March 25, 2022

The CD Frank sent me on the player. Leo Sowerby, I think. 

My mind dwells on G. We’ve known each other a long time, on the theater scene in particular, but, I think, rather irritated one another, so I can’t claim a bond of friendship. But I feel grief for him. A life gone in a minute. I need to keep quiet, or dissemble, if asked my opinion, for my frank stance is that 1) no abuse happened, but was merely anticipated, and 2) to create the occasion of transgression and then destroy someone for wandering into your trap seems to me a sin equal, at least, to contemplated pedophilia. The voice of the young man who stung him was too triumphant, too self-satisfied. Practically his first words were, “you’re life is destroyed,” not an observation, but a boast, the cackle of a demon. His organization is “Dads Against Predators.” Sometimes we vilify vigilantes, sometimes we applaud them. 

Morning used in doing battle against honeysuckle vines. Though the war is probably endless, this battle was a success, I making more progress than I had anticipated. Some of the vines are old and thick and deep. Shoveling out privet, too, which seems to have fallen from the sky.