Original subtitles

Okay, nice and quiet.

All right, let's roll sound.

- Roll camera. -Scene one, take one.

Roll it.

Set.

And set.

I guess a phone call wakes me up.

Oh, the alarm didn't go off?

I think I just slept through the alarm.

I set it for 8:30, because at 9:00

Jacqueline de Mornay from Elle Magazine was coming.

She was staying at the Chelsea,

and her English was not too good.

And she was coming for pictures of Lauren Hutton.

So it's 9:00 and the phone rings

and it's Jacqueline, and she says,

"Is it okay to come in 20 minutes?"

And I say, "Yes, it's perfect." And I hop out of bed.

I put the coffee water on and, and the phone rings again

and it was Susan Sontag.

She said, "Are you awake?"

And then she heard the radio and said, "Oh yeah."

She said, "I want to go see your show today."

She said, "I'm sure it's good."

That she couldn't imagine it not being.

And that she was going to Paris either today

or tomorrow and she might not make it

to the show.

So I told her about the guy from the gallery calling

and asking, did I know Max Kozlov

or Susan Sontag?

Why?

Actually, what I told her was a lie.

I'll tell you the other version.

It was only a slight altering, but it did reveal something.

You-- you mean he didn't mention her name?

Mm-mm.

No, I guess I found myself namedropping with him.

Like uh, he called and said, did I know Max Kozlov?

And I said, "No, I know who he is."

And he said, "Do you know how to get in touch with him?"

And I said, "No."

He's doing um, a photo magazine and he wants somebody

to write an introduction or something.

And I said, "Well, I don't know Max Kozlov.

Why don't you ask Susan Sontag?"

And he said, "Oh, you know her?" And I said, "Yes."

That's what happened. That's the way it happened.

I don't uh-- I didn't want to say that to Susan.

Uh, and she said, "No, I don't want to do it.

I only write what I have to or for friends."

You're not a friend?

Well, this wasn't for me. This was for this magazine.

She said it very sweetly.

And I said,

"Well, I wanted you to know, because if you go

to the gallery today and this guy approaches you,

I didn't bother calling you."

And she said, "I'm glad you didn't."

And then she said a big kiss.

There was no beginning to that sentence.

She said, I think sometimes she even might have called me

"darling", like a big kiss and then a space

and then darling.

Goodbye.

And then I get my coffee and I go sit at my desk

and it's not even 20 minutes and there's a knock on the door

and it's the Elle girl.

Now somehow in this time I've had the fantasy

of being seduced by the Elle girl.

Had you met her?

No, but that she was gonna come in

and it would be like in a French movie

and she would walk in and be right

in the middle of the floor.

Hm.

And she'd be very raunchy and reach for my buttons.

That was just one of the fantasies I had.

I thought it might be terrific right then in the morning.

Very French.

So she comes in and she's short.

She's wearing this long cape and she's very sort

of that French chic, not arty, but sort of almost.

Mmhmm.

And she comes in and she says, "Hello, I'm Jacqueline."

And uh, I say, "Hi, come in."

And she says, "Oh, you live here?

Ooh, this is your studio, too? Very nice."

Because somehow she liked the place.

Sometimes people come in and say, "Did you just move in?"

Or uh, "It'll be nice once you get it fixed up."

You want something to drink?

No, and I say, "It is fixed up."

And then I said,

"These are the pictures of Lauren Hutton."

And she says, "Oh, they're wonderful.

They're not like those of Avedon."

Because Lauren Hutton is beautiful,

but she looks like a boy, you know,

in her Levi's and sneakers.

And I say, "How much are they going to pay?"

And she said, "Oh, I don't know."

The article's gonna be four pages

and she doesn't know whether they're gonna use

one picture or four pictures.

So I said, "Well, what's your page rate?"

And she doesn't know. I almost got suspicious.

I thought this could be some-- some fan of Lauren Hutton's

who's doing this great scheme to steal pictures

of Lauren Hutton.

What was she supposed to be, an editor?

Yeah.

I wouldn't mind losing pictures to someone who would...

But I'd love to get money. Four pages.

Yeah. That should be quite a lot.

Could be a lot of money.

Yeah, well, she should know how much.

Yeah, I would have thought as an editor

she should know how much, especially as she was sent

for the pictures.

I'm really trying very hard

to be a businessman to some degree at least.

I think you have every right to know

before you give her the pictures.

Yeah.

I used to go to the other extreme.

And I would give them the pictures

and they would leave with them and I wouldn't say anything

about money.

And I would hope

that I would get a check or-- but I did ask her

and she didn't know.

And she said that she'd be back

on the 7th of January and that she'd call me.

Where was she going?

Back to France.

On Susan's plane?

I don't know.

Yeah, the same plane.

So then she took the pictures and I said, "Okay",

and she also.

And then I said, "Let me just write your name."

And I got the name as D-E capital M.

And she said, "No, not the big M."

So then I put the pictures in an envelope

and she said goodbye, and I said goodbye,

and then she left.

Never to be heard from again.

I almost feel like she was there less time

than it took me to tell the story.

So I'm having my coffee and I decided to figure out

how much money is owed me, because it's getting fuzzy.

So I added up all the definites that I know that I'm getting.

300 for this restaurant job, but I apparently will get 450.

So in one column I put absolutely definite 300

and in the other I put $450.

Hopeful.

It's very possible.

And it came out to, absolutely definite was $825.

