Hierophany

Every team for a ring,
fish of different schools,
either end of the country.

My mother's birthday, my wife's;
Christmas Eve, New Year's.

Tires, roses, computers, and peaches:
the things of our economy.

Get me a beer outta the fridge, mon frer.
I'll slam it back through the line.

Is that chocolate not what you'd hoped?
An interception in the endzone, late.

***

Fresno St./Tulsa? Nevada/UCF?
Forget the BCS.

It's the senior quarterback's
last game ever, he'll
go into the endzone head first.
What the heck, right?

When he's drinking dos equis
in some spa in Mexico
that shoulder'll feel real good.

You see my world is isolated.
There is a wall at the edge.
It is filled with tiny crevices
and to come here you must fit through them.
But quite humorous it is that only
the thin and weak can slip in.
The large, muscular ones are left out.

9/5/1996

What are differences but hollow perceptions?
Am I different, am I weird?
I don't think so, but maybe others do.
And why, I want to know!
Because I'm reticent and like odd things?
And who says my things are odd? I like them.
All my life, people scorn me for playing on differences.
But I didn't and I don't. So why is it that
I must be scorned because of perceptions astray?
What are we but people? Do we all not eat,
and drink, and sleep in the same manner?
If we were not weird, wouldn't we be boring?
I ask why we must rely on our five senses
to make our choices, and not the lone sense that
is all that really matters.

In stating our differences and grouping with our
commonalities we only make things worse.
By raising the fact that we are physically and
mentally and intelligently different, we only bridge
the gap between our similarities.
So I ask again, how are we truly different?
And why must we act based on these false beliefs?
You and I are one, and the same, our blood springs
from Eden, and our consciousness is pooled from all of
those that walked this Earth before us.
Where do the differences come from?

9/5/1996

Today celebrates the day of my birth
seventeen years ago I came into this world
when I was young time seemed to go so slow.

Einstein said that when people move faster
time ticks slower and slower such that
if one moved fast enough time would stop.

So I figure that I must be going pretty slow
because my life is running at a crazy pace
and it seems that with every coming day

I look farther and farther back
wishing I would start moving faster
If I move faster, things will go slower.

And with the dawn of my seventeenth year I urge
myself, and others, to run hard,
run til you are out of breath

Cause, if you run hard, and stop stopping
to worry about things, your time on Earth
might go slower and you will cherish it longer.

9/12/1996

Those bastards, can't win a game:
throw the ball away, lose leads,
have no relief pitching.

Clark is older than Original Sin.
They suck, except for Juan.
They piss off, they cause a
great pain, deep inside.

They hurt like a woman.
And why, people ask.
It's just a game...

Yeah, baseball is just a game,
the greatest game ever played.
Baseball, Ray, baseball.

October 1996

Tomorrow is the day that I can return home
At long last, the time has come

I will return to my family, my land, my lake
But I leave many precious things in my wake

I have friends here, too, and one is a girl
It is so hard to move between worlds

Each couple of months I must make the move
My strength, my versatility, I must prove.

10/10/1996

He did it
he had the guts to
pull it off

I chased him
up a wall and
back down it

and then he
had the audacity to
get in my shorts.

Circa Fall 1996

A word from the wise man of such movies as "Seven Years in Tibet" and "Se7en":

"Just cause he's got a...fucking library card doesn't make him Yoda."

—Brad Pitt's character in "Se7en"

AE—JR
April 2001

J: I was looking out the window, just cause I was fascinated by what was going on out there, you know? And the street you know, it was like two o'clock in the morning and you know, I'm just watching these guys. They're just walkin back and forth. I don't know, probably high on crack. I...I'll say...one time, I saw this guy I see a lot, and this old junker van pulls up...They went into an apartment next door, came out five minutes later...

A: Oh man...

J: Yeah, there's no question about what's going on there.

---

A: I'm telling you these...this, apartment has got some great hallways...

J: Yeah.

A: You know, like with those lights, especially...

J: Yeah.

A: I mean look down that hallway.

---

J: Yeah unfortunately this room never reached its potential...

A: Yeah...

J: That couch in this room, with those windows open on a nice day...

A: Definitely.

J: We had that for about a week...

A: …But I guess I over-conceptualize my social interactions maybe. Like there only has to be quality interaction or there only has to something I’m getting out of it. It’s hard thing to hold yourself to because it ends you spend your time doing the things that mean something.

J: Yeah, there aren’t that many people that I guess I consider worth my time. And that’s, I think, when you hear someone say that, I think the urge is to believe they have a large ego or something. But it’s not like I’m asking for you, to treat me, any special…I’m just gonna stay over here, and do my thing, you do your thing…pretty antisocial.

A: But it’s honest and you know, a matter of authenticity.

— “Come on rain down, on me…”—



J: Who, the hell, is that…this is one of those…alright, a good friend, but, …about our conversation just now.

A: You got to choose your people…

***

J: Well I’m trippin’. Man, I could just sit in this chair for hours, and stare at one thing. That’s the mega high aspect. I call it “mega high.” Mega high. Right now, you know, it’s like a thousand times more than pot. But in the fact that this does serve a purpose, in the sense that they don’t overlap in some areas.

A: Right. Which is a distinction I think you can make…cuz there’s that world and…

J: Cuz I don’t know anyone else…I know other people who smoke…but I don’t know anyone else who’s trippin. And it’s just one more microscopic level. I think some of those people in the quad today were…

A: Oh yeah, for sure.

J: Do you think they were on Kid A?

A: Yeah. Well they were at least smoking weed.

J: They were?

A: Yeah, there was definitely weed out there.

J: Oh really. Cuz I was just sitting there looking at them.

A: Some girl was talking about the rubber bong in her bag…

J: Yeah I could have sworn I heard some chick today, when I was just, you know, asking how the seeds were doing.

A: Well, I was at that 4 square game for a while, you know, just watching, scribbling some notes, and two guys taking a break were just talking about grinding up some shrooms and eating it, like for tonight or something. Like one of those kids I know, Ryan, he was shrooming in the quad and playing croquet last week…

J: Shrooming, and playing croquet!

A: Yeah and I came up to him and was like what’s going on? He’s like, not much. They’re just kinda playing . But I actually heard that from his roommate, I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently he had some friends in town last week…Just an afternoon like that…you just gotta take advantage…so a lot of those kids in the quad were on some drugs today.

J: You really thought that…

A: Yeah I really did. Which is very cool, in an aloof sense, cuz we’re in our own worlds…but…

J: I really would like to know how that compares with some other places…cuz I’m sure it’s probably pretty much the same…

A: …Drugs definitely get a spin in the media, like, with rave culture…like it’s destructive…which it’s not…

J: The line in this song goes…da, da da da…and I say, “pack, me a bowl”…

A: So you’re hinting at Radiohead doing acid then…

J: Man, I saw them on SNL, this winter…

A: Ah, fuck, I missed that twice now cuz they just replayed it…

J: Yeah, I caught it at a bar. And Thom Yorke…definitely on something…

A: Well they put out a video for Idioteque. Directed by Grant Gee…did Meeting People is Easy…that’s something you should see. In the video for that, it’s pretty tight, there’s this point where he just starts wiggin out, you know, he’s got his hand is up, his fingers just doing that…but I have a feeling that the performance on SNL is similar, where he has that freakout…But you know, Radiohead can jam better than pretty much most people out there. You go to track…I don’t know how familiar you are with Kid A, but Optimistic, even on this album, they can jam out, and it’s really technically flawless. That’s when you have everyone in the band thinking…you can read the notes of their recordings…Ed keeps a diary, and everyone’s off…

--“sentimental android”--

J: What do you think…

A: The terms should be?

J: Yeah I was listening to OK Computer nonstop, I just had to cut myself off…Well we’re out of cigarettes, so…

A: We’re gonna hit the Red Sea, pick up a pack…

J: Except I don’t have any cash…

A: That’s fine, cuz I just cashed my paycheck, which is great that we decided to do this on a Friday…but the conditions are right…I think that kind of spontaneity…just let it be for that sake…don’t necessarily have to put a guideline on it…let the intuition kind of, you know…

J: You know Friday afternoon, is just…Well I guess there’s next Friday…I have these, and six tabs…

A: What is that all together? You’re gonna be hanging on to some of that after summer…or…you think that would be…



J: I, I can’t really seeing these lasting…

A: Yeah.

J: And I hope there’s gonna be a connection…



--Red Sea—

A: No one ever thinks about the people that are walking around…you know, they’re out, walking by…

. But on our campus, maybe 3%.

J: 3?

A: Yeah.

--Back at John’s apartment, passing the bowl, again—

—Pink Floyd, ANIMALS—

A: Definitely a quality of disorganized thought…like a stream of consciousness…think that’s why you can’t really remember, can’t put yourself back into that…It’s kinda funny cuz La Dolce Vita, that Felinni film I was telling you about, you really do have to catch this, but it’s , there’s these characters that drink, kinda a swanky Italian itelligensia, and the host records their conversations, and I won’t tell you too much, that recording ends up coming up really strange in other places…so, that what he does…there’s no story…it’s just the images and sounds that get recycled in slightly modified form throughout that you have to pick up on…it’s not something you can explain to someone who wants $7.50 action, whatever…those sort of subtleties reward you on subsequent approaches. It can change for you, reveal itself differently. It’s probably better, there’s 45 minutes of the film I didn’t see…but trying to devote one’s mental attention to something like that for 3 hours is an experience in itself. And when you think about the other things you can attend to…all the things you can attend to…you definitely have a quality where you have a certain amount devoted to the film…there’s this part for the film, and this no traditional film by any means, kinda free-flowing, but physical proximity to other people, like this girl I like, all those things come into play…there’s different levels of consciousness going around…I don’t know where that leaves us…ha. I think this is something I would have like to have done earlier…well, earlier in the day…but earlier too…but it seems like a day thing to do…the night has a different quality to it. Can’t quite put my finger on it. Makes you more introspective…unless it’s me reviewing the past day. I like that toothpick…

J: Yeah I had a toothpick last week…

A: I don’t know why that strikes me as funny…

From October 29, 2005 at 0:22

Up late, motor has been whirring all day. Two
cups of coffee in the morning, around 8/8:30. But
then nothing. Two slices pumpkinbread b-fast.

No lunch whatsoever. Work at law school, job
interview w/ Army Corps of Engineers. Home
by 3:30 after stopping to buy booze at
Dan's Liquor on Lavaca near Capitol.

Late lunch/early dinner at 16:00 of bison burger—damn good!—w/sliced (anaheim? banana?) peppers, plenty of mayo, dijon-type very seedy mustard, relish, and ketchup. Mm! Then heated up some refried beans & dipped blue corn tortilla chips

in. Had a George Dickel otr at @ 4:30, lay down for 25 mins, just startin to snooze when Brook came home. Teased her about whatever. She walked to video store. I got up and did stretching/yoga for about 25 mins.

Back to work on dumb enviro. practicum
assignment—taking forever.

It's late & I'm havin' Manhattan
night-cap.

It's never gonna rain in Austin
again.

Feingold is the President for gold; the Republican candidate will be for the dollar.

***

Maybe if the law then said how, if the gov't couldn't show that what they found could not be used in an international terrorist organization, that it could not then be held against you. But many illegal acts could eventually be tied to internation terrorism, if you believe that it's the terrorists running the drugs. Member when all those drugs were found in a U.S. military ship in Colombia? Oops.

