by U
plenty of money from her job with which we can have fun, if I am so
inclined.
Hmmm. What do I think this means? Well, I think it probably
means she wants to fuck. However, I am going to pass on her
overtures, not that I ain’t tempted. Jill is lovely and intelligent but she
is no Megan. I gave her my best shot last year and she blew me off,
flicking me shit as she did so.
It is one thing to break up with a person, quite another to belabor
their perceived shortcomings as you part company. I have never
deliberately sought to hurt a woman’s feelings, at least not like they
have tried to hurt mine.
The worst thing I ever said to Leanne was to call her coarse, and I
still feel bad about that.
I may be losing leverage with Megan by ignoring Jill, but I can
barely keep up with one woman and attempting to juggle two would
only wipe out what little writing time I am currently able to muster.
The only advantage in seeing Jill again as far as I can tell would be to
put pressure on Megan.
But that’s the kind of stunt the woman I now refer to as "the other
one" would pull in similar circumstances. Therefore I refuse to do it.
Megan came over tonight and then acted annoyed because I told her I
still had to get some writing done.
I said that I was writing long before we met and I intended to
continue writing no matter what happens. She expressed additional
188
annoyance over that remark. So I shrugged and asked her how things
were going with Mark. She left in a huff.
What can I say? Women get down on you for not being a big
financial success but then they get pissed when you try to make the
effort needed to become successful.
What the hell does Megan want?
She doesn’t know what the hell she wants is my guess. I love her
but I’m not going to be a pushover. I’ll quit smoking, I’ll do whatever
she wants in bed, I’ll cook dinner, I’ll eat vegetarian meals, I’ll spend
every dime I have on her and generally kiss her beautiful, shapely ass
in possible every way.
However, in certain critical areas (like my writing) I simply must
draw the line.
Nick and I found some psilocybe cyanescens mushrooms on
Sunday afternoon. Deep, profound consciousness raisers. We had a
nice experience with them.
Really cleans a lot of shit out of your head. Nick insisted on
listening to music, as usual. So we sat around Harry’s house and
absorbed the tunes. On mushrooms, I don’t find popular music quite
so tiresome as I normally do.
Megan showed up just as we were ingesting them. I offered some
to her as we had plenty. Megan said she was afraid to try them and
we said that was cool.
Wrote a long, jabbery poem while I was high.
Megan wanted to keep it but I said it had to be burned in the
fireplace. She was disappointed but I told her that it was a poem for
that moment and no other. She says the next time we take mushrooms
she wants to take them with us.
* * * *
October 25, 1978
Finished the first chapter of The Dark City tonight. It’s going okay.
Nick insisted on reading some of it when he got back from Eugene
tonight so I let him. The criticisms he makes are the same ones
everybody makes, so I ignore them and don’t care if he looks over my
shoulder.
189
Nick worked as a reporter for two different newspapers before he
started his printing business so it’s not like he’s a complete
ignoramus. But unlike me, Nick writes only occasionally and has no
ambitions on that score. His only ambitions, near as I can tell, are to
drink, take drugs, talk, laugh, and sleep with as many women as
possible.
Me, I want to write. Have to write. Need writing to make sense of
myself and the world.
Geez. The alarm is ringing at city hall right now. A building must
be on fire in town. Hope it’s the welfare office.
* * * *
October 26, 1978
Had my annual physical at the Siuslaw Rural Health Center today.
Dr. Jim says I am as healthy as a horse. Everything is in tip-top
condition. He says I could live to be a hundred, barring an accident or
serious substance abuse. I told him I have given up cigarettes but
admitted that I smoke dope from time to time and have been known to
swill a beer now and then.
He said no problem as long as it doesn’t get out of hand. He also
suggested that I use a condom if I’m sleeping around. He said there
are a lot of dangerous diseases out there.
He specifically mentioned herpes but also said some deadly
immune system viruses may be sexually transmitted. Even the old
bugs are again causing concern because many are growing resistant to
antibiotics.
Well into Chap. 2 of The Dark City. My goal is 1000 words per
day, although I have yet to achieve it. I’d like to be done by Xmas.
Also need to request some time off at work. Writing answers all my
questions, even the ones I don’t know how to ask. It is the only work
I do that matters.
What else is there?
* * * *
October 27, 1978
It is late Friday night. I’m just about to write the death scene at the
end of Chap. 2. But I’m a bit stumped here. I can’t quite figure out
190
how to croak the girl. Maybe I’ll let her live and croak somebody
else.
