The Collected Writings of Joe Brainard: Library of America Special Edition
Page 23
Tomorrow night Bill and I read at “Intersection.”
Wednesday night—nothing.
Thursday—lunch with Bob and Bobbie in San Francisco with Robert Duncan and Jess.
* * *
Small birds do a beautiful thing around here of circling around each other, in pairs, as they drop thru space. Really takes your breath away. Like “those” moments at the ballet.
* * *
Our reading went very well I think. Tho I was so nervous it’s hard to know for sure. So nervous I almost converted back into studdering. (Or is it stuttering?) Which made me even more nervous.
Bill’s work is so clean, and sincere. And if sometimes it seems to be trying too hard, “trying too hard” turns out to be a very nice thing.
As for me—I was a bit embarrassed by my New York City diaries. (So melodramatic.)
And I wonder about my being somewhat “primitive,” and knowing it. And taking advantage of it.
Is that being smart? Or is that being too smart?
* * *
I’ve been painting dried (fallen) eucalyptus leaves collected off my terrace. I’m getting the colors very well (lavenders, purples, brick reds, and browns) but, painting them in a solid mass as I am, I’m having trouble giving each leaf its own “weight.” I think maybe I’ll try to do a cut-out one and see if that works.
* * *
A nice trip to Marshall this afternoon with Bob and Bobbie and Bill.
Lots of serious talk about life. Mostly about solutions tho, and I had trouble understanding what the problems were. So it got pretty abstract for me.
Funny that we four should all be so lucky and yet—well—the same ol’ problems.
I suppose that the problem of life is how to be happy.
But then—something hits you over the head every now and then, just out of the blue, no matter how happy you should be.
Maybe that’s the real problem.
* * *
Feel so close to Bill every now and then. Like today. (Too close.) If you know what I mean. And I’m sure that by now you do. (Slurp.)
* * *
Diane di Prima was in town today. Looking very relaxed and pure, almost in a severe sort of way, but not really.
I do admire her concern.
Today Bob sat for me. A bit nervous. (Me.) Don’t know why. Except that I do especially want it to be good. And, I did get a nice start.
Must remember to send Jess some pictures for his collages. He uses them so well: with care and respect. (As opposed to most collagists who just “use” pictures.) ((For an effect.))
Nice house they have, Robert and Jess, tho all that heavy furniture and stuff would drive me up the wall.
* * *
Philip Whalen has arrived and I really do like him a lot. (Staying downstairs in this house, but we’ll be sharing the kitchen.) Reminds me a bit of Santa Claus. And Buddha. (Somewhere in between the two.) And I suspect he’s very wise. But that either he doesn’t know it, or else he doesn’t value it much. (The only two ways I find “wisdom” tolerable.) At any rate—I really do like him a lot.
* * *
Happy with drawing of Tom. It came so easy. And it’s a “good drawing.”
* * *
Sweet the way Philip seems to enjoy feeling put upon. Philip said this morning that the lady who posed for the later version of the silver dollar was Wallace Stevens’ wife.
* * *
Scenes of Life at the Capital, a new 75-page poem by Philip (still in proofs)—it’s totally great!
I loved it.
“If you want something hold out an empty hand.”
(From S.O.L.A.T.C.)
* * *
7:30 in the morning and I’m out on the terrace having breakfast. Feeling a bit proud of myself, as Philip isn’t even up yet. (?) Well, if so he hasn’t had breakfast yet. (No kitchen traces.) But then, he leaves so few behind. (Very neat.) And he makes great soups too.
* * *
Today is the longest day of the year and so a lot of us are going to take acid.
Possible Bolinas acid dangers: too many people, poison oak, sunburn, and me.
I’ve been very lucky so far tho.
* * *
It was fun, tripping. No poison oak. No sunburn. No too many people. And as for me—it was mostly visual.
So amazing to be “in” everything so much. So very way back deep in there, “being” with it all. Breathing with it all. So busy, the bugs, and each blade of grass. And those chills that run up and down your spine with the wind.
And the back and forth of tight hot active space (itchy) and big cool open space. (So nice.)
A few rough moments with Bobbie when I just didn’t want to hear her talk anymore. Partly because I didn’t think she wanted to hear herself talk anymore either. (?)
Visually my own skin always gives me the creeps a bit. (So red and “busy.”)
Joanne and I had fun eating miniature peapods from Bill’s scotch broom bush. And admiring how very noble the eucalyptus trees were. (Are.)
* * *
Bill. I knew that Bill wanted to be having a more “heady” trip than he was having, so I was a bit anxious for him. But he was nice to be with anyway.