***

Why is all of this talk only making me more scared? The general sunset compromise he says is 4 years. Apparently Bush and the White House were in agreement with 4 years on the sunset. So the House lost out, when it was asking for seven years.

***

Senator Grassley (Iowa) has come on talking about the U.S-Bahrain free trade agreement. USBFTA? He believes that this trade agreement is a win for our economy. Bahrain proposes to eliminate 100% of the duties it currently charges to U.S. products, except for 2% of U.S. agriculture products. Trade in every service sector, unless excluded. Says Bahrain is a service provider center in the Middle East. As the region develops, there will be increased opportunity for U.S. exports. Right, like Iraq, they're buying lots of stuff? Wait we're giving it to them?

AIRPLANE
[9:47a est]
The time doesn’t seem right but it is. Set watch back six hours an hour & a half ago, so it went from 2:30 pm to 8:30 am. This flight has been alive for about three hours. Left at 12:50 pm.
Emily’s flight left about one-half hour after mine. I gave her a hug and told her that I had a great time on our trip. The notebook can testify to that. Ups and downs, sure—but I am sad that it has come to an end. Of course, I look back and everything that we did feels like it was packed into an instant and that little time has passed since I left. Cliché I guess, but time seems to work like that.
In another twelve hours I’ll be in my apartment having wine with Brook and the blunt agony of flying will not seem real to me at all; I’ll just be happy with the present in which I exist because, at any one time that’s all that there is: the present.
The movie was The Shipping News, which I did not watch; then it was an episode of “Spin City,” which I didn’t watch. There was a VFW commercial rolling out footage of WWI, WWII, Korean War, Vietnam War, Persian Gulf War, each with a set of dates—beginning, ending—and then of course a war on terrorism that had a beginning date but no ending. Now is another installment of Fox News International (oxy moron there) documenting more WAR HEROES for everyone to stare at.
[10:02 a]
Didn’t sleep well last night. It was noisy around midnight when I got into bed & would slip into stage 1 or stage 2 sleep, characterized by nonsensical but original & interesting daydreaming. Did that for about an hour. Em was tossing & turning.
Now on is ESPN and a World’s Strongest Man competition.
Woke up at I didn’t know what time (I thought, I hoped it was around 6:50 am or so); went to bathroom, came back in. Emily waked and asked me what time it was; I found my watch on the table, surprised & diappointed to read the dial. It’s four-twenty a.m.,” I told her. And she goes, “Ah-hah-hah-hah….” So I went back to sleep. Until 6:30a. Then until 7:10a or so when her alarm went off. She said, “There you go, John.” So maybe she knew I was ready to get home.
What gave it away? Maybe it was yesterday walking toward our future hotel when I said, “God I can’t wait to get back out of this hell-hole.” I had been looking forward to a return to Amsterdam but when we got there I realized I wanted to be home as much as anywhere else. What will I say when people ask me how I liked the trip?
[10:11 a]
I’ll say it was up & down. A man asking me security questions at the gate in Schiphol pre-boarding asked me where I had gone on the trip. Two nights in Amsterdam, nine in Germany. “Germany?” he said. “Were the German people friendly?”
“Yes, everything went pretty well.”
“I think so, too. Some people here don’t think so. There’s a little rivalry between the Dutch & Germans. Where are you coming from?”
“Amsterdam.”
“Ahh…how’d you like Amsterdam?”
“I liked it.”
“Planning on coming back?”
“Ahh…maybe to the Netherlands again but I don’t know about Amsterdam.”
“Yeah, you should see the rest of Holland. But you liked it in Amsterdam?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“You know what they say here: if it ain’t Dutch, it ain’t much.”
***
“Are you carrying any electrical or battery-operated items with you?”
“Ahh….” (I couldn’t think of any.) “No.”
“No? How about a camera? Oh, ah—well, it’s in my bag that I checked.”
“Aha—ehh! OK, a camera, anything else? A shaver, a cellphone?”
“No.”
“Who packed your items?”
“Me.”
“Are you carrying anything that anyone gave to you?”
“No.”
“Since you packed the items who has been in possession of them?”
“Myself.”
“At all times?”
“Yes.”
“OK, thank you; have a safe trip.”
“OK, thank you.”
He was a nice guy & I wish I could’ve responded better to the “If it ain’t Dutch, it ain’t much,” ‘cause it’s kind of funny.
Breakfast was at Restaurant Kabul. Bread w/ butter, jam. Egg. One bit of a ham & cheese sandwich. We got ham & cheese croissants later, at the airport. Emily bought some Euros chocolate as a gift for co-workers. I bought a small notebook for Ray. All of this, including the assorted coins I gave Em, completely drained me of Euro—except the 1€ coin which I intend to slip to Brook at some point.
[10:20 am]
Flight has been OK so far. Pasta entrée, bread & butter, shortbread fingers for dessert. Had a scotch/rocks (black label Johnny Walker) which I don’t recommend. Spent bulk of time previous to this reading Richard Brautigan, which I am enjoying.

[7:00 p EST]
PHILLY
Waiting in Philadelphia airport for flight to St. Louis. Flight got in here at 2:40 p or something and by that time I was ready to get off of the plane but passing time by talking to my seat C & Seat D neighbors on the flight, Anne Marie in the seat right next to me and Melanie to the left of her. We went through about 85% of the flight without talking but we all three had in common that at some point in the flight we added something in a personal notebook or journal that we carried with us. I had sneaked a peek over at what they were working on. Anne Marie had drawings, but also what looked like a flight itinerary cropped & taped into the first few pages of her book. [7:05 p] Melanie had out some colored pencils and was working on a drawing of what looked to be a drawing of a figure wearing a Dr. Seuss-type hat. Not bad.
But I waited a good while. When I knew that I had to act sooner or never, I seized upon Anne Marie having just gotten our her book to check the itinerary, presumably to double-check the info on her connecting flight. So I was like, “What kind of stuff do you put in your notebook?” And she was like, “What’s that?” And I said, “Oh, I mean, I was just wondering what kind of things you used your notebook for; it looked pretty interesting.” She had put it away but actually got it back out and showed me what was in it. “Drawings and stuff…this is our flight information.”
[7:14 p]
I’m not going to be able to break down much of the dialogue because right now my brain is like the big wad of cheap gum you’ve been chewing on for two hours: hard, tasteless, done for. Amsterdam time right now is 1:15 am. The flight to St. Louis is going to be delayed and if we leave the runway before 8:15p I’d be fucking shocked.
By the time Anne-Marie & Melanie got onto their flight to Chicago O’Hare we had gotten pretty comfortable w/ each other. Anne Marie has a bachelors in Art, had sneaked a peek at my handwriting when I wrote in my journal on the plane. She told me I had “small handwriting.” The big ice-breaker was Anne Marie showing me her drawings, of things from the trip. They had gone to Amsterdam for nine days or so; and had gone to a friend’s wedding in Austria (near Munich) for a few days. Melanie let me have a look at her book. She just reached into her bag & got it out for me, totally unsolicited. So I could look through it at my own pace, Melanie an arm’s length away. Her work was rather impressive actually. An ink b/w drawing of a friend “who thought the world was about to end” and in the drawing, off into the distance over his left shoulder, was an hourglass. Melanie also had scraps in her book: a bus ticket, a photo she bought of an old German couple at a Dutch flea market, God I cannot even remember what else right now—I’m bushed.
[7:22p]
I was impressed w/ the work of both of them. We, oh, Melanie had a flyer from Conscious Dreams in her scraps & I was like, “Oh, I was there.” And Melanie was like, “What were you doing there?” And I said, “Oh…I didn’t buy anything.” Did they partake in any of the specialties of Amsterdam? “Yeah, the usual….”
Well, we cut the cat & mouse kosher drug talk after awhile & when we were sitting on the floor of the airport waiting for their delayed flight finally to board they said they both had done acid; Melanie coke twice; Anne Marie has a more regular pot vice but Melanie speaks for all of us when she says she doesn’t fuck with all that chemical club drug stuff: E, coke, crystal meth, Special K. Melanie likes to do a one-hitter before she paints because she can definitely “tunnel” and focus better “on that stuff.”
We talked about how we actually prefer to do it on our lonesome. She had brought some salvia back w/ her & I told her about my limited, actually not so successful experience with it. She’s still excited about it a bit. When we got off the plane we went through customs all together & then, since our flights were then taking off in side-by-side gates in the same concourse, we grabbed a drink together, at Jet Rock Bar & Grill. That ended up being a meal; I had a burger, fries, Yuengling. Mmm. Hot waitresses in skimpy clothes.
Before the flight ended I gave them the Hierophany e-mail address & said, “If you want, mail me an address & I’ll send you a copy of Hierophany.”
[7:39 p]

[9:01 CST]
LAST LEG
A little light out on the western horizon is an uplifting sight. The coffee I had about ten minutes ago has helped, too. Was trying to get some shut-eye but it was a lost cause. I was far too optimistic about our departure time. I had said if we got underway by 8:15p EST I’d be fucking shocked. We boarded around 7:45 pm—flight scheduled to depart at 7:40 pm EST—but we didn’t take off until 9:05 EST. I drifted off for a moment on the runway, while we were trapped in this queue of about 15 planes lining up for takeoff, and when I woke up it felt like I had been out for an hour, though only a minute or two could have passed.
Lady in my row, #9, is coming back to STL from a wedding in New York. She doesn’t like St. Louis, but she’s stationed here for work. She said, on account of my long legs, I should try getting an exit row seat when I fly, so I “don’t have to look like a spider when I’m getting out of (my) seat.” Somehow this image really works for me & I’m thanking her for it by not turning on my overhead light during the flight; but my eyes are hurting. She is all covered in a black blanket, & over her knees, her leather jacket. She’s from New York & has on pink toe & fingernail polish. She was in the wedding and didn’t realize how much the people in the wedding actually drank. She ordered tomato juice when they offered us drinks, “the whole can,” yes on the ice, “and with some lemon if you have it.” She was very thankful. We got an extra little bag of Rold Golds.
I see lightning on the horizon now and all around me a surprising number of people have their overheads on. The guy next to me has a calculator out. The person in front of him is reading Business Week. This is US Airways Flight 776 from Philadelphia to St. Louis.