Nevertheless, at least one person needs to die before I start the
chapter three.
This is a lot more fun than The Dark City was to write. An entirely
different challenge.
Boiling some eggs for lunch tomorrow. Planning to go mushroom
hunting with Nick. Hope to find a big batch.
* * * *
October 29, 1978
Well, I have finished the first 17 pages of The Dark City. It is first
draft work, but going well. Making a few changes and corrections as
I go along. Still, I’m not being too tough on the material just yet.
Chap. 3 is complete. Scheduled to begin Chap. 4 later today. I did
murder the detective’s girlfriend but that merely paves the way for the
appearance of her double later on. I was brutal with the killing. It’s
horrifying.
The story is weird and crude.
I am no Raymond Chandler.
Went mushroom hunting with Nick this morning. Found exactly
two semilanceata mushrooms. We went all over the place, up the
North Fork east of Mapleton, then down along Canary Road. Very
little luck, but it rained heavily today and that is an encouraging sign.
This new book will be much better than The Dark City. That
shouldn’t be too difficult. Right now I am writing on my bed again,
because the bedroom is warm while the rest of the house is freezing
fucking cold.
The black male character introduced at the end of Chap. 3 is a
homosexual queerio. He is a funny fellow. If I keep going at this
rate, I might finish the first draft by Turkey Day instead of Xmas. I’m
keeping my fingers crossed.
/> Later: I’m up to page 21. The plot is beginning to thicken. I see
that I have my work cut out for me. I’ve got a good feeling about it,
though.
Nick calls his job a "slave."
191
I must go back to my slave at 8:00 AM tomorrow.
Blech.
* * * *
October 31, 1978
Went to Eugene today on a work trip. Mission: had to deliver a
welfare case record to the circuit court, per the subpoena, on a
paternity trial. This creep is trying to weasel out of paying. The most
interesting item was Form PWD 385, in which the woman described
the extraordinarily romantic night of conception.
Let me see. They met at a bar. They drank for a while, then they
went out to his truck whereupon she sucked his cock and he sucked
her tits. Then they fucked.
After that, they went back inside the bar.
One more time they fucked before parting company. She got
pregnant, had the baby, and went on welfare. He never saw her again
afterwards (seven years) until the child support people came looking
for him.
He claims he is not the father but the poor kid looks exactly like
him. I am the courier for these very informative dossiers on these
people. This is what I do for a living.
Oh well. Got me out of the office, anyway.
Bought Frank MacShane’s biography of Raymond Chandler at
Koobdooga Books today. The store name is "A good book" spelled
backwards. On the way back to town, I stopped at the county park to
use the restroom. As long as I was there, I spent about forty minutes
searching for mushrooms in a field nearby. No luck, however.
Arrived home at 6:00 PM. Looked for Dreaming of Babylon again
at Koobdooga but it’s not in paperback. The story is the first or
second in a series called Brautigan Diversified. I will give Brautigan
another chance, although I am disappointed in his recent output.
It’s all very thin, I’m afraid. He really hasn’t grown as a writer.
Where are his big fat books?
Cannot find a decent biography of Hammett. Wish there was one.
I’d write it myself if I knew how.
192
I am stoned on Harry’s excellent homegrown weed and The Dark
City is up to page 26.
Such superior dope. I’m in and out of reality here. Must be
Dreaming of Babylon. Let me see. Hmmm. Over there are the
hanging gardens. Mmmm. Over here are dancing girls, dressed in
their filmy, transparent costumes.
Come to me, you slender little wench...
* * * *
November 2, 1978
Hello.
Megan came by this evening. We spent our time together making
love and talking. Only got about half a page written on Chap. 6. I
offered to let her read some of what I’ve written, but she declined.
She says she’s not interested in my writing. She’s only interested in
me.
For some reason I find her attitude refreshing. Unlike some women
I have known, she is not a shameless snoop. Nor does it appear as if
she seeks to "mold" me into some pre-set pattern to make me
acceptable husband material. Strange as it may seem, she likes me
just the way I am.
Hmmm.
Novels to write:
The Dark City
The Dark City
Ding A Ling
The Lonely Dream
Even Dreams Die Young
This Dark Dream
Mavo
Permission
The Perfect Wife
Burned Out
Nothing Else To Report
The Forever Girl
How To Adore An Older Woman
193
Public Assistance
Rubio
There are no words yet to go with most of these titles. But
someday there will be. I swear it will happen.
