by U
enjoyed showing us off to their equally chubby pals at Sneaky Pete’s.
You wouldn’t know it to look at them I suppose, but those phone
operator chicks can be pretty fucking wild. Denise’s fellatio was
really quite fine before she started getting all whirly on me.
Oh well.
I don’t know what it is about Chesley that always slays me so
much. I think it’s because no one else can match his wild excitement.
I always feel super invigorated when he is around. It’s been like that
ever since we were at college, as freshmen together in the dorm.
Charles was a treat as well. He is utterly the gentle soul, a person
of true artistic temperament. Live and let live is his motto. He is the
most tolerant man I have ever known. I like him a lot and admire him
just as much.
Publishing my book would be a great accomplishment. I think
about it all the time.
Next I’m going to start writing a brief pitch to the precinct people,
asking them to elect me to the state central committee. More check
off money is available than ever before. We must direct it to
candidates who will support human rights, political reform, renewable
energy, an end to destructive development, and a healthy economy
based on the conservation of resources. That should just about cover
it.
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CHAPTER FIVE
Love Signs
June 6, 1978
If only I could walk my book around to the publishers, let them see
my face, I know it would make a big difference. As it stands now, the
task seems nearly impossible.
And yet I persist.
Had an interview with the local library board tonight. It was my
usual performance: A fumbling start culminating in an outstanding
finish.
I often make a poor first impression. But I always make a great last
impression.
Being stoned and slightly drunk probably did not help matters
much. Harry and Nick insisted on getting me wasted before I went.
Those two scamps are incorrigible. It’s because Harry’s ex-wife
Shana is on the library board. I kept looking at her and wondering if
all the things Harry says about her weird sexual appetites are true.
So I smiled at Shana and we talked about books, meanwhile
wondering if she really enjoys getting spanked before fucking.
The whole scene was really very strange.
* * * *
June 11, 1978
It’s just a lot of self-torture. I know it is. I’m staying at Lori
Sanchez’s house in Eugene this evening. Late last night I rummaged
through a few letters she had on her desk to see if there was anything
from Ms. Ellsworth that might throw a little light on her more or less
enigmatic behavior.
Am I insane? Of course I am.
But there was nothing. I felt ashamed for even looking. I’m
thinking I might write to Ms. Ellsworth again. Why, I do not know. I
think maybe because I’m still in love with her.
It’s crazy, isn’t it? What did she do to me? I must resist this
irrational impulse.
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Still sort of drunk from before. Slowly sobering up. Been in town
all weekend. Thinking about what it would be like to get Ms.
Ellsworth pregnant, trying to imagine it.
Doing it deliberately, I mean, instead of by accident. Saw that
Natalie Wood movie, Love with A Proper Stranger, with Lori and her
(still hanging around) boyfriend Bill. Natalie’s in the film with a guy
whose name I can never remember. It’s about an unplanned
pregnancy and what happens afterwards.
Very well done, for the time.
Ms. Ellsworth wanted a husband, a baby, a home, security, the
whole middle class bit. That other guy hasn’t come through yet
either. What a fucking dork.
My mind takes strange turns of late. Gave Bill a copy of my
manuscript. I have several now. Uh huh. I’m releasing it to the
reading public. Probably a mistake, but that’s how it goes.
The Road to Rio with Bing and Bob is on the tube right now. Gotta
smoke some dope to appreciate it fully.
I hate you. I loathe you. I despise you.
* * * *
June 13, 1978
Weird, weird stuff I am writing late at night in the midst of my
drunken stupors. May not be able to resist the urge to write Ms.
Ellsworth again. Regarding the idea, Lori took a neutral stance.
Maybe yes, maybe no.
She said she hasn’t been around Polly enough during the past three
years to know what she is thinking. Although, based on what Lori has
heard from Polly, her present situation with this guy has to be
frustrating.
So what if I try to contact Polly, what then? She will no doubt
respond with one of her smarmy, superior missives. Ah well, so
what? She is my one true audience, my first steady reader. The little
sneak. We shall see what we shall see.
Last weekend was fun. Saw a lot of people, whose names I will
omit. Makes me wish I still lived in Eugene. Well, I don’t. I often
wish for a lot of things. But rarely do they come to pass.
106
And I am so impatient.
Also watched the movie Where’s Poppa? with Lori and Bill on
Saturday night. Apparently Bill is back in Lori’s life.
No doubt a measure of her desperation.
The movie was a lot of fun and so were they.