CIRCUS
[12:03 a]
Berlin (cont.)
Berlin seems like a town where rich kids w/ expensive habits, high hopes, & little productive motivation come to fuck around for awhile before settling down somewhere else. People here, people around the hostel, non-native German speakers are floating around out here, for the most part, & I hope not to join their league. As surprised as I am to say it, I want an anchor—it it’s only my work, that’s as good as any.
I can’t say that Americans are prosperous by virtue; by virtue of the system, by virtue of luck; by virute of being born into the earth between a particular range of latitude & longitude lines.
There are many doner kebab places here—lamb meat shorn off a vertical spit. With veggies, salat, sauce. Inexpensive—don’t want to use the word cheap. For a doner kebab (filling enough and nutritional enough) dinner, plus a water, I paid 3€.
Don’t travel without knowing the language again, you lazy privileged ignorant American fuck. Seriously. Save yourself the anxiety; and save others your disrespect and wasteful demeanor; everything has a consequence, even if you don’t mean it, even if it’s not personal.
Just about everything can be interpreted as personal; we’re all fundamentally ourselves.
[12:11 a]
Europe dies of lung cancer, age 2,012. Seriously, people smoke cigarettes over here like they’re puffing oxygen through a fucking emphysema tank. It’s amazing! Cigs cost 3€ a pack & you can buy them anywhere, plenty of machines in every fine establishment. On the trip I’ve smoked somewhere, I’d say, around 25 cigarettes. I’m happy w/this.
Coffee seems more of a staple but I could be wrong about that. I’ve been using it as more of a staple, anyway.
[12:16 a]
I feel more comfortable here writing in public. In the Anne Frank house, someone was copying down a quote (I followed); on Neue National Galerie today I saw a woman break out a pen & scratch paper to copy down a quote somebody had said (but which was written in German).
Sex isn’t so taboo. Nudists in tiergarten. Erotic magazines displayed like any others at press shops. Amsterdam obviously but plenty of sex shops, & titty bars around Berlin, Munich as well, & not lumped all together, but here & there as if they were just any othe store.
Tipping works on a much different basis. You must ask for the bill. When the bill comes you must pay then & you must say how much you wish to pay. The tips I’ve given more often than not have surprised people; five percent probably does the trick. Don’t leave the tip behind on the table. I like this forthrightness where the bill is concerned. But it would take some getting used to. And you don’t say how much you want back. You say how much you intend, or how much you are handing over.
[12:21 a]
Getting tired. Beer, water, cars, bikes, walking, trains, showering, hand drying—blowers not towels (big fan of this.
Copy of Balthazar among books downstairs in Circus café library, in English, w/ Circus stamp on inside cover. Crossing the street, cars turning right yielding…open sexual preference moreso…
[12:24 a]
After doner kebab, an espresso. Go down to bar w/ Em & sit w/ Rob at bar. I have first a J&B on the rocks, double. Then a Glenfiddich on the rocks, double. Glenmorangie, too. Then I have one more J&B on the rocks, single. Five scotch drinks. A bit more talkative but not really drunk. Just stodged up a bit.
Different sounding sirens, hee-aw, hee-aw, hee-aw, hee-aw…
[12:27 a]

DREAM
[8:03 a]
Only one thread I can recall. Was dreaming it when I waked with a sudden startling jolt: me in Army basic training, there on the first night, feeling absolutely like I was in prison, contemplating any means to leave—
Let’s do Hierophany tags for artist, title, etc., as museum tags—there the work, then the info, tastefully small, in lower right corner, can do with art & poems, anyway, maybe not with stories—
[8:07 a]
Thought about going AWOL, just walking right off the base, and I think this was sort of an option. But afterward the Army would make your life hell, and it’d be hard to find a job. I was sitting in the dining area thinking: my relationship w/ Brook went to shit & now I’m in army camp? This can’t be happening, this can’t be real, this has to be a dream—and those were the magic words. I woke up with a jolt and checked my surroundings. Thought, “Oh, thank God.”
[9:16 a]
MORGEN
But in earlier part of the dream, maybe a factor in my decision to enter the Army was a falling-out between Brook & me. I had accused here of cheating, and maybe she had and maybe she hadn’t but something had changed and if she hadn’t cheated on me, she would sometime soon, or she would leave me. I knew she was not in love with me any longer and I was distraught. I don’t remember too many more specifics so that’s that.
[9:21 a]
[2:00 p]
IR (TO AMSTERDAM)
Headin’ to Amsterdam. On train. In private portion of 1st class car here w/ Em. Em going to get chips & tea in an hour. Hell, I’m gonna go and get some coffee.
[2:01 p]
Thas summa the hottis damn coffee I think I evuh put my hans on. Still feel the warmth.
Finished Richard Ford earlier and I was a bit let down, though I admit to reading a bit too much for plot toward the end.
Passing through Minden, the Minden of Westfalen, supposedly where grandpa Meentemeyer’s folks are from. Took a photo through the window, one w/ flash one without.
Driving past a castle/temple-looking building, one of the coolest buildings we’ve seen.
[2:11 p]
First sip of coffee. Good. Bad Oeyhhausen. Bad Oeynhausen. That is a really weird spelling. Had two screeps of vanilla ice cream w/ erdbeer, not very good. Bought water & sandwich which I ate about 45 mins. ago. Water not quite gone. A while again before I eat.
We had rest of chiva bang. Nothing to report.
[2:21 p]
Recycling…k@m@na…sie matic…Deutshe Bahn…
Haven’t said anything at all about last evening. Doner kebabs w/ Em. Espresso at café closing (8:55 p). Drinks downstairs at Goldman’s Bar. Rob was down there and we joined him at the bar. Not crowded, my kind of scene. World Cup highlights on the screen (over & over again). I started off w/ a J&B double. Then had Glen
I felt unsure as to whether I had already written this. Forged on, though. When I got to the Glenfiddich I “knew” I had already written this. Because as I was wondering how Glenfiddich is supposed to be pronounced. I said, “Glenfidditch,” when I ordered & the congenial barman, completely unpretentiously, and not directly at me, said, “Your Glenfiddick.” I remembered this as I wrote the word last night; as I was about to write it above, I remembered the same scene, & remembered having remembered it last night. So I was sure I had already written about it. I just wasn’t sure where because I had stuck it into the midst of my Europe Generalisations.
[2:32 p]
[2:48 p]
A flash of it when I see the back of a small quaint orange-roofed house and on a brief back not-enclosed brick patio, a small blue 2-seater bench, some plants in pots next to it. Some other squat blue rounded objects & sun shining on all of it & I think about how it’d be nice to live there. Then a small tweak of it, that familiar sensation.
Do you believe in it, that kind of stuff, gnosticism, a pre-life, the soul; what are you saying when you say you believe in the soul? Believing in the soul is committing to a whole bunch of related & necessary “if then” beliefs, it seems to me. What was your soul doing before you were born? Did it not exist? Then what will it do when you die? Not exist, or most likely people will say it’d go on. Why? Is this the logical parallel of the soul not existing before you were born? If the soul has always been, it’s been since before the birth of you. This isn’t a bad thought. I want to believe in the afterlife & now I’m thinking, if we believe in an afterlife, why wouldn’t we also believe in a pre-life?
If I wanted to do a short story, it’d be like this: a list of one, two, and three, where one is crossed out. It begins in the middle; which seems familiar; the one is implied, not stated, not really known but we see it at least in everything that happens with two; three is what nobody knows, the unfamiliar, the yet-to-be-done, it contains one & two by definition but it has something all its own as well, a strange quality that leaves the story unresolved (of course).
If I teach fiction, this is what I want:
• The first story we do an assigned story; something based on that formula.
• Second story, do whatever you want.
• Third story, you do a revision, or another new story, whatever you want.
• Include some poetry writing in the course.
• Journal entries—whatever you want, doodles, transcriptions, story ideas, miscreant writings while you’re in another state, but an entry—it can’t be blank.
• Transcriptions might be a good assignment, tape a conversation, transcribe it, 15 min. worth, you really pay attention to the language, dialogue this way.
• Readings; presentations on a writer? Yes, but no two people can do a presentation on the same person—or, assign students to go through an archive, like a Special Collection & report back on it.
• A week to go through literary reviews, so people know what’s out there.
• E-mail stories to me & to each other for those who’d like to do it this way.

You can teach people to write if you can make them reveal themselves & enjoy that part in each of us that we refer to as the creative imagination. So how do you do that? Maybe it’s that part of us that people call “weird.” Some weirdness is essential to being creative.
Creating a syllabus would be fun. Want to do a doctorate in creative writing.
Creative product is like a thumbprint. Some weirdness is OK, lots of weirdness is illegal.
[3:07 p]
It’s not the cities of Europe I’ll come back to. It’s these small towns along the rail line. W/ gardens in the backyard, which you can go out into w/o any shirt on, hang up your laundry, play w/ the dog. I don’t need the cities. These little towns, blinks along the way, brick streets, low houses.
The tourists have been coming here longer than you, buddy. An assload of bikes.
[3:16 p]
[3:40 p]
Em & I hear an alarming announcement.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I think he just said that if we want to get to Amsterdam we have to….”
Get off the train & switch to another. Go to cars 9,10,11, 12? So we hurried up and got our shit together and walked through the dining car like we just took white shits & we were on the run from the cops.
Ladies and gentleman, the shiva bang, I think, is having some effect.
Walking through the dining car I was afraid that my backpack hip straps were gonna knock over somebody’s glass of merlot. We got to the end of the train and saw that it was car # 12, making the dining car #11, and the car we were in #10. So we walked back through the dining car. By this time I had connected my hip straps so that when we walked BACK through the dining car like idiots I wouldn’t worry about knocking anything over.
[3:50 p]
So I said to Em a few minutes ago, when we had settled back into our original seats, “You know what would be really fun?…” And I laughed a sincere legitimate crack-myself-up laugh. Felt really good. The shiva bhang? The coffee lingering? The train?
(If we got our packs back on & took another tour of the dining car.)
Just tweaked….
[4:03 p]
Art idea: post-its on other side of a pane of glass, so would be written on sticky side. On some of the notes:
• Patience, Will, Discipline
• Do Not Procrastinate
• Have someone at Career Center look at resumé
• Mikey, Gone out to get beer. Back by 6-ish.
• Grocery list.
• Love note.

More ideas: post-its composing a stock chart, with one note near the bottom saying “Buy” and another note near the top saying “Sell”. Post it notes composing: zig-zags, lightning bolts, sine curves.
A post-it note piece called nuclear warning, that has three clumps of post it notes, spaced apart in accordance with the nuclear warning sign of three blades. In the first clump: take a shower; wear gloves; don’t let boiler get too hot; tape Simpsons. In the second clump: burn clothes. In the third clump: renew subscription to Nuclear Bulletin; sell nuclear waste to Indians.
Then a post-it note piece called “EEG.” This one has a line bouncing up and down. In a post it note up and to the very left: “Add Jack to the will.” Then on another post-it note up and a few bumps down the line: Tell Lorrie you love her. Then on a down bump: Ask about a sponge bath. Then on the next down bump: Pray to God. Then the line goes flat: Go to the light; and, Admit Everything.
[4:15 p]
Still have to hunt those post-it notes to see what they say.
The Post-It Project series. Maybe Post-It will sponsor me! Hah! I could use generic scraps of paper. What might they have copyrighted?
[4:17 p]
What good is insanity, if it can’t make a good excuse? Either we have a mental health problem, either it’s legitimate, or we don’t sell drugs to cure it.
You would think, that with all the prescription drugs we sell in this country, that people could have more success with an insanity plea. I was on medication….
[4:20 p]
[4:22 p]
Anxiety

I perceive quite a bit of it
It is scouring alien streets
looking for crumpled-up Post-It notes

Did I write that I dreamt about Fred Hotz?
Right now I don’t want to get high later. Will I? Em isn’t going to like this.

