8 - 29 - 91

8/29/91 10:55 PM
slow at the track today
my damned life dangling on the hook
I am there everyday
I dont see anybody else out there every day except the employees
I probably have some malady
Saroyan lost his ass at the track,Fante at poker,Dostoevsky at the wheel
And its really not a matter of the money unless you run out of it
I had a gambler friend once who said''I dont care if I win or lose,I just want to gamble''
I have more respect for money,Ive had very little of it most of my life
There are only two things wrong with money:too much or too little
Well,I supposed theres always something out there we want to torment ourselves with
and you get the feel of the other people,the desperate darkness,and how easy they toss it in and quit
the racetrack crowd is the world brought down to size,life grinding against death and losing
Nobody wins finally ,we are just seeking a reprieve,a moment out of the glare
(** **,I just burned the end of my finger with cigarette as I was musing on this purposelessness
That woke me up,brought me out of this Sartre state!)
Hell,we need humor,we need to laugh .I used to laugh more,I used to do everying more
Now,I am writing and writing and writing,the older I get the more I write,dancing with death
Good show,and I think the stuff is alright
One day theyll say''Dead''and Ill be truly discoverd and hung from stinking bright lampposts
So what?Immortality is the stupid invention of the living
You see what the racetrack does?It makes the lines roll
Wacks,lightening and luck.The last bluebird singing
Anything I say sounds fine because I gamble when I write
Too many are too careful.They study,they teach
and they fail,and the strips them of their fire
I feel better now,up here on this second floor with the Macintosh.My pal
And Mahler is on the radio,he glides with such ease,taking big chances,one needs that sometimes
Then he sends in the long power rises
Thank you,Mahler,I borrow from from you and I can never pay you back
I smoke too much,I drink too much,but I can twrite too much
it just keeps coming and I call for more and it arrives and mixes with Mahler
Sometimes I deliberately stop myself
I say,wait a moment ,go to sleep or look at your 8 cats or sit with your wife on the coach
Youre either at the track or with the Macintosh
And then I stop,put on the brakes ,parking the damned thing
Some people have written that my writing has helped them to go on,Its helped me,too
The drinking,the writing,the horses,the 8 cats,my wife
Theres a small balcony here,the door is open and I can see the lights of the cars on the Harbor Freeway south
they never stop,that roll of lights,on and on
All those people.What are they doing?What are they thinking?
Were all sent to die,all of us.What a circus!
That alone should make us love each other but it doesnt
We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities,we are eaten up by nothing
Keep it going,Mahler!Youve made this a wondrous night
Dont stop,you son of a *****!Dontstop!