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May 30th, 1971
Sitting bent over, naked on my sofa– slowly warming gently from the chill electric moon glow rain– barefoot to McDonald’s – listening now to the sounds of loved people, moving through the rooms of the old white house on 18th street. Ed and a chick named Gwenn and Ed’s good friend Dick (Wow! a really nice, strong vibed guy), Dick’s brother, Dave who looks super waspish junior high-ish, but who is really heavy. Chip, another high school but a heavy guy– Bobbie, strung-out space freak sincere vibes, Bobbie. And two of Bobbie’s friends– straightly distant Army guys– smoking, smoking, smoking dope.
I’m back home now, but I can hear all those people moving through the other apartments. This house has become a strong family figure for me. I’m seeping emotionally into every grain of wood in this building.
I want Chip’s apartment– if he moves. That would be a panacea for everything in my life. God, I don’t trust such happiness. Jesus, I’m flashing on Christmas there– having friends over for dinner, making love in a water bed in the bedroom with streaks of moonlight coming noiselessly through the groping emptiness of the room, and the sound of someone near you breathing, breathing.
God. How I want that apartment.
I am totally (or near enough) happy.