After count, prison is like dumping a lb of sugar on an ant hill, pure chaos. Imagine alphabetizing yr mother’s underwear. Pure strange. It’s freezing here and I’m reading Capote by Gerald Clarke. What a brilliant writer/life. Capote that is. Clarke writes a solid book but Truman is a gas. Can you imagine he & Tennessee Williams sitting around and drinking or just traveling the high seas with “that” crowd. Anyway, that life read in here is so dreamy such a marvelous escape. When I was reading the Ginsberg bio I was dragging my feet. It’s as if I didn’t come to the end he wouldn’t be dead but not it’s alright. Just another fact of.
I got moved Monday. Why don’t know about 20 +. I was as you might remember across from program 3 which are the guys straight from seg. But Slim didn’t want to move and I didn’t care so we stayed & got moved anyway. I’m in the front yard. Major adjustment. No toilet in my cell. I kept getting up and peeing in the corner. ( just kidding). This more of ½ house/crazy bin. Very low-key. Quiet as hell. Guys are cool. Remember Rick from way back? He’s here so we asked to cell up, perhaps Tuesday. Rick is the reason, like Aaron, why I get pissed in here. They both are aware of their actions, both considerate, looking out while so many of these inmates can’t see the forest thru the trees. So I’m here with Rick, Mike & ole Frankenstein. Cool, cool. I get to see Aaron at leather and when we bead. Bittersweet. The great thing is that we actually get along. Don’t look that gift horse in the mouth. Got a desk in here & window that opens. When I saw Kelly last Saturday I mentioned a guy cutting himself with a soda can & she was like, “you can have soda?”. Yeah, this ain’t medieval England. It’s prison not the dark ages. In here they want you to be accountable. Work on identifying & hopefully “changing” your “bad/anti-social” behavior. First day here Rick introduces me to a bud. We talk and I blahh my crime. We talk, laugh at my stupidness. Today Rick tells me another bud asked about my crime. He knew. Word gets around. It’s what I want. Use the system that’s in place. Less introductions. Be blunt. Lay it out. Lay it down. Brother. So it goes. So we go.
Got my first issue of Vogue. Yep, here I am reading Vogue. Is that queer or what? Smells great & reminds what it was what it can be…the torture. Got some letters. Need to catch up. Don’t panic. We’re getting out some poetry, BARREN, poise swill. A SERIES OF # LITTLE POEMS. Kelly will get them all run. You can get a copy for postage $$, ok? Probably $3. I’ll leave it all up to K, ok.
Turning 50 next month. My brother Mark wants to visit with his sons. I think it’s great but I don’t want them to feel bad. Mark suggests bringing Noah. I’m not so sure. It would be amazing but only if…I learned a while back with all my hospital bs that it’s harder for the visitor than the patient. Only once was I truly dying but I had no clue, so in here I’m kind of broken in. Used to it. But if something good can come out of it, sure. A song , a story, a reunion. But no heartbreak. At least not for me. Relatively speaking I have no time. There’s guys in here that watch their children become adults and bring their kids. That sucks. I’m not in that boat.
Getting some books shipped in. Very excited. Want to read The Diving Bell & Butterfly. Julian Schnabel is a God. Love Love his work. His mind. Now there’s someone to piss in your fireplace! & I ant to get, Other Voices, Other Rooms. Capote’s first. I adore his words. My mother always said “Only a fag could write a book like In Cold Blood. Such pain such beauty”. Is true.
Well we lost a few great ones, Mike Goldberg, painter friend of the poets. Sweet guy & Ettore Sottsass. Amazing designer. You might remember my orange typewriter earlier. He designed that. A true sword.