so did half the other people In the battalion. And she got pregnant. And she didn't know who did it. And then she broke some rule. And they went into her room. And they found her diary. And she had every guy's name and cross-references and how good he was in bed. And everything. Well. . . not all women are like that. But let me put it this way: they’re going to get ahead. I mean, they do it on the outside. But in the military, it’s more prevalent. It gets really frustrating. They’ll butter up some old crank. Women don’t belong in the military. Administrative work, fine. But out in the field, get them outofmyhair. They are sickening. I mean, what do women always carry around with them? Goddamn purses. Look how insecure they are. What’s the first thing they do when they get upset? They grab their purses. And they swish them around. You don’t need that. Or when they see a kitty or a rabbit. And they say, “Oh, how cute. Oh. ” But if I take that rabbit and break its goddamn neck, what are they going to say? They're gonna say I'm a warmonger or something. A killer. What the hell? It’s the goddamn Marine Corps. Two hundred and eight years of tradition. Oh, poor rabbit. They should be able to take that thing and bite the damn head off. Man, they’re supposed to be Marines. That really upsets me. Oh Really?? / 1 t this point, the Marine was getting red in the face. And I was ripping flesh furiously from my cuticles. I rushed downstairs and made coffee. And we both chainsmoked about 45 cigarettes. Then he left. I immediately called up a friend and ranted and raved about (excuse me, I have to get raw) fascist cocksuckers. I ran into the Marine about a month later. I was actually quite glad to see him. And vice versa. He was raving about the fear in the people in Portland. And about how nobody wanted the Truth. They wouldn’t listen. He was thinking strongly about returning to the Corps. The Marine: / came out here to readjust. I don’t really understand this life anymore. I can stay here for six months and be a complete asshole. And then go back to New England and be my new self. Because, as I say, I went in a punk, and I came out a man. And I’m sitting here thinking what am I going to do with my future. And now my future is here. And it’s raw. I think what I’d be doing if I didn't go in. I’d probably be working some shitty little job. The same shitty little grind. I’d probably be married. And she'd be bitching at me because I ain’t making enough damn money. But now look at me. I’m independent. The most I’m in debt is $ 500 to Sears. That’s $ 22/month. But I’m having a hard time readjusting. I’ll go back to New England. Live in the woods. I don’t want to be a hermit. I’ll have a job. But I’ll build my own house with my own hands. Out there people respect your privacy. Not like my little apartment building where everybody’s gotta know your business. Hell. For four years everybody knew if I farted one night. But now that I'm out, I miss the Marine Corps. I miss the prestige of being a Marine. are conditioned to feed. Men take the en- tropic energy of modern life and thrust outward with it. They punch. They pound. They scream. They grunt. And women take the entropic energy of modern life and swallow it. The poison fruit. And it turns into depression. And sadness. And pain. The methods we employ to defend ourselves are of different design. We are different. The Marine got angry at the end of the interview. He said some truly obnoxious things about women. He was frustrated at women for going after what he considers HIS goods... is what I think. BeMarines are animals. We abuse women, children and other men. The Marines are also, though, the nicest people alive. They are the most polite. They’ll call everybody Mam cause the goods are limited enough. And the competition is fierce enough. And life is hard enough . . . without the womenfolk nudging the Marine’s stability. And knocking down historical.limits in which he believed. And from which he drew strength. It isn’t even his fault. So the Marine got mad. Instead of intellectualizing his anger. Or sublimating his anger. Or swallowing his anger... the Marine got mad and began ranting. He didn't get mad at me. He didn’t kick the coffee table. He didn't smash the tape recorder. He just picked out a scapegoat and ranted. Fine. He processes his anger his way. And I process my anger my way. And to tell you the truth, on a personal survival level, I think he’s got me beat hands down. My anger still filters through my brain, no matter how loudly I forbid it. And it tries to find something else to call itself. Anything else. Because anger, being loud, is so undignified. That s it. — No substitutions! bountifu 913 S.W. Alder Portland, Oregon 226-4129 OUR FINEST PIZZA S PORTLAND’S * OUR CHEESE is whole milk Mozzarella. * OUR SAUCE is a unique recipe prepared each day from whole tomatoes, fresh garlic, select herbs and spices! * OUR DOUGH is handmade every morning at 5 am. (8 am N.Y. time) * OUR TOPPINGS are fresh and * OUR PROMISE is to make everything fresh. We won't skimp on ingredients! TRY A SLICE OF NEW YORK Thank God Tm The Girl I suppose like any other boy I had one best friend in the neighborhood His name was Eugene and he was bigger Than I was and one year older. Eugene used to whip me pretty good. We fought all the time. Charles Bukowski The Bee now it is time for the wrap up. I have interviewed the Marine.- I have read all the books I could find on manhood. I have slowly sucked on all the information, like a piece of hard candy, for weeks. And I have hoped to be left with some sort of lucid taste in my mouth from which I could derive this elusive point. And what am I left with? WOMEN AND MEN ARE DIFFERENT. That’s it! There is no blame! Men are conditioned to hunger. And women Desolation Now But the point-point of this article — what I actually learned from the whole process — is that I am not as modern as I thought I was. And neither are you. And all values developed before 1965 are not hogwash. Our instincts are as old as the hills, and not very antiseptic. Thick, theoretical thought cannot convince them into slickness. Anger, jealousy, hate, pride — all these emotions we have tried to neutralize and process away — are of the heart and gut — just as is love. They are instinctual. They are of the earth. So, on the one hand, I salute the Marine’s primitivism because it is also of the earth. Grunting and thrusting as a means of release is appealing. Especially since choking on my own emotions, caught in modern mental blockages for too long and thus released in a fermented state, has really been making me sick. But on the other hand, brutality, fascism, imperialism — and breaking the necks of innocent little bunnies — cannot be justified. No way. They, I am sure, are distortions. The resolution?? Well, it’s rather old and well-worked, but again, it seems to always work in a clutch: FOLLOW THY HEART FOR IT HOLDS THE WISDOM OF THE AGES. i used to dream radical dreams of blowing everyone away with my perceptive powers of correct analysis I even used to think id be the one to stop the riot and negotiate the peace then I awoke and dug that if i dreamed natural dreams of being a natural womarf doing what a woman does when she’s natural i would have a revolution revolutionary dreams Nikki Giovanni Bravo, Nikki! And viva la revolution. Leanne Grabel is a writer living in Portland whose last CSQ article was “Sub in the City.” Susan Gofstein is an artist living in Seattle. Signed, sealed and delivered! The Famous "Expose Yourself to Art" Poster Signed by Bud Clark Portland s Next Mayor ^25°°each Add S2.50 for UPS Shipping & Packaging. Proceeds from the sale of signed posters will be used to pay the deficit incurred by the Bud Clark for Mayor Campaign Enclosed please find my check for $ for _ poster(s). Iwould like my poster to read: ___________________________ Name______________ Address______ City &State Zip ________ Make check or money order payable to: Bud Clark for Mayor Campaign Send to: ART-FLASHES P.O. BOX 10889 Portland, Oregon 97210 Clinton St. Quarterly 7
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