[Passage from my journal, Sunday 7 September 1975]
8:22pm PDT (livingroom)—(cloudy, 2) For some unknown reason I’m nervous, apprehensive, jumpy. I feel imminent expectation of flying saucers, unknown Things, Huge Face or Eye in the Sky, strange creatures from the forest.
The wind is up slightly outside. It was cloudy today; it’s been hot the last couple of days.
Lights seem to shift in brightness—I’m also suffering from abrupt sensations of falling. Otherwise (unless you count flashes of depression) normal, whatever that may be.
Events are getting too fucking improbable. All right: on thursday the telephone man comes and the man to repossess the car. On friday Tekla has puppies, and we get a strange communication from the employment people. Saturday R’s check doesn’t come. Sunday the stair light which has been here since we moved in (I believe) burns out. Monday I’m visited by Saucer People who tell my fortune, tuesday Thaddeus has puppies, wednesday the house sale is declared fraudulent by angry owner, thursday Ruby [the cat] has puppies, and so it goes.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Diamonds and Rust (Joan Baez).
I’m rererereading The Scholar Adventurers. I sometimes picture some industrious scholar of (say) 2043 running down this journal in search of valuable information. His comments read: sbh’s Diary (or “journal” as he called it) consists of twenty-seven looseleaf binders, most bearing names of well known electrical companies of the time, containing notes covering the period from March 1966 to April 1984, with large gaps. Most of this is unintelligible, due to the author’s habits of obscure abbreviations, and omissions of everything of interest. Even in a family noted for self-centeredness sbh stands out in that he succeeds in telling us nothing of importance about his famous brothers. Nowhere is this failing clearer than in the ...
KZEL is off the air. Why?