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 12
It's another four hours sleep afternoon. I jumped out of bed refreshed, tumbling for the front-door & the mailbox. Maybe I was dreaming about Poetry World, subconsciously heard the mailman.
A few people have written. Batya Goldman wants me to "Please Write For Us" do reviews for her 10,000 circulation UNDERGROUND DIRECT magazine out of Chicago. Issue 2. She has such Force. I can imagine her as my 2nd wife after I divorce Diane 20 years from now...we'll be escaped political prisoners living in the middle of New Zealand & she will forever savor the taste of my cock, & I, her pussy. I'll write something for her by the Novemeber 3rd deadline.
Dave Christy sent another congratulatory letter about that Chiron Review feature, & enclosed a baseball card saying he wished he could have sent me a joint in appreciation of my Art. I'm low low on smoke. Doug took the baseball card for his collection.
Steve Richmond is re-issuing a 1966 Bukowski essay, & he's written on the back of the Bukowski photograph postcard that he'll be sending me a copy as soon as it's done.
That's the World today.
Shake.
Sleep deprivation.
Two coffees, instant, sugar, & milk.
Marlboro Lights.
Bright Sunny Cold Blue Autumn Afternoon.
My Overwhelming Room.
Low Rock Off The Stereo.
Sleep in my eyelashes & my long pony-tail still wet from morning shower. Diane downstairs. Doug home from school & off to Eric's up the street to play Eric's Nintendo. Rachel at band practice. Charlie lounging on the linoleum kitchen floor in a ray of window sunlight. I've smoked a pin.
Marijuana, how doth I Love Thee?