The Collected Writings of Joe Brainard: Library of America Special Edition

by Ron Padgett

  I’m hungry.

  I want to see Kenward.

  My ass hurts.

  Very opal-like now, the sky.

  A lumber yard.

  Portland. I didn’t know there was a Portland in Vermont. (Don’t think about it.)

  This bus is supposed to turn off into New Hampshire at some point.

  “White River Junction” a big sign just said.

  Bad case of dandruff the guy in front of me has.

  A cemetery.

  A trailer court.

  (Right next to each other.)

  Looking surprisingly similar.

  * * *

  New bus. New driver.

  Great. Only a 15-minute wait between buses. Just time for a donut and coffee. Not even time to pee. Wash my face. Etc. Or what have you.

  Two giddy French girls on the bus. (Heavy giddy.) Laughing and talking a mile a minute. (In French.) With, I think, a radio. Or—somebody back there has a radio.

  Really night now. Dark. Blue dark. That kind of blue dark that makes white houses glow. “Arabian blue” I think of it as. But I think I may have made that up. (Cornell blue.) Starry night blue.

  Looking out the window is a bit confusing now as mostly all I can see is myself. My reflection.

  Very little ashtrays on this bus. And very well hidden.

  This little spotlight on me is making me feel conspicuous. (Can “they” read what I’m writing?)

  Just heard someone say “sauna bath.”

  “Insurance.”

  Fuck. Just missed being able to read a sign saying how many miles to Montpelier.

  Wish I didn’t have so many books to do so soon. (Covers and drawings for.) But I do want to do them. And I do want to have done them.

  I really can’t see outside at all now. Think I’ll turn out the light and see if I can still see to write.

  I think if I write big enough I can figure it out later. (What I’m writing.) In other words—no, I can’t see to write very well.

  Actually, there’s not much to see outside right now except endless black trees.

  No stars out tonight.

  I could sure do with a bath.

  The French girls have quieted down.

  “REST AREA 1 MILE.”

  Little modern house all alone.

  Birch trees.

  The moon tonight is either full or so close to full it looks full.

  I want to do some big birch tree cut-outs this summer.

  The French girls are up and at it again.

  Don’t know why I don’t like radios but I don’t. (“September Song” with 100 strings.) For some reason they remind me of the past. (Radios do.) Which, I guess, is why I don’t like them.

  Well, it’s something to write about.

  You know, I think the moon is full. And through these tinted windows, a bright chartreuse.

  A man gets up to go to the bathroom.

  The bathroom! What a dumb fuck I am. There’s a bathroom right here on this bus.

  * * *

  As usual it took me awhile to figure out how to open it. (In, not out.) Peed. But no water to freshen face with.

  Barre!

  Well, it won’t be long now.

  This has really been a good bus ride. (With a little help from my friend.)

  Whoever owns that radio is really a genius. (Roller skating music now.)

  I remember those two big weeping willow trees.

  One more bus cigarette.

  “Anne’s Motel” has expanded. New sign too.

  People in houses at night. Always such a shock. Don’t know why. I’ll be doing it soon too. When I get off the bus. Such a real situation. Like a hammer on the head. When you’re outside looking in. People in houses at night.

  How’s that for an ending?

  But, no—we are now sitting at a gas station just a few minutes from Kenward while the bus driver is cleaning his (very dirty I must admit) windows.

  They give “S & H Green Stamps.”

  Off again.

  The sweater store. (A store that sells nothing but sweaters.)

  Radio interference. (Good.)

  The reindeer statues in front of “Howard Johnson’s” which have been slowly sinking into the earth for two years (up to their knees last year) are now on top again.

  House trailers for sale.

  Lots of cars watching a movie.

  More trailers for sale.

  Hey, you know—I’m nervous!

  A new restaurant.

  A new car wash.

  A new furniture store.

  The same old river.

  I guess this is it!

  from Vermont Journal: 1971

  TODAY

  For once in my life, today, I dropped an open-faced peanut butter sandwich that landed right side up.

  I’M SORRY

  Jim Morrison is dead. “Light My Fire.” (My favorite queer bar song.) If you knew how many quarters . . .

  The world was full of people not like you, and now is. I’m sorry, too.

  TODAY

  Big breakfast. Worked on Bolinas Journal. Raspberries with sugar and heavy cream for lunch. Sunbathed. Did my exercises. Took a shower. Washed my hair. Jerked off. And sent away for some old Indian trade beads.

  KENWARD

  Kenward just came up wet from the lake with three bright-orange mushrooms he insisted I smell. (Did.) In a few minutes they are going to be chopped up into scrambled eggs. “None for me, thank you.”

  THE BIRDS

  I’d be just as happy if the birds around here wouldn’t swoop down so low right at you. I keep having visions of——I mean, what if I were to suddenly stand up and——(beak in eyeball).

