[Passage from my journal, 30 August 1974]
About 3:00 pm PDT—Somewhere near the ocean and Yachats Oregon. I’m waiting here on a juvenile-sandy shelf with R and F, TJ, J, [the dogs] Thaddeus and Tekla for smelt to come in. Little happens. Tekla digs a hole. Gray sky and gray ocean. A seal in the water, people on the shore. Birds flocking on rocks off the shore. Waval Islands—what would you call rocks that were islands when the waves come up and not when they went back? Yahweh placed the sand as a barrier for the sea—though the waves toss, they can not go past it, though they roar they cannot prevail. Seals.
Afternoon still—No seals. Melted rocks. (I am at (in front of—well, not exactly, I’m in front of Curl Harbor) the store). Illogic speaks louder than words. Christine (TJ’s friend) hath departed for regions unknown (a.k.a. San Francisco). She is not where we left her—hence, she presumably got a ride.
Clem is to die by starvation—starve is the original English word for to die—clem is also a carny term for fight with the townspeople. Clem is melc backwords. Backwards, Towards, Eastwards, Upwards, Clockwards, Clockwise, Likewise, Wordwise.
Later—Iguana talk. J and the bible. At some point I showered. I crashed around seven in the morning.
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