MAY 27, 1978 THE VILLAGE JOURNAL ENTRY

An incredible quadruple Gemini birthday party at Kim and Kyle Davis' apartment on Bleecker Street. Sean Hausman, Eric Goode, and Kim had hung blue and white balloons overhead. They had plastered xeroxed fotos of the four natal celebrants on the wall and illuminated the living room with a modulating blue lights. Punk and funk music. Beer and bourbon. Tons of people.

A ballerina said, "I saw you on 42nd Street. You entered a peep show. Do you like porno? Would you like to see me naked?"

"Yes."

By the bathroom door Alice entertained lithe lesbian actresses about the poetry police. It was a funny spiel, but I had heard it a couple of times. Normally as she started to get drunk. The ballerina led me out of the apartment in a slow motion pas de deux into the stair well. Her name is Dove. She tells me to keep my distance. I nodded, although my hands wanted to rip off her dress. She smiled at my distress and peeled the dress off her shoulders, as if under George Balanchine's direction. It fell to her feet. Her body was emaciated by dance, revealing every sinew, muscle, and bone.

"My name is Dove. One day if we're lucky, we will fuck." Her hand drifted elegantly to her crotch and rubbed her labia, then licked her fingertips. She didn't offer them to me and I realized she was baiting me to take her against her will. It wasn't the first time a woman to misinterpret my innate propensity for violence as sexual.

"Like you said. Not tonight."

I returned to the party.

ANARCHY IN THE UK blasted on the stereo. Kyle chatted with Billy Flicker from Television. She is so in love with him and couldn't be happier with his attention solely hers.

Excessive enters and shouts, "Now the party begins."

I love him. He starts an argument with a bassist from the Testors. I step in.

"It's a party and if anyone is going to start a brawl, it's me. I'm one of the birthday people."

We spoke for a few minutes and somehow I diverted the two of us into a ballad of loneliness.

"Oh, wow. Not easy to be alone with this many people here for your birthday."

"Easier than you think."

I went over to Alice.

"Ignore me."

She drank a slug for 101 proof Bourbon, then silked away to hillbilly dance with Barbara, returning to the bathroom to extoll the virtues of hard drinking to those waiting for a piss. She was very funny. even the partygoers inside the toilet laughed at her humor.

Kim gets drunk with Marc Stevens, Mr 10 1/2 of porno fame. He whispers he wants to talk with me.

"Later." I glanced at his crotch and he smiled like to say it's all there.

Patrick shows up with a bottle of bourbon. I don't know how it became the drink of the party. He hands me a manifesto for the National Resurgence Party, which I promptly lose.

Ro shows up. I'm too drunk to form sentences. We score some speed, but Steve Forber steals half. Cyrena get her photo taken by Sean and his father. Roz shows as does William Lively and Andy Reese, then Clover. Alone, Blonde, Young. We spoke in the hallway, "I haven't been avoiding you. My Texan sponsor is in town. He leaves tomorrow."

Amos, Kim's love, is drunk and leans against the wall supported by wobbly knees.

Ann makes out with Excessive, who pukes and I have to sober him up in the kitchen with a bump of speed. Bruce and Lewis enter with gifts of a tie and hankercheif. Klaus comes with Claudia. Dark and mysterious in leather. I say nothing to her. Little John is drunk.

Kim's Greenwich friends become invisible. The bourbon has blurred everyone's vision and stripped away their inhibitions to the bone. It is the height of the Sexual Revolution and we are all rebels with a cause of flesh to flesh. Rhonda makes move on Alice. Anthony stands close as a voyeur, wishing he had been camera back from the repair shop. I speak to Sean about film and anarchy. Markey from the Ghosts has not stop dancing. Sweat flies off his body to UP BONDAGE UP YOURS. Rick Danger loses his leather jacket. Someone stole it. Marc invites me over to his apartment for some blow. He takes out his cock. Long and thick and not hard at all.

"Touch it, " he says, as if it was a pet snake.

His girlfriend, Jill Monro, enters the apartment.

We do some more lines and she hefts his limp cock.

