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July something
Jack oboy oboy: Didnt you know Grant Code, I think you did ? He died about first of July - am writing to NY Times to get copy of his obituary which I understand was lengthy - nothing in Washington press altho there should have been, since he lived and worked in D.C. and had writ poems about Great Falls and Dupont Circle - wrote to me once that he lived in house that was once owned by Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, Glen Echo Heights, Maryland - he used to commute to work via trolley. In his last letter he was thinking about appearing in another movie - Italian.
Judy Rayford tried to call me but got nowhere - operator said I had emergency call from Mobile Alabama - I said forget it - we have un- listed phone account of kooky calls we used to get all hours of day and night - so I opted for unlisted phone - much better this way, even if we do miss some important FRIENDLY calls - most of the hours we get peace, brother, peace. It costs more but it gives more.
Never heard a peep from Olafson who wanted some photos and drawings to go with an article - I didnt send them - chrise sake I want some specific info underlined in red about what he wants and then I will send the stuff. I hope the article gets printed with or without the art . . .I can't get excited about the editor's divorce - had a letter from Paul Bowles whose wife just died in Morroco - said his wife's death was no excuse from answering a letter. From DECEMBER I assume a divorce underlined in red wrecks the works, so to speak. Also, no news from FOOLKILLER to which I sent some trivia - good trivia I might add. And no peep from THEM. I guess they are deep in their summer whatevers at their farm in the jungles of Arkansas - darter Robin hopes to get there, altho she has notions that the Arkansas people are low in mentality andshe hopes to soon get shut of them - she does not like Arkansas or its people. I wouldn't either - I think Arkansas is a stupid state of mind.
written in red ink Jack II
written in black ink I just read a collection of short stories by James T. Farrell what a sona-bitch he was - he even stinks in his stories, I hope he boils in hell - a Catholic hell that is, I suppose he is still alive, a louse like that never dies. He even looked mean in cover photo - a real schmuck.
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