  A MINI OBSERVATION

  A green plastic mermaid in Kenward’s martini last night at The Lobster Pot is, this morning, a giant memory.

  JUST LIKE IN THE MOVIES

  Kenward and I were standing out in the middle of the lawn, Kenward naked, and me all covered with cocoa butter in a black nylon bathing suit, talking about the telephone call Kenward made to me in Bolinas several weeks ago, when suddenly from out of the bushes came Jimmy Schuyler wearing pale yellow Bermuda shorts. (Silence.) As Jimmy headed for the house he said he felt like he was interrupting something. He was.

  JIMMY

  Jimmy confessed this morning that he’s been hitting the blue satin glass candy bowl.

  RIGHT NOW

  Thinking about how blue the sky is, and how black and white the sun makes everything seem today, eating a peanut butter and honey sandwich on toast, and drinking a can of Nutrament (trying to gain weight). I’m thinking of you, J. J. Mitchell, right now.

  TODAY

  Sitting out here in the sun today in a black nylon bathing suit covered with cocoa butter in a lounge chair with clip board in lap I have a very clear vision of myself on this area of green around me called land. The exact amount of space I am taking up. And how I would look pretty strange to “something” that didn’t know what I was. So different I feel from nature. Like art in a big white gallery.

  LAST NIGHT

  Lots of dreams last night but all I can remember is something about some guy who was always getting teased a lot because his name was Hudson Rock. (As opposed to Rock Hudson.)

  LAST NIGHT

  Last night, stoned out of my mind on three John Ashbery brownies, trying to write a letter while watching a movie* on T.V., I wrote down “judn’t” instead of “didn’t just.”

  THESE DAYS

  Don’t know how to say this without sounding like a total nut but—I find myself having to let out a giant scream or two every morning—like I have to brush my teeth every morning before I feel “ready” for the day ahead. You know what I mean?

  TODAY

  The best thing I can think about today (so far) to write about is how very orange Kenward’s orange sweater looked tossed on the floor last night in a hurry to get to bed. (Tired and stoned.) And me with a hard-on. “Go away!” But it wouldn’t. But it did. (Sle
ep.) Many dreams I remember nothing of. Then up at seven to rain. Hate the way electricity is so yellow indoors on days like today. And this white shirt, it just “hangs” on me. (Clammy.) And boring mail. I think I’ll go kill myself.

  _______________

  *Esther, with Joan Collins and Richard Egan and many Italians. Great movie. Well, the great brownies made the movie great. And so, yes, I guess it was a great movie. (If it was, it was.) And it was. Wouldn’t go so far to say that it is tho.

  Fear

  A good life should be lived without fear.

  On the other hand, trying not to be afraid of something you are afraid of is stupid.

  Avoiding fear is no good.

  The only solution is to give in to fear, and then try to overcome it.

  Nothing can be understood from a distance. And nothing, of course, can be understood until it is understood.

  Only by not being afraid of the lion, but of the fear in you that makes you afraid of the lion, can fear be overcome.

  In this area I am a total flop.

  White Spots

  My white spots are appearing again. On my skin. Like every now and then these white spots appear that look like someone splashed some drops of bleach on me. It has a name but I can’t remember it. I thought it had something to do with the sun (too much of) until two autumns ago I went uptown to see Dr. Brown about a blood test (clap) and he said, “What are those?” (pointing to the white spots) and I said, “Too much sun,” and he said, “I don’t think so.” After he figured out what it was he said it was something that just comes and goes. And that, if you have it, you’ll probably always have it. Then he handed me a prescription that turned out to be a giant brown bottle of something that looked like water. So I rubbed it on the spots twice a day (more or less) as I was supposed to and they did go away. But because of the medicine or just because it was their time to go away I don’t know. All I know is that for two years now they’ve been appearing and disappearing without the use of any medication. But actually, I don’t mind them. But I still think they may have something to do with the sun because when they appear most each year is at the end of the summer. (I said two years, but now that I think about it, these spots have been appearing for three years or maybe four.) But like I said, I’ve gotten used to them.

  Which reminds me of a bad toenail I have that I don’t like one bit. (From wearing cowboy boots.) You see, my right foot being a bit bigger than—no, it’s too boring.

  My Favorite Quotations

  “There is something inside of me. What is it?”

  Van Gogh

  * * *

  “I never smoked a cigarette until I was nine.”

  W. C. Fields

  * * *

  “Loneliness is boring.”

  Jim Morrison

  * * *

  “Get it while you can.”

  Janis Joplin

  * * *

  “I think kindness is the most important thing in a person, don’t you? Gee, when anybody does anything nice for me, I just about fall on my face.”

  Betty Grable

  * * *

  “The only thing worse than Christmas itself are the people who hate Christmas.”

