Through hell and back. That would be a more than adequate
title for the last 24 hours. First Mitsuo seems depressed while I'm watching
Holy Grail in his room. Then Steve comes in from out drinking with Mike, says
hardly a word to me-no, make that no words. Soon after talking to Mitsuo in
hushed tones he goes back to our room. Mitsuo sits like a stone for several
minutes, then leaves from my room where Steve can be heard laughing it up with
a Chinese-Vietnamese fellow from down the hall. Jealousy set in. The movie was
about over and I watched it without laughing. When it was over I returned to my
room where Mitsuo and the other fellow were talking and Steve was tweaking on
the guitar. Mitsuo explained today (as if it needed explanation) that he went
over to talk to the Chinese guy and not to Steve, and if I hadn't been so
pouty, I would have realized it. As it happened, I responded curtly to Mitsuo,
the only one who actually spoke to me: "What are you thinking about?"
"Shit." " You sure mahnnn?” " Yep, just plain shit.” So
they all left and I went to bed, lights out, without any reading, feeling
insanely guilty and angry-at myself, and the others too. I might have been
naturally sleepy, but my state of mind kept me awake for approximately 45 min.
I did fall asleep before Steve returned, but it wasn't any better in the
morning; Steve and I didn't speak for half the day. Fortunately, it ended on a
good note, and Mitsuo apologized when it really wasn't his fault. This had been
the first time I had ever rebuffed Mitsuo seriously, and it was for my
failings, not his. Did jealousy escape from Pandora's box too? What a curious
bitch.
This morning I wrote a letter to Mark-you know, my
brother, lives in San Diego? I wrote about how much I enjoyed the Beatles
convention (Beatlefest) we attended together two and half weeks ago. I also
gave him a quick critique/review of Tristan und Isolde at the San
Francisco Opera, which I attended last week. But before I got into any of that,
I expressed my concern for his morale (he recently lost his job in a bank), and
my faith in his talents. I hope he appreciates them-hey, why shouldn't he? I
also, for the first time of my own volition, included a greeting to that Yoko
Ono of the West Coast, Cathy with a C. I thought about it before I included it
and decided that my low opinion of her character has shrunk in importance; I
had ignored her in my letters of the last semester because that was my way of
showing my antipathy towards her. But it's not important anymore. Could it be
that I am mellowing with age? If this is so, I can only hope that I am at least
like fine wine, rather than unrefrigerated eggs.
I tried to work on Sick Boy last night, but I
didn't get very far. 15 words is not very far. But in bed I hit upon a new
angle. Instead of your basic narrative, I figured I will have the third version
from the boys’ mother's point of view. It can begin, à la Faulkner, after the
retarded boy's death and she's outside doing something when the murderer comes
home alone. You see, when his section ends, he has just forced his brother off
the cliff and has no idea what he's going to tell his mother. Now if I was to
put the mother’s section after his, it would be too much of continuous
time-synchronization; that is, the mother’s section begins AFTER her son’s
section ends. This destroys the Faulkner influence, or style, of the work. This
couldn't and shouldn't follow the everyday pattern. So, my idea is this: I will
begin with the mother’s section; that is, the murder has already happened. Then
I'll do the retarded brothers section; he is the focal point, the main element,
the pivotal factor, and he hasn't an idea of, is incapable of realizing, what
happens to him. Then we bring on the brother’s section which clears the
reader’s eyes. A little too much like The Sound and the Fury, so much so
that I don't know if it borders on plagiarism. Maybe a straight version of the
story must exist for publishing possibilities. Four versions of the same story?
The main character is the murderer brother, so it would be his story if I chose
to write it straight. One has to make decisions. If one is to be a writer, and
you know how I am making decisions.
Well, it's not quite yet and hour later (11:25), but it
is time to stop. I have to study for tests in French and Italian and Holy
Grail is coming on again. There were no classes in school today-it was
advising day-and I must also gear up for the return to school tomorrow. Ugh-or
is it?
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