Night has fallen and the rain has stopped pounding on the tin roofs. I'm lying in the hotel room. Overhead fan cools the room. I haven't shut it off since my arrival. It's hot here. LA was in the 60s. Oahu 70s. New York was cold. Winter cold. Snow cold. Nothing like here. 80s during the day. 70s at night. Sweltering hot like my trip to Mazatlán in 1975.
I spent the night reading First Contact by Bob Connolly and Robin Anderson, recounting two white men's first incursion into the Papua New Guinea Highlands in the 1930s. According to the writers the Melanesians first arrived in these parts across an Ice Age land bridge natives about 40,000 years ago, maybe even more, who can trust white man science? I wanted to ask them, if they are a lost tribe from deepest Africa, but they don't resemble anyone genetically other than themselves. They are their own race. In the book author encountered about the white men with Dead return from death for strange gods who treated them as potential slave, buying loyalties with shells addiction tobacco, in the fear of the Dum Dum bullet. This was the last great frontier. Still is across the waters on the mainland, which is one of the biggest islands in the world. Here I am. Beer in hand on the edge of the world.
I've met two American MD's on their way to the Highlands of Irian Jaya, , a Texas skin diver Larry Smith in his Indonesian girlfriend, Other than six drunk Japanese veterans of World War II. I'm basically the only tourist
Reading the rough guides Indonesian handbook chapter on Irian Jaya makes me want to forego the next leg to Bali and flying over to Jayapura and then up to the Bellamy Valley, but that would have to wait for another time, although the chances of me coming back this way to beak at the end of the world a slim.
I've been writing North North Hollywood, but not that much.
If I had an extra $500 I'd fly to Jaipur maybe next year, because I really like this archipelago of Indonesia after only two days.
So far the trip has been in success. I accomplished everything I wanted to do in LA. I saw Nina Smith. We had a night out. I got drunk as did she. We tried to make love in her car. I couldn't get it up. As much as I wanted her.
I saw Monty. Who's doing well at Propaganda Films. We were friendly. I thought he might be angry with me for asking for money, when he asked me to look at a Bentley Conti in London last year. I learned a lesson. Never ask the rich for money. You have to wait for them to offer it. The old boy from Atlanta wants me to come up with a Lethal Weapon script. He offered me a room in LA. But I'm not really into writing scripts and I want to finish North North Hollywood, which would make a great movie. I thank them for the offer and said I'd contact him.
Sadly I couldn't get in touch with Sharon, because her husband's mother explained that after she left my place last year she got into dope very badly. She was fucking young men in the neighborhood, stealing from them and anybody else, the mother-in-law threw her out after she almost burnt down the house. She went through her her father's death money pretty quick. The mother-in-law didn't hold it against her. She had lost both her husband and son to drugs. She's not bad. She's just a junkie. But I don't really want to see her for a long time "Do you want her number?" asked the mother-in-law.
I thought about it for a second and said, I'll see you, when she gets better."
Such is the power of pornography to ruin people's lives no way do I want North North Hollywood to glorify porno as much as I like pictures of naked women, big cocks, and cum.
Erotica. Is what I'm talking about hardcore. I kissed Nina and I want to write a scene about our near sex scene in her backseat. She was the first woman I kissed in ages, but who knows what tomorrow brings? Nothing in Biak.
Tonight I'm alone with the sound of the fan overhead in the hotel kick you
Lost in Erie and Jaya.
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