May 23
Well, I didn't get in to Lama Foundation. Beth emailed me and said they didn't get enough registrations for the summer retreats so they're cutting back on the Summer Stewardships and just trying to keep the Foundation together. But I called them today to appeal and they said call back so I'm going to call them back tomorrow and try to talk to Austin. Quit smoking. Broke up with Laurie, but I'm going to go see her tomorrow, since I didn't get into Lama. I'm happy, and I must admit, stoned on pot. All you junior narks out there can fuck yourselves. Your own karma will pay you back.
I went out with my sister Joan this aft and she bought me a pair of running shoes. She's very nice but basically selfish as those Rethuglicans she hangs out with. Too bad I didn't get into Lama; I could go out there and cut myself off from her and her frumpy husband. I hate this board-and-care home/concentration camp. I just keep out of there and keep busy, like now I'm typing and creating at the UCLA Library. I'm going to call a lot of truck stop owners next week and try to sell them Willie Nelson Biodiesel, when I get the money for a phone card--Joan leaves me without a phone, the bitch! But at least she didn't take anything else back or away today.
I'm going to call Chara in a few minutes. She said Saturday, when i spoke to her last, to call her in the next 10 days. She's moving across the road from her house. Boy, do I crave a cigarette. But all I get is water. I bought a pack of herbal Ginseng cigarettes Saturday when Joan paid me my weekly $30 (she always pays me on a different day) but they made me crave the regular nicotine cigarettes I smoked last night at the Cubensis show. I haven't had a cigarette all day, and I have to quit now, because I can't afford to buy any more cigarettes.
The sun is setting outside the library window. I think I'll call Richie Shirley, too. Richie has got terminal liver cancer. Before he had Hepatitis C. The doctor gave him 1 month or till the end of the year; he's trying to last till October when his grandchild will be born. I feel so bad about it. The doctor said he'd operate but it'd kill him; or give him chemo but he'd wish he were dead, or it would kill him. I wonder what words of wisdom he'll give me. Last time he told me he was reading The Diamond Sutra. I said, "I read that, too." He said, "But you have to understand it.
"
This is a pretty good writing session. It helps to be stoned. I guess I'll write for about 7 more minutes, until the library bell chimes 7, and then I'll get a drink of water and make my phone calls. I'm really tempted to go bum a cigarette from one of the students but then I'd be hooked on them again and it's a big hassle; not to mention bad for your health. They'd probably be OK if they didn't harm you and cause heart disease and lung cancer.
Four more minutes. What to write about. I'm feeling pretty good. I guess that's because I'm in this beautiful library, whereas usually I'm in that dingy, dirty board-and-care home from which there's no escape for most inmates. I'm going to ask Drs. Fine, Riceberg, and Reisbord to help me get out. We just have to talk Joan into it--I can afford my own place on my SSI ($800).
I need an acid trip, or at least 'shrooms. They're around, I just can't afford it. Poor me. My parents are going to invite me up to their house in San Francisco. Hope I can take their car (a Mercedes) and go see Richie where he lives at Camp Winnarainbow.
LATER...Well, I took a break, and called Richie, and Andrea answered. She said they're about to have dinner, and to call back in an hour. She's the nicest person (Richie's wife) you ever want to meet, like Mountain Girl. So I'm going to leave to call her back in about 25 minutes. I can't call Chara because that phone wants a dollar for a call whereas most pay phones around here want 50 cents. But I'll call Chara next week. I have to call Andrea back. The burdens I carry being poor. "Walk this world when I was born to fly." as Robert Hunter says in Liberty.
I've pretty much lost the craving for cigarettes--I'm just drinkin a lot of water. Speakin of drinkin, last night I had a beer with my pot, went down good. What I hate about Brentwood Manor is they don't allow drinkin, and they believe that, the damn Catholics. What to write about? Wish I could call Chara, too. I thought it would be 50 cents a call. They're ripping off these UCLA students. And then I'll go to bed hungry tonight again. Slept through breakfast. And I still get fast, like everyone else in Brentwood Manor, on this damn malnourishing food.
