and you know what she said Blaz?

in a yawning imbecile voice, she said,

“ah don’t know…”

“what the fuck do you know?” I asked her quietly. but it was no good. she was asleep again, snoring, vacant, vacant, unfeeling, waiting for her next session of the poetry workshop to come her alive and make her jabber her silly shit jabber.

so here I sit now, in the hands of round blue purple pain mashing the beer in, and I’m quite a solitary, I take it mostly alone like this, but for once I wish you were here, I wish a human were here, I’d like to hear you say, “Shit, Buk, I’m sorry you feel bad.” that’s all I’d need to hear—then the pain couldn’t do anything. [* * *]

oh my god, and just earlier a terrible happening. I am bitter and yapping a bit about the pain the good God has sent me and the woman goes in to the bathroom she says sleepily

“I think I have some Numz-it in here.”

fine. I let her flounder around in there, then many minutes go by and I get nervous, I am kind of on the cross you understand, a kind of bad situation, and I go in there and there she is sitting on the can, so I walk out. I give her more time. then I see her rise and go to the medicine cabinet. she hasn’t even bothered to flush. she doesn’t know where the hell she is. I reach over and flush the toilet for her, then I stand there and watch her staring into the medicine cabinet. I’ve got patience. I wait 5 minutes, 10. I try to outwait her. she’s either too stupid or too shit clever for me. I’ve told her 3 or 4 times that she is insane. but I don’t think this is true. she is simply dead, dead, dead, dead, and she will always be dead but I don’t quite want to let myself believe it because I must live with her because of the child and the child is a very beautiful child, and it’s the musts that kill us…forever.

finally I can’t stand her bland vacant stare into the medicine cabinet any longer. “Jesus, forget it!” I tell her. “forget the whole god damned thing!”

she walks out into the other room. in 30 seconds she is asleep snoring like a Canadian woodsman. yet I understand from her writings and her mouth and her many liberal and educated friends, that she really wants to help the human race, that she is looking toward a better world, that the problem of the Negro should be solved, that, after all, with proper planning and govt. we could all have all that we need. and being in need I look at her and she snores snores snores…and I might as well be dead.