And that's not including the Village Voice piece,

but that still could possibly happen.

- I mean, it's due next week. - Well, that is definite.

Yeah.

I mean, a week from today.

Yeah, the next issue.

How much of the tape is gone already?

Uh, a third.

I don't know whether to give more or less detail.

It's good.

Okay.

So is it boring or?

No, it's not boring to me.

So then Bob Mony calls.

He does indexing.

But he's a piano player. He plays the harpsichord.

He's really so good.

He does it like six hours a day.

He asks if I know Lily.

Who?

Lily, who used to be Clydine Malleck.

Oh, right.

Paul gave her the name of Lily.

- Paul did it? - Hmm.

I didn't know Paul did it.

I thought some great master did it.

Oh no, this was no great master.

I went there for a gay men's weekend,

and really, it's an IBM modern religion.

Did you see the ad they put in the Voice with all bodies

piled one on top of the other?

All done in this kind of Design Research way.

It's really quite chic with these beautiful brown rugs,

no, green rugs and brown walls,

and uh, these great bean bag chairs,

and Design Research furniture,

and nice tables, and it's really quite affluent.

I mean, it's not in the least bit poor.

- It's tacky. - What?

Tacky.

It might be tacky on a certain level.

But it's affluent.

In the sense that they have money.

We are about money.

We are modern.

Anyway, he wants to know if I have Lily's phone number.

Because Lily is going to Rome to meet Paul.

And she wanted to go to Paul's house.

Bob Mony is a neighbor of Paul's.

In New York?

Yeah, his New York apartment.

Alan Lloyd lives across the hall

from Bob Mony's apartment.

Yeah, I knew Alan was in there.

Alan Lloyd has the keys to Paul's apartment.

Don't know where Alan was.

Bob Mony thought that Alan was at his Aunt Phoebe's.

- I've heard that name before. - Phoebe Lloyd.

Yeah, I told you the weird thing about that, didn't I?

That-- that Linda Lloyd, if she had a girl,

she was gonna name her Phoebe Lloyd.

Anyway.

I give him her home number and her Arrica phone number.

And how are things, see ya, goodbye.

At this point, my plan is to go back to bed.

What time is it about?

About 10:15.

I wanted to get rid of that girl.

And go back to sleep until 11:30.

Then Ed Baynard called.

Did you go back to sleep?

No, I was just about to.

It was 10:15 and Ed Baynard calls.

And he says, "Are you busy?"

I say, "Yes."

And he says, "Call me back."

And I say, "No, I have a minute."

And he says, "Call me back."

And I say, "Now is the best time."

And he says, "We're not getting through

to each other."

And I say, "No, I am busy, Ed.

But I will be much busier later."

And he says, "Are you working in the darkroom?"

And I say, "Yes."

Oh, oh, oh,

now I know every time I call and you say--

No, I really cannot stand to talk to Ed Baynard.

I can't get off the phone, no one can.

He won't let you off, he's the master of it.

And he also doesn't listen. He's totally insane.

If this ever gets printed, I hope it's printed

with his name.

What do you mean if? When.

I mean this part.

I really want you to use real names.

And he said, "Anyway, well, three things."

Does he always have a list?

No, I guess he concised it.

"Fred McDarrah is reviewing

the gallery and I'm not reviewing your show."

You mean if Fred was doing it instead?

Yeah.

And I said, "Oh."

And he said, "I think he's doing it more reviewing the gallery."

And I said, "Too bad, 'cause Ed Baynard was gonna

review the show and not mention Christopher Makos",

which I thought was terrific.

But I guess it is his show.

Did I tell you they offered me another show in January?

She called me and said, "Can you get a show together?"

- And I said, "No." - Oh, yeah?

I don't want to let any shit out.

Well, you-- you have to decide, you have to look around.

I mean, in terms of like a gallery,

if I have a show, I want it to be like,

like the group of pictures.

Which was, I think, quite together.

Whatever I do, I think that was the best

of what I do now.

There wasn't a bad photograph in there.

Right.

Quite reputable.

Extremely.

So I was annoyed, but I said, "Oh, well."

Cool.

What else could I say?

He said, "Second I quit the Voice."

Why?

'Cause Ed wrote an article about Lilo and her photography,

but they didn't want Ed to use his name,

but to publish under Allie Anderson's name

as the editor of the centerfold, because she said

it was getting too inbred.

And he said, "Inbred, white bread."

Really good.

Somehow, I didn't really think it mattered.

I mean, so what if your name's not on it?

Third on the list was Christmas Day.

He said, "What are you doing?" I said, "I don't know yet."

And he said, "Well, we're having a thing here,

and it'll be just people."

And I said, "Oh."

With no geese, no ducks.

He said, "Well, Bill Elliot, Lilo."

Yeah, the same old inbred crowd.

I think he meant, like the real people.

It just does.

And I said, "Well, I have to get back

to the darkroom now."

And-- and I go back to bed with my clothes on.

I had made the bed earlier

for Jacqueline de Mornay to be neat.

I wanted to appear neat.

So I just slipped

under the blanket with my clothes on.

You fall asleep so easily.

Well, I was tired, yeah.

Obviously.

I set the clock for 11:30 and I fall right asleep.

What a life.

I stay in bed till 11:45, and then I put my clothes on.

I thought you hadn't taken them off.

Oh.

I guess I didn't. I just lied.

Well, you-- you must have taken something.

