Lord I Can’t Escape I Guess I’m Here To Stay
Till Someone Comes Along To Take My Place
With A Different Name And A Different Face
Nov. 2, `70
I didn’t get much sleep last night. I walked the beach and sat on
the deserted fishing pier. When I did sleep, I slept till noon. The
sun was warm when I woke, so I went for another long walk. I felt
much better than I had the night before; I felt different too. Not
different in the usual sense, but really different. After I had time
to think about it, I came to the realization that whatever it was
that I was feeling, the feeling was not going to go away soon. It
wasn’t a bad feeling. If anything, it was a good feeling. As best as
I could tell, something had happened to me when I flipped out in
that car the night before.
A year ago in San Francisco, I half-heartedly attempted suicide. The question, for me, especially when I’m depressed, has been: Had I succeeded would I be better off? “Yes” has always been my answer. Because pleasures fade and die, satisfaction isn’t worth the pain, heartache, and dread that I suffer everyday, especially when I see or hear about the suffering of others. But now, after last night, I
feel different. I feel better. I don’t want to die. I want to live!
Maybe now I can do something with my life. I’m not sure what, but at least living doesn’t seem so absurd!
Tired of walking, reading, and thinking, I made myself a dinner of
sardines and crackers. I had just about finished eating when Iva
showed up. She wanted me to go with her to her college to listen to
some folk musicians. I was more than happy to oblige. The musicians were pretty good, but the one guitar player was excellent. He played Mason Williams’ Classical Glass, and Jefferson Airplane’s Embryonic Journey; both instrumentals are favorites of mine. Afterwords, we went over to Iva’s girlfriend’s apartment. The three of us smoked dope, listened to music, and, after Jolynn went to bed, Iva and I played kissy face on the couch. She made it clear that’s as far as she wanted to go, though. We ended up crashing on the floor.
In the morning we went back to her college where she went to class
and I went to the student union to read. After school, when we
returned to the apartment Jolynn’s roommate, Darlene, was home. She was dressed in a semi-transparent baby doll nightie; only she called it a dress. After a while she changed into slacks and a see-through blouse. She had no reason to be modest. Iva and Jolynn disliked Darlene. It was probably a roommate thing, but Iva did say she was a bit of a vamp. Promiscuous or not, it didn’t bother me. She invited me to stay in her apartment until the cold weather subsided. I wanted to take her up on the offer, but out of respect for Iva I said, “No.” I did manage to get an invitation to spend an additional night at the apartment, however. I was planning on hitching up to Austin to take part in a protest against the Vietnam War, and Darlene said I could start my journey early if, on the night
before the rally, I stayed at her apartment. It would have been rude of me to turn her down, so of course I said, “Yes.” Actually, truth be told, I found myself attracted to Iva’s girlfriend, Jolynn. She was a sweet, tiny, blond, and she was peculiar in that she struck me as the most innocent human being I had ever had the pleasure of knowing.