This place is pure punishment. Punishment for being labeled mentally ill.
I think I'll spend the remaining 15 minutes surfing my favorite websites: skypilotclub.com, key-z.com, and dead.net.
I went out with my sister Joan this aft and she bought me a pair of running shoes. She's very nice but basically selfish as those Rethuglicans she hangs out with. Too bad I didn't get into Lama; I could go out there and cut myself off from her and her frumpy husband. I hate this board-and-care home/concentration camp. I just keep out of there and keep busy, like now I'm typing and creating at the UCLA Library. I'm going to call a lot of truck stop owners next week and try to sell them Willie Nelson Biodiesel, when I get the money for a phone card--Joan leaves me without a phone, the bitch! But at least she didn't take anything else back or away today.
I'm going to call Chara in a few minutes. She said Saturday, when i spoke to her last, to call her in the next 10 days. She's moving across the road from her house. Boy, do I crave a cigarette. But all I get is water. I bought a pack of herbal Ginseng cigarettes Saturday when Joan paid me my weekly $30 (she always pays me on a different day) but they made me crave the regular nicotine cigarettes I smoked last night at the Cubensis show. I haven't had a cigarette all day, and I have to quit now, because I can't afford to buy any more cigarettes.
The sun is setting outside the library window. I think I'll call Richie Shirley, too. Richie has got terminal liver cancer. Before he had Hepatitis C. The doctor gave him 1 month or till the end of the year; he's trying to last till October when his grandchild will be born. I feel so bad about it. The doctor said he'd operate but it'd kill him; or give him chemo but he'd wish he were dead, or it would kill him. I wonder what words of wisdom he'll give me. Last time he told me he was reading The Diamond Sutra. I said, "I read that, too." He said, "But you have to understand it.
"
This is a pretty good writing session. It helps to be stoned. I guess I'll write for about 7 more minutes, until the library bell chimes 7, and then I'll get a drink of water and make my phone calls. I'm really tempted to go bum a cigarette from one of the students but then I'd be hooked on them again and it's a big hassle; not to mention bad for your health. They'd probably be OK if they didn't harm you and cause heart disease and lung cancer.
Four more minutes. What to write about. I'm feeling pretty good. I guess that's because I'm in this beautiful library, whereas usually I'm in that dingy, dirty board-and-care home from which there's no escape for most inmates. I'm going to ask Drs. Fine, Riceberg, and Reisbord to help me get out. We just have to talk Joan into it--I can afford my own place on my SSI ($800).
I need an acid trip, or at least 'shrooms. They're around, I just can't afford it. Poor me. My parents are going to invite me up to their house in San Francisco. Hope I can take their car (a Mercedes) and go see Richie where he lives at Camp Winnarainbow.
LATER...Well, I took a break, and called Richie, and Andrea answered. She said they're about to have dinner, and to call back in an hour. She's the nicest person (Richie's wife) you ever want to meet, like Mountain Girl. So I'm going to leave to call her back in about 25 minutes. I can't call Chara because that phone wants a dollar for a call whereas most pay phones around here want 50 cents. But I'll call Chara next week. I have to call Andrea back. The burdens I carry being poor. "Walk this world when I was born to fly." as Robert Hunter says in Liberty.
I've pretty much lost the craving for cigarettes--I'm just drinkin a lot of water. Speakin of drinkin, last night I had a beer with my pot, went down good. What I hate about Brentwood Manor is they don't allow drinkin, and they believe that, the damn Catholics. What to write about? Wish I could call Chara, too. I thought it would be 50 cents a call. They're ripping off these UCLA students. And then I'll go to bed hungry tonight again. Slept through breakfast. And I still get fast, like everyone else in Brentwood Manor, on this damn malnourishing food.
This place is pure punishment. Punishment for being labeled mentally ill.
I think I'll spend the remaining 15 minutes surfing my favorite websites: skypilotclub.com, key-z.com, and dead.net.
posted by Eric Abrahamson @ 6:39 PM
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