Tuesday August 08, 1972

[Interruption]

Later–

Laundry room– Japanese lover of baseball– from Tokyo–

no passion left for dialogue–

going to read–

got myself ordered tonight. Did my laundry– organized myself again. Called Mom– she really wants me to leave New York. She told me tonight of her “colored” friend [she has a really condescending relationship with this little black man at work] who told her to tell me to GET OUT OF NEW YORK!– and he ought to know. He lived here. He went to school here. He still has a sister and a brother (I think she said) here. To prove, I suppose, that this was a valid admonition from an authentic New Yorker she also threw in the fact that he likes that high brow stuff– used to go hear the Philadelphia Philharmonic at Madison Square Garden.

I think that there is a possibility that I am using this tongue and cheek decision of my mother’s ignorance to cover something else–

what is it?

Oh, mother! You’re so stupid! Gawd! I’m so embarrassed of you. All my friend’s mothers are educated and cultured and intelligent. You’re such a dumb stupid hick.

I’ve been suspicious that I’m covering up anger at my mother– but why?

Never why–

only how

OK how–

I’m sitting in the car in the driveway in front of the house on Marion Street. Mom and I are getting ready to go somewhere together. At the last minute, she dashes back inside. I wait. And wait. And wait.  

She’s in there on that goddamn phone talking to Warren Lee– or Sonny. I know she is. Waiting waiting. Jealous, hurt, angry– Flash flash vision of mom the whore (as per Grandma Cooksey)– a no good, slutty whore– cheatin’ on my dad– and on me.

Is this who I am acting out when I put on my mother’s clothes and masturbate in her bed?

Do I really hate my mother–

all this sounds very fucked up.

I am trying to be my mother. I am my mother. My mother takes care of me. My father loves my mother. He does not love me.

I used to hate them when they’d got to bed– fucking– I’d go up to my room and be very quiet– only making the proper amount of noise so that they’d know that I wasn’t listening.

listening listening listening to the naughtiness.