Before recording digitally every waking moment <insert nostalgia sigh here>, some of us wrote things down in a little black book of blank pages–mine started in Chicago in 197_ and ended in 197_. Although I oftentimes missed it and attempted to restart it–it seemed that photographs, work, lovers, friends, living, replaced it. Alright, I lacked discipline. There, I’ve said it.
June 30, 1976 – Wed. New York, New York. Have been here since Sunday. Monday night we went to Maxwell’s Plum for Dinner — it was outstanding. I have seen so much and done so much and enjoyed myself so much — I don’t really want to leave — but I can always come back, can’t I?
Life is so bizarre — before I left on my vacation Jim C. decided that we were no longer to be friends and I suddenly realized how very petty he is and it’s fine with me if doesn’t want my friendship. I was under his control for too long. I imagine that more of him was coming off on me than I wish to concede or even want to admit. Let him go his merry way, castrating himself from other people until he is all alone–an island among the sea and we’ll see how long until he’s destroyed by the sea. How long can loneliness be happiness?
Tonight I’m going to see “Three Penny Opera” [starring Raul Julia] at Lincoln Center — last night we saw David Rabe’s new play “Streamers” directed by Mike Nichols — it was so very good —
July 6, 1976 Tues. — am going home for a week now. Will be nice contrast to New York — in the continuing saga of the aforementioned [trip to NYC] — I saw Tony Perkins in “Equus” — a marvelous piece of acting and a very controlled play. I also saw Marcel Carné’s film — Children of Paradise — the New Yorker magazine says it is the perfect film – they were right. On Sat. afternoon, B. and I saw American Ballet Theatre — Baryshnikov danced Twyla Tharp’s Push Comes to Shove. It was an amazing concept in ballet!
What I didn’t record was that I was in New York for the bicentennial and witnessed the tall ships sail up the Hudson, along with amazing fireworks over the Statue of Liberty — and — that one day during my trip there, R. & I walked from 92nd St. and Broadway all the way downtown to their Morton Street apartment in the West Village. And then, of course, there were the men–Christopher Street was filled with gay men (all with hairy shoulders–which at the time impressed me no end–today, not so much, well, okay, maybe a little.)
July 12, 1976 – Mon —
a dream – walking through slush and snow in New York City wearing black rubber galoshes — come upon Dean R. painting a fire escape, then I meet David B. and we sit and talk and then we walk through Washington Square Park and then into his apartment which is very gypsy-looking, lots of pillows and drapes–almost tent-like–I’m confused as to whether or not I work that night or have a dance class–the dream ends. My dreams at home were terribly erotic and violent — but not in the nightmare sense. I have the ability to dream and remember those dreams.
Flash forward 12 years–M. & I vacation in Puerto Rico/St. Thomas/St. John. There is no journal recording my feelings, just photographs, but they, they completely define the time we spent there. Which is better–journal or photos? For now, looking back–I must rely on both.