May 31st, 1977
Today is going to be a strange day. Waking early this morning to another hysterical coughing jag– I decided to stop smoking today.
Wheezing my way through 2-3 packs a day is the final absurdity of my life.
Miserable day. On top of no cigarettes, I took an amphetamine that Jim had. Gallons of coffee. My nerves were jangled all day. I go to the telephone company this morning– and afterward decide to go to my favorite dirty book store and jack off. I am in a sexual frenzy for nasty sex. I go to the bus station. Two black men are standing at the universals shaking and rubbing huge cocks at one another. I timidly stand at one end and pee furtively watch the action. I leave quickly. Before the day is over I have hit six dirty book stores and the bus station twice. Not much happens– groped once but no genitalia were produced.
Now I am back home and EVERYTHING in this goddamned filthy pigsty of an apartment is DAMP. I hate it. Just sitting here on the sofa my shirt has that awful clammy cling to it. Regardless of how much I spray the carpet in the living room the place maintains a thick stench of cat piss.
When I got home tonight one of my goldfish, Doris– the pregnant one– was dead, floating in the bowl.
I just lit a cigarette.
The same old dialogue. Same time. Same station.
Larry Waite is an absolutely miserable human being. I don’t really understand why I have grown so crazy in the past few days. Just a few pages back I was writing about how content and self-contained I have become. Bullshit. Those are two adjectives that will never apply to me.
I am 26 years old and in all those years I have never been loved. Richard is the only man I’ve ever had a long lasting relationship with and blame it on societal neurosis or his neurosis or my neurosis or whatever– I know that whatever we had is irretrievably lost. I am alone– and except for the brief fiery time with Richard, I have always been alone. I am like a caged animal pacing pacing desperate for love.
I simply do not possess whatever happy faculty it takes to adapt to my circumstances and cheerfully conduct my life. I am a grown man and I have very real, very basic needs for closeness and nurturing and love. And I have enough dignity not to pretend to be happy without them. I need a man. I need a lover. And I am alone. Consequently…
My religion/philosophy tells me that God knows my need much more thoroughly than I. It also says that those needs are answered. It also says timing is important.
“Well all the odds are… in my favor. Something’s bound to begin. Maybe this time I’ll get lucky. Maybe this time…”
Christ, I’ve been here before
And I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.
And if, in the midst of this terrifying needs, I blur my perception with whatever is handy– nicotine, alcohol, anything available then I shall do so cheerfully. Since there seems to be little else I can do.
See what you’re doing naught God? Because you won’t send this poor bastard a lover, you’re making him destroy, ravage his body. Negligent God…