Maybe your shoes.

I guess I put my shoes back on. Something.

Anyway, I go and make another cup of coffee

and two pieces of toast with raspberry jelly.

And now I'm going to call Allen Ginsberg at exactly noon.

Because he does his meditations.

And they told me to call him

either after 11:00 at night or at 12:00.

So it's exactly 12:00, and I call him.

It's busy.

So I put my red jacket on,

and I go downstairs to buy cigarettes.

And I break a $10 bill, and I give her also a penny,

because the cigarettes are 56 cents.

God, they are?

I come back up, and I call Allen Ginsberg,

and it's still busy.

Then at about 12:20,

I finally get through and a male voice answers.

And I say, "Is Allen Ginsberg there?"

And he says, "Who's calling?" And I say, "It's Peter Hujar.

And I'm supposed to take pictures

of Allen Ginsberg for The Times."

And the male voice says, "It's Peter Hujar

from The Times, Allen."

And Allen comes to the phone and says, "Hi."

And I say, "Hello." And he says, "Who's this?"

And I say, "It's Peter Hujar. And I leave out the part

about The Times, because he knows that already.

And I say, "I'm supposed to photograph you."

And he says, "Fine."

And I say, "What about today?"

And he says, "Good. Today."

And I say, "When?"

And he says, "This afternoon."

And I say, "How about in an hour?"

And he says, "Fine.

Or even three quarters of an hour.

I'm just gonna get something to eat."

And I mentioned something about a portrait.

And he carries on about, it's just like them, portraits,

he didn't say old-fashioned, but some word that made it sound

like they were really, these people are still doing

portraits in the paper.

The whole tone was very unpleasant.

And I said, "Well," and he said, "Well,

you better call The Times and tell them we can't do that."

And I said, "Well, let's not worry about it.

Let's just do what we can.

And you don't have to do anything you don't want to do.

As long as you're in the picture, we'll do it."

And he said, "No. You better call The Times."

And I think I got really tough.

I said, "Look, it's very strange."

What are you worrying about?" I said, "Don't worry about it.

We'll just do it how you want to do it.

It's okay."

And he says, "I just want to make it clear."

And I said, "Look, it really doesn't matter.

They just want a picture. There are no orders.

You have to do a portrait."

So I said, "Okay, I'll see you in an hour."

Does he still live on the Lower East Side?

Yeah, and he gives me the address,

which was 10th Street between C and D.

And he says, you know where that's at?

And I say, "Yeah, I know where that's at.

I live down here, too." And he says, "Oh, where?

And I say, 2nd Avenue and 12th Street",

which suddenly doesn't quite make it.

It feels like the Upper East Side.

The guy's up there in a fancy neighborhood.

So I get my camera stuff together,

and I have to decide what coat to wear

to the Lower East Side.

And somehow,

I think I'll wear my long, whatever it is, coat.

And I leave with that, but then I decide,

"No, it's wrong."

And I don't quite know what the criterion is here,

but it just didn't feel the coat

to wear to the Lower East Side to meet Allen Ginsberg.

I also had a flash that there was something sort

of bohemian poet about it, and I'd be much snazzier

in my red ski jacket.

Oh, good choice, yeah.

I just think it's more like Lower East Side.

Oh, before I leave, I water the plants.

And at this point,

I'm not exactly sure what time he called me.

Who called?

Allen Ginsberg.

But I talked to Allen Ginsberg.

So that hour of getting ready, I couldn't quite remember

when that was.

But anyway, I watered the plants before I left.

Do you have a watering can?

No.

The coffee pot, which I fill up in the tub,

because the pressure is much quicker.

Then I walked to Allen Ginsberg's,

down 2nd Avenue and straight across 10th Street,

past Fred and Simona Tuten's and those other people,

that writer critic?

-John Gruen? - Yeah.

But Ginsberg's like two more blocks

further down where it really gets to looking dismal.

And this Puerto Rican had yellow paint

all over his hands, really thick

smeared down his nose

like he'd sprayed himself with chrome spray paint,

orange, yellow.

And his shirt

and his hands were just all-- and on the face

it was much lighter, it was a little more spread out.

So it was like this glow on his face.

But then he wiped his nose and there was this streak.

Was he just standing on the street?

Uh, he came out of the building

and he looked at me almost like nasty.

And I thought, "Oh, he can tell, an alien."

I almost felt fancy down there.

The neighborhood intimidates me way in there.

It's very frightening, so rundown and dreary.

Yeah, it's like the Bronx where my Aunt Pauline lives.

I don't have any real fear, but it's very uncomfortable

to go down there.

Anyway, I get to his house and I go to apartment 4C

and I knock three times on the door.

He told you to?

No, I just-- I just did.

And uh, Peter Orlovsky opens the door wearing his tam,

and his hair is still down the back of his neck.

And he's really like, 45 years old,

like an old Polish man.

And I don't know whether he had it before,

but you know those moles

that are skin-colored with hair.

Hmm.

Like old people have on their faces?

He's got two of them on his cheek.

And he's uh, he's heavier.

It's not really like it's fat.

It's like it's--

Looks like he's getting older.

Yeah, there's a lot of gray in his beard.

And he says, "Allen's on the phone.

Sit down."

And I don't know what I expected of Allen Ginsberg's apartment,

but it was really the most rundown tenement

with uh, tenement furniture,

linoleum, a few sort of Indian things,

a mattress on the floor, Bob Dylan poster on the wall,

Rolling Stones.

