by Ron Padgett
* * *
Tomorrow I move out of the Creeley house and in with Gordon for one night. (Until June 1st when I move into my own place.) A totally obvious move on my part, moving in with Gordon for one night, as I could just as easily stay with Bob and Bobbie one more night. I wonder what Gordon thinks about that.
* * *
Gordon’s house. Late afternoon. Just moved in. (Well, I walked through the door carrying my little suitcase and sat down.) We talked a bit, Gordon and I, about nothing in particular, and then he said he had to go out and look for a rock. A rock to do something with. Didn’t quite catch what. At any rate, that’s where Gordon is now.
Obviously I make him nervous. Maybe this is a good sign.
I really don’t feel very optimistic tho. (You just keep telling yourself that, Joe.)
But I do feel optimistic about being able to do some good work here. And being able to relax more here. And take things as they come more here.
I’m tired of fighting life. I’d just like to sink in a bit and get cozy.
Really don’t know why I push myself so. God only knows life is short enough without rushing through it.
Gordon is still looking for a rock I guess.
I guess I’ll go shave.
* * *
It wasn’t easy, but we did finally end up in the same bed together last night. (Just messed around a bit tho, as we were both pretty stoned.) Well, in the same bed for part of the night. Until Gordon couldn’t sleep so he ended up on the sofa. (“The caffeine in Pepsi.”) Likely story.
Gordon did imply that we should get together again, but I think he was just being nice.
Maybe he’s afraid he might be “stuck” with me for a whole month if he gets involved.
Or maybe he likes to confine his love/sex life to San Francisco. (This is a small town.)
Or maybe I just don’t turn him on.
Well—I tried.
* * *
I like my new house. On Terrace Road. Half way up to the mesa. Nice view of the ocean. (Through some wires.) But already I don’t even notice them. Inside the house is pretty plain. (Normal.) With lots of orange. And some Mexican stuff. Right next door that I Hate to Cook lady lives. And two houses down is a house Isadora Duncan danced in once.
And it’s always nice to know you can take a loud shit without feeling self-conscious about it. (Should the occasion arise.)
And it’s the only way I can be totally relaxed. (Damn it.) To be alone.
The sun isn’t out today but, today, I don’t really care.
If it’s possible to feel good and bad at the same time that’s how I feel today. And I do. So I guess it is.
* * *
Bob and Bobbie each exist individually so well. And together so well too.
* * *
It seems I am always looking for matches.
* * *
Bolinas dogs are so funny. Running around all over town. In and out of stores. Alone or in packs. Plain dogs most of them. Mutts. They seem to have a little Bolinas all their own. With rules and regulations I’m sure I couldn’t begin to fathom.
* * *
Everyone seems to have a high school crush on Joanne Kyger. (Me too.)
* * *
Lots of weird dreams last night. Can’t remember any of them tho. All I remember is waking up every now and then and saying to myself “That sure was a weird dream.”
* * *
The bathroom keyholes in this house are stuffed with pink toilet paper. (No comment.)
* * *
Don’t know if I want to work today or go to the beach with Bill.
Getting lazy about shaving.
Bill just called. It’s the beach for me. Fuck work.
* * *
Did you know they have “english muffin” bread now? Like in a loaf. (Sliced.) That’s how crazy the world really is. (Stoned again.)
* * *
Why do I find it a bit awkward being with Joanne and Bobbie together? Like I feel like I have to somehow avoid playing favorites. I’m not too good at dividing myself. And I guess I like to flirt. And you can’t flirt with two people at once. But there’s more to it than that. Joanne and Bobbie appear to be very good friends but, I don’t know. I get funny vibrations between them sometimes. (I shouldn’t be saying this, but—) (?)
* * *
Keep running into Gordon: cool. I guess I’ve lost. But at least I really tried. And a bit proud of myself for coming on so strong. (My usual tendency being too proud to risk rejection.)
It’s not so bad, really, rejection. (Huh?) It’s not so great either.
* * *
Gordon has an unlisted phone number. That’s a funny thing to have in Bolinas I would think. An unlisted phone number.
* * *
Funny. Living in Bolinas is turning out to be very like living in New York City. It’s the same ol’ me at night:
Lonely.
Desperate.
Melodramatic.
How I can be so mature in the daytime and so immature at night is beyond me.
* * *
Today Bill sits for me (to draw) and tomorrow Gordon. Maybe I can win him over with my dashing talent. Looks aren’t everything. (So they say.)
