Wednesday, May 31, 2017

May 30, 2017

DJ’s birthday and Memorial Day picnic at Jack’s last night. Had more fun than I usually do, perhaps because I started drinking right away. DJ has to sit down and lever himself up the stairs. One stands helpless.

Working on fiction. One crabby, unprofitable hour at the studio.

Email from F, wanting my help in getting H’s next projects underway. It is like someone asking van Gogh to help get them into a gallery. I decide on silence, rather than a blast of fury that so much resource is expended on the daydreams of a person with little understanding of her world, and no real talent, other than the talent to persuade other people to create for her. And then, in my case anyway, to leave them not only violated but uncompensated. A fraud in any light, her one virtue is the affection of a patient and rich man, and though I don’t begrudge her that, I think she should be content with it, and not try to present herself as an artist in a world where real artists must claw their way

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