Paul Sharits (1943-1993)

Journal 10.26.76 Charlottesville, VA.

After exhausting but inspirational (and sunny but coolish) day visiting Monticello, resting my pained chest in a funky little French café. Had to leave Buffalo, to find peace of mind and to begin work again on score for Declarative MODE. My room at the Holiday Inn South looks out onto rolling, colorful fall hills and I am very close to Monticello. At Jefferson’s grave I felt a meaning coming back into my torn life. Lost track of time—must be a week or so since leaving the hospital. Almost died—owe my life to a turn of chance-luck (lung filling with blood from an unperceived weak spot left by Ivy Weatherspoon’s knife wound (had been in the hospital previously—went home, overdid things and caused the weak spot to open). Bojana and I were, for a short period, very close again—I’ve been so unjustly violent towards her. For not being perfect—I’m under too much stress, too many projects, plans, etc.—drink and become violent or self-destructive… hanging out with black prostitutes, pimps, criminals; daring the worst eventualities. Now, must gain strength and recapture dignity… slow pace down radically. Ironic that I am doing an “anti-slavery tone poem” when I am being ripped off, hurt, cheated, stabbed finally by blacks (but I chose that element of blacks who would do such things so that thrust of my enthusiasm for my project has not been dampened).

10.27

Great sense of loneliness at times, in general and for Bojana in particular… but such splits in my feeling (as well as above any sleep) and move onto focused creation. It’s late afternoon; long lunch and then sitting in the sun, near the motor-hotel’s pool, thinking over the upcoming elections and then nap (still painful to sleep). To begin, I put up finished and unfinished scores along the wall, sequentially must determine “where I am”/”where I am going” with the work; each day I’ll have to take down the drawings--(the hotel would not appreciate my push pins in their walls)--and then return them the next day. This will be a good meditation exercise. Also, up and down from the wall, Jefferson’s portrait. The I Ching  (which I use only rarely, in very crucial situations, has told me to “go to the teacher-sage”—that I must be careful not to miss “his” advice, pass it up—but, how to recognize “him”? I believe “it” must be Jefferson, his spirit and teachings. I pledge to seek a level of dignity in this work and my life which would please him.