I have a feeling that maybe Gordon doesn’t approve of himself too much. Whereas I, I think, appear to approve of myself a lot. Maybe this will prove attractive to him sooner or later. (Assuming that opposites do attract.) And assuming my assumption about Gordon is correct. (?)
Obviously I’m getting desperate.
But I only have 31/2 more weeks!
Something just occurred to me. Something a bit embarrassing to admit, but—I think I am especially attracted (love wise) to people I think I can help in some way.
What that “means” I’m not going to stop and think about right now.
* * *
Joanne may move in with me for a few days while Peter is away at some animal conference. Hope so.
Tonight: dinner with Joanne and Bill at the local seafood place nobody likes.
Another thing around here nobody likes is the postmistress Rose.
* * *
Blonds are driving me up the wall!
* * *
Just read 1234567890 by Bob. With drawings by Arthur Okamura.
I like the poem and I like the drawings but I’m not sure I like them together.
The poem makes the drawings seem too much like “illustrations,” and the drawings make the poem seem less “open” than, in fact, it is.
Tho I don’t know why “illustration” should necessarily be a dirty word. Any more than why “open” should necessarily be a good word. (?)
All movies were great until I started thinking about them too much.
To enjoy as much as possible——
Avoid traps.
No, you don’t avoid traps. You just try to stay as aware of them as possible. (So you can get out.) ((Out and into new ones.))
That’s a depressing thought.
* * *
Dinner tonight at “The Gibson House.” (Steak.) And too much wine. (Depending upon how you look at it.) Then I phoned up Gordon to come up and have a drink. (That’s a good one.) He said no, that he was tired, or something. (Another good one.) So I called up Joanne. “She’s at Bill’s,” Arthur said, so I called Bill. “Yes.” So they’re both coming over any minute now. Good. I really don’t want to be alone tonight.
Tonight is even more of a this is it night than usual.
* * *
Friday morning. Beautiful. Breakfast in town. Wine, Pepsis, cigarettes at “Pepper’s.” Walking back up the hill I ran into that little boy who yells out “Is that Jerry Lewis?” every time he sees me. I smile. And wish the fuck he’d give it up. (Pretty embarrassing.)
The funny thing is that when I was in my early teens I really did look like Jerry Lewis. Or so people were always telling me. Never did figure out a proper reply. “Thank you” didn’t seem right. (To say the least.) I think what I usually ended up
saying was “Oh, really?” or something like that. (But in a nice way.)
* * *
The drawing of Bill turned out pretty good I think. Especially considering how hard Bill is to draw. (I’ve tried before.)
Gordon. I thought drawing Gordon would be easier than it was. But a very nervous face, Gordon has. Which makes it hard to pin down.
It’s not very satisfying, drawing people. I like the opportunity to really look at someone. And the challenge is fun while you are “in” it. But the results—the results are never very satisfying.
I mean, you can’t really draw a person. All you can do is try.
Gordon returned my sweater when he came to sit. (Damn it.) Was planning to use it as an excuse to drop by sometime. (Tho I didn’t leave the sweater at his house on purpose.) Nice when you can take advantage of an accident tho.
* * *
I was saying to Bob the other night how easy it would be to live in Bolinas if you were madly in love (a few minutes of silence while we could tell that we were both thinking the same thing) as one of us said “But, of course, that could be said of just about any place.”
Nice when that happens.
* * *
About drawing people: A lot has to be put in before it can be taken out.
(Just occurred to me how maybe true that is of life too.)
* * *
I asked Joanne if she’d spend the night with me last night, and so we did.
Mainly I just wanted us to be close. Which was the kind of night it was.
I’m not sure how much sex was on my mind, except that it was. But we didn’t.
Being queer isn’t an easy habit to break. And usually, I have no desire to.
ON SEEING JOE’S SHOW
lift up your eyes
& see these amazing works
imitation of nature = creation of art
(I suppose)
see
incredible grasses
& flowers
& weeds
some blowing in the breeze
a feather
or a butterfly
perching delicately by
Just think of all the man hours
(WORK)
to make something so so so beautiful
this must be art
it is art
plain & simple & pure & beautiful art
made by the god-artist-genius Mr. Joe Brainard
Thanks, Joe
But Joanne is really something special. And I do think that being “queer” is as unnecessarily limiting as being “straight.”
I remember when I was in my teens trying to figure out ways of standing and sitting that I thought looked good. (Masculine.) And that’s probably how I sit and stand today. And to do otherwise would be very uncomfortable. (And perhaps even fake.) I mean—self-imposed habits do become genuine.