Oh, there was some guitars around.

And oh, and there was a girl there

with a very New York accent, around 22.

She was just sitting around?

Uh, they were addressing Christmas cards.

Oh.

And they went back to addressing Christmas cards.

She was helping them do theirs?

Mm.

Allen was on the phone.

You're assuming something that we don't know.

Whether she lived with them or I couldn't tell.

I think they were involved somehow.

I also had the feeling that Allen actually lives more

in the country and that Peter lives there

with this girl.

That was my guess.

He's on the phone talking about Ellsberg.

Oh, what was he saying?

I really wasn't that interested somehow.

I could have listened, but I didn't bother.

And then he got off the phone and he said,

"Hi, want some tea?"

And then he said, "No, let's go right now",

before I had the chance.

And I said, "No, look, you want a cup of tea?

I'd like one", because I didn't want

to go right out to the site.

So we have a cup of coffee and Hibiscus calls

and he says, "Hello, Hibiscus."

And when he gets off the phone, he's being very cool

and uh, suspicious.

Does he have a big beard and everything?

Yeah, it's like an Indian, really out like this

and he's bald on top.

He has these glasses with wire rims.

He used to have those dark glasses.

Yeah, I have a nice picture of him with Gregory

that Gregory gave me.

I'd like to see it.

And then I asked him something like,

"What's with Hibiscus?" And he asked him.

You know Hibiscus?

Yeah.

"Oh, show, where, when,

how's your love life?

Good. The same one? Goodbye."

And uh, and then I said uh,

"Does he still have the same boyfriend?"

And he said, he still does.

And uh, then he said,

"I was in an angel show in San Francisco."

And I said, "I was in an Angel show here.

I was Mother Goose and I looked like Vivian Leigh",

but he doesn't respond at all.

I almost feel like everything I'm saying wasn't even heard.

And then we go out and go to this

burned out building where he was mugged

and he stands there and he points at the door.

Is he wearing an Indian robe?

No, Levi's.

Oh, he says he has the same clothes

as when he was mugged.

And I said, "I don't think it really matters."

And he says something about something I forget.

So we go there and I say, "It looks like something

out of an Italian comic book", pointing that way.

I couldn't remember fumetti, but it somehow had that look.

I say, "You really want to look that way in the New York Times?"

And he says, "I want the people to see."

And he somehow ties it up with all these

burned-out buildings, boarded-up windows

and people still living there.

It's very desolate and strange.

Right in his neighborhood.

Yeah.

And the buildings are burned out, whole floors,

like these people are being burned out.

And he points at a building and says,

"Tuli Kupferberg lives there."

And I didn't quite know what to say to that.

I thought, "I guess I should tell him

I photographed Tuli Kupferberg, but I don't really want to."

But I do.

I say, "Oh, I photographed him when he was with The Fugs."

Then he points at the butcher's shop

and says, "That was the Peace Eye bookstore.

You can take a picture of me in it, so I can send it

to Ed Sanders."

So I do that.

And he says, "Can you get all this stuff in

that's charred?"

And I say, "Sure, sure."

Is-- is he still suspicious or has he warmed up?

No.

And I say, "Oh, it looks real arty."

Standing in the burned out butcher's shop window

with his arms crossed, chanting.

Yeah. Om.

Yeah.

He kept doing the om, om, om, pum, tum.

And then we go to the doorway across the street.

And he sits down in the lotus position

looking very Buddha,

right in the doorway, and he starts to chant.

And I really think, "Well, I can't interrupt God."

I can't say, "Can you please stop that?

Do you really want a picture sitting

in the doorway?"

- Yeah, he does, though. - He does, though.

And uh, then this girl and Peter walk by

and he waves and says, "Come have your picture taken.

We haven't had a picture together in a long time."

So I think it's just gonna be the two of them,

but then the girl gets in, too, so it's the three.

I somehow thought it might be interesting to have a picture

of one of the longest marriages.

Oh, when I had my coffee, this goes back,

the girl said, "There's no sugar."

But then she did find a single sugar pack,

because she said, "Honey is so awful in coffee."

Ouch.

I like it. It's good.

And we finished taking pictures on the street

and I don't really know what else to do there.

And at one point I said, "You're talking to me

like I'm the New York Times and I'm not",

because he kept throwing in things

about the ownership of The Times' connections

with the oil interests, and I just couldn't care less.

I mean, the details are like something

out of a soap opera that's not very interesting.

And he said, "But you work for The Times."

And I said, "No, this is the first job I've gotten

for The Times."

And suddenly, that's much better.

And I asked to take some portraits of him

at home just for me, and he said, "Sure."

What, to do right then and there?

Yeah.

And we walked back to his house and stopped at a vegetable store

on the corner of Avenue C.

And a car crashed into the back of a truck.

And it turns out, the story,

that the guy who crashed into the truck

was going the wrong way.

He doesn't have a license or anything.

It's probably a stolen car, and the police took him to jail.

He buys three persimmons.

And he says, "Have you ever eaten these?"

And I say, "Yeah, I don't like the way

they feel in my mouth.

They have that awful chalky feeling."

And he says,

"Oh, I just really got into them only a couple months ago",

something about vitamin C or something.

And I say, "Have you ever seen them on a tree?

They were on the tree after all the leaves fall off."

And he's not listening to this at all.

"Let me go upstairs."

