The Captain Is Out to Lunch

10/15/91 12:55 AM

Burned out. A couple night of drinking this week. Got to admit I don't recover as fast as I used to. Best thing about being tired is that you don't come out (in the writing) with any wild and dizzy proclamations. Not that that is bad unless it becomes habitual. The first thing writing should do is save your own ass. If it does this, then it will be automatically juicy, entertaining.

Writer I know is phoning people telling them that he types 5 hours a night. I imagine that we are supposed to marvel at this. Of course, do I have to tell you? What matters is what he is typing. I wonder if he counts his telephone time as part of this 5 hours of typing?

I can type from one to 4 hours but the 4th hour, somehow, tapers away into almost nothing. Knew a guy once who told me, “We fucked all night.” It's not the same fellow who types 5 hours a night. But they've meet each other. Maybe they ought to take turns, switch off. The guy who typed 5 hours get to fuck all night and the guy who fucked all night gets to type 5 hours. Or maybe they can fuck each other while somebody else types. Not me, please. Have the woman do it. If there is one…

Hmmm.. you know, I am feeling somewhat goofy tonight. I keep thinking of Maxim Gorky. Why? I don't know. Somehow it seems as if Gorky never really existed. Some writers you can believe were there. Like Turgenev or D.H. Lawrence. Hemingway appears to me to half-and-half. He was really there but he wasn't. But Gorky? He did write some strong thigs. Before the Revolution. Then after the Revolution his writing began to pale. He didn't have much to bitch about. It's like the anti– war protesters, they need a war in order to thrive. There are some who make good living protesting against war. And when there isn't a was they don't know what to do. Like during the Gulf War there was group of writers, poets, they had planned a huge anti-war protest, they were ready with thei poems and speeches. Suddenly the war was over. And the protest was scheduled for a week later. But they didn't call it off. They went ahead with it anyway. Because they wanted to be on stage. They needed it. It was something like an Indian doing a Rain Dance. I myself am anti-war. I was anti-war long ago when it wasn't even a popular, decent and intellectual thing. But I am suspect of the courage and motivations of many of the professional anti-war protesters. From Gorky to this, what? Let the mind roll, who cares?

Another good day at the track. Don't worry, I'm not winning all the money. I usually bet $10 or $20 to win or when it really looks good to me, I'll go $40.

The racetracks further confuse the people. They have 2 fellows on tv before each race and they talk about who they think will win. They show a net loss on each meet. As do all the public handicapppers, tout sheets and race betting services. Even computers can't figure the nags matter how much info is fed into them. Any time you pay somebody to tell you what to do you are going to be a loser. And this includes your psychiatrist, your psychologist, your broker, your workshop teacher and your etc.

There is nothing that teaches you more than regrouping after failure and moving on. Yet most people are stricken with fear. They fear failure so much that they fail. They are too conditioned, too used to being told what to do. It begins with the family, runs through school and goes into the business world.

You see here, I have a couple of good days at the track and suddenly I know everything.

There is a door open into the night and I am sitting here freezing but I won't get up and close the door because these words are running away with me and I like that too much to stop. But damn it, I will. I'll get up and close the door and take a piss.

There, I did it. Both of those things. I even put on a sweater. Old writer pust on sweater, sits down, leers into computer screen and writes about life. How holy can we get? And Christ, did you ever wonder how much piss a man pisses in a lifetime? How much he eats, shits? Tons. Horrible. It's best we die and get out of here, we are poisoning everything with what we expel. Damn the dancing girls, they do it too.

No horses tomorrow. Tuesday is an off day.

I think I'll go downstairs and sit with my wife, look at some dumb tv. I'm either at the track or at this machine. Maybe she's glad of it. Hope so. Well, here I go. I'm a good guy, you know? Down the stairs. It must be strange living with me. It's strange to me.

Good night.