October 18, 1978 - Journal Entry - East Village

Alice's trip to West Virginia was five days long. She returned Tuesday morning fifteen minutes before I went to work as a waiter in the Ventron Executive Dining Room off Wall Street. Somehow she looked different and acted the same. It took a full day until Alice became the love of my life again, although she spent most of that time with the unlikeable witch Susan Hanneford.

NRP MEMBERS : Peter Smith ------- ( founder ) Alice ------- ( Culture ) Kim Davis ------- ( Secretary ) Kyle Davis ------- ( Loyalist ) BG Mitchell ------- ( Loyalist ) Anthony Scibelli -- ( Possible snitch or rat ) Clover Nolan ------ ( Spy ) Michael Selbach --- ( Architect ) Andy Reese ------- ( Loyalist ) Grant Stitt ------- ( Gay Coordinator ) Lowell Murphy ----- ( Loyalist ) Besides these members there are interested parties beset by lapse in life purpose.

What started as an in-joke is now viewed observed curiosity, ridicule, or interest today. Alice told me, "A reported from the New York Post wants to interview you about the NRP."

Interest in the Party forced me to confront my lack of desire to be in the public eye. I want o bail, because some people are taking this serious. No one can see the humor. Aren't I funny?

LATER

The Damned Yankees have won the World Series after dropping the first two by blowing out the Dodgers in four games. Bucky Dent, aka Fucking Bucky Dent was awarded the Series MVP for his hitting and fielding. He saved him with a home run against the Red Sox in 1978 and now he's a hero again.. I hope he doesn't get a candy bar named after him. The victory parade drew two million fans to Lower Manhattan. I ran into many of them after work. They were happy, drunk, and victorious. The red Sox haven't won anything since they traded Babe Ruth to the Yankees.

"Wait till next year."

The battle cry of Fenway.

"And you'll wait too."

August 18, 2021 - Brooklyn

Last night the Bosox crushed the Astros gaining a 2-1 lead in the American League finals. I was surprised to read in my journal than Bucky 'Fuckin' Dent was the MVP. Supposedly Don Zimmer, Red Sox manager, once rented a house from the Yankee shortstop and everyone room in the house had a large photo of his third home run on 1978 in Fenway.

Very funny."

"When I hit the ball I knew that I had hit it high enough to hit the wall. But there were shadows on the net behind the wall and I didn't see the ball land there. I didn't know I had hit a homer until I saw the umpire at first signaling home run with his hand. I couldn't believe it."

Bucky 'Fucking' Dent.

As for the NRP, Scibelli did turn out to be a rat at Hurrah.

Portrait by Parker Delany

Dec 2, 1978 - East Village - Journal Entry

I had been serious sick from food poisoning this week. Puking and shitting non-stop.Two days of retching in the WC toilet. I slept in the living room to keep it close. Pus getting out of the loft bed was dangerous in my condition. I felt like Doc Holiday in Tombstone. Always ready to die.

Alice was a great nurse.

I do love her.

What's an evening without a fight?

After the Klaus Nomi closed the show for the Vaudeville Show, I had a few drinks and then cleared the crowd from Irving Plaza. A table of rockers ignored my several polite requests. They looked familiar and I let them slide. Finally I said, "It's time to go. Please finish your drinks. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

I had heard Merv from CBGB's say that many times without any trouble, then again he was 6-4.

A musician with glasses stood up.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Not a clue. I just want to go home."

"I'm not stopping you. Fuck off."

I turned my head. Debbie Harry from Blondie glared at me and I recognized the big mouth as their guitarist.

"I'm just doing my job."

"Then why don't you fuck off."

He bumped into my chest. I did not move.

"You're no one to me." I shoved him away hard and he fell into the table. This band rose to their feet as a gang. Five on one. I looked for help. Anthony and Anthony were drinking at the bar. Completely useless as they had been all night. I was on my own. The band flanked me and one of them Japped me. Not a hard punch, but then hands grabbed my arms. I snatched the pianist by the hair. The rest of the band pigpiled atop me and we went to the ground together with the pianist was under me and got a stomping. Boots struck my ribs. One practically hard, knocking out my breath. Staying under the assault was a death wish. Somehow I rose to my feet. Pianist in hand. I punch him hard and was stunned to see his hair in my hand. The beating continued unabated. I saw an opening and clocked the guitarist, breaking his glasses, but there wasn't much fight in me. Them neither. We stood apart. Anthony and Andy came to my sides.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Debbie spat with venom.

As I regained my breath. Not easy. At least two of my ribs were broken. It hurt to breathe. I got a drink at the bar. Alex. the manager of Irving Plaza, served me a double whiskey.

"On the house."

Polish drinkers from the downstairs bar came up to the concert hall.

"I heard the band say you started it." Chris the publicist said, as if believed them over me. "And they said they beat the shit out of you."