He’s working with a whole different species of orchid.
[4:30 p]
[4:32 p]
I don’t think I much like it when I know what an author looks like before I read the book. I don’t want to see an author’s photo on the back cover of a book, like Ford’s is on the back of Independence Day. Because I used that photo as the character in the book, which I guess many other readers did, too.
[4:33 p]
I wrote pretty shitty e-mail on this trip. Wrote my best to Jeff actually, ‘cause he wrote me some good stuff.
Hierophany. Opening Hierophany is like opening a can of worms. I thought up a very funny joke, logical at least, but it’s disparaging to a population and I won’t make record of it. It’s not racist. Not sexist. What? Elitist? Normalist? Privilegist?
[4:41 p]
Imagining…what life would be like…if I no longer smoked marijuana….
[4:49 p]
BRAIN STORM. My first book of poetry. The next issue of Hierophany? I like the idea of a photo as a cover. Phil Meier’s photo could have been good as a cover. Still have his bike photo, which was a real beauty. Jeff complimented the design, I’ll have to tell Brook.
What they don’t teach in design—or do they—is stuff like learning how to understand what your client wants, getting them really to say it, then doing it, but in the final product not leaving yourself out entirely. I mean, this last part is pretty much impossible, but you know what I mean.
Untitled—but you know what I mean. Or title of issue, but you know what I mean.
Modernity—comes to grips w/ the fact that being moral is dificult, but not necessarily unnatural.
Post-modernity—not being un-moral, but in denial of the revelation of modernity
Something after—the application of morality in art, expression. What is moral expression?
The Posties get at this. They are reminders—stuff that we forget or write, post, send to remind ourselves and others to do the right thing. What would people NOT write on Posties?
Find out. Write it on Posties. Go & put them on people’s cars. Check by car later, when it’s gone & see if they trash the Postie!! See if they crumple it & toss it down. Or see if they keep it either to throw it away later or keep, really keep, to ponder, whatever, but keeping it is still significant of something.
[5:03 p]
Never on the same car twice. Each has a marker on it (invisible ink).
Phrases:
• Be calm
• Have a nice day
• God is coming
• Go Cards
• Be Cool
• Don’t procrastinate
• It’s never early to plan ahead

A drip of sweat. I have to credit that short movie I saw at Hamburger Banhof, “You’d better start thinking about your future.”
[5:14 p]
This train ride is really moving along. Did shiva bhang get me tweaked? My thinking has been very capable ever since 2p. Stomach growling. Head tight. Face heavy. Feel a bit stoned.
Drawing of a gun with a flag coming out of it saying, “Bhang!”
[5:40 p]
Gettin' a little sleepy now. Effects over. Was thinking though that the Joseph Beuys exhibit, “Ricktkraft.” Meaning…?
I don’t know.
[5:44 p]
[9:16 p]
GREENHOUSE EFFECT
Train got in on schedule at 5:49 pm. We walked from the station toward the city, looking for a hotel. Actually, one shady-looking guyy asked us—while Em was using the phone to call Hotel Winston—if we were maybe looking for a place to stay. We said no, although it was obvious that with our big bags at our feet that that was precisely what we were doing. But we were like, “No, we’re good. Thanks.” The guy was American and he looked not too shady, maybe a pothead or a bit worse. US pot dealer type.
The phone call was not happening.
“Is this the Hotel Winston. Hello? Hello?”
“What’d they say?”
“A guy picked up and I said, ‘Is this the Hotel Winston?’ Then he said something I didn’t understand. Then I said, ‘Hello,’ but it was obvious he couldn’t hear me so I just hung up.”
We left the train station & headed south into the city. A tall fellow came up to us & said, “Perhaps you are looking for a place to stay: a hotel or a hostel?” I said no and looked down (we were moving the whole time). Em said, “No, we’re good. Thanks.”
I was like, “Em, where are we going here?”
And she said she knew a street.
I’m about a 3-min walk away from the red light district right now, my loins tell me. They have an excellent sense of direction. Over there! Over there! Get your cock sucked! Over there! Over there! Sorry guys….
Em is lying down listening to her headphones, laughing, amused; more laughing. It must be quite a crack up on the other end.
[9:30 p]
So we walked that way. South, south-east. We were heading toward red light & the street she meant was the one that had Elements of Nature & Conscious Dreams smartshops on it—a couple streets over from Red Light. We walked down it: busy, crowded, coffeeshops galore, hotels. Another guy says, “Are you guys maybe looking for a place to stay?” There isn’t a willingness to trust in either of us. “No. We’re fine.” “OK, have a good day then. Cheers.” He was polite I suppose. Who knows who these dudes are working for. We came upon Hotel Kabul. Em asks me how I like this area. I say I don’t like it much at all. But Hotel Kabul is in her guidebook. What does it say about it? It says it’s a budget option. We’re only going to be here for one night she reminds me. I say OK. We get a one night twin room. 70€ plus 5€ key deposit which we’re supposed to get back. Em pays cash. We had hit a Thomas Cook right after the station & in between the 2nd & 3rd inquisitors.
I gotta take a shit.
[9:36 p]
[9:50 p]
And it was fat and happy.
So we book a room, just one full sized bed, w/ one mattress, at Hotel Kabul. There’s a coffeeshop next door & countless more on this street. A sign in the lobby, though, says that no one is allowed to do heavy drugs on the premises. Sorry, Mr. Huxley, but my peyote experience looks like a raincheck-only affair. I’ll hope my LSD experiences can take me far enough (though I doubt it). Someday, maybe, when I’m rich, & have a pool in the backyard, & leather couches; and when the kids have gone off to college to do peyote themselves.
[9:55 p]
We set our stuff down. The room is dim & the air in it is pretty stagnant. The window’s propped w/ a wood block. There’s one overhead light. There’s a dinky little thrown together white dresser & a grey wardrobe. I’m not using either. Sink in the room, bathroom in the corridor. Don’t know about the mattress. Spanish classroom decorations. A guitar , w/ flowers, & maracas that says, “Olé!” Yes, just one exclamation mark. Around the door, a three-piece decoration w/ sombreros, guitars, cacti, maracas, a sun, that in the top piece over the door says, “Fiesta!” Same deal. Over the bed a blanket w/ a sombrero; adjacent wall a piñata w/ the word “Bravo!” next to it.
“Decorations for a Spanish class,” says Em, “or,like, a party or something.”
We go out in search of food. Em starts leading us toward red light, we’re south on Dam Street heading east. A man looks me in the eye s he passes and as we’re about even says, “Da ecstasy & da coke: you.” I don’t look back.
Em: “Getting the complete Amsterdam experience.”
We come to the canal & if we go left—north—we run straight into Red Light; this is the same way we took before.
“If I know anything,” I say, “I don’t want to go that way again.”
[You know, actually, this last part, w/ the coke offer came after dinner.]
On the way to dinner we could have taken the left on Damstraat but I said, “Em, I don’t want to go that way.”
And she said, “Alright, pick the way then, and I’ll follow.”
[10:05 p]
We took a left off Damstraat, went down Rokin a good ways, crossed over to the West side of Rokin, & took a side street. Ended up, after several menu-perusals & one 1hr 15 min wait, at an Italian Ristorante, which itself was reasonably priced & didn’t require a wait. We got a bottle of chianti: Castellani 2000, 18.20€. Not terribly impressive though it did show some signs of life (a 6.0) and we drank it all anyway. Also got a big, green bottle of Panna water. Those came first. Because I ordered the wine I tasted it. Our waitress was cute but curt & not very nice at all. I didn’t like her. So glad not to be worried about language when we get back….
Flying fears but gotta go someway….
[10:11 p]
Umm, anyway. I got fettucine al salmone. Em some sort of ravioli. Food came w/i 12 minutes. More salmon in mine than I expected, but it was good. So our waitress vanished, & two others helped us the rest of the way. I got espresso. Em got cappuccino & caramel pudding, which I later had a bit of: damn tasty, a mix between flan & crème broulet (sp.?). A wait until we commandeered the check. Rained while we ate but over with now.
Leave, looking for a coffeehouse. I tell Em I won’t be smoking. Told her about my smoking habits over the last couple of years. She’s surprised. Says she thought I did it only once a week. I describe the disaster political mindset revolution semester six credits of Fall 2001. Say how on mushrooms watching Fox News I shed my Republican biases. These people are living in dirt huts & we’re mad at them for not being hip to our culture & economy?
[10:16 p]
We now walk back to Damstraat & toward Red Light & this is when guy offers da coke & da ecstasy. I say how, after we’ve turned back up Damstraat toward our street—Warmastrasse or something like that. I say how Eric told me about those guys only they offered him either coke or speed. He told me not to mess with those guys. Said he thought maybe they were Moroccan. Which I could believe. Sounded like an African accent though, maybe, Em said, he came from the Caribbean, the Dutch West Indies. This sounds very plausible to me.
[10:20 p]
So we pass by one—oh, The Greenhouse, the one Em was aiming at was across the canal, very much on fine line of Red Light and we were like: Ehh…. We walked up our street, in the direction of the hotel, & looked into several coffeeshops: Sheeba, Baba, etc. etc. etc. and went on “wrong side,” the bar side, of The Greenhouse Effect before going over to its other side, which was a small little pot smoke-filled café w/ plenty of denizens, candles, not so great music (a B-). But we grabbed a small round table, w/ a nice candle fixture coming out of wall jutting out over our table inconspicuously.
Em went & got for me an espresso—they had none, so a regular coffee—and a joint of Thai for herself. We sat & chit-chatted for about 15 mins. while she smoked.
“How is it?”
“OK.”
She wasn’t feeling too much.
“I don’t think it’s going to do anything.”
“Well, you’ve got a whole joint there.”
I went up and got her a peach Looza, me a Perrier. She smoked a bit more and we never finished the Looza or the Perrier. She stepped into the bathroom for a bit. Came out. Put the joint back into its little, plastic case, then into her bag, & we scuttled out. The hotel was about 25 feet away, thankfully. Got the key & came up. Em lied down. I sat down at this table. That’s what we’ve been doing for the last about hour and fifteen minutes. She says the effects are pretty much over with; lamented having left so early. Wonders if she’s just a wimp & I say no. Pot is strong & the other people in there have considerable tolerance. She says she’s going to toss the joint. My nose is stuffed up. It’s finally dark out. My plan is to shower & go to sleep.
[10:32 p]

BÄKEREI
[7:35 a]
In same bakery I was in yesterday around this time. “Ice, Ice Baby” is on the radio. Got up at 6:58a. Spoke w/ Em a bit. Hot, puffy chocolate chip croissant steaming when I open it…mmm….
The Turkish man is working again behind the counter and it must be his daughter that’s working with him today. She is a beauty. They are laying out today’s pastries & baked goods. Her father seems like a nice man; he wished me, “Guten apetït.”
[7:43 a]
Went to bed around 12:30 ~ 1:00 after showering, shaving, brushing, reading a good piece of Richard Ford, talking with Oscar for a while about museums. The way he described both Bauhaus & Hamburger made them sound like a real riot.

