PRESSURE PRESS ARCHIVE
RETICULATED DAYS IN THE LIVES OF A REGULAR MAN
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 CHAPTER 6
I believe I really did stand pissing into Charlie's water-bowl in the kitchen some time this morning. Did happen to drink a six-pack of 16 oz. Genny Cream Ale, & puffed some bud, so I was well-buzzed when I fell to the couch at about 10. I remember my bladder was absolutely full & I stood there, hand balancing me against the wall, focused enough not to splatter piss on the floor, aiming my stream exactly & nearly filling up the bowl. I lifted the bowl of piss to the sink & spilled it out amidst the dirty dishes & glasses & shit, rinsed it out & put fresh water in the dog's bowl. I do not know why I did this. The bathroom is approximately the same distance as the kitchen. Then I fell on the couch again & slept a few more hours. Weird. I'm more inclined to trust the pissing in the kitchen episode was no r.e.m. dream, but maybe sleep-walking somehow.
Dave Christy from Alpha Beat Press wrote me congratulations on the Chiron feature today. He enjoyed all the material. I met Dave for the first time in Chicago. He's a good man. He & his wife Ana just returned from the annual Kerouac festivities in Lowell, Massachusetts. Dave likes drink & smoke & I hope I'll party with him one day soon. I feel the flash of brotherhood. He's probably pissed in the dog's bowl once or twice himself.
Strange mail. An 18 year old girl who I last saw as a baby when her mother & me were involved in the middle 70's. I wrote Joan letters & poems, which she must have kept all these years, because her daughter, Crista, found them in an attic desk, read them, & is now writing me. She sd she was amazed & stunned at my talents as a poet. Joan also had a copy of my first book, 14 POEMS, published in 1979. Crista pleaded NOT TO TELL HER MOM SHE READ THE LETTERS. She also mailed 2 photographs, on the back of one she had written "if you think I'm sexy, and you're single, let's get together and fuck! p.s. don't tell my mom I said that!". She's an attractive girl. Joan, I certainly remember, had a monstrous, giant pussy & exploding black-haired bush, big giant nipples & tits. I can't help but wonder what Crista's genitals look like, if there're similarities. An 18-year old daughter of a former lover wants to fuck, & if I was single I like to think I'd go for it. Crista wrote she's seen my work in some 'zines like Bogg & Ying & Yang & Frayed (where she got my address), & I'm an idol of hers, a god; she's too ashamed to send me some of her poems.
Strange, indeed, this writing life.
Females & males sending me their nude photos. Cheryl's BLACK, perfume-scented, sheer panties, & a dozen other women stuffing envelopes with their USED panties. I've thrown all of them into the garbage except for Cheryl's. Cassette boxes packed with delicious, powerful, wonderful marijuana buds. Once a nice chunk of hashish from Bart, that nut. An Indiana savior giving me a 50 dollar bill because he thinks I deserve "the grant", & I'm able to buy typing cartridges & whiskey & get my son a hair-cut & fill the tank in the car. A few 20's.
Books, of course. Magazines that think I'm famous.
Well, what other fuckhead writer is going to tell you he pissed in the dog's water-bowl in the kitchen, & that's nothing to worry one's pretty head about, it's all normal, daily reality with no hidden under-meanings of fate. Nothing can happen beyond the dictates of the senses. We is humans. We enjoy pretending we's gods.