"He does blow and he's useless in bed. Sweet, but useless."

I go back to the party. Eric is making out with a girl whose name I can't recall. It is not Alice.

"How big was it?" Klaus asks licking his lips.

"Go over and ask. I'm sure he'll show it to you."

He brings Andy Reese with him.

Clover and I kiss in the stairwell.

"One day you and me."

"What about now?" I know she wants me to have my way with her.

"One day."

Not tonight.

Alice hasn't spoke a word to me in hours. She's kissing one of the Greenwich girls.

The lights go out. A blown fuse. We light candles The beer runs out, so does the ice. We find R&B music on a transistor radio. We have plenty of bourbon. Creeps from CBGBs arrived at the door. I tell them to fuck off. William Lively cries when I refuse him. People puke over the railing in groups of two and three. Cyrena leaves with someone other than Sean. Alice is out cold on the couch. Kim and Amos are on the floor. There is no sign of Kyle or Billy. I bring back Alice to her sublet. I put her to bed and she slurs, "I wish you were David Bowie."

I did too and walk back to my SRO room on West 11th Street.

All and all it was a great party. .

May 11, 1978 III - East Village - Journal

Last night Alice and I smoked opium in my SRO on East 11th an 5th. I had scored the O from Fred, my neighbor, a queen who collects Nazi memorabilia. He even has a human skin lamp and a SS female uniform whihc fits his girth. Fat she was no ELSA SHEWOLF OF THE SS. A total slave in the Toilet by the Hudson.

In my room with a wndow on the airshaft ee got undressed into our underwear. Alice taking off her bra and slipping into a small wife beater teeshirt. We chase the dragon on tinfoil. She was wasted after a single huff. It was strong. This was my third time. It wasn't hashish,

"I love the smell. Like we were lost in Hong Kong. Smoke some more."

I played a match under the foil. the brown tar bubbled spewing white smoke. I exhaled in Alice's face. She moaned and said, "Fuck me."

I didn't think she knew where she was or who I was. Lost in a narcotic dream. She passed out a minute later, my hard cock inside her. I masturbated without cumming and joined her in lotus land naked, our limbs intertwined.

Dreams melted through the stupor. Naked with John Holmes trying to push his cock in my ass. And Alice trying to help him. I woke and pushed Alice away from me, her finger in my anus. I liked it. She sniffed her finger without making a face.

"What is it?"

I had a bad dream. I told her about getting fucke up the ass.

"You poor darling."

She fingered my ass.

We lay together the thigh between mine her stomach pressed him on we went back to sleep

Right before noon I woke and we fucked. I came. Alice did not.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. When I was young, one of my boyfriends left me, because all I wanted was sex. Sorry, now I'm not even interested. I don't mind you fucking me. I don't know why I don't want to come. Sometimes I just want you to fuck me."

When she does, she lies like a dead person or a starfish and I fake cumming. I want to say it's because she's so worried about her school about graduation her play her weight these worries prevent her from enjoying herself, uncomfortable with who she is and sometimes she asks for advice with her play, but when I try and say something she shuts me down, saying that's stupid or I can't work with you just huffing.

Later she left for the theater. That evening we were on the phone about how spending too much time together it spoils our appetite for each other

"I have to finish my school work. I like waking up with you at your place. It leaves me feeling that I have abandone everything. I'm so disorganized this time of year and I have to finish so much."

I agreed, but suggesting we spend less time together. Usually the sign breaking up.

Later that night in an elevator in my building after I push the fifth floor button she asked, "This is a hypothetical question but how would you feel if I left you."

"I wouldn't do anything drastic."

So it seems as if the wait for her departure has been paved. Alice only needs me as a friend and protector and fucker, until she leaves for Appalachia, but I thought, "You'll be back."

However I'm beginning to doubt that one must be prepared to soften the shock of an amputation of a romance. A nice affair, but nothing's really occurred besides my falling in Love. Funny how life slips between highs and lows without any advanced notice, but then we would be no better than a pet dog knowing what time we're going to be fed or petted or killed. The unexpectancy of life has meant leaving so many people.

