sun 06 sep 1992 12:00:00 salem, ma
the kind of horn a motorcycle has, scratch and bleaty not like a blaring. the ivy on my building has grown up right across the windowscreen — i suppose maybe in another couple months (without the intervention of cold weather) it would cover the window utterly. i just heard d blurt something out in her sleep — she and suzanne d are asleep in the living room. i persuaded them we should all sleep there because otherwise they would never get to bed at all. they talk all the time. it's as if they need to talk to make up for years of not talking to each other enough. since we've moved here d has been missing the close friends she used to have in buffalo. maybe it has to do with the fact that the teachers she works with are mostly older. then on the other hand, most of our contemporaries are older anyway, having families to occupy their time. you just can't expect everybody to be in their twenties again just because you're new in town.
to our crazy party last night came ben from brookline, chris and francine from brighton, david from upstairs, sue b and her george from ipswich (?), ann and peter from brooklyn — did i miss anybody? ben was taking photos with his view camera and some lights.
francine is from caracas and is 31, looks like she's in her early twenties though. she's very beautiful and kinda small. she and chris are normally very quiet. sometimes you can get them talking. i say that because it wasn't until quite late in the evening that i even realized that francine actually has an accent. just before they left, d was talking to her in spanish. her whole family, she said, is still in caracas. she came to boston to go to emerson!
i'd called downstairs and put a message on zack's machine inviting him but i think he was out of town.
chris is doing some interactive work for peace river films, and claims they are so disorganized as to make chedd-angier look like a tight ship.
when i woke up this morning — too early really — i had the “hot pipes” as d would say. the incredible urge to drink coca-cola. nothing hurt, but i felt kinda bloated. since nobody else was really awake yet (although d and sue were still kinda talking to each other even though they were not committed to be awake) i sat reading a magazine article about sandra bernhardt. then i finished reading samuel delaney's dhalgren — a book i have been reading for about fifteen years and never finished until today. it ends rather badly, as if the author just got really tired of writing the damn thing, and started skipping stuff and doing crazy things to punish you at the end. i would rather have been rewarded after all that work. some parts of the book were quite good.
the way it sounds when a woman you don't know that well is taking a shower in your apartment. there's something sexy about it. just the way the water is running, and the situation.
a man walks down the street outside, whistling.