The three of us laughed and laughed. The movie was written by
Robert Klane, whose work I love. His novella "The Horse Is Dead" I
consider a droll classic. Also dig "Fire Sale." Mick turned me on to
Klane’s writing.
I try to keep myself busy with various projects as a way of
suppressing the self-destructive urges that constantly oppress me.
Among people, I am too talky, too vulnerable, too unsure of myself. I
am not like most other men.
I’m afraid the experience I had with Ms. Ellsworth in 1975 really
took the wind out of my sails. It really did. In retrospect, I think she
decided that I did not love her when instead I was merely inept at
expressing it.
It is unfortunate that I could not get inside her head at certain key
junctures in our relationship. A smoother evolution of our love affair
might have been the result. Possibly if I had been a little older, wiser,
more mature.
But she had my journals to read (without my permission) and I did
not have hers. She did not write down her thoughts, being afraid of
such endeavors, so to speak. We weren’t reading each other’s minds,
she was only reading mine.
What can I say? Many things I set down only to try them out as
thoughts or ideas. But once they are on paper they seem like the last
fucking word. Permanent. Tablets brought down from fucking Sinai.
Chiseled in stone. Okay, so I am/was/were a compulsive writer. Is
that such a fucking crime?
Is it? In any case, I can’t escape what I have written and the
explanation that there is more to me than what appears on paper rings
false to non-writers.
The summer we spent together, Polly told me she wanted to get
<
br /> married and have a family. Well, I never said I opposed it or ridiculed
107
them as ideas. No! In truth I want, or at least wanted, the same
things. But I just wasn’t completely sure about her. Polly came on so
strong, so needy. And I was still sort of leery after my experience
with Leanne.
Now Ms. Ellsworth has been with another man for going on two
years, a man who has provided her with neither ring nor baby. Lori is
right. How frustrated she must be.
I can feel it all the way from here.
* * * *
June 16, 1978
Political letter idea:
We must always remember that the Democratic Party has been
America’s most consistent vehicle for peaceful social change since the
1930s. We have since witnessed the fall of old institutions and the
rise of new ones.
Throughout it all, the Democratic Party lives on.
Our highest achievement as Democrats has been our ability to call
forth the best in people, expressing our better natures in intelligent
government action. Our party serves a useful and noble purpose.
Blah blah blah.
Got an ink pad for my new address stamp. All goes well so far.
Planning to submit ten sample chapters to publishers next week and
see what happens. I also have a chatty letter going out to 200 of my
closest political friends. Just between you and me.
Want to get it rolling real soon.
Secret Address:
Roberta Klane
1790 HWY 101 #7
Beachtown, OR 97439
That is where the weed goes, Mickey. Don’t let that lousy federal
narc Black Pete get wind of it.
* * * *
June 20, 1978
108
Practically in a frenzy this past week, working on various projects
all at once. Mailed out the political letter ten minutes ago, dropping it
the box outside the post office. A total of 210 pieces altogether.
My literary mailing is nearly ready as well. It means I am broke
again. I really shelled out the money for this stuff. The postage alone
came to $35. Nothing comes cheap anymore. Used the "boy next
door" photo on the political thing that Katrine took of me last year.
Hope it helps.
The only thing holding up the literary queries at this point is the
cover letter. I am not satisfied with what I have written so far. The
form is sound, but the words need fine-tuning.
Busy busy busy.
Megan delighted me the other day. I’ve been reading Jack
Kerouac’s novel Tristessa at my desk and when I was done, she asked
if she could borrow it. She liked it so much she checked out On The
Road from the public library. I was working at my desk when she
came up to me and touched me on the shoulder, saying:
"What’s your road, man? – holyboy road, madman road, rainbow
road, guppy road, any road. It’s an anywhere road for anybody
anyhow. Where body how?"
She’d memorized the speech that Dean Moriarty makes to Sal
Paradise on page 251 of the Penguin edition of the Kerouac classic. I
laughed and made her repeat it a couple times. She’s such fun. She
really knows her books. You can’t fake literary appreciation. Either
you have it or you don’t.
We talked about poetry. Her favorite is Diane Wakoski. I’d sort of
heard of her but had not read any of her stuff. Megan gave me Inside
The Blood Factory to read and another one, Virtuoso Literature For
Two And Four Hands.
They both knocked me out – they’re so great!
It is blue. It is blue. It is blue.
I love that stuff.
Ms. Wakoski writes absolute fucking dynamite poetry.
109
Another poet Megan loves is Gary Snyder, one of the younger
beats. His book Turtle Island won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in
1975. Also very good.
Then Megan told me a curious thing. She said Mark hardly ever
reads books at all except for school assignments. Most of his time is
spent attending these Eastern Fellowship meetings when he is in
Eugene. He’s really into it, she said.
