October
27 Tuesday
Two noteworthy events
yesterday, in chronological order: my 44-year friendship with Charles Francis Berigan
officially ended, and my cousin Cynthia died …
I went to the library to return
some books. Saw Berigan there. We had a protracted discussion among the stacks,
centering around his laundry list of childish grievances against me, all
stemming from that silly little “writer’s group” of his that I never wanted to
get mixed up with in the first place. He brushed aside my apologies and offers
of reconciliation and just wanted to go on rehashing his “you did this on
August 16th, you said that on June 24th” bullshit, so I finally just said “Go and
nurture your mad,” and walked away.
I honestly think he has a late-life crush
on that Susan bitch, and when a woman comes between two guys, it doesn’t take
Stephen Hawking to figure out which way the tree is going to fall. Sometimes he
is such a child. I felt like I was listening to a younger brother telling me,
“I ain’t talkin' to you ‘cause you told Mom that I was sneaking jellos.” If he
wants to act like a nine year-old, that’s his problem. By the way, Berigan happens to be
a fine pianist, but in my opinion he's a lousy excuse for a writer. His stuff is both derivative and shallow. ... Then later came
the news that they’d decided to take our cousin Cynthia off life support. She
died last night about 9:45. She was obviously suffering so much, I’m glad they
let her go.
