Thursday, March 1
Weird morning, realizing it was the last day we were living together. Never again to wake up together and act crazy… why did he turn against me? The Steve-slave arrived with Kathleen to drag all my boxes to her place. I cried before I left. Kathleen is a love, she consoled me. At least she doesn’t think it’s weird that I can love a man.
Very late walked back to the building, stood across the street and stared up at our windows. I saw candle-light, was Georgy still there, or was it just a lonely candle? I thought about our first days last September, how exciting it all was, our apartment in New York. We imagined all sorts of things, dinner parties, a circle of interesting friends — a literary salon! And I was so happy to live with my friend.
Kathleen’s cats go insane when I feed my Whitey-Woola, turns out she is trying to train them to be vegetarian. Their cat-bowls look like monkey-dishes, full of rice and RAW carrots. I tried to explain to her that cats were carnivores, she wouldn’t listen. It was horrible, the scrawny cats were screaming and practically breaking the glass door. I’ll have to secretly feed them too.
Saturday, March 3rd
Spent the day helping Georgy move into his apartment. Very nice view out the window of a tree, Downing Street is small and quiet. The carmine study is I must admit a beauty. So now we live three blocks away from each other.
Miss P., wretched prig friend from school was visiting. GOD I hope she doesn’t move to New York. As she helped him unpack I ignored them, went into Georgy’s study, and wrote “The Dance.” I read it to them and they seemed alarmed that I had written something so good, the automatic sarcastic innuendo spluttered and died in their throats.
[ part of “The Dance” … ]
In the apartment the man is here and he is making platforms for more words and meanwhile he makes words that do not go on platforms and the girl, the girl is here too in a corner and she is looking about, looking about, there might be a dance in the air, if there could be a dance in the air much sorrow could be lost.
But more often dance occurs in clothing that binds, clothing in which the body wallows, to music that fumbles, created by the stoned in their private euphorias that cannot and will not be communicated, the dance wavers, expected to perform to a song that remains closed to it, the dance tries to listen it s feet shuffling in her daze and use that as a starting rhythm. But the dance does not introvert, the music stutters, twitches, and sleeps it off.
[ / The Dance ]
…Georgy and I went to Mexican restaurant, then for some reason decided to go to a heterosexual porno film. Some kind of psychopathic compensation?
Times Square manic energy appeared somehow forced. In lobby of formerly ‘swanky’ theatre an auto-fuck bicycle reposed on a dais. First film: one ugly woman performed the banal act of fellation upon one specimen after another. The lesbian scenes grossed me out, this nasty stud was dominating them, “Get it wet for me!” He stuck his big stupid body between them, saying “I’m getting in here with you lezzies!” The girls immediately forsook one another to give him the old you-know-what. Georgy and I left when they were taking turns… the women had bad teeth, their tits were disgusting, flat and long. They wore their hair in no-style but dirty, and the simpering voices really got on our nerves.
We really thought it would be more interesting. Ironical evening. Said a cool goodnight. The whole experience took the edge off my ‘wanting’ Georgy, thank you.
Sunday, March 4th
Nice weather, mild, I wandered the Village. Smoked pot with Kathleen, and then had a weird conversation with Georgy on the phone. I agreed that I assume the worst in every situation. But it need not be fate, is still only a tendency.
As he went on about my flaws, I realized I don’t have to appease him. I lost my concentration, realized I was bored! In just this short separation our arguments have lost their emotional power.
Kathleen is almost too affectionate. Sex sometimes is an annoyance. Will try to go to the office every day this week.
Monday, March 5
First anniversary of Georgy’s mother Audrey’s suicide. Called Georgy to chat, he wanted to go out to Reno Sweeney’s and see Holly Woodlawn.
Georgy treated and we each had I think eight drinks. Her singing was astonishing. Alot of other great drag acts. Such a perfected subculture. Jackie Curtis was in the audience.
As I started telling him about my affair with Kathleen. ironically right there in the drag club he became testosteronized and began snuggling up and caressing me. It was not de rigueur! But he got me worked up, it was as if we were about to do it!
Got out of there and calmed down, made it to the “55” on Christopher. Billie Holiday all over the jukebox, the place is owned by my father’s old friend Bradley. Empty in there for a change. I made Georgy talk to me about Audrey. He was so drunk he told me everything. Completely horrifying. I understand now why I lost the bag of dresses. She was a monster.
He proceeded to get even more plastered but I knew I was going to vomit, especially after his story. I imbibed a couple of Irish coffees and left him there with sailors. I was suddenly entirely sober and got home, it’s 4 AM and I’m writing this, getting caught up, my poems are trash but I have to keep working to stay in shape for
Awful day at work. When I got in I had to go lie down for half an hour on the bathroom floor with my forehead pressed to the cold white tiles. Andre knocked on the door when he saw the light was out. Please Andre – I’m hungover. He enjoyed that.
Phillip on speed or something today, terrifyingly manic. I felt like living death.
I feel so terrible for Georgy. There is nothing I can do to make him feel better. He should hold women in horror, for him this is a healthy impulse. I kept remembering how he tried to strangle me that time at school, all the more terrified thinking of it, after Audrey.
Speculating on Georgy’s bizarre, erratic attitudes. With me he seems to let himself go completely, no limits of any kind, I am the stage for his outbursts, neurotic fixations, repressed heterosexuality, and sadism.
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