And I say, "Why don't you sit over there?"

And he sits down in a lotus position

and starts chanting.

Oh, he's a compulsive chanter.

Looking with this kind of nowhere look.

He doesn't see me at all. He's just focused into...

Um-land.

And then I say, "I don't like that background."

So I move him.

Just to move him, just against another wall.

And then I say, "Why don't you pay attention to me?

Check me out."

And he starts to do that, but then he gets into listing

like who really runs the country and the top 10 corporations

and oil.

And then we're interrupted by a call

and it's all talk about William Burroughs.

And I think...

Here's my chance.

I just throw this in, which I somehow did.

But I find it hard not to be.

It's almost as if

I felt I better show some credentials.

So I said, "I'm photographing him tomorrow."

And he said, "Oh, how come?"

It's almost as if everything I said...

"I met him at lunch."

"Where?" "Felicity Mason's."

"When?" "Three weeks ago."

What, did he approve?

No.

Sounds horrible.

And then he said, "Oh, you can get

some interesting pictures out of Bill."

And I said, "Oh, really?"

And he said, "Yeah, suck his cock."

And I said, "It would be better if I brought him

a prep school boy."

And he said, "Oh, you could do that.

As Burroughs loves

those prep school waspy boys with the neckties."

I thought it was strange, out of nowhere.

What, the sucking the cock?

Yeah.

It's different from his chanting image.

He took a certain relish in like, being naughty

or something.

Almost felt like it had an edge of, come on.

He said, "You could go to bed with Bill."

And I said, "I don't think it would be that impossible.

He's not that unattractive." Which he isn't.

There's something-- he was very friendly.

- He was nice-looking. - Hm. I like his face.

It's not repellent.

Mm. He's the opposite of Allen.

I mean, like, he'll age very well.

Ginsberg will just be a fat old Jewish man.

He's always been very ugly.

I forgot what else was said there.

Oh, he said he might come by tomorrow.

'Cause he'd already got more time.

What, at your place?

No, Burroughs. At 3:00.

Did you tell him not to?

No.

No, I thought about that, but then I thought

maybe it might be interesting.

Burroughs and Ginsberg together on a picture.

I'd still get Burroughs.

And then I left.

Was it a friendly farewell?

Yeah.

He said he'd like to see the pictures,

to tell him what picture was used in The Times,

and in the end, he really didn't care

if I used a portrait of him or not.

You won him over.

He said he was just being hard,

and he was trying to protect himself.

And I walked home.

What time is it about?

I don't know.

It's still light.

Maybe 4:00.

Then what?

Then I take out this Oscar Mayer Braunschweiger.

Oh, I used to love that.

Is it still cheap?

No.

It's 89 cents for a little-- It's expensive.

But I was hungry, and I splurged.

I make a sandwich on that Pepperidge Farm,

that delicious bread.

It's wheat bread, but it's--

The sprouted wheat?

It's sprouted wheat!

And I have some Pep-up, that's left.

What is that?

That's the Adelle Davis drink with yeast and stuff.

And as soon as I finished that, which I ate fairly quickly,

I go right into the darkroom, and I set up

for developing film.

And the phone rings, and it's Steve Pisney,

who is some number who likes to talk tough.

He used to be in the Marines.

He's actually very sweet.

But he has this whole comic book edge to him.

He says, "Hey, man, I'm really hot tonight.

I was just jacking off."

And I say, "Well, I've got people here."

You lie all day long.

Yeah, I do. It's amazing.

I don't think you realize half the time.

You do. I know when I lie.

I don't know why I do them, but each lie is--

I wish I could do it more.

I mean, you didn't want to talk to him, right?

You wanted to work.

He wanted me to come over to his house.

I said, "Okay, well, catch you later."

- Yeah. He's not a New Yorker. - No.

So then I go into the dark room,

and I develop two rolls of film first,

because there are eight altogether.

And this is the Ginsbergs.

And that's in the hypo.

And Linda calls.

And she tells me to write this all out.

But you hadn't written anything before this?

- No. -Oh my God.

I said, "I don't know that I can remember it all."

Turns out...

'Cause I really began to think, "Well, I didn't do anything."

I photographed Ginsberg, that woman from Elle.

She came in the morning. That's it.

Isn't it interesting?

It really is.

Because as soon as I started, like all this--

Yes. It's like a whole novel already.

Yeah. All this stuff came.

So I write it all down.

It takes me a bit of time.

I thought it would take a minute.

It takes like 12 minutes.

Then I go into the dark room, and I develop

the other eight rolls of film when Glenn O'Brien calls.

And he says, "Will you be home at 8:30?"

And I say, "Oh, I don't know.

I'm pretty sure I will be because I'm at work.

I should work.

but like, I really don't want to,

I might go out or something.

I don't want to commit myself right now."

You said this to him or you just thought about it?

I thought about it.

I don't want to commit myself right now.

And I know I probably will work.

And if I say, "Yes, 8:30..."

Well, he was gonna call you back at 8:30?

No, he was going to be down in the neighborhood.

He wants to know if I would give him

the negatives of, um...

He's starting this

rock and roll group called "the Conelrad".

He can't sing or play an instrument.

None of them can.

Nikki, the guy that did those anal paintings.

Oh, I was just reading about him today.

Yeah, he did something Saturday night.

He's the drummer in this group.

With his ass?

Yeah, I photographed them.

Because it's almost like they're doing this hype.

