Journal 92

9/5: L found this in the library for me, it's brilliant.

By Frank O'Hara

Lana Turner has collapsed!
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up


We were in Saks in the men's Girbaud, trying on some super baggy jeans. Marie put some shit together for me and we hung around, waiting for someone to ring us up. It occurred to me that there was absolutely no one around to help, or even see us. Further, I discovered that the jeans I wanted didn't have any sort of security tag on them. After some deliberation, I took them back into the fitting room, and ripped them off. Stuck them in my bag. Walked out. Free $90 Girbauds!

After, Marie and I went to my house to smoke a joint, after stopping first at TCBY. I called Quentin, and Marie called Vince. We kinda made plans for the night, then left to go to L's brother's pool. Hung out there for the rest of the afternoon. Got tan, felt fit after swimming, all that shit. Picked up L and went back to my house. L made dinner while I called Quentin from the basement phone and told him when to stop by later. L eventually left, not until after making a scene about being forced out. I thought I might run into his ass later, oh well.

Quentin came over on his bike and we left with Marie to go see the Twin Peaks movie. Marie kept on trying to make me take acid. I wasn't too sure about it. Kyle MacLachlan sucks. Marie was being all stupid.

After the movie, we piled into Marie's car to go to Neo. Then I decided to drop. Marie and I took half hits. Quentin said he maybe would join us after seeing if they would let him in first. He seriously has to get a fake ID. What a pain in the ass. He said that he had shroomed out last night, hadn't really slept. Whatever.

Marie claimed to be flying by the time we got there. I only sucked on my tab a little bit before secretly spitting it out the window…I had to avoid tripping out. Neo was a serious disappointment. It was so fucking lame. Bad music, the biggest losers shante-ing around the dance floor. We left.

Decided to actually go to Shelter, check out what we had missed for the last several months. It was exactly as horrible as it always had been. Right when we walked in, they were playing "It's A Fine Day". Smoke, alcohol, tons of fucking people. I was seeing why I had hated it in the end. We were by the dance floor. Ned came by and was tripping on how Quentin and I knew each other. Always a small world in this lousy city. I thought I might throw up.

I walked into the Paramount Room and saw L. Fucking of course. It was as annoying as I expected. First, he stood there and stared. Then, when I walked out, he followed. Then the shit started, he's going I'm sick of you, it's over, on and on, the usual about my promiscuity. Ian tiptoed over in the middle of it and whispered Hi to me, then told L they were going. Then L starts hugging me goodbye like I'm his Rainbow Sister Aunt. I'm all, "Get your fucking hands off me," and jerking away. Then he pushed me super hard out the door. I picked up my bag and kept walking.

We all left. I drove. All jamming out in the car. Got back to my house, kicked a while talking bullshit. Marie announced that she was going to bed. Quentin left immediately after. That was something I was a little suspicious of. The two of them were in the photo booth all night. Quentin started calling her "Bootsy", all this shit, telling me how cool she is while she was in the bathroom. I hate boys. I need to talk to some of those thirty-year-old men that were hitting on me and Theresa at the Bop Shop. Yeah, right.


Theresa called when I got home. She was waiting to talk to me. I guess that over the weekend, 28 people were shot at the Robert Taylor homes, all in the Stick circle, or in the back behind the building, the Pit. There's some sort of gang initiation going on, and this is what was happening when we went to score last summer and got jumped. Coulda fucking been killed. I knew that then, but now it's scarier. One kid got killed when a cop car ran him over on the way to the scene. Fucking crazy shit world I live in.


North side, to see apartments. Marie met up with me after the first couple. I should say, the first couple that I drove by and blew off cause they were fucking scary. Then we went to Realty Chicago, where the lady was almost peeing herself with some apartment that she thought we'd "love". She was so into showing it to us that she agreed to meet us at 6:30 and bring us over there. We went to Eat a Pita, then Windward to pass the time.

We were stoned, and Danny, the insipid twit who works there, wasn't helpful. He was all chatty about how he's going to get Sugar, and how they are going to carry Urb. I went off. I was all, "Why? So Chicago can further realize how behind we are? So we can see all the songs come out a year before we play them? There's no unity here." I guess I made an ass of myself.

He was all, "That's what I'm trying to do." Oh, Please. Pushing the commercialism of "Official Rave Paraphernalia", all that shit. It was supposed to be about accepting everyone as they are, promoting your own ideal and fashion. Exercising the right to express yourself, in whatever way you choose. Now it's Fresh Jive, Clobber, Stussy, Sugar. If you're not down with the fashion, you're not within the spirit of Rave. Counterculture, my fucking ass. Counter couture. I was annoyed.

Anyway, we went and saw the apartment, and it was beautiful. $500, though. I don't know. Marie came back to my house, did a couple of lines. We showered and changed, picked up Theresa, drank fucking Seagram's coolers, smoked and snorted some more.

Left to go to Night at fucking 1 am, talk about a late start. Ran into Ian, Joe, and L. L sold a gram to Theresa. Then they left. After they were gone, we realized how it sucked, because we wanted to be entertained. We had a strong suspicion that they would be at Shelter, so we left Night.

We decided that one of us would pay and go find them to get us in. We walked up to the door, and some guy was shmoozing tickets out of the bouncer, so I kinda asked if he had three more. I guess since I mentioned Ian and L, or maybe cause I was just smooth, he gave us tickets, and we went in. We were all so high and drunk that we just milled around the club not bothered by anyone. It was cool. It sucked that we spent the whole night looking for them and they never showed, but I was so damn high that I really didn't care.


L and I spent the afternoon hanging out, doing shit. We ended up going to Misto, which was nice. I paid though. I won't see the money again either. Money I don't have. Then, we went to fucking Fine Arts to see The Crying Game. It was ok. Completely ordinary day, but perfect for me right now.


L was supposed to drive me to dinner. By the time he got over here, I wasn't up for it, especially cause he is an ass. I got stoned, drunk, and ate Pringles. Have to see my family tomorrow. Another fucking Christmas Eve.


Went to lunch at Chili's with Emma. Was sickened and jealous to hear about her graduation, how she'll be off to Barcelona, then the rest of Europe, and hang out in St. Baart's by Halloween. Grad school, all that shit. My life is shit. All I could do was bitch about L and my fucking job. Please.

Marie and I did Red Dog, lookin' for an after-hours. We split a Demerol, smoked out, drank some cocktails. Then we were informed that "Everyone partied too hard" on New Year's, and there was nothing to do. We were home at 4 am, so we decided that, hey, we got high, we went out late, we did all right. Went to bed.