January 29, 1983: What am I looking for? Having spent a domestic day and reading Bukowski. I push myself hard until I burnout, then I feel guilty about burnout. Stardust memories. Non Sequitur of locations. Existentialism met with a laugh, and loving ladies lost on lithium. Oh well. In my despair, existential and verbicidal, I pour myself a stiff one, and prepare to cry myself to sleep. Woody Allen recalls the transcendent moment from the existential despair.

January 30, 1983: Coffee with Dave Sturman, “Since I got into EST, I don’t get into intellectual discussions, I mean, like so what?” Searching for a sense of religious community. Dogwood festival in Tennessee. When I pass through Miami, the sixth borough.

January 31, 1983: Bukowski – writer’s blocks and sex. And I ask myself, what do I have to say? My life seems horribly ordinary. And yet, I’ll go to the Opera Thursday with a beautiful woman I met on the trains.