Assuming the Position.

Went with David to the Ballet last night, then to dinner and this gay bar called Venture In, I think, surrounded by dreary faggots then home where I came down from coke and was a little drunk and went into a deep depression. Poor David talked me through it and was very patient and sweet, and then he fucked me, all of which helped. He's right though, I must lay off the coke, because it just emphasizes my manic-depressive personality and last night the depressive part was feeling pretty nearly unendurable---though, of course, it wasn't actually, at least not with David there with me. But, I still feel so fucking alone. But that's no justification for facilitating an awful funk.

So, I fasted all day as an experiment in spiritual hygiene. Gave me a headache and a dull depression. I don't feel particularly cleansed, either. So, here I lay on my bed, smoking a joint and drinking black coffee staring at a blank piece of paper in my screenplay notebook.

I want to do a trashy comedy in the vein of John Waters or Pedro Almodóvar…Okay, how's this:

The title is called Assuming the Position and it is the tale of two incestuous yet gorgeous brothers who live in a trailer in Tennessee with their morbidly obese sister who drives around town on a scooter raping men for fun. The three are erroneously charged with possession of heroin and flee the law in a wacky chase across three states in a black Mustang convertible full of shotgun holes.

God. Awful...just awful. You see, I have no inspiration.

Nothing.

Reading Virginia Wolf's Diaries. How effortless the excellent writing seems to pour out of her. As if the world collaborated with her and helped her along, rather than presenting her with dead ends and solid objects that resist meaning. What was her secret? Surely it was not good luck to have been at the right place at the right time with the right people. But I often feel that I am obstructed in just this way: the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong people.

Found a poem by Fredrick Seidel in an anthology. It ends: "Convinced life is meaningless/ I lack the courage of my conviction."