There was no blood, but my body had been thrashed and I looked at my friend Anthony. "It was five on one. Pussies. I had no help."

"At least you can tell your grandchildren what wimps Blondie were. You're lucky it wasn't the Ramones."

"Yeah." It was small solace.

I had been in plenty of fights this year. This was my first loss. I blame drink and the odds. I wasn't looking for revenge. Not five against one. Alice was busy counting the take with her skinny stick pussy. She obviously hadn't heard about the fight and I went back to 256 East 10th Street adn watched TV until the National Anthem.

Alice came into the apartment. The TV was a snow storm.

"Where are the stamps."

"I forgot to get them."

"I need those stamps."

"At four in the morning."

We hadn't had sex in weeks. We did tonight. She felt so good. Being with her was good.

Later

Politically I have tested the ranks of the NRP. Some believe. Some don't, but there are loyalists even after last night. The enemy grow in strength. Alice always has my back. But I am a coward to be hiding behind a women's skirts. We are us.

AUGUST 15, 1978 - JOURNAL ENTRY

I spotted Alice in a Greek dinner on 2nd Avenue. I sneaked inside and snatched her pocketbook. Her arm bent and she caught the straps inside her elbow. HShe was more city than I imagined and swore, "You asshole."

I rubbed my hand. I had hurt my fingers on my attempted joke and sat at the table.

"I guess I wasn't cut out to be a purse-snatcher."

"It wasn't funny."

"I was just testing."

I hate test. You know I do."

"I wasn't testing you. I was testing me to see, if I was any good."

"You sucked, but sit down and have some coffee. It's all that I ccan afford."

THE PENULTIMATE SOCIETY

New York City became a metropolis in the 1880s. The gentile class robbed all the money from the immigrant masses happy to have fled persecution in the Old World. They even imagined themselves free.

Nowadays the rbber barons have destroyed the city and are cashing in their century-old chips.

The neglected parks have detiorated to crime wildernesses, the sidewalks are buried in uncollected trash, dog shit paves the streets, and the burst water mains flood the gutters. Squat new condos rise over the detriorating tenements, which had houses the construction workers of the lastd century. Not a single ship is moored to the waterfront docks on the Hudson, populated at night by rats and queers seeking sex. There is no middle-class in the East Village and the creme de le creme elite's quarters of the Upper East Side are protected by the NYPD who act if they had 'shoot to kill' orders from the mayor.

The Soviet Empire and the Red Chinese restlessly await the collpase of Capitalism like the Huns on the Roman Empires borders adn the Turks before Constantinople, although the Russians have been financely bled dry by the Arms Race trying to figure out how to build $10,000 trench shovels and $40,000 toilet seats for strategic bombers. There are none to be found in the Amry-Navy Surplus stores on 42 Street. The Chicom Army hasn't enough mechanizations to transport their troops farther than the frontier and are still licking their wounds after a border was with Vietnam.

There is no threat of revolution from within. Our wage slaves have been infected with addictive drugs and their bodies poisoned by cheap junk food. The White Race has total control of the police and governemtn and army as well as schools and churches, but lacks any urge for equality.

I reject everything. I have no followers, No believers. Bible-Belt Christians pray for the Second Coming of Christ to achieve spiritual rapture and escape the sins of the 1970s; homosexuality, atheism, hedonism, and race mixing. They are too lazy to protect their values and I told Kim about my fears for our freedom.

"They will try and change us back to who we were."

"Most people accept the status quo, because it doesn't chanllnge their way of life; hot dogs, baseball, and White Power. The failure of the struggle is like rolling the perfect bowling bowl and getting a 7-10 split. Getting a spare is almost impossible."

"What about a Civil War?"

"One Civil War was enough." The north barely remembers the battles, even though the impact of those five year has determined our history for over a hundred years. The South refuses to believe in defeat and worships the dead and fallen of Petersburg and Gettysburg as saints.

After ten years of the Vietnam War our country's unity is very fragile. The Right has battered the Working Man with the anti-communistic rants of Joe McCarthy, the corruption of Nixon, the betrayal of democracy with Watergate, the voter repression, and political assassinations of anyone calling for peace or liberty or the pursuit of happiness. Southerners want to secede and many northerners have been brain-wahed into the same mind-set. A national dissolvement fueld by internal dissent and external threats transform America into a giant stature fallen into the sea. The first thousand feet don't hurt, but like the USS Thresher the pressure will collapse steel or stone.

A time for national resurgence is in order, although without the purge of commies, faggots, drug dealers, and poets. THe purge is mandated for the Rich, who have everything to lose. This call for National Unity appeals to my friends; Ro was an immediate recruit to the crusade, but wants it now. It can't be now, becasue none of us have lost everything and no oen will risse until they realize everything they love is gone.