I was so lonely. He was angry.
Washer winder washer window
What happened. Quite a shock.
feeling the distance. See her objectively.
I have Vito in mind. The waves.
I’m not interested in most of the above
language. Then why am I writing it?
Trying to understand something- see something.
Figure something out is what I was thinking.
Start living at the point of accepting yourself.
Tedium of writing is the failures at concentration.
Part of the energy not available for it. Look at
the above. Single word images- as a beginning.
But what’s going on here (between me and J.)
As a “subplot.” Her constant anger.
She’s been exploding at me quite a bit. Alternates
then with affection- but she’s feeling very
ambivalent and I pick up on it. Failure of
trust- that kind of trust I seem to have
a very different perspective of now. So I can
enjoy it more for what it is. And then help her to
enjoy it. Then I can work. Point is to plot out
the work- map it, diagram it. This is the
great discovery of Vito and Smithson-you can
map out your art. Well, maybe not great discovery
by them. That might be bullshit. You can do what
you do with a story- plan it- but it needn’t
follow conventional lines.
The way I did that poem with “your body is a
map”- unfocussed images (mind) as a body of
images. That related to the process of communication.
You related that to the process of communication.
But not necessarily around the reading. The
sorrow I feel that we had such a powerful moment.
But the point is I wasn’t working when I wasn’t
loving- it would have gone on and on. I guess it
would have been better, tonight, is the point.
But for me life is a succession of moments.
Don’t like the cliché phrase. Of course you regress to
The adolescent image of love (Pavese)
Reread earlier diary note. Give me $68 dollars
And promises half the rent. But then doesn’t go to
That I would spend $35 on x. Really
angry at her now. Like X she lives off men.
Then she got angry at me- but she does know
that. I guess I’m really wondering. Well,
what alternatives. Can always tell her to go.
This “niceness” has a hostile edge- because she’s
holding on to her rage. Borderline all right.
Fuck but so is everybody else- and I hate
the safe ones. Shit. Well, maybe better tomorrow.