I don't know if it's half serious.

Well, does any music come out?

No.

They haven't made any music.

Glenn can't sing or play.

And they get publicity.

Like they got Lisa Robinson from Rock Scenes

to do a picture of them.

And Fran Lebowitz to do an interview.

And it's totally made up.

They're Korean war brats and they got together in Korea.

What, they really are?

Mm-mm.

No, they made up the story.

They talk about it as if it were real.

So I photographed them for Lisa.

And I said, "Yeah, I have no need for the negatives."

And I hang up the negatives and Vince calls.

No.

I hang up the negatives and I take a nap.

Of course.

'Cause I needed a nap. Does it sound like too many?

What, two naps a day?

-Yeah. - Yeah.

Well, the first one wasn't a nap.

It was a continuation of my sleep.

And I needed an hour more.

And uh, then Vince called.

And uh, he wanted to know if he could come over

to take a shower at my place, 'cause he had no hot water.

And he was really hoping that there was someone

that he knew that he could call to take a shower with.

But he wished that he had some friend,

you know, some trick.

You should have given him the other guy's number,

the one that was hot.

I should have done.

But they wouldn't get along.

Vince wouldn't let him do his number.

Sometimes when I've made it with him, he calls me

"buddy".

Great.

♪ Hold me tight, my baby ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

♪ Hold me tight, my baby ♪

♪ Everything's all right ♪

♪ Hold me tight ♪

♪ Hold me tight ♪

♪ I don't care about tomorrow ♪

♪ But hold me tight tonight ♪

Danced all night

♪ Come on and let's have fun ♪

♪ Hold me tight, hold me tight ♪

♪ I don't care about tomorrow ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

♪ Hold me tight, my baby ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

♪ Hold me tight, my baby ♪

♪ Everything's all right ♪

♪ Hold me tight, hold me tight ♪

♪ I don't care about tomorrow ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

♪ I don't care about tomorrow ♪

♪ Hold me tight tonight ♪

Oh, one of the details of the Glenn O'Brien

conversation that I forgot was he wrote an article

for Italian Vogue about Bob Wilson

and they used one of my pictures.

So I said, "Hey Glenn, did you ever get paid for that?"

And he said, "No."

I said, "I want to get some money out of them.

Do you have an issue around, because I want to send them

the bill", 'cause this is like, June-July '74.

Yeah. A picture of what?

Bob Wilson.

Did you get a credit?

Yeah.

So Vince says he'll be over in a few minutes

when he gets his equipment together.

What, for a shower?

Yeah.

Did he bring his own towel?

No.

Soap?

Well, he brought his shampoo, his hair dryer.

Last time he came, he brought a washcloth.

So I go to the store and I buy tuna fish noodles,

Progresso, and yogurt, plain.

And I come back up,

I do 27 push-ups, and then I turn

the television on.

The evening's entertainment commences.

Then I decide to cook. But then I think, "Oh, Vince."

Because it had been my plan before he called.

So I think maybe I'll ask him if he wants to eat.

So he arrives and I ask. I say, "I'm not gonna put

any vegetables in or anything.

I just don't feel like even frying an onion,

but I'll just whip that up."

And he said, "Oh, I thought

that we could send out for Chinese food.

I'll treat."

So I said, "Terrific."

Yeah, save the tuna for another day.

So he's in the shower, and he says,

"I'll go down soon."

And I think it's silly to wait here

while he's washing and drying himself

to go get the food.

So I go down while he's still in the shower.

And then what do I do?

Then I went to the Chinese restaurant

and ordered the stuff.

I go to the Chinese and there's a guy there.

Hmm.

Who looks sort of fat.

But he has a very nice face.

There's something sort of lonely and strange.

He seems very much like an unmarried man.

Uh, straight, 35.

And he takes one of the mountain,

Jade Mountain card, the calling cards.

Mmhmm.

And he takes out a felt-tip pen and he starts to draw on it.

He makes these sort of squares.

Is he waiting for an order?

Yeah.

Yeah, which was chicken chow mein.

Oh, good luck.

And the waiter comes out and says, "Your order's ready."

And he sort of nods and then continues drawing.

And enough time has passed and he's still drawing

these boxes.

Was this on the little tiny card?

Yeah, and he's really into it.

And then the waiter stands there sort of perplexed.

And then he walks back over to him, and he says,

"Your order's ready." And he says, "Oh."

And it came to $3.45.

For chicken chow mein?

For his stuff. And then he leaves.

Mine is-- takes a few more minutes,

and it's $7.30.

It's 7.30, but you only had 7.

7.4-- 7.43

Yeah, but you only had 7.

I had 7, and I paid the difference.

Big spender.

And also, I had to get Vince a Coke.

So I go to the store, a Greek place.

- Hm. -I get the Coke.

It's 32 ounces, which is 65 cents.

And I go back up.

And he's dressed and he's drying his hair.

Oh, the guy, the Chinese,

the guy from the Chinese restaurant, the artist.

Mmhmm.

He bought something in that store.

I don't know what he bought, but he bought something.

- In the Greek store? -In the Greek store.

And he asked for the slip,

and he didn't pay for it in the Greek store.

He just took the sales receipt, and he wrote Schmidt

on the back of it.

And um, and he's, without saying a word, he left.

Well, you should try that sometime.

That's a good trick.

I bet it would work up in this neighborhood

up in Yorkville.

So I come back up, and I open the containers.

