1983
Journal entries from 1983
 Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Mon, 02/18/2008 - 19:54 (Check me out!)
February 1, 1983: Another day with nothing to say. NY Times picture of Reagan at National Conference of Religious Broadcasters praying. “The man with his eyes open is the Secret Service agent”. The hand reaches, pauses, reaches, pauses, but does not grasp the subway pole. I did not read anything except the Times, and hence, again, my writing seems to suffer.
February 2, 1983: Ab’s birthday, ground hog didn’t see his shadow. Late night drinking with Steve. Tomorrow bleed, presentation, opera. Read a little wrote a little. Good thinking at prayer group. Good night. Thirty words a night and I call this writing?
February 3, 1983: It was the beginning of your typical New York romance. A weeknight opera, after a hectic day. Great discussion. Literature, scotch, subways. I reached the two gallon mark today. Violets, wither, get poisoned. Valentines day, like back in grammar school. Send lots of cards. Concern about keeping writing private.
February 4, 1983: Tired. These late nights are taking a toll on me. Climbing into bed to read and listen to music. Tom Hoeft goodbye lunch today. Lots of Sangria. The kind you lose track of how much you’ve had after your first couple sips. Image of yesterday: Manikin on bicycle.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Fri, 02/15/2008 - 18:31 (Check me out!)
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.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Wed, 02/13/2008 - 20:28 (Check me out!)
January 26, 1983: Feeling particularly romantic today. Again, very tired. Polished up documentation at work and learned more about security. Didn’t read today except the paper. Not feeling much like writing
January 27, 1983: Letter from Mom, investigating Omegamon etc. at work. Health food. Perhaps more important as Karmic massage oil. Towel hanging next to print of St Peter reflected in mirror. Not much reading today. I think I’ll read other than Tolstoy. Old glasses frame dig in behind ears.
January 28, 1983: Shining lips, shining eyes. (“Shining as she reeled him in”). Juror on a case about a con-man. (17 convictions) who pretended to be South African questions perceptions, like a philosopher on the jury. It’s rough living in a meet-eating world. We only perceive what people allow us to perceive (including ourselves?) Late for meetings. It is frustrating to see an artist put everything possible into a work and see others glance, perhaps even enjoy immensely, and move on.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Tue, 02/12/2008 - 22:32 (Check me out!)
I continue to post journal entries from my journal twenty-five years ago. Back then, I was leaving my job as a computer consultant to travel. Not all of the entries are all that coherent, but I’m posting most of them as is.
January 23, 1983: Gone is the intensity I once had. Gone too is that religiosity. Looking in the eyes of people whose approach to Christianity is the starting point of what I detest. Live a complicated life so that those who don’t live can live through you. Story: Hacker breaks security, discovers industrial espionage. Cynical Resolution.
January 24, 1983: Vacation day. Have I burnt myself out? Striving for relaxation and intensity. Blood pressures seemed higher. Is private space possible? Roommates next door, friends in the mind. Victim of the aesthetic realists. Soho Chainsaw Massacre. Puking on a gallery window. Am I burnt out? Spent? Wasted? Dead? Or merely silent? I’ll not write more now due to my spaciness.
January 25, 1983: Freakdom and Scotch on Robert Burns Birthday. Jimbo called during party. Sounded like Doug. Steve Wilson: Chaz and Steve here. Joys of Decadence. The women I’m interested in. Riding the train as an outlaw. Goodnight.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sun, 02/10/2008 - 20:42 (Check me out!)
January 20, 1983: The machines groan ‘midst mercury vapor cast shadows as I struggle through the cold, beat. Feeling the expanse of everything after Ivan Illych’s death. Wrapped up in thought forgetting people, yet lonely in weariness. Wrote two letters tdaoy. Tom Hoeft to leave CGA as the stock rises.
January 21, 1983: Nostalgia train. 1930 vintage. The train I used to take to Exxon. Taking it out to visit old Exxon buddy and go skiing. Very NJ. Proper upper middle class people talking tennis, college, hockey and who knows what else. And everyone is very good looking. I had dinner with Linda hence am romantic. She spoke of weirdness. So much was said indirectly. Cigarette ad with the more interesting character smoking a pipe. Setting broken down train. Characters: business man after long day, parents with children. College Kids. Freak.
January 22, 1983: Spent. A day of decadence, down the slopes, buying scotch. The rocking of the train, the full stomach, and the exhaustion. I sleep, letter from Andy. Writing is going good for him it seems. Scott with woman. My mind again on Linda. Tired, not much writing. I close my eyes and see the slope and recall my thoughts about how enjoyable and yet how foreign. Foreign as an affectation but not as an appreciation of nature.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sat, 02/09/2008 - 22:03 (Check me out!)
January 17, 1983: Bunuel. Spice factory photos. Gas flames heat switches on a snow covered railway. Feeling ill. Cognac. Covering myself with ink.
January 18, 1983: Cold! Listening to a dinnertime drone of discussions. Thinking about individuality and companionship. What about making a soap into a Saturday morning cartoon? I haven’t read much recently. Could that be why this writing is so hard? Why not do something weird? Tie-die hair. Holistic Hippie, a sign of peaceful hope. I should meditate. Om.
