I saw "Matrix Reloaded" last night. I have no response to that.

Then I went to ChiarOscuro and danced and drank to 2:10 A.M. I remember the time because I asked someone, "what time is it?" as I left. It told me.

But still awake and curious and with a few dollars in my pocket, I headed catty-corner to Club Nation which on Saturday nights is a gay club, but, in retrospect, I wonder. There were dozens of men with no shirts, dancing and groping each other. Great music played.

But no one bought me a drink! What has this sad world come to when a lanky blond can't get a man to buy him a vodka-seltzer? If I wanted rejection, I'd've stayed at the straigh club.

Dejected, but undeterred, I stayed until 4:30 A.M., took a cab home and ate cold pizza until a little past 5 A.M.

Woke at ten today.

I summoned some willpower, drank water, and ate eggs. Then to Jack Keouac's "On the Road" which I hadn't read in sooooooooooooo long. To put the dreary on a dreary day, I came to page 52 "for all life is holy and every moment is precious."

Such a sentiment from any other writer would make me puke. But on this date, I wimpered, thinking how many Sunday afternoons I've spent reading (while nursing a hangover) were precious, but more about how many Sunday afternoons after a move I wondered, "Is this holy, me in the chair? Is it holier to be sitting or walking? Writing or talking? Asking questions or anwering them?"

Fuck it; it's not time for me to answer those questions.

Or, as Hannah might ask, "Which is more ethical?"

In less than two weeks, %90 of my class goes overseas, the rest stay and learn languages. Even the simpletons of the class will be leaving.

What did you do in the Service?

I READ KEROUAC, ONLINE JOURNALS, MEDIOCRE SCIENCE FICTION, AND SAW THE PEARL RIVER.