And I get out the plates, and we sit down, and we eat.

I have the sweet and sour, and Vince has--

You don't share?

Um, a little bit, but mostly I don't really like

moo goo gai pan.

Vince didn't eat much of it. I ate all of mine.

And there wasn't enough rice.

And then I said, "Why don't you take the Coke home?

Because I still have the last one here,

it's flat, since you were here."

He lives on Coke.

Yeah, that's why his skin is so great.

He does not eat good, Vincent.

He really loves junk food.

We were out one night with Fran Lebowitz

and Craig Karpel, going to an Italian restaurant.

And Vincent insisted on getting out of the car,

so that he could go to McDonald's.

And he said that he would meet us there

at the restaurant for coffee.

Well, that's crazy.

Maybe it's because he grew up on Italian food.

No, but I mean, when you're with people.

I mean, he had to have McDonald's.

Yeah, get a fix.

I can't remember what we talked about.

I told him about Allen Ginsberg.

Oh, I read him the beginning of this list.

I said, "It's amazing."

I had the feeling

that I'd done nothing but gotten up,

photographed Allen Ginsberg, developed the film,

and that was it.

You know, I often have a feeling that in my day,

nothing much happens, that I've wasted it.

Well, now you know.

I've wasted another day.

All I did is I spent two hours with Ginsberg.

This takes a day.

That's why I'm doing this, actually.

To find out how people fill up their days,

because I myself feel like I don't do much

of anything all day.

You should do it.

I'm going to.

Anyway, there's a knock at the door,

and it's Glenn O'Brien wearing one of those coats like Joseph

used to wear with the fur collar, beige, gray.

- What, a storm coat? - With the belt, yeah.

Mmhmm. Like suburban.

And he comes in and he doesn't take it off,

and he says, "I'm going to jam with Bruce."

And I say, "Oh, come on. How do you jam?

What do you do? You don't play an instrument."

And he says, "We listen to records,

and we say we want to do it like that."

And I say, "You should get Topaz Caucasian for your band."

Well, she doesn't play anything either.

She-- Oh, she plays the trumpet, but she doesn't exist.

She's fictitious.

She's a woman that was made up by Pat Costello,

part of Wartoke Music Publicity Group.

They do the publicity for Stevie Wonder.

They took me on tour with Rod Stewart,

and they drop out the name occasionally, Topaz Caucasian.

She was at Miami Pop Festival or whatever it was,

Newport Festival, or she made a brief appearance

on stage with Miles Davis, and they put this in the paper.

Topaz Caucasian is supposed to be a 6-foot,

red-haired mulatto, and she actually got

into all the papers.

I would be with people

who would swear that they had seen Topaz Caucasian.

Wait.

How did you know that she was made up?

Because I was there when she was made up.

Oh.

Did Glenn O'Brien know she was made up?

No, I told him the story of Topaz, that she was made up,

and I said that she could be just perfect to say

that you're considering Topaz Caucasian,

and he said, "Yeah."

He knew about Topaz.

He said that, "If someone dared come out

and say, 'I am Topaz Caucasian', that they could be heard,"

that they could make a record, at least cut a demo,

because people were saying, "Who is she? Who's she with?"

There's something like they're doing it real.

I think that they might start collecting musicians.

- They just might. - Yeah.

I have a feeling that Suzi Quatro did that.

Well, now what happens?

Glenn's there, stays for about 10 minutes,

and then he leaves, so it's just me and Vince.

And I say I have to go back to work,

and Glenn says he's going to go home.

I mentioned your book during this thing,

and they're like, "Patrick says it would be great

to have a sofa."

And I say, "It would really change my life.

And we discussed this during the dinner,

the make-out possibilities and how difficult--

You know, in his apartment,

he has a bed and straight chairs,

so they either have to go to the bedroom

and watch the television, do it that way

or if they get on the bed, he keeps the bed

in the living room,

and he keeps all these magazines and letters.

He has to move all these.

Yeah. Well, a couch, a couch would be in between.

You can do it on the couch.

You can sleep on the couch.

You can stretch out and read on the couch.

It's really a rather wonderful thing.

And one day, it'll be yours.

Okay, so Vincent leaves, and I go back to the dark room.

This is about 10:00?

Probably somewhere in there, not watching the clock,

and I think about making the restaurant enlargements.

The restaurant job I did, the interior of the restaurant.

I just hate printing it.

You know there's like, 14 different prints

and the contacts

are in the dryer already of Ginsberg.

What's your reaction?

There's very little there.

There's no contact.

Hm.

So then I make the restaurant pictures,

and when I'm looking at them, I was really exhausted.

I just wanted to go to bed again.

But when I start working, I kind of wake up.

Did you have lunch?

I had the liverwurst sandwich.

Hm. I think you're malnourished.

Do you eat enough vegetables?

Sometimes, but like yesterday, that's all I had.

Well, that is not enough. Not for a big man.

Really.

I guess not.

That is why you're tired.

I'm not that tired.

It's just certain things

like Allen Ginsberg got me tired.

So I uh, make the blow-up of the restaurant,

and after I've made half a dozen,

I realize this is quite an incredibly good job.

It looks very professional.

And I got all these pictures of one restaurant,

portrait of the owner for $450.

That's really a steal, a good price.

I thought, "Oh, it's really too much", because I was there

a couple of hours, and I did these pictures.

And it looks just like the place.

