Stacey was dealing cocaine out of the Churchill Bar on Government Street and I was struck by the mundanity of my own life.
I performed at the talent night in the front window of Pagliacci’s Restaurant and Stacey was very enthusiastic about my performance abilities.
It was June and life seemed good.
Stacey’s cousin owned a white vintage Thunderbird and one evening we drove to Clover Point and parked.
Stacey produced some cocaine and a mirror and I knew in that instant, even as I was indulging, that it was over and anything else was madness.
I observed the lights of Port Angeles twinkling in the distance, thinking about my adventures down South and observing my own lights twinkling.
Stacey looked radiant.
I was more in love with her than I had ever been.
She cooked for her cousins while we all played poker around the large round table in the living room.
That night she and I slept on a futon in the living room.
She stuck her tongue down my throat and as I was approaching orgasm I thought how brief our lives are and how meaningless without love…
Soon after I found out about her affair with a man in Sooke and we split up.
All I remember is walking with her in the rain past the Cathedral where my grandfather was bishop many years ago.
I saw her once more, at a party, smoking a joint, with the young adorables.
Shortly after the breakup I made my second trip to the States.
My communications with my mother were terse when I told her I was going back.
I went straight to the house where I had attended the wolfhound congress and met Alice, the Reichsfuhrer of Northern California, who informed me that Laurence was where he should be… with his family in Hawaii…
I was stuck with Alice and her partner Susan, for whom I had the hots.
We were sitting at their long dining-room table with the sun streaming in, discussing my “future” on the scene.
How much money did I have?
What were my intentions?
Did I think that children were the hope of the future?
I was staggered.
What was this?
I had two hundred dollars.
I didn’t know that I could afford to fly to Hawaii on World Airways.
I opted to stay with them and assist the “restaurant project”.
They were having a restaurant night for some friends who would donate whatever they felt was appropriate.
Alice referred to everything as an “access”, which was a term for the legal larceny by which she operated.
I found myself conscripted in the role of dishwasher.
It was a humbling experience and I saw little of the food and drink that was actually consumed.
I had rescued my white dinner jacket from Alice’s basement and felt fully part of the San Francisco scene…
A computer is writing me out of the Universe; the papers don’t know about me, the television stations don’t call, the movie makers are not at my doorstep… it’s a conspiracy.
I don’t want the attention for myself.
I want to alert the world to manic depression.
S. F. was a confusing experience.
From Alice I rented a room right on the Haight.
I was standing in the window looking down the street when suddenly I felt the most incredible sensation I have ever felt.
I knew what the summer of love was all about, what motivated the incredible wave of poetry, music and energy during the sixties.
I had arrived in the States…