PFK1

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