She spent some time in a bar with Tom Howard last night.&lt;br /&gt;He didn't want her to call and tell me they were there.  He thought I&lt;br /&gt;would come over, as its nearby.  He wanted to be alone with her.  He&lt;br /&gt;is still thinking about an affair, also divorce.  Debbie is too boring&lt;br /&gt;for him.  But he needs a stable, reliable person like her.  He bet&lt;br /&gt;Simone $5 that I would come to the bar.  She won.  Later she, Dana,&lt;br /&gt;and I are talking about this and other things.  They plan to give&lt;br /&gt;these courses, but the ad is wrong, and their mailing list is not&lt;br /&gt;ready.  I get frustrated and push on them to do something.  Perhaps&lt;br /&gt;frustration with my own inability to get moving on some things.&lt;br /&gt;Another dream about airplanes last night.  Also about a horse we had&lt;br /&gt;in Wyoming.  I walk to the train station with Simone and tell her my&lt;br /&gt;idea about common ownership of some property, like a house.  She is&lt;br /&gt;negative.  Her last experience with such a group living situation did&lt;br /&gt;not work out so well.  Too many big ideas and not enough attention to&lt;br /&gt;little details.  She's right, but I keep leaping ahead to what might&lt;br /&gt;be.  Last night's bed conversation turns for just a moment to sleeping&lt;br /&gt;with other people in our common house.  It gets a little tense.  I&lt;br /&gt;mention Dana.  He's not sleeping with me now, she says.  He can't&lt;br /&gt;manage it when I'm there.  Better to let this one pass, and not push&lt;br /&gt;on it.  Two days in a row of writing something!  I am getting all&lt;br /&gt;excited about the seminar and have asked Joe to help me develop the&lt;br /&gt;written material.  He agrees, while speaking to him in Harvard Square.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-4193012167351157994?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4193012167351157994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=4193012167351157994' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/4193012167351157994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/4193012167351157994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/02/cambridge-chronicles-january-20-1981.html' title='The Cambridge Chronicles - January 20, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641247742460990590.post-5592238266392326359</id><published>2007-02-21T08:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-21T08:47:02.075-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Monday, January 19, 1981</title><content type='html'>Having a brand new fancy typewriter does not help.  I have been here&lt;br /&gt;over a week and haven't written anything.  Not that a lot hasn't&lt;br /&gt;happened.  Today I confronted Bill about his talking about me to&lt;br /&gt;Simone but not directly to me.  This is not worth writing about.&lt;br /&gt;Walking to the post office for the mail.  Returning and feeling&lt;br /&gt;completely disconnected from everything.  Having ideas about how I&lt;br /&gt;want things to come out but don't see how to do it.  Lonely feelings.&lt;br /&gt;Nobody I can trust really.  Only Simone and Linda give me a feeling of&lt;br /&gt;not being alone.  They are away most of the time.  I'm very stuck&lt;br /&gt;going to the post office for the mail every day.  It feels as though I&lt;br /&gt;must do it.  I have to do it.  I think about how to change things so&lt;br /&gt;something else happens.  I sleep until noon today.  Not that I'm&lt;br /&gt;depressed, because I get up right after waking and masturbating.  A&lt;br /&gt;phone call goes unanswered.  Somehow I can't capture the mood that&lt;br /&gt;made it possible for me to write so much on FH.  A phone call from&lt;br /&gt;Linda last night.  It makes me feel good to hear she misses me and&lt;br /&gt;looks forward to seeing me again.  She tells me the story of how she&lt;br /&gt;was here the night I called Dana.  They were in bed together.  She&lt;br /&gt;jumped out and ran to the kitchen to listen on the extension.  She&lt;br /&gt;felt a bit guilty.  It was not possible for her to do anything with&lt;br /&gt;Dana after that incident.  She wrote me a letter but it didn't get&lt;br /&gt;there in time.  She wanted me to hear about it from her before Dana&lt;br /&gt;told me the story.  He already has.  The way he describes her is how&lt;br /&gt;Simone described him when I was away.  Simone call to tell me of her&lt;br /&gt;plans for the week and that she realized why she likes me so much.