LUSTGARDEN
[9:16 a]
Not really what it sounds like it might mean in English. Right now a cool breezy quiet spot to sit in a lounge chair on museum insel while I wait for Pergamon to open. Picture #16 on the roll comes from here. A canal in front of me. I’m sitting on one of many benches. Sparrows chirping at & around me. But I’ve got no food for them.
Left café after I went up to get a juice & a slice of the same cake I had yesterday. Gorgeous owner’s daughter helped me. I pointed & said, “Ein stück.” All was good. When I paid earlier the total was 1.90€ and I gave zvei, said “Zwei” and he was like, “Oh, guten, danka.” The total this time was 1.80€ and she was ringing it up after I gave her the money, a 5€ note, and I said zwei and she said, “Zwei?” like, “Zwei? (What in the heck do you mean?). And so I was like no, nevermind, no. Thanks. Minor debacle.
And she wrapped up my cake to go, maybe I asked for that or agreed to it somehow—who knows. So I decided to get the heck out, the time was right. Said, “Tschus,” to dad & daughter, the latter smiling big & I’d like to think amused/curious but that’s probably just good business technique. [9:26 a] As I later walked to check the supermarket on Buennenstrasse I was thinking I was not the first dumb American dazed by her in that bakerei. Gorgeous, just absolutely gorgeous. Dark skin, caramel-like. And blondish-brown gold satin hair that maybe was dyed but if so it definitely worked on her. I don’t think she had been working there super-long. They were a happy & content duo. I would think it to be, from an outside glance, a pretty good life they have, depending I suppose on how the business is doing. Maybe I’ll be back in there tomorrow.
[9:29 a]
Bells going off. The Dom here.
It’s the Altes museum I’m outside of right now, in the Lustgarten. The Pergamon is down a ways & I should get going that way. It opens at 10; it’s free today so it could be a gagglefest. Hit & run. See gates of Ishtar & get on S-Bahn to Bahnhof.
Hakescher to Lehrter. Not as far as I thought.
[9:35 a]

CIRCUS
[6:21 p]
Just organized my things. Oscar & Wayne have moved on. Sort of a long day. Did a lot of walking, a lot of train riding. Did Pergamon, Hamburger Banhof, rushed to meet Em at Neue Galerie but first we ate at Andy’s Diner. Then we did internet at Sony Center, then the Galerie. Hamburger by far my favorite. Bought a new, smaller notebook there—a Moleskine. 10€. Also got a pocketbook album—I don’t know exactly what it is—there for Brook.
Tired. Don’t feel much like those who—don’t feel much like writing, I mean. Those who incur the rights of the strangled must also learn to breath without air, is what I meant to say. I don’t know what that means, it just came to me.
[6:30 p]
[11:51 p]
To save myself from going through this exercise on my very last night here, I’ll do it now, on my second-to-last night here. Things about Europe that I’ll remember:

Berlin
There’s lots of spraypaint in places that, if I were in charge & I so spray paint there, I would have cleaned up. Lots of dogs—people don’t care about cleaning up the dogshit or horseshit for that matter.
When I walked the streets of Berlin this morning at 8:30a it was very, very quiet.
People know English. Some resent this fact, others don’t. When I bought the two moleskines today at Hamburger the guy roughly my age behind the counter seemed cheery & said graciously as I handed him my purchase, “Zwei moleskine!” Drinks all around. A bill of 20€. I had no cash. So I said, “Credit?” And, deflated, he accepted. The transaction seemed to take a long time—silent, empty, awkward, old credit card machine, slowly printed, will it be accepted, will it go through? He put the receipt down on the counter, asked me to sign, looked off into the store, I signed, said danka, & he didn’t look or say anything else to me.
On the other hand, my dumb ass went into the women’s bathroom (Dames?) today at Neue Nationalgalerie and the gray haired fifty something woman there, after saying something to me in German, and realizing it wasn’t getting through, said, “For ladies,” and laughed politely. I left red-faced, pissed off at myself, & ready to leave (Europe), but not mad at anyone or anything else.
[12:00 a]

Bathroom
[1:06 am]

Sitting on a can in Circus hostel fourth floor men’s restroom. As Oscar says, “Just keep going, it’s at the end of the hall, you can’t miss it.” And as I found it the first time, and as I later told him, “You’re right about the bathroom.” You literally walk right into it if you keep heading far enough down the hall.
It’s amazing how many engineers I’m running into here, and how many of them are interested in poetry. In our room are three engineers: Rob, Oscar, & Wayne. [1:11 am]
I told Rob, after an evening of five drinks (one rum & coke, two Cuba libres, another rum & coke, and finally a scotch on the rocks), that among my hobbies—and since he asked—is the act of collecting various scraps of paper, and his response, “OK….” Rob is a nice guy and is staying in our hostel room with us, #410 here at Circus. He is a mechanical engineer.
At first when we entered our hostel room he was in there, as was Wayne (who was sleeping, stayed in bed for as long as it took us to unpack, get settled, and leave)(and who probably with us, esp. Em, will never outlive that first impression reputation). Rob left quickly after we got in the room that first time, and really who can blame him. Later on, after Em & I had dinner w/ Oscar over at Liberta—oh, that waitress! Mexican or Italian, long black hair, strap of a purple bra exposed over her right shoulder, dark eyes, spoke to us in English, poured beers so that much foam remained on top, as if that was customary or as if she just didn’t care, long black dress w/ flowery pink pattern at the bottom—God, who was she, gorgeous!
I’m sitting here half-drunk, dehydrated, pants down around my ankles, asshole spread open above toilet baisn, writing, and occasionally someone comes in for a piss. [1:17 am]
Downstairs after dinner, we saw Rob sitting at the bar when we went & grabbed a table in the corner. And eventually, after Oscar met Emily and I down there, we somehow migrated ourselves to the bar where Emily found a seat near Rob’s, & they talked. I was introduced and when I left I shook his hand & told him it was nice meeting him. In the room we were one-on-one for the first time & I said that my sis & I were going out to a bar & he said, “Can I tag along?” And I said, “Yes, please do.” [1:21a]
So much to write about. A rundown:
—Em, me, and Rob go looking for a club/bar. Set out to find “delicious doughnuts,” a rough translation. I begin as navigator, relying on research I had done earlier in the room w/ city guide map & brochure they gave us when we checked in. I had us going the wrong way & had to hand my map over to Em, who eventually had us going where we planned to go. Rob remained patient, a congenial guest and observer. Virginia something college. Hobbies include computer games, Legos, and he took a poetry class this past smeester that he really liked, said his teacher was really good—he prefers short stories, though.
He’s also very into movies: has a phat set-up that he’s financed himself, including a 27-inch widescreen, DVD, high-quality something or other, VCR, surround sound, front speakers, side speakers, back speakers. An honest, straight arrow guy who said he will not be partaking of coffee shops when he visits Amsterdam at the end of his trip.
[1:30 a]
Incidentally—it is ever really incidentally?—as Oscar & I were reading over the Cortazar novel about Charlie Parker, marijuana came up in the text and Oscar, OSM-Fer, was saying how Charlie Parker was a marijuana addict, and I was asking him to tell me more, more, more: is this a book about Charlie Parker & marijuana? Not really. Did Parker say marijuana was a bad problem for him? Is this book about Parker getting over marijuana? Not really; he said it kept him from using or realizing or acknowledging the talent that he had—but Parker never would have known that if hadn’t known marijuana—it’s such a sweet & noxious paradox! I love marijuana. Love it love it love it. Haven’t smoked now in 9 days, which is probably my longest non-smoking streak in 2 plus years.
Oscar doesn’t smoke. Nor does he own any Charlie Parker records. I asked him about politics as we were down in the bar talking & Em had gone upstairs to put on makeup. He said he had written to President Bush about Kyoto, along w/ 250,000 others in his country, and he said, “President Bush, why don’t you sign it?” Oscar said that the US policy on the environment, as well as the drug problem and the corruption in Mexico made him mad as well as sad.
I asked him about NAFTA and he said: for the corporations it was good. Now they could sell their products to the U.S. But for the small businesses—for instance, his family’s small business was selling meat—and now, with NAFTA, U.S. companies could sell their meat into Mexico & it wouldn’t have a tariff put on it. So his family’s business got hurt bad. But it didn’t always work the other way around with the tariffs, he said, some stuff going from Mexico to the U.S. got tariffs put on it. This, too, made him mad as well as sad.
The drugs, he said, cocaine mainly, went from Columbia to the U.S. through Mexico. The federal police were corrupt & in on it & it was the military that had to crack down. He said Mexican President Fox seemed naïve.
It was weird hearing myself give the U.S. view on why not to do Kyoto. Oscar also talked about how Bush had so many petrol interests. I said they didn’t want to do Kyoto because it would hurt the U.S. economy & I was just saying why the U.S. didn’t do it but I must have sounded like maybe I was defending them—and maybe I was, even —but it was not my intention, a protective reflex. I said it was too bad & hope that counted to something. [1:46 a]
I don’t know where I’m going w/ any of this. As Rob & I were talking about scraps at the bar he asked me if I tried to tell a story w/ the scraps & really it’s a brilliant fucking question & something I have considered but not yet had the sack or gray matter to put together. The way he saw it, the whole scraps thing was probably interesting but altogether aimless, & people like a good story. So this is important. How can I use the scraps to make a story.
I’ve imagined huge bins full of post-it notes & me being able somehow to form logical sentences & ideas by putting the post-its together in a logical way, but I would need serious volumes for that. So what? Spend my days out scouring for post-its? Hardly. Maybe a better catalog & flexibility concerning using what I’ve got.
[1:50 a]
Getting late here. Get up. Pull my pants up. Feel a little exhausted. Woozy even. Rob said he didn’t judge his friend from college, freshman year roomie who smoked pot in high school, but it wasn’t for him. I said Em & I had gone to a coffee shop in Amsterdam but the second night we just drank some & danced, which is what he prefers.
[1:55 a]
For the last drink of the night, I asked for J & B—I saw the faithful green bottle up there—on the rocks & the amicable bartender poured a Jack Daniels on the rocks. I told Rob, “That’s not what I asked for, but I’m fine with it.” As the bartender was about to give it to me he said, “Wait—did you ask for this or J&B?” I said, “J&B, but this is fine.” But he said no no no and looked for the J&B bottle for a bit before grabbing it & pouring me a very nice selection from it for only 2€. I said to Rob, “Drinking straight is much cheaper than getting a mixed drink. This was only 2€ and earlier [shot of déjà vu right there] when I got a rum & coke it was 4€.” It was 4.50€ for the Cuba libre.
Anyway, I was embarassed a bit later when the bartender grabbed the JD on the rocks he poured but scotched and extended it toward me. I reached out for it as if he were handing me a bouquet of flowers & I was about to thank him. I was like, “Wow, this guy poured the JD and he isn’t going to waste it, he’s going to give it to me because he feels bad for pouring it instead of J&B. But then he said cheers & I hurried up & got my glass of J&B in my hand & toasted him & all was peachy but damn I felt dumb for extending my open hand & expecting him to give me the drink.
[2:02a]
Much more to say, but gotta do tour, either walking or biking tomorrow morning. Plus, I’m beat. Want to mention how Em, Rob, & I walked to Delicious Donuts, feigned an entrance, walked back toward hotel, stopped after passing Kopier Bar, turned back around & went in—5€ cover (lame to charge cover for empty establishment) and I paid 3 € for a rum & coke; drained it. Em got a Beck’s. Sat at bar, facing out. Black lights showed detergent in my jeans. It was psy-trance playing & we smelled pot in there. People lounging about but by all appearances thoroughly stoned except for guy in all white who looked to be drinking cappuccino and was dancing some. Mushroom motif. Not very hopping though. We stayed fifteen minutes and left.
Outside I said I thought I would have liked it if I was really fucked up on something. Mushrooms I guess.
[2:07a]
Oscar snores I found out when I grabbed my journal before coming in here. So we’ll see how this goes. Now someone has come into bathroom and I’ve got to play it cool (but made noise turning that page!)
All of the random stuff slipping through the cracks….
Em passing on Delicious Doughnuts because she thought they were playing James Brown & saying, “John if you want to go in, fine, but I’m going back to the hostel.” Person coming to door & looking out as if to say, “Are you coming in or not?” Rob said he thought she cocked her head like a dog.
Ummmmmm…guy at Circus reception desk was from Milwaukee. I need to rehydrate but have no water. Em’s alarm is in my pocket. Something else…
[2:13a]

