Journal Entry – January 4, 1978

I’ve slept with Fran several times this week. She wants to nail down my freedom. I don’t know why.

Last night at One-Fifth Bert, Cecile, and I discussed romance. Bert is a homosexual portrait painter with a receding hairline and Cecilean older woman with a very avant-grade view of innocence. She loves make-up and dressing like a fag hag. Given my freedom I would love to seduce her or be seduce by her.

“Romance? Isn’t that what we all want?”

“She wore diamonds on her finger and around her delicate neck. Cecile came from wealth and I wondered whether having too much money killed any approach to romance.

“Romance is a perfect ideal, but…”

“But what…”Burt asked with his eyes on my crotch.

“I deal more with freedom. Sexual freedom is threatened by romance or love, for as Carson McCullers wrote in THE BALLAD OF THE SAD CAFE “Most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover, because being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.ā€¯

Cecile’s eyes widened and she said, “I had been married for twenty-five years. On New Year’s Eve my husband finally admitted he was gay and for the first time in my life I felt free.”

“”That’s because…” Burt started to say, but Cecile lifted her hand, “My husband loves no one more than a bottle of vodka and I could always deal with Hal being queer, but when he’s drunk, he’s only with drink. This New Year’s Eve he drank so much.”
“It’s too bad he does.” Burt looked at me, as if I might be able to save Cecile from loneliness. “You should go to CBGBs with your young friend.”

“How did you spend the night. Burt was alone,” she confessed a confidence and his eyes showed the hurt.

I could have been with friends.” Burt was almost in years and I said, “I got tight.”



With someone?”

“With everyone and no one. I was like your husband. I wanted no one.”

“Neither did I, but I had the best time, because I was free for once.”

“One night of freedom is only one night.”

“Better one night than none and I loved the freedom.” Cecile signaled the bartender for another round and I lowered my head, thinking about how lonely loneliness was, as the hours of a New Year slipped away without anyone to help pass the time.

I know alone too well.
I entertained Jaci and her punk friend, Sally at Broadway Charlies. I drank hard and missed a rendezvoused with Fran. I called and said I couldn’t make it to Brooklyn.

“Why can’t you meet me?”

“I have errands to run.” I hoped she wouldn’t ask any questions and she didn’t, although we made plans to meet tomorrow. I warned that I wouldn’t wake up before noon. She said, “Why do you treat me like I’m nothing?”

“I don’t know.”

And that was the truth.
Even later
Racism. White people against anyone of color. African or Asian and let’s not forget the extermination of the Native Americans. Slavery of them all is how White people stay ahead. Since 1621.

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