The high school quarterback, the cheerleaders, the student presidents, College big men on campus, all of them mean nothing now in New York City. I was nothing to them, when I was young. Think to them now too. I doubt any of them remember me. I was always alone. I feel strong. No threats no fears being scared will never come back. Never having to worry about how people see me or when Alice ask me, "Why don't you smile?"

True, I grin, instead of laugh. Smiling? I wish I could, but smiling feels too much like accepting them world around me. Satisfied as I leave childhood and become an adult unlike Peter Pan

I will never grow up.

I have no innocence . I will not regain virginity. To have no creative skills. Writing in this journal delaying realization that an artist cannot be swayed desires to be somebody.

Later

I was in Cornelius Street Cafe with Alice, Kim, Amos, and Serena, Sean's wannabe girlfriend. We are planning the four Gemini party. Amos, Kim, Serena, and me. Atkins Bleecker Street apartment. We have given out over 100 invitations at CBGB's and Easats Village bars and restaurants.

My back was to the door, which I never like. Always worried that someone with whom I had a fight they hit me in the back of the head like Jack McCall shooting Wild Bill Hitchcock in Deadwood, while he was holding the dead man's hand.

Two fingers poke me in the back in the mystery voice said, "What are you doing here?"

It was Ro and I wanted to protect myself look and she looked very vulnerable since coming back from Paris. Our past barely crossed with chance meetings rarely lasting more than a minute.

Alice scolded me, "You never introduced me to anyone."

"Ro, this is Alice."

I said without explaining who was who. Basically wanted to shield her from knowing that I had been in love with Ro. Maybe even not now but maybe yes.

"We're planning a birthday Party."

"Am I invited?"

"Of course/ I'll call you later. You have the same telephone number right. 255-3035.

An old man pulled on her jacket. The two of them left. They didn't look like lovers. I said nothing and then Alice leaned over and asked, "Are you thinking of fucking her?"

"No, I have you."

Kim ever mischievous asked, "Who was that? The next fuck of yours."

"Who isn't?"

Chemistry more than a few alliances set a word to Alice. I've never said a word about hers. In many ways they only exist for sex to be shared fucking someone else.

Marooned in the city Seeking exits Once disguised As walls To stand on the shore of an Eastern ocean Seeing Atlantis Beneath the waves He deserts the city To wade in the tide.

Later

Raphaela, the owner's wife blows me in the bathroom.

Journal Entry - January 1, 1978

Death to 1977

Onto a year of 78 RPM.

It's snowing and I'm watching the Broncos beat the Raiders. 20-17.

Last night at 27th Street was weird. I hit on Alta. We made up and dry-humped in a dark corner. THe stripper begged off fucking. I accepted her no, got drunk, puked outside, and sobered up enough to last the rest of the night. Death to disco.

I've always said, "All I need is food and shelter."

Here in New York I eat foreign foods, mostly pizza and falafel sandwiches and live at a SRO hotel on West 11th Street off 5th Avenue. My 10' by 10' by 8' room has linoleum floors, a small bed, a sink, and white walls. $40/week. An imperfect cube located in a good neighborhood. What else can I do, except work as a busboy and rock out at CBGBs, where youth is eternal, the nights run long, and "Do anything you want to do."

My job at Serendipity sucks, but I love my fellow queer waiters and busboys. It also provide constant cash for a punk lifestyle in a blown-out city. The 60s were a time of no limits, while the 70s have borders on people like us, who fled the rest of America, and I foresee the 80s as a time of increasing corporate fascism with fear stealing people of their identity as humans. Most Americans think, "Who cares as long as I can eat potato chips?"

"But there are two more years left in the 70s. Romantically I deal with illusions and hope for fantasies to become real, but Ro left to Paris the day I came here in May, although I recently overheard Andy Reese say to Frank Holiday, "Ro is in Greensboro. I really like her."

"Are she and Kirk going to get married," Frank asked, while I shivered silently with shock.

"They are pretty heavy." Andy answered, looking for my reaction. He is such a nasty queen.