[7:59a]
MORGEN
Got up at the sound of Oscar getting up & ready. Went for a walk looking for ATM Rob had pointed out to me yesterday. At first I went down the wrong street; the Circus is near a 5-way intersection and viable orientation took two tries. It was on the second street I hit and I took out 50 €. I still plan on visiting American Express today, however, because the bar club goin out it’s gonna take a good four drinks before I’m ready to dance gets expensive.
Oscar yesterday said he visited a supermarket around here somewhere and I looked for it on our street, WanderWeg, only briefly. I’ll have to ask where it is. I am in small café/breakfast place on the same street, a few foors down from the hostel. I needed some coffee and the breakfast buffet in the coffee’s—no, the hostel’s café doesn’t open until eight o’clock. So I got “ein stück” of a cake dish I pointed at—it’s good, a pound cake with cherries or maybe plums on top in van Gogh sunny dishware. And of course I got some coffee. There are two other customers in here at the moment & I suspect that they did not sleep last night. A guy & a girl.
Guy is wearing grey collared shirt w/ both sleeves rolled up to just below elbows; and girl has on a purple dress slit up one side about to a bit above the knee, affording me a fair view of her finely soft-tanned calves. She has long hair and her face reminded me of Abby Dumes’s, which is to say an unblemished complexion, dark around the eyes, blue irises; an energetic smile.
They are leaving now. Some ciaos exchanged. The girl also wore high-heeled black shoes w/ straps & they made knocking sounds against the floor as the couple walked out. They left in a snap; I did not look up.
A woman who works here came & cleared the table. It was a Turkish man who maybe owns the place & certainly served me my coffee and cake. He was sitting at a table smoking cigarettes.
If the now exeunt couple had been out all night, they were still in good spirits as they sat here—the guy at least brought out some delightful giggles in his companion and I imagine they will go home and make love with the windows open to the sun and the air of the world. Afterward, they will sit in wicker chairs out on a balcony, overlooking an ancient out of the way plaza, w/ a fountain in it, pigeons pecking at the ground, jumping a few feet into the air as laughing men and women come swinging through on bikes. They will sip espresso and smoke cigarettes. Then they will shower, make love again, and then sleep until about four o’clock in the afternoon. It’s Saturday after all.
[8:16a]
A group of British men, at least one German speaker among them, has come in & ordered “fihr coffees, bitte.” My most pressing question of the morning so far—do I leave my done dishes here, on the table? Or do I take them up and set them on the counter? I’ve been rather satisfied with my breakfast here but I’ll probably fork over 3.50€ for a least a little more coffee back at Circus. The hour is approaching
I took a shower when I got up this morning but will probably take another this afternoon, especially if I take the bike tour. Rob is going on it & I’ve got to ask Oscar about it. I think it will be fun.
[8:21a]
[9:56a]
BIKE
Getting ready to go on a bike tour that leaves at 10:15a. But want to jot down flight-back info:
Tue 04 June 2002
US Airways flight 43 (Non-stop)
—12:40 pm
—AMS to PHL
—Confirmation code: HUDHJG
—Arrive terminal A
• Tue 04 Jun at 3:21 pm
US Airways flight 776
—Depart PHL Terminal B
• Tue 04 Jun @ 7:40 pm
—Arrive StL 9:18 pm
[10:00 am]
[5:26p]
BIKE TOUR ETC.
Sitting on toilet again. One of most private places to my avail I suppose. Just through a grueling session, talking a lot about writing—the industry as they say—with Kenny, the 29-year-old Scottish bike tour guide: an MFA; as he introduced himself he said he was working on a novel.
Nothing still that gives me any confidence but maybe I have to think on it for a bit; miss Brook passionately; have had two beers; Kenny told me about absinthe bars; an info overload today & I’ve no idea how to sort it all out; ready to head back home, a place I now rega…[pen runs out]
[5:40 p]
Pen ran out. Back in room now, on bed. Em & Rob were napping but now Em is up. I got one of my pens back from Em. I couldn’t find my spare.
As I was saying anyway. Doug & Kenny. Beers after bike ride tour. There’s plenty to say about the tour and it was a very applicable use of my time. Learned so much! about the history of Berlin. The monument on Bedenplatz, no—Bebelplatz to books burned by Nazis in ’33 was probably the coolest thing I’ve seen all trip. The Nazis burned 20,000 books that night, grabbing books from the Humboldt University library (there on the platz) and tossing them down out of the windows to be burned. Einstein, Freud, Brecht, Isherwood, maybe Marx & Engels (because the Nazis & the communists did not get along). The monument, a square floor of glass built into the middle of the platz (2 x 2 ft.?), looked down into an empty room and…[pen runs out]
Another dead pen, another one, this one, too borrowed from Em, this one really hers—but the buying of new pens a sexy proposition!
[5:51 p]
…an empty room…
Doug spoke of the situationalists of the 60’s—Debord, earlier Goddard who did Breathless which Doug recommended; Creeley & Trocchi both correpsponded w/ DeBord.
…with an empty white bookcase, in an empty square room, the bookcase could hold 20,000 books. Awesome!
So the bike tour went from 10:15a to about 3:00 pm total and riding on bikes through Berlin was a brick shithouse full of fun.
I could rundown, try to piece together the history that Kenny imparted on the tour but that’s available in many a book so I’ll see what else there is. The bikes were not freestyle; that is, pedaling backward meant braking and I had a hard time keeping myself from doing it because it’s so natural to me & many other bikeriders I’m sure, as I think I heard a girl from CA who’s staying here in the hostel, Brianne is the name, remark to her boyfriend: Greg, also on the tour, not long after we left.
Rob was on the tour. It cost 17€ and I tipped Kenny 2€ afterward. I rather like the Scottish accent. I waited in the Circus lobby for him & guide-in-training Doug to get back from guiding a trio of South African travelers back to the shop from which they rented their bikes on Friedrichstrasse or platz or something. The South Africans were friendly and at lunch at Schlotzsky’s Deli I chained up my bike with the guy-in-the-group’s bike and he said, “Do you think maybe I could lock my bike up with yours?” A delightful accent. His girlfriend was extremely cute & was a mix of Brook, Courtney, & Megan McCreery. Great hips she had. Freckled skin, at least on what I could see of her calves—she wore jeans but had rolled them up to about mid-calf. The guy had a hairy upper back & wore a hat that I think had a cannabis leaf on it though I’m not sure.
[6:07p]
I was sitting in the lobby in a very comfy chair, had taken a sip of the Evian I had in my fanny pack. I had a 2€ (for tip) coin in my hand, which was a bit sweaty because I was nervous. The chair was leather; I was looking at a maroon leather couch right there in the lobby, at how long & roomy it looked & thought about how much I would like to lie on it w/ Brook and roll around and screq and then pull a blanket on ourselves afterward & fall asleep there. [6:13] But eventually Kenny & Doug came back & I caught them maybe right as they wer e leaving & told Kenny how I was impressed with the tour, and it was much more educational & historically informative than I thought it was going to be.
Later he said he had been doing it only a month & this surprised me; I told him it seemed like he had been doing it longer than that because the story he told had been very coherent. He said thanks and remarked on how you have to sound like you really know what you’re talking about; he included a lot of dates, he said, not necessarily because people would remember them but because of the enhancing effect it had on his presentation.
[6:17p]
He ended his speech kind of heavy I said. By saying how the people of Europe had warred over this ground for the last 50 years of relative peace has actually been an exception, not a rule (although there was a quiet period from say 1400-1600 that gets summed up in the tour as, ‘and for about 200 years nothing happened”; we aren’t interested in rest, it’s not news, and this is why Berlin is such an interesting city. Kenny said the most influential of the 20th century & you could make a good argument.
He gave a great fucking rundown about the building of the wall at the wall—it was an American idea; Kennedy, ‘better a wall than a war’; Communists didn’t really even want a wall but they were losing so many East Germans, so much of the work force into West Germany that even war did not seem like an answer. So the wall was an idea of U.S. Senator Fullbright…and Kennedy having back pain, on opiates for that but amphetamines to combat the opiates, inviting Kruschev to Camp David but they had a falling out & Kruschev was ready to go to war so maybe the Americans made a sacrifice, maybe they stood down, maybe they prevented global nuclear war, who the hell knows, these are all just stories but good ones. [6:28p]
Berlin divided into four parts after Berlin fell. Cold War begins, East & West ideologically separated, then physically separated, slaughter of uprising in ’58 or so w/ red army tanks, then wall comes down in ’89 when German Chancellor gets in front of Western journalists and they say what is going on, he says we will issue visas to cross over, they say when, he says…baffled, confused, on the spot, to anyone…they say when, he says immediately, and so word spreads like ball lightning & people come to the wall, climb it, take pick-axes to it and it’s really a beautiful story.
Kenny tried imagining how border patrolmen saw the whole thing transpire (on East side): what’s that guy doing? And: what’s that guy and 50,000 other people doing? Broadcast comes over communist radio & that’s as good as official so the guards don’t shoot anybody.
[6:32 p]
Well, plenty of history to re-tell, like Hitler bunker story, Hitler a drug addict, marrying Eva Braun, blowing his brains out as well as taking cyanide…
Getting hungry. Lunch a slight sandwich & water w/ Rob at a table inside Schlotzsky’s. I aksed Kenny when he got his writing done and he said, phew, well it’s tough, I haven’t done any writing in a month. I had just given him the 2€ coin tip—others in the group, two of the couple in the tour had slipped him fives I think, bills anyway, & I wasn’t gonna go that high but it was worth it.
Doug, it seemed, was also a writer and, as I later found out at the table over beer, is in a doctoral program in creative writing at UEA (somewhere in Oxford?) He did a one year MA program. Doug is into the literary zine world a bit & gave me a copy of his “Things to do today when you’re bored in Europe” zine. I said I worked on a zine of my own but left it at that. He puts his together on MS Word.
Really, I don’t know if the lit world is what I want to get into, I mean I want to do the lit without having to do the lit world if that is possible because…well, not know. Doug, it turned out, knew Allison Trombly, whom I know from working at River Styx. Allison I never was really crazy about. But he even had some River Styx w/ him in his bag so we had a big-time small world moment. He said he was editing, collecting stories, material, for some established lit review that’s published maybe in Chicago; he had a friend there, anyway, who is working on the same thing w/him, getting paid. He gave me a rundown of places that had good MFA programs & later Kenny said that my biggest, best chance to get into the industry would be to get into one of these programs because once you get accepted & complete it, you’re pretty much “plugged in” to the network that you’ll need to get anything done.
But I don’t know if this is what I want to spend my life on any more than I’d want to spend it being a stockbroker. I don’t want to schmooze I don’t want to be an intellectual I don’t want to play inter or intra departmental politics. Is that something that “you just have to do” if you’re going to do it? Perhaps.
But—! I notice that when people talk about this shit, gossip, dept. politics that all becomes paramount to the writing, to the reading, to the teaching, & what gets people up in the morning isn’t their work, but the latest scandal or hiring or firing or who’s poet laureate or who got this or that published and I couldn’t give two shits especially if I’m spending more time playing the game than I am spending writing, reading, learning, teaching. I’ve realized that if I’m I’ve plugged in I’m never going to be plugged in the way the system wants me to be plugged in & if that obstructs me from success or big-name recognition, so be it.
I don’t want to spend my life living a soap opera; or if I do spend it that way, I don’t want to have to watch it. No games. Ideas. Writing. If you’re good enough you don’t have to play by the rules, & if you don’t believe in the rules, & you don’t give a diaper what anybody thinks, then fuck it and do your own thing.
[6:55 p]
I don’t want my life to get bogged down by politics & antics. That’s not how I’ll spend my time. I’d rather starve than schmooze. I don’t think I’m even capable. I talked to them tonight but I didn’t really talk, I didn’t open up. I was in my shell the whole time. I didn’t feel at ease—it was grueling after a while as I said, and I can’t imagine I made much of an impression. What will they go away saying about me? …Does it matter? Is it any way useful to wonder?
