Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Christmas Day


Christmas Day. I’m still alive and writing in this goddam vessel.
So I got turned around in the airport and never made it back to London. Oh well.
A fig for regret.
My brother Harry’s married. Dick’s got a kid.
I got laid. Big time.
I finally gave it up.
I call him
Angel Clare.
from Tess of the D’Urbervilles.
He’s dreamy.
Lives in Maine.
I cannot believe I started this thing 10 years ago. January 1st, 1983. Coming up soon.
I am alone, in my room and not rushing off anywhere
soon. It seems I always jot two words before I leave the country or something.
No, I leave again on Sunday. My entry for the year is complete.
I am living in New Yawk. The Big Apple with Gill Scott, whom I adore.
Still sticking out the life/acting thing.
Everybody was home this Christmas. Babies, wives + whatnot.
I am still smoking and this week have been drinking way too much.
I talked to Beth in Colorado tonight. She sounds very well. Its so far a way.
I think she’ll be coming to New York soon. To visit. Per usual. Very few hangers-on.
I’ve read a lot this year.
Most of the year has been spent moving.
Oh, I’m so tired and should go to bed soon.
I actually saw Mike Linzer, Chris, Mamoulian, and Rich Hallstead this week. It was great. Chris has been in Florida. His hair is so long and it is streaked with sun.
I still think of Padraic.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned him somewhere in this tome.
Somebody like Clare could make me forget him.
He’s soo…dreamy.
Well, I’m going to sign off for now. If I keep writing in this as infrequently, I should quite a few years of material left to fill the book.
For the record: June 16 to now in NYC. I think I’m staying. It’s a hell of a town.
Merry Christmas to you.
Untill next year,
I love you + love me too—
Peter Halsey

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