I showed none, but earlier I called Andy Kornfeld, who had read my unmailed letters to her and laughed, "You can throw away those letters. She probably has thousands from other failed lovers. You just have to understand she hates men, because of an ex-lover, who wasn't you. She was like that when I met her long ago."

Our affair meant nothing to her and left me with scar tissue on my heart. I was nothing to her other than a body in a bed, and my hopes were an exaggeration of my desires.

On other fronts Fran Malin remains in Brooklyn. I haven't been avoiding her, but she lives across the East River and she is a little insane. She might have feelings for me, but can't leave her boyfriend for good. Once when we were having sex, he knocked on the door.

"Fran, I know you're in there."

"Say nothing and don't stop fucking me," she whispered locking her legs around my knees.

I stayed hard as she moaned breathlessly, humping in synch with her boyfriend's knocking.

Libby has disappeared into New York. I wonder where she is.

Two days ago Tim Dunleavy told me, "Alice gave me a present for you. and it looks like a good one."

What could it be?

Will Alice come to New York again?

We met at a birthday party for Janet Stephenson, who I was seeing at the time. I left with Alice and her friend and had sex with both of them in a Upper East Side townhouse's unheated pool. I think of her more as a companion than a consort and when she left to go back to college, "I always feel physically responsibly to anyone who spends money on me."

I had only paid the taxi.

Was that the sole reason for fucking me?

A LITTLE LATER

Today I went to Jimmy Day's, Blimpie's, Solo's on 52nd Street, Cowwboy's on 53rd, The Plaza Cafe, Dazzel on the West Side, back to Jimmy Days, to a closed Max's Kansas City, over to Broadway Charlies, CBGBs, and One-Fifth and finally to crash at my SRO room

A wasted evening.

No women or friends.

I called Alice long distance from a phone booth.

No answer.

Ann's gift was a sarcastic note and William Goldman's MAGIC, which has too much dialogue to be a novel, but not a movie script.

1977 is over for good.

It's 1978 minus one.

September 3, 1978 - Journal

After CBGBs Alice and I accompany Guadacanal and his frail from DC to his place. At the bar Aice drinks bourbon with Kim. Various girls flirt with me at the pinball machine. Alice is a little drunka dn I guide her along the sidewalk. We sit at the kitchen table. Alice slips onto the floor. Everyone laughs, as she says her bones have melted to butter. I lay her on a sofa and Guadacanal breaks out an ounce of blow and we huffed thick rails, almost like we have a death wish. His grilfriend joins Alice. We stay at it, then he huffs a finger thick line, coughs and flops on the floor. Not breathing. I thump on his chest. He coughs and vomits on himself. I slap his face. Nothing. Two comatose kittens on the sofa. A dying man on the floor. I lift the phone. No dial tone. Guadacanal's breathing is shallow and getting ready for a flatline. I toss him over my shoulder, grab the keys, and hurry to 1st Avenue to hail a taxi.

"Bellevue."

I throw him a twenty.

"Fast."

It's almost five. Traffic is light. Still dark. No pedestrians. Five mintues later we're in the ER. Doctors ask questions. I tell the truth. They know it before I say it. My friend is swept into a recovery bed. The doctors and nurses see ODs all the time. Guadacanal will be fine. I return to his apartment. The DC girl is gone and I wrestle Alice home to East 10th Street and tuck her into bed.

I can't sleep.

At noon Alice wakes, surprised to find herself in the apartment.

"I had a dream I was in Morgantown with my brother. I want to go to open spaces. I need the country."

It's a sunny day. I still haven't slept.

I had visited her grandmother's house there. It was haunted. Two days of rain. Water dripping inside the house. A cold damp in the middle of the summer. I had felt trapped by the weather and the mountains and hollows. Almost as if there was no where to run, but Alice had escape to the Easts Village inspried by the NY Dolls LP with them standing in glam gear before the Gem Spa.

"New York has gotten to me."

I said nothing about Guadacanal's OD. I could have been him. I doubt he had been in any condition to carry down the street.

"I want to go somewhere."