Don’t think I’ll ever be able to be at ease, to share the part of me that I consider to be my true self, in that type of situation. It seems to be my nature to clam up, & I’m ready to be content with it. I don’t think I’m because schmoozing & playing along won’t get me what I want. I’m completely free, you see; I don’t depend on anybody to get what I want; and, how could I not be content with that?
Where’s the line, though, between being content w/ what’s happening, & complaining, demanding a different lot. Emerson said discontent is the opposite of self-reliance & I hear that, but I say: when somebody shits in your shoe are you supposed to just say thanks & put the gooey shoe back on; or are you suppose to fling the shit back at them?; are you supposed to find new shoes? What if you haven’t got any spare shoes, & don’t have the money to buy new ones? When is enough enough? When & where do you draw the line? No codes. On-the-spot decisions. Character. Choices. Tough. Life.
[7:01 p]
[8:32 p]
CAFÉ
What can you do, man?
Man I really hate this table. In the café in Circus. It closes at nine, unfortunately, but I need to take a shower anyhow.
[8:33 p]
I never learned how to play backgammon. “Maybe they can teach you—oh wait, you’ve had your social activity for the day.”
“I didn’t say…I said I wasn’t going to seek any more out. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it if it sought me out.”
The Notwist is playing. Having a milchkaffe; Em working on her second cappuccino. Had dinner at Vietnam bistro right across street. I had a twice-fried chicken dish w/ assorted vegetables & rice, in a peanut & garlic sauce. Quite agreeable. Talked the German (Berlin) history I learned today. Said I might not do a club tonight. I want to be up & at ‘em tomorrow, hitting the museum beat.
[8:44 p]
Kenny said, “You know, if you’re interested in the literary scene you should see about going to an absinthe bar while you’re here.” I thought back to that shot of something packaged as absinthe that I had at Ultra Schall. It definitely put me over the edge. “Just cause it was a shot, that’s why.” For a number of reasons, perhaps none related to its being absinthe. Anyway he suggested it & said I could look it up under “A” in the phone book.
We’re all tourists everywhere.
Inscription on book-burning monument came from I think German poet Karl Scheine (Heine?) around 1810 (1820, 1880?). He said, “Those who start by burning books will end by burning bodies.” This is incredibly apt, konsidering it prefigured the Nazis.
There was one time I considered burning not books but newspapers; the papers of last year’s WU Student Libel. And certainly it’s one of the most radical ideas I’ve had recently. And had I done it I would have regretted it and felt like a real dumbass standing on top of the empty book-case room. A real sanity, viability check.
[8:55 p]
Aww fuck. Just had a dumb little spat with Em. Came on too strong about how she shouldn’t make a big deal about people in Korea eating dogmeat. Saying they can’t help it; it’s meaningless; it’s just like being born with blond hair, etc., etc.
[8:56 p]
[9:01 p]
CIRCUS
So I’m back in the room now. Em just came back in.
“No Oscar.”
“Yeah, I think he musta left. You goin’ down to the bar?”
“Yeah, I guess. It still feel too early to go down there.”
Don’t want no coffee, don’t want no beer, just want a place to sit & read & write quietly & don’t know where that’s at. Maybe here in the room. Don’t want to go to bed early, though, ‘cause people coming in will annoy me even though they’ve got the right. It’s just my inclination to agitation & indignation while trying to sleep.
I’m not hip. I’m not cool. I admit that. Maybe I’m ready to settle down. Work full-time. Raise a family. What the hell.
The coffee is giving me a headache & the pot stopped working a long, long time ago (how long ago?) Can’t find no acid no more either. Absinthe? Shiiiiit.
Really regret my little spat with Em because I way/overreacted. But she did, too, probably.
Says Kenny, “If you really want to make some money, (you) gotta write a novel.” Which, at the beginning of the tour, is what he said he was trying to do. Spent some time up north as a wind-surfing instructor and he had been writing about that. Trying to recreate the sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes, the light. Water on skin, sun, sand, salt. Said that if you send unsolicited manuscripts to publishing houses your shit just gets thrown in the trash. It’s not easy to get read, but that’s what you’ve got to do = get read. No agents for poets. For short stories, novels. I indicated some unease about dealing with an agent but apparently it’s just part of the biz. Well, as a poet what I’ve got to do is win some competitions—he said this was a good way to get the ball rolling—and get published in some lit mags, which I can do in time. But if you graduate from Iowa Writers Workshop w/ a degree you pretty much have the agents coming to you—and that would be nice.
[9:16 p]
Doug is teaching & really likes it. He suggested trying some substitute teaching, which apparently pays OK, & doesn’t require certification—you just have to sit by the phone at 5:30 am in the morning every morning waiting to see if you get called in. I could do this I think. Go and sign on at a local district—he had a friend who was doing it at the high school level—and who knows. It’d be a good place to start & if I wasn’t getting called in I could work & go back to bed. Something to do in the meantime, while I plan ahead toward applying to graduate programs.
I stressed my desire to see if I couldn’t travel a bit more first. Check out spots in Canada. This is where Doug lived when he was young (Toronto) and he suggested U of Toronto or McGill (Montreal) or British Columbia. McGill might be fun to visit at least because I could see Derek Webster while I was up there; secure a recommendation.
[9:20 p]
Emily has been coming in & out, getting ready to go down to bar. As conciliation, I’ll say I’ll go out with her tonight to wherever if she doesn’t pick up a companion in the meantime.
This room would make a phat-ass bedroom. Beautiful wood floors. Cool lime/pastel green walls. White border trim color around top. Blue door.
“I’m tired, too, but I’m going anyway.”
What am I up against here? What societal tidal wave says I’m odd if I don’t want to go out & drink & have my ear-drums knocked around tonight? Am I a geek? A loser? Anti-social? A-social.
“I’ll go out with you but I don’t know what I’ll do there.”
“What do you mean you don’t knowwhat you’ll do there? Dance.”
“Well I’m fairly tired so I don’t know if I’m going to be in the mood for that.”
“Well I’m….”
This burns me up a bit but I choose not to respond to it. Label me defective I guess.
[9:30 p]
Found the last of the three choice pens I brought on this trip. It was in the jeans I wore yesterday.
Emily notes that one of our roommates has a flashlight on his bedstand, touches it, & wonders why.
“Em!” I say.
“Why does he have a flashlight?”
“He could have problems seeing at night…. I had a friend like that in college. He just couldn’t see well in the dark. It could have been that his cones—cones? or is it rods? the cells that are sensitive to low light?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I think it’s the cones. He carried a flashlight around with him. We were in Cancun together & he had some trouble down there.”
“Does he wear glasses?”
“No.”
“Can he drive at night?”
“Yeah but he has special headlamps on his car—or, he bought an Audi because it had special headlights, the kind that are tinted blue, not regular lights.”
“Like an old man….”
“Well….”
Em is ready & goes down to the bar.
“Bye.” I look up to see if she is shutting the door all the way or not—
“What?”
—It requires a good pull/slam.
“You can close it all the way.”
She does; and with that she’s gone.
[9:44 p]
[9:56 p]
Talking some with Wayne. What we’ve both been doing. Friendly talk between two people sleeping in the same room who don’t know anything about one another.
Kenny has a good story when I asked him or Doug if either had spent any time in Amsterdam. Part of reason I asked was because at one point early on Kenny asked Doug what he had done yesterday and [Wayne heads out] Doug said, “Smoked some dope…didn’t really do much of anything.”
Ahh: the life! We did all toast each other on our first drink.
[9:59 p]
Someone behind me today in Schlotzsky’s turned to someone else behind me in line & said, “Angela, what’s speck?” She didn’t know. “Speck,” said Kenny, “speck is bacon, except: little bitty chunks of it.” At the time I was considering ordering the Putemitspeck sandwich but I didn’t. Went for the Texas sandwich because it was part of a meal deal combo which really saved me nothing.
Had two drinks with Kenny & Doug. They paid me & I paid the bill.
[10:02 p]
Now might be a good time to imagine—just because I’ve thought about it before but usually amid bouts of stellar madness—what my life back at home would be like without me there. Rather grim thought, and I don’t know whether I want to go through with it. Scrooge-like. Jacob Marley. What my funeral would be like. Grim because, with time, everything would be pretty much the same? No, grim because you can’t imagine life without you in it because one constant of life has been you. Impossible then? Meaningless? Irrelevant? Maybe Ray would resolve to stop smoking. Brook would mourn but find someone else to be happy with. Parents would move south. Horrible depressing thoughts!
[10:10 p]
Thinking about what it means to have dignity. Dignity is like this: you have a job to do, & it’s to vacuum a carpet. Not a shag carpet, but a very thin, inexpensive carpet that’s laid right over concrete. It’s not a heavily trafficked carpet & from 50 ft above it looks brown, but if you get down on knees and hands (this is tough on your knees) you see that the brown color is just an average of all the colored fabrics that have gone into the carpet: blacks, tans, brown—a spectrum of colors albeit not very bright ones.
Little white pieces of lint or paper show up on this carpet rather well. And it’s a large piece of carpet, an area larger than you feel you have time to vacuum at the moment. Really, though, you do have the time. But you’re lazy, just like anyone, and who wants to spend any more time vacuuming than he has to? And besides, no one gives a shit what this carpet looks like anyway.
But someone might be coming by to examine the job you’ve done on the carpet. It is clean? Have you cleaned it or do you need to vacuum more? Is it possible that it was passable before before you started on it, so that you don’t really even need to vacuum it at all? There’s also the possibility that the inspector might not come by to check it anyway. (And different checkers have different ideas about what looks clean & what doesn’t. Sometimes you’ll go over white little pieces of paper, or a penny, or a paper clip, or some staples in the rug, and the vacuum will fail to pick them up. Do you stop & pick these pieces up one by one & hold them in your hand until you find a trash can? Is picking stuff up by hand necessary, or as long as you’ve gone over it w/ the vacuum (since this is what they’ve given you to clean with) have you done your job? That is, even if it’s not quite clean, do you feel satisfied as long as you can say, “Well, I went over it with the vacuum, what do you want from me? It’s clean. Look. See? Clean.
[10:25 p]
Don’t really know where I was going with that. I think there is a line which some people are willing at times to cross which is a line separating out those who are willing to clean the carpet beyond what is passable because if there are little white morsels of paper on the floor, even if there’s just one or two & their existence wouldn’t negate a passable grade, some people sometimes will bend over & pick up those little morsels because to them it makes a difference. One reason, though, why it’s so hard to justify doing this is because no one will ever notive what you’ve done, the extra effort you’ve gone to—it’s a thankless effort. Because it’s easy to fail the inspection: too many visible bits will get you failed & so you clean—you don’t want to fail—but as long as you pass, you pass, it doesn’t matter if the floor is spotless or not. [10:31 p] So it’s like, the amount of work separating a superior effort from a passable effort from a failing effort is from one to the other to the other abou the same…
…bogged down and unclear…
Does it all make a difference to you or not, & why? Sometimes it makes a difference to me. Why? Perfectionist? Afraid of failure, so afraid that I will go beyond passable? Fearing anxiety of failure & trying to appease that fear (this creates more anxiety). Or, because I know I can do better & if I don’t do my best I’ve failed myself somehow.
Standards. Whose standards are higher? Mine or yours? Willing to let your standards go unacknowledged, to let your effort go unthanked, there’s dignity in that. It’s being humble. It’s a damn good quality to aspire to—and only you can know when you’ve achieved it. Then confidence comes in somewhere. Imagine: despite your efforts you don’t get recognition and/or thanks—can you maintain the desire to keep doing what you were doing? Don’t you have to be commended every once in awhile? Who do I know with these qualities? (Brian Ebel was a good man.) What does LSD have to say about these qualities?
[10:40 p]