&lt;br /&gt;Its because she enjoys being with me.  Simple.  A few days ago she&lt;br /&gt;tells me of this idea she has to make things go faster.  Why not a&lt;br /&gt;little newsletter describing all the things that are going on with us&lt;br /&gt;and the people we know.  I remind her that this is an idea of mine&lt;br /&gt;from about 4 weeks ago.  She thinks it might isolate us even more.&lt;br /&gt;Its true but it will also cause people to be very interested in whats&lt;br /&gt;going on.  Those who are really interested in living with us will&lt;br /&gt;understand.  We had a talk with Dana the other day about some recent&lt;br /&gt;problems, like his using the apartment to refinish some of his old&lt;br /&gt;furniture.  The smell gets into everything.  It is resolved by having&lt;br /&gt;him move things down to the Hampshire Place office.  Its also more&lt;br /&gt;room.  The other things was comfort.  Last Tuesday night the dream&lt;br /&gt;group met here.  It was too cold for Simone.  She wanted to raise the&lt;br /&gt;temperature.  Dana wanted to keep it down to save money.  My concern&lt;br /&gt;was that everyone should be comfortable.  We don't have to suffer like&lt;br /&gt;a bunch of Pilgrims during our life.  Better to spend a little more&lt;br /&gt;money to be comfortable.  He argues that she is not really here and so&lt;br /&gt;doesn't have much say in the matter.  I say that is irrelevant.  He&lt;br /&gt;sleeps with her, has an emotional relationship with her, and this is a&lt;br /&gt;minor factor - that she does not technically live here.  I am eating&lt;br /&gt;chocolate again.  The result of this was Simone's saying that people&lt;br /&gt;talking to each other about what's going on is very important.  That&lt;br /&gt;this is a good basis for building a healthy community, which she and I&lt;br /&gt;both want.  We try to talk about more important things with other&lt;br /&gt;people that we know.  Suddenly I feel a little bit better.  A whole&lt;br /&gt;page.  Another letter from Genie Berman today.  She wrote to me almost&lt;br /&gt;exactly one year ago, also from Japan.  She still thinks fondly of me&lt;br /&gt;and my jokes.  Maybe, she says, I will visit sometime soon.  She goes&lt;br /&gt;to Italy in the next few months.  I wrote her a mushy love letter last&lt;br /&gt;year.  Something more sedate and rational this time.  A data with&lt;br /&gt;Caryn Schwartz yesterday.  She called to cancel.  My mistake.  I&lt;br /&gt;pushed a little too hard.  She was obviously quite stirred up by our&lt;br /&gt;conversation of a few days ago.  My intuition, she said, tells me not&lt;br /&gt;to do it.  She has some connection with a TORI like group.  Her&lt;br /&gt;friends are in it so she goes, but does not like what goes on.  It&lt;br /&gt;sounds very chaotic.  Chicken bones all over the place she says.  A&lt;br /&gt;rather withdrawn, authoritarian, older man is the leader.  We talk a&lt;br /&gt;lot about FH.  Maybe she will go sometime.  She has sent Gertrude some&lt;br /&gt;information about Intentional Education for the school.  In the&lt;br /&gt;beginning, a difficult time with Simone last night.  It was almost&lt;br /&gt;one.  I go to bed.  She gets here and wants me to go to her place.  I&lt;br /&gt;say no.  It is late, I'm tired, not feeling well, don't want to ride&lt;br /&gt;there, go to bed, sleep, get up, get on the subway, ride back to&lt;br /&gt;Cambridge.  She protests and complains, but stays.  She is withdrawn&lt;br /&gt;at first, but we start talking.  She is under a lot of pressure.  Its&lt;br /&gt;from work, Carol, having her other place still, Michael, her parents&lt;br /&gt;this week, after a visit.  She goes away to California with Carol in&lt;br /&gt;two weeks.  After a while it gets a little better.  She doesn't want&lt;br /&gt;any clam juice from me tonight.  Well, maybe...  But we are too tired.&lt;br /&gt;Some more rambling talk, some games, fooling around, and soon we both&lt;br /&gt;feel quite good.  And so just go to sleep.  I think some more about&lt;br /&gt;the CAMBRIDGE CHRONICLES.  What if we wrote several pages with&lt;br /&gt;something about all the people we know, what's going on with them at&lt;br /&gt;this time, make a mailing list and send it.  What would happen?  I&lt;br /&gt;could send it to everyone on my Cambridge list, and put together a&lt;br /&gt;list from Simone and my own directory.  Well, almost two pages!  This&lt;br /&gt;is getting exciting.  But I now wonder about if I should type&lt;br /&gt;everything single space.  Certainly for a newsletter.  