  Jimmy Schuyler

  * * *

  “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

  Janis Joplin

  * * *

  “Grace to be born and live as variously as possible.”

  Frank O’Hara

  * * *

  “If it’s inspiration you want, drop your panties!”

  Francis Picabia

  from Self-Portrait: 1971

  AGE

  Well, let’s just say thirty years ago today I wasn’t anything.

  CHILDHOOD

  I find it very hard to believe I was ever a child.

  QUEER

  The only thing that ever bothered me about being queer was that I thought maybe people wouldn’t like me if they knew.

  HEALTH

  Now that there’s a health food store just down Sixth Avenue I’m trying to be more aware.

  ONE DUMB THING

  One dumb thing that always makes me want to cry is “Some Day My Prince Will Come” without words.

  WHEN I WAS A KID

  When I was a kid my main desire in life was to grow up and get out and make everybody like me.

  NOW

  Now I’m out and as grown up as “grown up” means anything (not much) and still I’m trying to make everybody like me. The only difference is that now I know better.

  WRITING

  Writing, for me, is a way of “talking” the way I wish I could talk.

  PRACTICAL

  Actually, I am practical. It’s just that, sometimes, being impractical seems practical to me.

  ROMANTIC

  I’m just sure I’m going to die young. Which, ten years ago, was now.

  SELFISH

  I am selfish, yes, but I think I’m selfish in a realistic way. Which, actually, is not being selfish.

  EGOMANIAC

  I guess I must be an egomaniac but, it’s funny, I don’t feel like an egomaniac.

  WHY I AM A PAINTER

  One reason I’m a painter is because I’m not a movie star.

  CONCEIT

  To tell you the truth, I don’t think I’m as conceited as I have the right to be.

  I MUST BE GROWING OLD

  I’ve stopped yanking out gray hairs as they appear now. Now I just let them accumulate and every now and then I have a big yanking session.

  MY BIGGEST FEAR

  My biggest fear is that some morning I’m going to wake up to find that I don’t like myself anymore.

  FOUR O’CLOCK

  When it gets to be around four o’clock and I have no plans for the evening I start getting nervous.

  TOMORROW

  I always know what I’m going to do tomorrow but (thank God) I’m often wrong.

  WHY I LEAVE MY SHIRT OPEN

  Many years ago Joe LeSueur made the mistake of telling me I have a terrific stomach.

  SHY

  If being shy is just a habit, it’s a hard habit to find a replacement for.

  TERRIBLE AT LEAVING

  I say “Well, I guess I should be going” and nothing happens.

  ART

  Art to me is like walking down the street with someone and saying “Don’t you love that building?” (Too.)

  OPTIMISTIC

  I guess I must be optimistic because (secretly) I think I’m going to be a fantastic person one of these days.

  SKINNY

  I complain of being skinny and people say, “Oh, you’re not skinny” and I look in the mirror and I am skinny, God damn it.

  WHERE I DRAW THE LINE

  I am vain, yes, but you wouldn’t catch me under a sun-lamp for a million dollars. Actually, I don’t believe in drawing lines.

  ME NOW

  Funny, I don’t remember having much to do with how I got this way.

  I WONDER

  God, when I think back——Am I still that transparent?

  from N.Y.C. Journals: 1971–1972

  Tuesday, December 28th, 1971

  (Some notes on a trip to go see Alex Katz’s show in Hartford with Anne Waldman and Michael Brownstein and Pat and Ron Padgett.)

  * * *

  Anne just called in the middle of shaving to say not to rush. They just got up.

  * * *

  Finding a pair of clean underwear no easy matter. (My last.) Around this time of year I become totally impractical.

  * * *

  In a taxi on my way to Pat and Ron’s the driver has a lisp. Warm slightly damp weather. I hope this isn’t a faint headache I feel in my head.

  * * *

  Michael informs us that our car is $12.00 a day and 11¢ a mile.

  * * *

  Our first coffee stop. “The Nutmeg Inn.” Much talk about whether to take a pill or not. Anne and I do. Pat and Ron and Michael don’t.

  * * *


  Ron takes over at the wheel. 55 more miles to Hartford.

  * * *

  A bag of dried apricots is brought out. (Yellow raisins were rejected.) And now peanuts. The plain health store kind.

  * * *

  Passing a negro man smoking a pipe in a car strikes me as funny (strange) for some reason. A pipe in mouth seems so “white.”

  * * *

  Passing a graveyard I wonder why the world isn’t literally covered with graveyards, considering how, over the years, so many people have died. (?) Ron and I discuss this, but with no conclusions.

  * * *

  Anne to Michael: “You’re a different person from when I first met you.”

  * * *

  Anne: “I was smoking dope when I was thirteen.”

  * * *

  Almost at Hartford a big sign said “Brainard Road” which Anne said I ought to write down.

  * * *

  “And a Brainard Airport too,” Ron just said.