May 31, 2002
Freitag
[8:05a]

Got up at about 7:40 am because Emily had gotten up. She had set her alarm for 7:30a but I don’t think it went off—I didn’t hear it. But I don’t know, maybe it did. I was dreaming all sorts of things. A Matt Morris—Dwan Prude—Isaac Suggs figure all squeezed into one, both pitching a great baseball game and also working at a nacho stand in the stadium. I congratulated him when he came off of the field and talked with him about pitching back in the nachos stand. I told him he had gotten through a tough last at-bat and he said, half-jokingly, yeah it was pretty bold, pretty bold, and we laughed. It was mostly Dwan who said this. I wanted to ask him—because he had spent so many pitches on the last batter—ten more pitches there, or a run? But I didn’t ask him because I figured it was a dumb question. I was working at the nachos place, or maybe I was just thinking about working there.
Also in different threads of my dream were my graduation. Fred Hotz, junior high teacher at Millstadt was the surprise guest, but Ray and Safina and Nick were there, too. Somehow I spent [8:16a] all of my time talking with my parents and with Mr. Hotz and neglected Ray and (from out of town) Safina, so later I had to patch things up with Ray, though he wasn’t too mad (just really annoyed). I was like, “So I guess the graduation was pretty boring for you?” And he cracked up into a not-too-very amused laugh, as if I had said the most obvious thing in the world.
Earlier in the dream, Ray and I were with other peers (Phil W., Nick A.?) staying at a hotel and getting drunk or planning to get drunk—I don’t have a very good handle on that thread.
Finally, somewhere tied into the graduation thread is a scene with me & Brook talking about intimate topics and me shushing her before my dad, who was within earshot suddenly, would hear what she said.

[8:20a]
That’s it for the dream report. I’m sitting at the desk as the final hours of our stay at West End come to a close. Checkout at eleven but night train doesn’t leave until 10pm tonight, meaning we’ve got a whole afternoon and evening left here in Munich and I’m not quite sure what we’re going to do with ourselves in the meantime. It seems OK to leave our bags at the front desk. We’ll probably bum around at some cafés. Breakfast here. I’m going to use some of the time to read up on Berlin. I showered this morning when I got up. Brushed teeth. Allergy pill. Deodorant. Breakfast as soon as Em is ready—can’t hardly wait for that coffee.
[8:28a]

[8:41a]
Organize myself a little bit more. Change into what I’m wearing today: Levi’s jeans, gray t-shirt w/ green #15 on the back, saucony’s, olive green socks, later: grey v-neck long-sleeve t-shirt, and blue hoody. Also, bright blue boxers. Eat last two cookies that Brook gave me. Open her picture for today. It was a little German man w/ LEIDERHOSEN on. That was the word for today, LEIDERHOSEN, a pretty funny one and I had been anticipating the one with this little guy in it.
Trying to wrap up laundromat from last night. Had two cappuccinos. Those were .60€ each. Washing cost 4€ which is a lot, but you got free detergent with that. The cycle took about 35 min. and Em and I split a bit of fabric softener. We had to load both detergent and softener in compartments and the top of the machine. The man working there came over as soon as we were confused and helped with everything. When you paid for the washing token by putting your money in the machine and hitting the washing token button, detergent dispensed into these little cups in a different part of the machine. He pointed all fo this out and even poured the detergent into the appropriate compartments for us. About the only thing he didn’t really do was sort or handle our clothes. It didn’t seem like he spoke any English cause later when Em & I were loading our washed clothes into the spinning machines (spinning not performed by washing machines; .60 € for a spinning token) I asked him if there was a difference between the two machines, one larger than the other. So I said, is there any difference? And he said, “Gut, ja.” And went back to his post. There wasn’t any difference and the spinning machines were very effective in getting moisture out of the clothes. Mine needed about 30 min of drying after that, 10 min for one token, one token .60€. The whole thing went well & I really enjoyed it. Expensive, though, I guess. My one load was 4€ for wash, .60€ for spin, and 1.80€ for dry so that’s 6.40€ per load, which is more than it would be in U.S. In the washers in the bottom of my apartment, I can do a load for 2€. But whatever. To move clothes from one machine to another you raked them into these blue bucket basins glued onto a piece of square wood w/ wheels on the bottom. There were low to the ground so as you moved them along, unless you did so with your foot, you were all hunched over.
Various ethnicities in there. We spoke to a woman from California who was in there with her mother, her husband, & her daughter. She spoke perfect English but I wonder if maybe she wasn’t originally German because I could hear something else in her voice. Nice though. Told us all about the deal with the spinning machine. Asked us where we were from. We could have been more friendly but were a little bamboozled when she spoke to us. Her husband kept the kid occupied while she & grandma did the wash. I was sitting next to the kid & dad awhile, reading Independence Day. The little girl was pretty cute but really wanted some ice cream and wouldn’t let up. The mother came over at one point and said, “She needs to go to bed, she’s tired.” And the dad said, “I know.” He was bouncing the little girl on his knee and she was asking what kinds of flavors the ice cream store would have and the dad was naming all of these flavors that purposefully sounded horrible and said, “What else don’t you like?” And she said, “Hot cereal.” So he said they had mush flavor and she said, “What’s mush?” And he said, “Mud, with worms mixed in.” What else did he say they had? Maybe…
[9:07a]

[12:50p]
ICE
On train headed for Berlin. More tired than I should be. Snoozed off and on for a while. Our train left at 10:51 am. We scrapped the plan to take a night train. This means we ate our 40€ night train reservation, but no biggie. Before we left Munich Em booked us three nights at the Circus hostel in Berlin. Been reading otherwise. Took a leak. Em went to the dining car and got a sandwich that looked not very appetizing. So I’ll wait a bit for that. I need to hit American Express when we get there. Em needs to visit Thomas Cook. Sitting in the first class car. Em across aisle from me.
[12:58p]

[3:11p]
SNEEZE

Been wanting to write this down for a while but haven’t one reason or another: guy next to me on plane ride out here had a sneeze like a DUCK CALL, or a KAZOO. What made me think of that was something in Independence Day, where Paul is saying one thing unique to you that no one will ever ask you to change is the way you sneeze. To quote, “If you sneeze in some stupid-fuck way, or in a loud way that pisses people off in movies, they just have to go along with it. Nobody can say, ‘Sneeze a different way, asshole.’” (p. 268)
Though my dad will sneeze—I believe—harder than he has to—for what reason? attention? pleasure? because he can?—and I’ll say, “Geez! You don’t have to sneeze that loud. God!”

[3:17p]

Went & got something to eat and it was the debacle I feared it would be. I said, “Ich hette gairn ein sandwich and she was saying kase, or cheese—see, I can’t even remember!—and then I said “schlinken” (for ham) and although it’s really “schinken” she knew what I meant but then I could not say decidedly which one I wanted so she got them both down out of the case, a little annoyed, kind of like, “God, I don’t believe I have to do this,” and I pointed to the one I wanted—pathetic! Also got a coffee which I have really since enjoyed. Paying went awry when it was funf (5) and change and I had no change and gave her a twenty. She asked someone else if they had the change, they didn’t. Exasperated she gave me 15€ back.
Walking back I was discontented with just about everything & the sandwich wasn’t any good anyway. But coffee was good and I’m happy sitting here reading Independence Day & coming across that nice little sneeze tidbit.
Thinking back: me sitting here at 2:29 picking at my lip with a fingernail thinking about howbadly I’d like to have bought something to eat: a banana, some chips. And thinking about how I didn’t want to go to the restaurant car because I feared language barrier disaster. Then Em out of the corner back of my audio field says, “Are you going to get something to eat? It’s 2:30.” And I just glare at her out of the corner of my eye. Went to sleep, snoozed, & daydreamed of food, so got something to eat.
Also on this ride I read through the section in Em’s book on Berlin & it looks like there are plenty of things for us to do. (obviously)
Went to the bathroom early on. Soaped up my hands and there wasn’t any water. Said twenty cuss words, toweled them off, and left. Someone was waiting to use it after me but I didn’t warn them (as if I knew how). And it occurred to me that the guy who used it right before me probably said something about it, I mean he said something to me but I don’t know what the hell what. So I just ignored him basically, maybe said Ja. He wore a gray uniform. When I was going back to my seat, I looked at a table near the WC & water was dripping onto it from the ceiling; just then the guy in the gray uniform passed me in the aisle. There seemed to be a moment of recognition between us that the dripping water had something to do with the lack of running water in the WC, which had something to do with what he said to me before I took my leak.
[3:22p]

[5:03p]
Been reading I Day for awhile. Had one interesting experience when at our last stop a young man about my age came up and said something to me in German, then when I said sorry, he showed me a little printed card he had and informed me in perfect English that he had a reservation for the seat I was in. I looked up at the little LCD screen where such reservations (I thought) were supposed to be listed and said, “It doesn’t have to say it…there?” And he said, “Not necessarily.” I was impressed and got out of his way feeling ignorant and sheepish. A bit dazed, I moved a few seats back, hoping I didn’t come off as belligerent, which I don’t think I did. Chose not to move across the aisle & join Em in her seat.
I think there is someone with Tourette’s sitting somewhere behind me. Earlier someone kept going, “Hallo!” as people went by. Then someone yelled out, “Bwah!” about five minutes ago, as if they were waking from a night terror. And just now, after a conductor concluded info about the impending stop in Berlin, this person said, “Ciao! Ciao!” Now they’re saying I have no idea what in German. The guy who kicked me out of a seat is now working on a laptop in what looks like MS Word. Work or play, I wonder? He has business dress on & I wish I could have been more amiable to him, because he interests me. Such language capability, and I wish to develop something like it.
Stopped at a Berlin station that is not the Hauptbonhof. Em wanted me to relocate to her seat to make ticket checking easier. But I refused. And worried about the inconvenience it would cause the conductor when he/she came by. It went OK. It went OK. I just said “ein moment” and waited until he came up to Em’s seat. Later I ordered coffee from him & that went OK. He came back & was collecting pay for it—2.55€! I thought it was free maybe. [5:17]
He dropped a coin but it landed in my office & we agreed it was “OK.” We’re chums now.
The Berlin Hbf is coming up pretty soon here. And I can see Em getting ready.
[5:18 p]

CIRCUS
[9:30 p]
Have gotten from train in Berlin to hostel in eastern part of the city. Room of five. Met Oskar, from Guadalajara, and had dinner w/ him & Em across the street at Liberta, where our waitress was a goddess. Now in Goldman’s Bar, basement of the hostel. Not the place to feel comfortable writing a lot; Em & Oskar at the table. Music but no dancing.
[9:33 p]

CORTÁZAR
[10:55p]
Julio Cortázar—El perse guidor, ~ The Hunter. About Johnny Parker, Charlie Parker. Alianza Cien. His masterpiece, RAYUELA, a game you play when you draw line on ground & throw rocks at it, whoever is closest wins. Was living in Paris.
Charles Baudelaire—The Flowers of Evil.
Oscar is 24.
[11:02p]