march 22,1989 11:10 am TESC it's a beautiful day! and i hope it will stay this way. my basic plans for today are 1) catch bus into town & 2)Get to a freeway and hitch to vancouver. hopefully i'll be able to find someplace to stay for the night. either edna's or jon's. Or maybe i will try to camp. it could be interesting. The sky looks awful heavy. a sponge all soked in water and trying to hold it all. i bet as soon as i leave cover it will spill itself all over. but such it is. a little rain never hurt anyone. best be on my way. sometimes i wonder if anyone is worth fighting over. my gut reation whei I come up against compitition is to draw back and think. sometimes depressing, sometimes pissifying. avec elle, i have always felt a quiet assurancethat i didn't have to worry about others (my older now self laughs) though i tend to explode with jealousy at her mightest move. I spun dreams of webs cause of secrets shared. the sky, she does cry. With X2 it is different. I suppose it would be with anyone else with whom you share mysteries. Because of unbalance, i am often left feet up in the air. She draws all attention and she leaves me like a stone in the path. We whisper secrets to eachothers toes and draw pictures in lovely lines on eachothers bodies. we are soulsplit and shhhhhharing mysteries. Hers is the kind of dream that becomes too hard to leave, and then leave you all the same. Why do I do this shit to myself? It is almost as my secrets aren't worth keeping from giving away and I need to beg someone to take them from me. I think that Elle, my parents and the Woodmama understand me more that me myself. (Future self laughs and wonders at the fool that was he, for through deep shit has he travelled). Maybe it is safer that way. I wonder what I am writing about, I wonder what adverture I am going on today. I love the road. It is like a gauntlet I have to run. With Shes and hes ready to clobber me with memories for me to suffer tomorrow. Does that make sense? To be driven to distraction and in that state of distract find some dream defined? I wonder now what I will have tomorrow, what I am remembering this by writing it. (Future self cries of a mountain of discarded memories). Oh legs of the road, I am yours.... of sorts. I opted for the bus rather than exercise the thumb. A bit of a cop out? Perhaps. But hints of terror and caution are tangible beasts for a white boy from africa. And besides, I didn't feel like hanging by the side of the road for a long time... in the rain... how dreary. Maybe we have some of those hidden excuses, too. I'm sure that they are there, maybe i just don't like rejection. Edna will sure be surprised when i show up at her door. I have my doubts, but it is kind of late to back out now. I do wish I had her number though. How will this break end? A man who looks suprisingly similar to a troll walks by. A monsterous nose, red-faced, wiry beard that could house a host of mice, crooked back and his eyes were dark and flashing as he glances back and forth. 6:00 pm got here at 4:00, called Edna and she picked me up from the GreyHound Station. She's looking pretty good for eighty and although she sometimes confuses me for my father, she seems to be doing fine. Her conservatives views are sometimes disturbing. But I guess that goes with the territory she tread. She can sure talk... spreading rumors that are 50 years old and all the player now six feet under or ash to the wind. Talking depression talk and the move from North Dakota. Talking the Dutch Cup and gravey for dinner. We watch the news and I call Jon. The cuckoo skoots out of a clock every hour and cuckoos. We eat hard candy. I will go to Portland in the morning. I will probably never dream this again. I am feeling lustful. Good thing I am around nobody to fall in love with. Cause it would put a sparkle on my already sparkley life. Though to act like I act assures that I will once again open some wound. I have a good feeling about today. I don't know why or where it is coming from. Maybe I slept well. When I woke up in the middle of the night I was thinking about X2's eyes. I dig P-town. It has a bit of funk to it. I jumped a bus and found jon's house in NW on my own. We hung in the kitchen, he smoked, I drank too much coffee. He and I took a bike ride to the secret site of elephant manure, the rose garden and the zoo. Feeling like a lump of jello, out of shape and falling apart at nineteen. We cruised some antique stores and joan picked up a funky naugahyde rocking chair. she rocks. hmmm trouble in small package. I bought a ticket to see the throwing muses (kristen hersh- yumm), so I am gonna hang here till sunday. Elle, X2 and the Woodmama will be back by then. Then I won't be lonely. And I am going off to bed. Some beer minded fantasies drifting through my head about you. Friday, March 24, 1989 Portland, OR Early morning. A seagull flies by the window of the room that I have made my own for spring break