January 19, 1983: Colder! Ivan Illych dieing from a fall hanging curtains. Julie looking back and wondering if the last four years were wasted and I’m read for the road. I am on the road now. And sometimes it seems like those hours spent waiting for rides are wasted. But that’s only if you want to get somewhere by sometime. If you’re just there for the traveling then you might as well enjoy the process. The age old struggle between being and striving to be. And with all these struggles, how does one relate to others? “I and Thou”? To much thought for one night.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Wed, 02/06/2008 - 21:19 (Check me out!)
The continued posts of journal entries that I wrote twenty-five years ago.
January 14, 1983: Weary. Resignation official. Wrote about NJ sunset. My eyes dance too much. On PATH trains, at movies. Saw Rocky III and Live On Sunset Strip (last minute substitutes for Paul Schrader.) Learn more about scotch. The light shines through the ‘Two’ of the Church House window.
January 15, 1983: A montage of memories. “You only have to do one thing well to make it in this world. You only have to be a good man to one woman one time and that’ll be the end of your road” As I prepare to talk with Linda about my road, and as I find myself trapped in a different set of sparkling eyes. I pave like an animal in a cage yearning to be free or perhaps trapped in “The age of gold.” Wanting to break through all the societal bullshit built in my psyche which prevents me from saying “I am a human being.” Why is it I tare for hours out of dirty windows?
January 16, 1983: Shades of Metamorphosis. I wake up to find a stranger in my bed; myself. At Clare’s discussing hackers. What about a hacker story? Off to Bunuel festival. Sold out at 6:20.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Mon, 02/04/2008 - 18:50 (Check me out!)
More updates from 25 years ago:
January 11, 1983: Charting the unexplored world of the mind. The maps used change the territory. Where roads are perceived to be, there thoughts will travel and roads appear even if none where there. Tolstoy, Dickens, work, church, politics, and this writing itself maps. Is one “Truer” than the other? I do not know, yet I feel the confusion of when these maps conflict. How far do I carry these solipsistic thoughts? Only until I know they lead away from the goal I aim at. And yet I know not that goal, let alone which path leads there.
January 12, 1983: My struggles with mental exploration continue as I listen to church folk songs, read letter from old college friends, and discussion the future of the prayer group. Rich made an interesting comment about my coming out of depression. Linda and I are to get together for dinner soon. New question: Do people/Will I get to the point where I stop struggling so much? Emotional exhaustion.
January 13, 1983: Chat with Scott – Philosophical Thoughts…
Haiku Cappuccino
Robin
Smashes the flower
On her cannoli
With a fork
Transcending through writing. Haley’s comet rushes its inspiration. Train whistles doppler by. Peace.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Fri, 02/01/2008 - 21:10 (Check me out!)
Over the coming days, I’ll continue to post entries from my 1983 journal.
January 4, 1983: Kerouac. Smooth sounds flowing simply, incessantly through thought thriving on despair. Speech pathology, philology, alliteration prepare poets for pondering profundities. A student reveals to George Bryce the style of his writing. Computers and contemplation can confuse creativity. Looking over my last four days writings I can see how my mood, interactions with other people and art affect my writing. Today is another day not good for writing. Tomorrow.
January 5, 1983: Applied to Lucasfilm. Mary spoke at prayer group. Rich expressed concerns of the disappearance of Grace from our Theology. Nostalgia supper. Is art justifiable? How about the religious life? Singledom. Loneliness. Kerouac takes things as they come. Good night.
January 6, 1983: Epiphany. John found out yesterday that I’m leaving. Spent the day arranging that. Steve stopped over bringing his receiver. Listening to music. Music of freedom. Clove cigarettes and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Peace. I’m ready for the road. Politics re-awakening. I need to learn how to write of that peace that passes understanding. Peace which knows no matter what, freezing roads, and failing marches, everything works out. “Everything that dies someday comes back” / “We can’t go back, we can only look behind” Chatting with Fritz on his problems.
January 7, 1983: Listening to the stereo. A day of plotting career strategies. Thoughts about monks. I am overwhelmed with quietness this evening, a quietness that expands to the farthest corners of the rooms, or to the farthest corners of my perceived room. It is not a quiet of peace. It is a quiet of longing for what is to be and a longing to express this foreboding of these journeys and express experience of previous trips. “Pleasures of the harbor” memories of old trips hopes of new.
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Thu, 01/31/2008 - 21:59 (Check me out!)
Twenty-five years ago, I was twenty-three years old and working as a consultant at Bell Laboratories. I had been living the bohemian lifestyle sharing cheap apartments with actors and artists and so during those years I saved up a bit of money. I was struggling with who I was and what I should do with my life. I decided that it would be a good thing for me to go out and see the world, so when my contract at the Labs came up for renewal, I decided to go out and travel around the country and around Europe. I kept a fairly good journal during much of that time, and it seems like this would be a good time to take some of those journal entries and add them into my blog.
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