Difficult&lt;br /&gt;getting going today.  So many things to do and lots of uncertainty&lt;br /&gt;about which way to go.  Edwin, while talking with him yesterday, tells&lt;br /&gt;me my biggest problem is settling on one or two things to do then&lt;br /&gt;putting lots of effort into it.  Instead I try to do everything of&lt;br /&gt;interest to me and can't do any of them very well, at least not to my&lt;br /&gt;satisfaction.  He's right.  And now I think of doing even more.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps a new full time job, and the seminars Joe has been helping me&lt;br /&gt;with.  Dinner with Ron and Ellen a few days ago.  Simone thinks we may&lt;br /&gt;have freaked them out talking about our various relationships.  But&lt;br /&gt;they were interested, and it was more interesting than other things we&lt;br /&gt;talked about.  Somehow horses came up and I was reminded of all my&lt;br /&gt;adventures as a youth.  Raising Suzie from a colt, Star who we got rid&lt;br /&gt;of only when my stepfather broke some of his ribs one day when the&lt;br /&gt;horse went crazy, and others.  I think of trying to write about my&lt;br /&gt;childhood.  Memories of lots of seminal incidents, or so the seem.  Or&lt;br /&gt;some things I don't remember, but my mother and grandmother tell me&lt;br /&gt;of.  The end of the 2nd page.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I should go visit my grandparents in Florida.  They can tell me&lt;br /&gt;a lot about my early years.  I have heard lots of stories already.&lt;br /&gt;Record it or maybe even videotape the event.  I begin to feel a bit&lt;br /&gt;teary eyed.  Dana and I speak a little about our childhoods.  He did&lt;br /&gt;not like having so many brothers and sisters.  It was not a good time&lt;br /&gt;for him.  My mind flashes over many incidents of extreme feeling from&lt;br /&gt;when I was a little boy.  Visiting friends of my father.  He talks&lt;br /&gt;about my being so withdrawn, and how my sister gets along much better,&lt;br /&gt;and quicker.  The earliest memories I have of living in a trailer,&lt;br /&gt;West of Cody, looking out the window, having the measles.  A vague&lt;br /&gt;memory of a communal bathing place with males and females together.&lt;br /&gt;But I think this must be a creation of mine.  I can't imagine that&lt;br /&gt;such a thing really happened in Cody, Wyoming, sometime around 1950.&lt;br /&gt;Saturday, two days ago, Porter Square shopping center, a bookstore.  I&lt;br /&gt;see Sandy Margolin.  First time in years.  I feel a little excited.&lt;br /&gt;Should I say anything, or pretend not to.  Then I glance to the side&lt;br /&gt;and see some books by Jerzy Kosinski.  Spend a little time looking at&lt;br /&gt;the covers.  Finally the nerve.  Do you read that sort of thing, I&lt;br /&gt;comment about the book she is holding.  Hello she says, long time no&lt;br /&gt;see.  Last she had heard of me was that I'm in some religious group.&lt;br /&gt;Funny how rumors get turned upside down.  I mean how rumors are&lt;br /&gt;reality turned upside down.  No, it was a free sexuality group.  But&lt;br /&gt;its a lot different now.  At first I thought she was referring to the&lt;br /&gt;Mormon Church, from which I had been excommunicated in 1973.  Not&lt;br /&gt;that.  We talk about Jessie, David, and what she is doing.  Living on&lt;br /&gt;Eustis Street, divorced from David, shared custody, a new boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;Had been working as an editor.  We say nothing about Cheyenne or&lt;br /&gt;Adele.  I speculate about how much of this will get back to her.&lt;br /&gt;Briefly talk about how I may write this book about myself, but having&lt;br /&gt;problems getting started.  She has to go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5641247742460990590-5592238266392326359?l=thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/5592238266392326359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5641247742460990590&amp;postID=5592238266392326359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/5592238266392326359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5641247742460990590/posts/default/5592238266392326359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thecambridgechronicles.blogspot.com/2007/02/monday-january-19-1981.html' title='Monday, January 19, 1981'/><author><name>Ritchie</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MzykfJjb-eI/S81GC4cYrdI/AAAAAAAAANw/FKrt6rqYp2M/S220/20070413.Cassady.Richard.BIG+copy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