Such thick air you glide through.
Philip, what little I was around him, was just too loud for me. (Talk.)
So amazing not to be able to step aside and relax (turn the world off) as we are so good at doing in “real life.”
Realizing how complex the world really is—well, it isn’t very practical. (Is that what I meant to say?) No. Who wants to be practical?
(I’m trying to say something conclusive and constructive about acid.)
Well, it’s fun. It’s visually exciting. And, hopefully, realistic. And it’s nice to think you understand things, if only for a moment.
* * *
Must admit (no, want to admit) that I really do miss Kenward from time to time. (Like right now.) There is no doubt in my mind that I really love him. And need him. But no doubt also that it’s not enough.
Now I know this doesn’t make much “sense,” but——but I don’t know what.
Maybe the truth of the matter is that all this looking around for love is just an excuse. A way to avoid it. Maybe the truth of the matter is that, actually, I don’t want to be in love.
For one thing, being in love sounds so final. And “final” is scary.
And I really enjoy being “available.” Yes, I need that. It’s the way I can enjoy people most.
You know, maybe I don’t want to find out that life isn’t going to be everything.
* * *
If I lived in Bolinas I would soon become the jerk-off champion of the world. Enough said about that.
* * *
You know, it’s really funny this kind of writing. This “trying to be honest” kind of writing. For several years now I’ve been doing it, and getting better and better at it. Getting closer and closer to a point (a place) in my head I call the truth.
But now I’m beginning to doubt that very point. (That very place.)
I mean, what I’ve been working towards just isn’t there anymore. (Zap.)
Do you know what I mean?
I mean, the closer I get to the truth the less I know what the truth is.
Wish I could make myself more clear, but———right now I can’t.
* * *
At the Gibson House admiring the rainbows on the tablecloth. (Coming from the crystals hanging from the rose glass lamp.) A bit drunk.
Today a tour of the wine country with Margot and Bill. Exhausting. But fun. Well—interesting. And something more travel bookish to write about for a chance.
Pretty commercial.
Beautiful countryside.
Nice smells.
“Sebastiani” was my favorite winery. The most friendly. And the most dignified. In Sonoma.
* * *
Those little white morning glories that grow close to the ground looking up. I especially
like them.
* * *
The impossibility of living here strikes again. (Night.)
* * *
I’ve been working on a series of small collages with stuff from the beach. Set into little wooden boxes you get in Chinatown. Fortune toothpick boxes. (Each toothpick has a dumb fortune wrapped around it.)
It’s fun. And relaxing. As the materials used dominate the work. (The results.) I mean—what I choose to pick up off the beach is where I am “in” the works most. Otherwise they just more or less fit themselves together. Like a puzzle.
Making a few necklaces from beach stuff too.
Tomorrow Margot sits.
* * *
Cloudy day today. Surprising not depressing tho. Very pretty in fact.
Must start writing introductions for Joanne and Bobbie’s reading today.
Always a problem, what an introduction should “do.”
Warm up the audience for listening.
And set a good mood. (Friendly.)
Well, that wasn’t such a problem. Now—to do it.
* * *
Like the way Bobbie, when explaining something, is continually saying “You dig?”
And Bob, Bob is always saying “not heavily, but” in reference to likes and dislikes.
* * *
Two more days in this house and then I move in with Gordon for a week. Then New York City. And then Vermont.
* * *
Strange telephone call from Kenward last night. (Drunk and unhappy.) No, not strange. Moving. Had me drunk and unhappy too. And wondering just how much longer I can take it.
Heavy life!
The good heaviness and the bad heaviness.
It’s just too much!
Don’t think I deserve too much more of it. Can’t take too much more of it. And I don’t think I want too much more of it.
But this is only tonight.
You know what really scares me?
Is that maybe I’m no good. (Down deep.)
And that maybe I’m going to hurt somebody.
That I have the power to hurt somebody without meaning to totally infuriates me.
* * *
As for the reading, it was strange. But in a good way.
As they took turns reading (back and forth) it was hard sometimes to adjust to a different voice so quickly. And style. They both have a lot of individual reading style. Which sometimes complemented each other, but mostly it was jumpy.
If I wanted to be critical I could say that Bobbie was a bit “heavy” and that Joanne was a bit “bratty.”
Now I’ve said the worst.
The best is that all this made for a very exciting reading. Powerful. And full. With both Joanne and Bobbie each coming off as very unique poets.
(And with so many poets around these days “unique” is a very good word.)