That excellent South African weed arrived from Mick last
Thursday, June 15. So far I have half a letter written to him, including
my thanks. I’ll hold off on finishing it until I am in a more expansive
frame of mind. Right now I’m in the mood for a tiny puff of this
terrific new reefer.
* * * *
June 21, 1978
Attended the Governor’s Conference on Upward Mobility today.
Why oh why must the universe conspire to torture me in so many
ways? This was a seminar on how to get ahead in the state employee
system, for crying out loud.
Because I am presently a state employee at a lower end salary range
of 14 or below, I was required to be there.
So there I was with my fellow co-worker Megan and Josie, our
other ADC worker on staff. Returning home we smoked dope in the
state car (me and Megan, not Josie) and really had a good time. I
really like them both a lot, but especially Megan. She is absolutely
fucking wonderful, to look at and to talk with. Have mercy, is she
ever gorgeous! What a beauty.
Makes Polly Ellsworth seem a trifle dowdy by comparison. Amy
Lawrence, meet Becky Thatcher. Not a day goes by when I do not
experience some pang of inward regret that Megan is married to Mark
and therefore off limits.
My life is filled with women. I am surrounded by them from the
moment I arrive at work until the moment I go home. They are so
much easier to get along with than men. They have so much more
compassion and more refinement. They are cleaner and smell better,
too.
110
For reasons I do not entirely grasp, I have no trouble at all making
them laugh. I just start talking. In the car I had Megan and Josie in
stitches and that was even before I brought out the stick of reefer.
I wish somehow I could find that special woman. If Ms. Ellsworth
had given me the chance, I know I would have been a good husband
to her, no matter what she might say now.
The same with Marie, I’m sure, if I hadn’t (foolishly) turned her
down. Alas, the right woman for Patrick J. Compton has yet to come
along.
Probably never shall.
Finished the letter to Mick today, a nice long one. I got a good start
on it during the boring parts of the Upward Mobility Conference.
Geez, what a crock of shit that was.
* * * *
June 25, 1978
The things I expect to like I wind up hating and the reverse is also
often true.
* * * *
June 27, 1978
A busy, busy fellow I am these days. Unfortunately, the dope
smoking isn’t doing me much good. Every evening, I slip into this
green-tinged world fantasy garden. What a way to live. I’m
completely ashamed of myself. Gotta stop it pronto. I hereby make a
solemn vow to reform – one of these days.
Sent a copy of my book to Polly Ellsworth today. Don’t tell me
I’m crazy. I already know that. I can’t help myself – t
he urge to share
just comes over me. I thought I was pretty witty about it though,
telling her that as my first reader she deserves an update.
I’m trying to combat negative behaviors by taking positive action.
That’s what the psychologist who spoke at the Upward Mobility
seminar advised us to do. Take positive action.
So that’s what I’m attempting with my thinly fictionalized personal
adventure writing. To tell you the truth, I get a lot of pleasure out of
reading and writing. Intellectual pursuits are my real joy. Last year
(1977) in Portland, with the Central Library nearby, I read over 300
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books. Every Saturday morning I was there bright and early when the
doors opened. Every spare minute I spent reading and writing,
reading and writing. Try doing that with a woman hanging around.
Words are my hope, my joy. Someday I hope to write things that
aren’t so stupidly self-absorbed as what I am writing now. That day
apparently hasn’t arrived yet.
The State Democratic Party meets in two days at the Morse Ranch
outside Eugene. I’ll have to work out my remarks and practice them.
I’m pretty sure I’ll preach party unity – that’s always a big crowd
pleaser.
Wonder if I’ll see Jill Deskins there. Probably not. I think I may
ask Dave McNeese to nominate me for an at-large central committee
spot. If he won’t, I’ll ask John Thomas.
Sent my first query about the book to Doubleday. Talk about
nerve. I have impossible hopes for my project. I don’t know what
makes me so special.
There are a zillion other goddamn writers out there. I’m just
another drop in the bucket, so to speak.
Ms. Ellsworth has my original typescript. I figure she will destroy
it for the sake of humanity. It would really be quite a noble gesture on
her part. I have no hope of merchandising it at present for big bucks,
although that is my ultimate goal.
I can imagine what her reaction will likely be. She could call it
tasteless, among other things. She is so refined now, you know, all
grown up and responsible.
Wrote still another version of the query letter tonight. I keep
working it over and over. I think this one is better, although probably