"It's Labor Day weekend." eevryone in New York is leaving the city, but us and everyone we know. All I want is a hot dog from a BBQ. Instead outside the streets are steamy and garbage line the sidewalks, mostly because there are not enough trashmen, since the President told the city to go fuck itself two years ago adn the sanitation workers went on strike to protest the layoffs. It was either money for the police or trash. The police won out. Torist remark on the swirling trash. The cops raid drug dens. None of the middle class feel safe. I'm not scared and Alice is brave. This is our city. Nothing is going to get better soon. But swe aren't asking for better.

September 24, 1978 - Journal Entry - East Village

The Red Sox are a game out of first with six games to go.

Few people in our scene care about sports, although Guadalcanal is a die-heard Yankees fan. They suck this year.

Last night I went to party with Grant at Stan's and ran into Vickie, a skinny blonde with a stutter. I have one too and we discussed our speech difficulties. I moved a little closer to hear her better and she stammered, "I-I-I'm asexual."

"Oh."

"My friend Jessie thinks asexuality is a disease." Vickie was wearing a tight white sweater and a half-inch of make-up

That's stupid." Vickie was a poetress. I loved her reading with distorted speech.

"I told him the same. I'm not that primitive." I couldn't tell Vickie that I'm attracted to androgynous women.

"You're the same as all men. You'd fuck a hole in a tree.

Vickie walked away to speak with her friends. None of them were asexual.

"No luck." Grant was always curious about my sex life. Queers were like that.

"We were just talking."

"T-t-t-talking?"

Don't make fun of our speech."

Sorry, I was joking."

It's not a joke."

So you got shoot down?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go to CBGBs."

Who was playing didn't matter. We all loved CBs and I had no problem with being shoot down, but when I left the party, Vickie broke from her friends and asked, "Can I go to CBGBs with you. I won't h-h-hang on you."

"No worries." Just because she was asexual didn't mean I couldn't be a gentleman.

"Thanks, my friends are assholes.

"Sure, but I have other places to go first."

On the way I stopped at One University Place, Mickey Ruskin's new restaurant next to Washington Square. The front bar was packed with arty assholes. The line for the new pinball game was long, so I told Vickie, "Let's go

"A greasy foreign meatball in a three-piece suit clutched her arm. He was drunk He was with friends. I had drunk heavy at the party and chopped on the guy's forearm, freeing Vickie. Grant tried to calm the situation, but the meatball poked my chest and said, "Don't get tough with me."

His accent might have been French. I had taken it in grammar school at Our Lady of the Fotthills. Grant motioned with his head for the door. Vickie was already on her way out. I should have left without a word, except I'm from the south Shore of Boston and said, "I don't have time to waste of fools like you."

"Fool? You call me a fool. Who are you?"

"Normally I would have japped him now, but I wasn't wearing my glasses and said, "This is America, not France. We don't need your type here."

"I'm not French. I am Spanish."

Mickie came over to us. Two bouncers backed him up and he and asked, "What's the problem here?"

"This foreigner is out of line, but we're leaving."

"Then leave." The three of us walked to CBGBs in silence. At least I was silent. Vickie vanished once I got us comped for entry. Her friends seemed the same as the ones left at the party, but they weren't the same, just not different from the others.

Kim Davis whispered in my ear, "You came here with Vickie here? You know what Alice thinks of that. She;'s worried about you getting a disease."

"Firstly Vickie's asexual."

"She is?" Kim's regard for the scrawny blonde climbed a few steps.

"Yes, and cool out, I'm only sleeping with Alice no matter what she thinks." It was a lie, but one she unlike Alice was willing to believe.

I ended up reading karen Crystal's palm.

"You suffer from incredible angst." Her marriage with Hilly had been over nine years, but they were still partners in the bar. Her only job in the place is to stop us from smoking weed. "What make you think you can smoke in here? This isn't no methadone clinic."

Onbviousy she had never been to the dressing home, which seconded for a shooting gallery. Me, I wasn't into skag. I liked my drink. " My love for Alice overcomes my lust, although she said to me this morning, "I'm so scared when you go out alone at night. I worry about you getting a disease.