* * *
At the laundromat. Sitting out in the sun. In a big wooden picnic table-like chair.
A beautiful guy with long blond hair is leaning up against a car across the street. Looking at me, but not at me. I mean, I could just as well be a tree.
A little black dog is sniffing my sneakers.
A beautiful boy walks by with a guitar.
A little girl wants a quarter. Giving her a nickel she mumbles “motherfucker” and walks away.
Another beauty is heading for the hardware store.
Bolinas in the daytime can be too much too.
Another one (help) enters the laundromat.
Driving me up the wall.
I’m getting out of here. Maybe Bob and Bobbie will be up by now.
* * *
I’ve been building little houses in my head. Simple houses that even I could build. Which is what happens to you (evidently) if you stay here long enough. (House/land fever.) And evidently I have. (Been here long enough.) The one I like best is simply two pairs of steps, to be built on a slope, to be lived “on” and “under,” depending upon the weather.
I’d better get out of here fast.
* * *
A vision of Lewis gliding through life touching things.
* * *
Gordon’s blender is a “Lady Vanity.” His icebox a “Cold-spot.” His stove a “Thermador.”
The faucet is dripping.
The kitchen clock is so loud.
Gordon is still asleep. Which is why I’m in the kitchen. Boring you with kitchen details.
Would you believe I finally made out in this town? Last night. With a boy who lives on the beach. Tom.
Actually, it was sort of boring. Totally a one-way thing. I mean—to put it bluntly—he just wanted to be blown. “I really like girls better,” he kept assuring me. (And they can have him.)
Very pretty boy tho. Like a Methodist version of Jesus. Only with strange gray blue eyes. A bit spooky really. Like ice.
Today at 12:30 I try to finish drawing of Margot.
And Susan arrives today. Bill’s girlfriend.
* * *
* * *
The funniest things are hard to admit.
Pills. That’s a hard thing to admit. That I take them.
No, that’s not hard to admit. What’s hard to admit is that I need them. (Sometimes.)
Thank God I’m vain enough not to let myself get carried away tho.
And I take them only for work.
I do take good care of myself.
Tho more and more I am in love with not.
But it’s a hard habit to break. And I’m chicken.
And I want both.
* * *
Tuesday, July 6th I leave. At 10:30 P.M., “United,” 2nd class, arriving at Kennedy at 7:00 P.M.
* * *
Susan: very pretty. Sweet. And young. The only problem being that I doubt if she knows what she wants yet. And Bill does.
* * *
Today, tho the 3rd, is the 4th of July parade.
Tonight Gordon is giving a dinner party: Joanne and Peter, Bill and Suzan, and Margot and John.
Phoebe is sick.
Do I really want to come back in the fall? I think so.
But will I? I don’t know.
* * *
The parade, very red white and blue, ended up on the beach with potato sack races. And just plain running races.
A funny black dog wearing a white tee-shirt.
(And a beautiful blond boy wearing a pink tee-shirt.)
Two very fat ladies all dressed up in feather boas and stuff sold great chocolate cake.
A fire engine.
Majorette “twins” with lots of bubbling blonde curls.
A lot of people I never saw before appeared from somewhere.
It was fun.
* * *
Nice dinner party Gordon gave last night. (Lamb.)
At four this afternoon Zoe Brown is giving a big picnic. Not sure how much I feel “up” to that. Too many people to say “goodbye” to. And I hate “goodbyes.”
Gordon is still asleep.
Lots of dishes in there from last night. I should go do a few. Yes, I will.
Did. (Some.)
You know, what I’d really like is to be in Vermont right now. It makes me nervous being in a place I know I’m not going to be in for long.
We were talking about life yesterday, Bill and I (yes, life) and Bill was saying how his idea of being happy was to spend the whole day in bed with someone. (Me too.)
To be that in love. To be that involved. And to be that not involved in everything else.
* * *
Some day yesterday.
Ran into Ted and Alice at Bill’s. (A pep pill.) And off to R.C.A. beach with Suzan and Bill. Fantastic wood. Small oval and near oval pieces all smoothed and bleached by the ocean and the sun. (Two green corduroy coat pockets full.)
Then to Zoe Brown’s party. Good food. Lots of wine. Lots of dope. And great people.
So strange (a shock) to see Philip across the room at a party. (As opposed to at home on the sofa.) I really am crazy about him.
That’s not a bad thing to say about someone is it?
Someone said that Bob had his head all wrapped up in silver foil at one point during the party, but I guess I missed it. (No “guess” about it.)