Diary of Marie Stanley: June

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Friday, June 15th, 1973

Have not written in here for a month. Georgy mostly remote, but I found Pamelia again, have been having our affair encore.

One year ago today I was running along the platform at Union Station in Washington DC to catch the three o’clock train to New York. I almost missed it, the conductor held it for me. Seventy-five dollars in my wallet, crazy to get away from the family, depressed beyond my present recognition that I could not go back to college. Daddy couldn’t pay, bankrupt, Mother sarcastic about my sudden working-class status.
Both of them permanently semi-sloshed and terminally indifferent.

Diary of June 15, 1972

So I place myself now in a state of the most profound insecurity – in the as-yet unassaulted belief that to do so will result in an eventual true security – that is to say, after this period of extreme tension.

Suicide attempt on May 2nd, Final Analysis with Benjamin, thrown out of school for lack of cash. Now must inflict new trials, self-imposed, necessitating an immediate self-reliance… the most important quality for me to develop. It is also dangerous. But a life lived thus in difficulty shall be a life lived to its hilt! I labour under the frightening responsibility of maintaining myself in the face of total indifference. If things are wretched I must believe I have no-one to blame but myself. Otherwise I’ll never prosper.

This childish statement of a philosophy has only been contradicted by what has passed in a year. I have been subject to forces beyond my control to a terrific extent! I do continue to try to believe I am the cause of these disasters – but the FIRES? In reality I am desperately dependent upon others to help me. But people rarely do. And my best friend Georgy very little at all.

My original philosophy was correct: Depend on no-one. But how?

Paged over the days of the past year… how glamorous everything seemed to me then. Georgy and I staying up all night, then daring to rent a room in a sleazy Times Square motel. We thought we were something out of John Rechy.

How he was so happy to bring me the bag full of Audrey’s party-dresses, Givenchy and Dior. How Georgy loved to say “Givenchy” with the correct French accent, a silken scarf running across our spines. Very expensive, rare gowns of the lady’s, which I was thrilled to consider, to try on, to inhabit. I never even got to look at them, as we promptly, drunkenly left them all on the IRT.

As we stood on the platform and realized what we had done, we both recalled the way the people had looked at us when we got up. Not one person had told us we were leaving the bag behind. Truly sinister.

Audrey committed suicide. She took her gowns back. She did not want either of us to have her. She destroyed her trunk. She is a vengeful spirit.

I will not be going back to college. Daddy has gone bankrupt. When he told me that over the phone while I was still at school, he laughed about it as if it were just another picaresque happenstance in the colorful film of his wild and crazy life.

In his fantasy of himself as a gay and colorful failure, I imagine driving your daughter into the job market at nineteen is excitingly dramatic. Maybe he’ll write a hit play about me.

I will not agonize over it another minute. And certainly not go home again.

Mother has a new apartment and half-heartedly invited me to live with her. I just could not, I would be turned into the maid. No I have known them long enough. I was bred by the Muse for other things than to be the audience of their feebleness.

Sunday, June 24th

It’s been Gay Pride Weekend, finally got out of the apartment and wandered around Washington Square. Dressed all in black with the black toreador’s hat. Watched the Gay Priders carousing. Felt happy for them but hardly a part of it.

A pretty girl was following me, I broke through my gloom and spoke to her.
She said her name was “Lilith, after the Queen of the Succubi.” That’s exactly what she said, well how could I not fall in love instantly. She is a Pre-Raphaelite vision, eyes of bright blue and waist-length wavy golden brown hair. And the name!

We walked around the park talking about spirits. She seemed to know quite alot about them. Wanted to sleep with her but sex seemed too brusque a thing
for her virginal clear spirit. But she was so vague and dreamy it was arousing my testosterone.

Unfortunately she lives upstate. We exchanged addresses, she promised to write. So we might get to know each other first, like people used to do before the Sixties free love and all. We promised we would visit each other, in some future.

Wednesday, June 27th

Someone broke into my apartment, stole my clock-radio and my typewriter, breathed my air.


As of September 21, 2014 –
Thank you

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