Tonight I clanked and flamed over to Gayle’s in my new cuffed yellow pants– my silver and gold bracelets, my tight black t-shirt– my birthstone necklace draped twice around my neck and over my chest– my plaid flannel smock my mother made me and Margie’s 5-inch clogs– and my fur coat. Rattling and flaming. On the way home I began to feel oddly uncomfortable– as if I were in some personal masquerade. Small spectacles like that are necessary for me. I am a creature in need of orgasm–

I am blown out right now my darling– zapped, wasted, stoned.

Gayle and I got totally stoned on some dope Peter had given her. One joint and we were wasted. We sat and listened to Merle Haggard and debated the authenticity of the I Ching cards she bought this past weekend. I asked my book (also a gift of last weekend from Gayle)– what it thought of Gayle’s cards. It (he? she?) responded with Oracle 16– Enthusiasm– dealing with installing helpers– the cards are fresh roads to the mysteries– the hexagrams. New channels– new helpers.