But genuine isn’t always right. Anymore than sincere is.
If only I had more time with Joanne——
But I don’t. Peter returns tomorrow. And you’re probably just having a head trip. And God only knows what Joanne thinks (feels) about me.
* * *
News that Ted Berrigan is coming totally zaps my mind. (Help.) One of the nicest things about being here is not having a past to live up to. Or down to. I love Ted, but—
* * *
It occurred to me last night that I know a lot, but that I just don’t know enough to know it yet. (Stoned again.)
* * *
The Creeley household is very funny. Three things are continually getting lost. Bob’s hat. Bobbie’s red checkbook. And hair brushes.
* * *
Tuesday. By the ocean. Drawing Bobbie today didn’t go so well. I sometimes think I try too hard. Can’t seem to get it through my head that a drawing is, first of all, a drawing.
Sitting here only a few feet away from the ocean it’s hard to think of anything to say (except “ocean”) so I guess I’ll stop.
* * *
Poem by Anne about my show arrived today. So extravagant! (And I love you for it.)
* * *
Seems that Michael (a new love possibility in my head) is going with the Gibson House cook. Oh, well—
* * *
Overhearing a conversation tonight at the Gibson House about a cave man party where everyone wore burlap bags and the room was draped in brown sheets, it occurred to me once again how totally insane the world out there really is.
Actually, I can almost imagine myself in such a room, wearing a burlap bag.
What I can’t imagine is the occasion that would call for it ever arising.
* * *
How I can be so shy and insecure, and such a conceited ass at the same time, is beyond me.
One Joanne contradiction occurred to me this morning. That of being so down-to-earth, and so romantic too.
I wonder if contradictions eventually work themselves out.
Or if contradictions are what we are made of. (?)
It does seem to me that old people have fewer.
* * *
Joanne really hit me over the head last night when she handed Bob an already lit cigarette “Joe’s style.”
It’s not being put in someone’s pocket I mind so much. It’s just that it doesn’t mean anything to hand someone a personally lit cigarette if it’s expected of you.
* * *
Today Bill and I worked on a ten-page cartoon to pass out at our reading in San Francisco this Tuesday. (A fuck cartoon starring Nancy and Henry.) Very funny! And a poster to hang downtown on the local bulletin board.
Right now I’m out on the terrace in the last triangle of sun. Drinking a glass of rosé. And wondering about what I’m going to do tonight.
* * *
This is a great place, Bolinas, but it isn’t for me now.
Everything I fear will someday catch up with me would catch up with me too fast here. Like the “why” of art. And the “I give up” of finding love and happiness.
That’s pretty corny, I know, to believe that love and happiness can be “found.” But I guess I do. (Especially when I don’t think about it I do.)
And I guess it’s pretty corny to be proud of being corny. But I guess I am.
Bolinas is such a basic place. The land being so important. Survival seems to be the main issue.
But for me life is still very much a matter of day and night. Can’t think much beyond that. And I don’t want to.
I guess I’m not tired of playing games yet.
Or maybe I’m just afraid of what will be left if I ever do.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s good. (Good, I mean, for me.)
* * *
Went over the hill today to do some shopping with Bob and Bobbie. Driving home, feeling abstractly sad, alone in the back seat (to great radio music up front). Bobbie gave me her hand for the rest of the way home. (Thank you.)
Nice to know that you can still be a bit embarrassed.
(Thank you for that too.)
* * *
Dinner last night at the Doss’. (Margot and John.) Gordon was there. And Don Allen. (Nice.) And some other people. Got a bit drunk. And a bit stoned. And went walking on the beach with Gordon. I asked him if it was O.K. to say anything I wanted to, so long as it was true, about him in my journal. (For publication.) And he said yes. Then we went back to his house where I probably would have tried something except that I got more drunk and more stoned. (Totally.) So I tried to make a graceful exit, and stumbled home. (Literally.) And got sick. Vomited a few times. And then slept very well. It’s good for you every now and then, a good vomit. Gets the poisons out of your system. (Or so someone told me once.) I think it was Ron. Ron Padgett.
Got up feeling great at eight. Plan to sun until eleven. Then work. “Work” today will be collaborating on a flyer and some posters with Joanne and Bobbie for their reading a week from Tuesday.
Such a beautiful day!
* * *
Tonight dinner with Jack Boyce and Lynn. (Ter
rible with last names.) She’s going to make a Chinese dinner.