April 15, 1978

Last night Ann and I saw a series on one-act plays at the Ensemble Theater.

Teenage pregnancy, abortion, and bag ladies were the themes.

She was angry with my thinking that they were shit.

We went to visit the Davis girls on Bleecker Street.

It was Kyle's birthday, but she was sick from drinking.

Ann was still mad, but let me sleep over her place.

"I've decided on your ultimatum."

Ann needs theater people around her.

She wants me as I want her.

I tell her I'll cool out and help her however I can.

I fall asleep in my jeans, tee-shirt, and sox.

Ann is in her night gown.

The sheets separate our bodies.

We sleep, but I wake in the middle of the night covered in sweat, asking myself, "Why am I such an asshole?"

Only one answer.

I'm scared of losing Ann.

But stifling her freedom does neither of us any good.

April 13, 1978

The first entry in this journal. I shall ignore the trivial past, since that has already been buried by tens of thousands of words and I don't see any benefit to disinterring them from their grave.

LATER

Sitting in Blimpie's on the corner of 11th and 6th Avenue.

Across the street is Trude Heller's. Supposedly Barry and the Remains were the house band in the 60s. My friend, James Spicer, called the owner 'the ugliest woman on 6th Avenue. He wouldn't say why he felt that way. I've never been inside or ever heard music coming from the rock disco.

Probably never will.

I eat a sandwich hoping to shake off a MDA hang-over.

LATER

At Dojo's on St. Mark's.

MY body is shot.

Last night I grew intensely jealous of the time Ann spent at the Ensemble Theater and I mind-gamed her, saying, "Maybe we should just be friends."

EVEN LATER

I ran into Mark Amitin on 3rd Avenue.

He took one look at my leather outfit with pointy toed shoes and said, "You're a white nigger."

I took it as a compliment.

Different people see me in different ways.

I am not a legal person.

I am white, which is a good disguise whenever the police see me.

Whites get a break from the cops.

They pack the jails and prison with Africanos, Latinos, and any one of color.

If an officer were to point a finger at a white man and ask, "Was it him?

"The victim would have doubts.

Especially really white people.

Then again I'm no real criminal.

Just a punk.

LATER

Screaming runs the man Screaming Down the tiled tunnel Fast. His screams are without words He alone understands them And their echoes off the tiled walls.

More bad poetry

LATER

People are returning from spring holidays.

Tanned.

Some ask, "What are you doing for the summer?"

I have no plans.

I have no money.

No way to get to the West Coasts or Europe or even Cleveland.

LATER

The Upper East Side is where the money is in this city; home to bankers, fashion boutiques, art galleries, and mansions.

I know none of them.

Just the Southern boys living over Serendipity 3.

May 6, 1978 - Journal Entry

I am stuffing myself with garbage food. I have a little money in my pocket, so I'm making up for lost time when I was broke. After paying off my prodigal debts, I have $150 in my pocket, almost a month's rent at the SRO, but there's no guarantee of more money in the future.

LATER

I've just beaten-off. I could have fucked Christine M, who came over my room to smoke a joint, but I begged off and she left angry. The telephone down the SRO hallway keeps ringing. The caller must be stupid. These rooms are small. If someone doesn't answer the phone, it's because they have a good reason.

I sit at the desk with paper and pen. I stare out the window. The alley is sunlit. Not a single word can I write on a blank sheet of paper. I turn to this journal. I've been writing in them for over three years. Every word meaning nothing, but I am content for the moment.

Ann is in love with me. I have money in my pocket, I'm young and healthy, but my armpits stink. Is that a sign of decay?

LATER

I ran into William Lively on Christopher Street. We visit Ro at David's Potbelly. Like him she attended NC School of the Arts.

"That's a surprise to see the two of you together. Two different worlds, but Peter is an expert of traveling between world. First Andy, then Kirk, and now you. Who knows where you'll end up."

I warned her about my upcoming birthday party.

"I'll try and come."

"I understand if you don't."

She looked very tired.

William and I left for a stroll along West Street. I sieg-heiled the cruising leather boys. I have interest in that game. They were angry at me and I responded, "You and your leather are the height of Nazi fashion."

William laughed.

He doesn't have the S&M itch, but he does want me.

LATER

Blood pounds, as he forces the door An easy job The thrill of invasion plus the satisfaction of booty Ah, theifdom the rue of no one.

LATER

After I recite this poem to William, he says, "Tim got robbed again."

"It wasn't me." I hadn't been to their apartment in weeks.

"I know. Tim doesn't lock the door. All his tricks know that."

"Serves them right." I'm still pissed about their accusing me of robbing them.

"When of course it was their our friend, Andy Reese.