* * * *
November 3, 1978
Typed a bunch tonight. This damn Chapter 6 is slow going. I think
I drink and smoke dope more than is good for me. But thanks to
Megan, I haven’t touched a Marlboro in two months.
She didn’t nag me to quit or insist that I quit. She simply said that
sex with me would be a lot more fun for her if I stopped smoking.
Suddenly I experienced an intense desire to make my body parts more
purely desirable and immediately ceased the filthy habit. Thank
goodness.
Chesley is supposed to come down this weekend for food, fun, and
booze.
Wonder how The Dark City is doing at the various places I have
mailed it to? I wish I could get someone to publish it. I believe it is
very well written, very cogent. The publishers like that sort of thing,
don’t they? Why do they not immediately pounce on it?
How do I convince them?
* * * *
November 5, 1978
Holy Moley! Found 200 specimens of Ps. Semilanceata in the field
by the boat landing today. Megan went along with me to hunt for
them. Just as we were about to give up, she spotted a whole batch of
them beside a tree stump.
From that point on it was one batch after another. The field was
crawling with them. There is a trick to finding them, we have
discovered. We picked enough for five good doses.
Tomorrow we may go out again. This is the prime part of the
season and new ones pop up every day. I’d like to pick enough to last
through the winter.
They are not for mere entertainment. They are a profound
sacrament in my personal moon-worshipping goddess religion.
194
Up to page 30 of the manuscript but I am bogged down and not
quite sure why. I think I am going wrong somewhere. Either that or I
am just plain tired. I don’t know.
Plans for later scenes:
The detective gets into fistfight
He snorts cocaine
His employer gets shot
The bad guy is a sadistic killer
The detective goes to an after-hours joint
It is always raining – it literally never stops
There are seven bridges spanning the river
And seven days in the week
This truly is The Dark City
Megan and I are going mushroom hunting again tomorrow at
lunchtime. If we find some, we’ll store them in the refrigerator in the
break room at work. Must remember to take food with me so I can
spend the lunch hour out in the field.
195
CHAPTER NINE
The Day After Yesterday
November 9, 1978
In a few minutes I will ingest 30 dried specimens of psilocybe
semilanceata. It is now 5:50 PM. Megan and I each picked another
25 of them today. My share is drying to a lovely shade of gold in
front of the heater.
The ones I intend to take are from the batch we collected on
November 5. Part of our first big score. I plan to clean the house and
work a little on the new book if I am in the mood for it. Still need to
complete Chap. 6.
Chesley is coming down tomorrow.
Later: It is midnight. Old Angel Midnight. The mushroom dream
ended about an hour ago.
What can I say? How shall I describe it?
It was for me a re
ligious experience. Central to it was a vision of
my own death, the passing away of my earthly body. There is no
doubt in my mind that the universe is indeed created by a supernatural
being, but one for whom words like love and mercy have no meaning.
This supernatural being is beyond all human concept.
I laughed and cried, not really upset but feeling an emotional
catharsis. I came to grips with the life I have led these past 27 years.
The person I want to be is the person I am.
Nobody has any claim on me except insofar as I allow them one
and nobody has any more knowledge into the workings of life than I
do.
Still, it is also clear that I have been misunderstood, misread, and
mistreated by others in many instances. I feel compassion for others
but rarely have compassion extended to me. This is not complaining
but simply grasping the truth as it exists in the world. People think I
am a sucker and they try to use me.
They do not see themselves as I see them and they do not see me as
the person I am, either. I see others pretty clearly while they see me
196
through what appears to be like a sideshow mirror, all distorted and
skewed.
Meanwhile, somehow or other I have been convinced that I am
unworthy of respect and do not merit decent treatment. At bottom, I
believe that the two creatures responsible for bringing me into the
world also did an outstanding job of undermining my self-respect and
personal confidence.
Conjured up by the mushroom spirit, the hateful images of my
mother and father came rushing into my mind. If they had planned it
out beforehand, Lois and Jim could not have done us more harm
emotionally.
However, I am determined to overcome it.
I suspect that my relationship with the woman I call "the other one"
was a continuation of the same negative pattern. Apparently I
deliberately sought out a mean-spirited, bullying, lying, sneaking,
nagging, dishonest, controlling and ultimately selfish woman.
"I hate to get this down on anybody," she wrote, "but..."
No wonder I rejected Marie Montambeault three years ago. She
seemed to think that my poor self-image was undeserved. If Marie
could accept me as I am, I figured her judgment must somehow be