When I journal sometimes I write the dreams down. It is what it is; I was 38 years old. Adults only.

The phone rings. Would I like to join two other musicians for a trip north to play at a festival in Washington State? Of course I would, these New Zealand guitar strummers are driving me crazy — too much “I’ll cut my hair short and go off to war with you Johnny” ballads and “fol de rol derry down derry.” The phone line is foul, somewhere a phone booth is burning up. Puppylove dog is dancing with a deer, up on their hind legs, round and round. The deer has flowers on its back, the kids have tamed it for a pet. Wild children will tame the wind. They are so lovely, the dog and the deer. “Hello? Hello? Yes, I’m ready anytime.”

Nicolette left me with the typewriter and never came back, sailed away on a big schooner with Crosby, Stills, and Nash. She doesn’t trust me, or is it her father that doesn’t trust me? When it comes to money everybody’s a poor sport nowadays. When does it come to money anyway? On the sidewalk they’re shearing a sheep. It’s tall and skinny like a giraffe, with a pink ribbon here and there. I know I’m a fool, but we’ll all get what we deserve in the end.

In a little Chinese grocery with the last of my money. I’ve been staying with the Newells and I want to contribute something. Might as well be beer for John, now what kind to get? How much is the Budweiser? Half a case for $4. Seems like a lot, 33 cents apiece, but sure, I’ll take it. Wait a minute, John doesn’t like Budweiser. Oh shit, the last time I bought him Budweiser he wouldn’t even drink it. Didn’t I see some Rainier Ale, good ol green death? That stuff’s stronger than shit, he’d love it. The stock boy pulls out case after case of the wrong stuff. Bread, toilet paper, nappies…this is getting to be a drag. Finally, one box has a few beers in it, a pale blue can with a Buddhist design in silver from Thailand, and something from Japan. OK,  how much? Oh hell, where’s he gone now? What time is it anyway? Five minutes to closing I got to hurry. Oh Christ the big hand is moving around like it’s a second hand. What the fuck? Got to get across the Tasman Sea somehow. I guess I’ll build a boat. Let’s see, you break off these plastic parts and they just snap together. You don’t even need glue! 

Here comes the Auckland City Council truck to clean out the culvert. The driver’s got the manual: Chapter 18, Section D, Paragraph 43: “First park the truck as close as possible to the work, put down the stabilizers and warning buoys on both sides of the parked vehicle.” Down comes a big backhoe bucket and neatly uniformed men fill it up with trash, glass and shrub clippings. It’s like sweeping under the bed, nobody ever sees this place. “Shrubs should be cut vertical to the ground and tapered in at the base, with the top cut flat and the edges gently rounded.” Out of sight or not, it’s the cleanest culvert in town. At the water’s edge a house sits sprawling over its tiny foundation. “Yep I built it myself.” It balances there as Bob Dylan says “just like a mattress balances on a bottle of wine.”

Days upon days out there in Walluski. Nobody comes, nobody goes, I think I’m losing touch. Then the sound of wheels in the driveway. I look down and see a small red step van I don’t recognize. A teenaged boy gets out and greets me, somebody from the valley. He’s got a small problem, a pair of runaway girls in Crescent City need a ride to Bozeman, Montana. Great, just what I need, a Mann Act conviction. I don’t have a vehicle. “Sorry man, I can’t help you out.”

What a dump! Missing boards, torn up wallpaper, bits of wood and half-finished projects lying around, dirty dishes, full garbage bags stacked up, broken windows, yard-high weeds in front. I share this place with Holden, we get by, but when I bring a girlfriend around she usually finds some reason to leave fast, just when I’m ready for a little loving. Well, shit. Actually, I’m not worried because real estate prices in Astoria are skyrocketing and we’ll make a fortune on this place. Life is too short to be cleaning house all the time.

Ah the fast life, bopping around the big city, racing around on yachts. All the beautiful people. Driving somebody else’s car, it just wants to go and go. I have to slam on the brakes just to stay under the speed limit. Now that I’m in with the in crowd I get to see my Sabrina. She’s 19, well-heeled, a bit tough around the edges, looking slightly used and seedy but self-sufficient. She’s wearing a top that’s short and doesn’t fasten in the front, so that when she raises her arms I can see her little apple breasts. We have a pleasant conversation and don’t really say anything. Life is a hustle, and there’s no time to fool around. Bangs and eye makeup, the body in its prime, the mind washing dishes, and the soul taking a nap. Then it’s on to Hiscock Motors, all plate glass and neon plastic.

Michael Hurley is living upriver somewhere, and I manage to book him into the Lewis & Clark Civic Theatre for a one-night-only concert. Wow, I’m really stoked. I pull up to the theatre in the afternoon to get ready. It was supposed to be the week before, but Hurley was too drunk, and there was some other problem on our end. The stage is pretty big, like the ones at the College, some conga drums, a grand piano, and a synthesizer. I want to get somebody to clear the marquee and put up Hurley’s name, but Pierce won’t do it. I tell him: “Tonight could be a complete bust, or it could be an incredible evening.” He still doesn’t want to do it. Somebody drops the curtain and starts fooling around with it. I start bellowing so loud it wakes me up. 

Too bad, I miss the concert, but now it’s the Democratic convention, and it’s a Kiwi-style circus with everybody running around representing some disadvantaged faction or other. Charles is some kind of official delegate. There is a fat black man in his late 30s walking around looking for a job. He tells me he has a master’s degree in obfuscation and, although a bit older than most of the delegates, can bullshit with the best of them. I tell him that the California delegation has just arrived, and they seem to have quite a bit of money. He ends up working with Charles and sharing his stipend. They also hire a bespectacled but quite attractive Norwegian lady with beautiful legs straight from Vulcan Lane. Engineering an entire society is a complicated business! 

Another goddamn night sleeping in the front seat of the goddamn Datsun. In the morning I have to sit for an exam at the hospital. They make me climb up a goddamn tree so somebody can draw a portrait of me looking like a goddamn monkey.

At last I find myself in bed with a woman. I put my hand on her waist and caress her gently through the sheet. She responds not at all, it’s as if we were sharing the bed like you’d share a table in a crowded lunchroom, politely ignoring each other. I jostle her a bit to get her legs apart, and smearing her pussy with baby oil I say, “Excuse me,” as I slide right in. It feels so good. Why does she not respond? As I climax quietly she mutters “Do you come here often?” I grab a ride with a volatile young man and his girlfriend. I ride in the back seat. Suddenly I realize that my fiddle is missing and so is my test paper. We search the car to no avail. The young man is turning nasty. I must have left it at the restaurant where I went with Harlow. I’d nibbled off other people’s plates and then as they were closing I negotiated a special deal on what they had left: snow peas on toast. Delicious.

Out to sea with the Ring family, I got us a guitar and then lost it. We make land-fall in a place where I find my brother living in a cheap hotel room full of dogs. We go to the movies, and as usual I lose my clothes and have to run home.  Samoan Joe fishes the nearby river that runs through this fairly big city. His boat has a lot of heavy machinery on it. I stop off to visit the Leopold family, who keep a pretty fancy house. I need a shower, but I can’t seem to get one. Finally, I get cornered by a horse with long dog teeth and I have to holler for help. The horse turns into a woman. Rocinante goes sailing after Hoolihan leaves his garbage on my boat, including a soggy pack of Camels, but the sonofabitch keeps my red shorts, so I go for a fun hike with Lena and Nettie. Down the trail we come to a bad corner with loose rocks. I struggle with a big boulder that finally goes crashing down, narrowly missing someone below. Then an elevator comes up to fetch us, and I ride down the cliff-face clinging to the outside.