And Fran calls, and uh, I say, "I'm at work."

And she says, "Okay, go back to work.

I'll talk to you tomorrow.

And she says goodbye.

And I finish up

the restaurant things, and I wash them,

and I realize, I better not soak them overnight,

because that polycontrast paper starts to peel at the edges,

and I want it to look very presentable and neat.

To get my money so I wash them,

and the heat is off.

The heat had gone off

about 7:30 when Vince was taking a shower.

It's getting very cold.

Does this happen every night?

It's very peculiar.

The night before, it had been on all night long.

It was so hot.

It was on until 7:00 and it was off until 2:00.

It's on some kind of automatic thing.

It's very weird.

But I knew it was okay to leave the prints

to dry out in the air, because if it was cold,

I could leave them out overnight,

and they would dry slower and flatter.

And then I remembered that I have to go

to Tina tomorrow, and I have to bring her

the Janet Flanner pictures.

She's buying two to trade for sessions.

So I pick out two that are kind of matched,

and I realized that the print that I had made,

the one that you have, was really so much better.

And I hadn't really seen that before.

Felicity had said, "I want that print today.

These people are here for this party."

"I've been doing something all morning,

so I got home at 3:00", and I said, "Well,

I can make it in an hour, and if you give me

50 bucks for it",

I might as well make the ones for Tina, too.

And I thought that they were good.

But I realized that to do good work,

I have to like have the time

to really look at it, really see what I'm doing.

Sometimes I just stand and stare at it,

and it's even rather pleasurable.

It really takes time to get to know it.

That almost sounds corny.

Anyway, I hadn't realized till then

that they were really ordinary prints.

They were good, but they were ordinary.

Like, that one had those really strange whites, black.

So I signed them.

My pen wasn't writing good, so the P in Peter

was just looking awful.

So once you put pen

and India ink on the face of a print, it just looked puny.

I thought, "I can't get too tight with the E-T-E-R,

but at least I can keep it in the same scale

but give it some zip because it becomes like part

of the image."

And the pen just wouldn't write boldly.

It wanted to go slow.

So anyway, I signed them, and I thought, "Oh, well."

Oh, before that, there were two little spots

that I took out.

I spotted the print...

and I went through my photographs

to try and find the picture of Frank Lima's daughter,

for Tina, who likes it.

I couldn't remember whether I had it printed,

but I knew

there was one mounted one, so I found the mounted one.

And uh, it was peeling off the cardboard,

the mounting paste was coming loose.

So I thought, "I'll try ironing it back, see if it sticks."

So I went and got the iron. This is now like 2:30.

And I got a sheet of paper and I pressed it down.

And I got it all back on the mount.

And I thought, "The edges are a little bit messy,

but I can say, 'Oh, but it's the original print."

I mean, it was still nice, but the edges

were a little bit, you know.

I never thought,

I usually like things to be very crisp.

I somehow thought it was funny even to have that thought.

This is the original.

And you never had that thought before?

I don't know whether it's good or not.

- It's not bad. - I know.

It's like getting caught in--

Oh, you wouldn't let yourself get caught into it too much.

As a look, I like it to be neat.

There's something that bothers me about it.

Oh.

So I unplugged the iron.

And I noticed a few little spots.

And there was one spot

that I really was amazed that I had gone

around the print.

And there was like a hair mark.

I used to be really good at spotting.

Now I find I can't see as good.

Really?

Up close, is that far or near-sighted?

Far-sighted.

I find that I have to look at things like this.

Yeah, me too.

And with spotting, which I used to love to do,

like see these tiny little spots and with the brush,

to be able to put these pinpoints of dye on it,

I could do it for hours.

It was very satisfying.

I was very good at it.

Now it's like a physical unpleasantness.

Not that it hurts, but it's not right.

I can't see it.

All the pleasure is gone.

Well, when you get your glasses.

It's just-- I have to get glasses. Yeah.

Do you need them for distance?

No.

Just up close.

When I first noticed

that I was getting far-sighted was when Maurice Hogenboom,

who was a Dutch photographer, living with Caterin Milinaire,

came over to my house.

I went to Phoebe's.

And he showed me a picture of himself.

He's quite beautiful.

I pulled out this picture.

I said, "Look at this."

And he put it about a foot away from my face.

I mean, not too close.

And I had to back off.

It was annoying.

I had to take it in my hand and put it out there

and say, "Oh."

That was when I realized, it's strange.

I used to be able to look at things that close.

Didn't you think we'd just be exempt

from all these things?

I never gave it a thought.

Yeah, I never thought these things would happen.

In a way, I thought-- I mean, yes.

I had that feeling that none of those old-age things.

Arthritis, bursitis, rheumatism.

- Hon! - No, I've got bursitis.

That was the last time I saw Maurice Hogenboom.

He didn't want anything to do with you, old guys.

No. No.

He went to Brazil and he was photographing

and he stepped backwards off a cliff.

There were some thousands of feet.

See what happens when you step back.

All hangs together.

So, you were spotting.

I was spotting, yeah.

And then I got an envelope and a cardboard.

I didn't have a cardboard. I did.

But I didn't want to use it.

So I used a mounted print instead, 'cause I'm getting

really low on cardboard.

And I put it by the front door, so that I wouldn't forget it.

And the contacts that I dried

in the electric dryer were already dry.

So I looked through this first good look

through my viewer, so I could really see the face

and they were not good.

Were they good enough for The Times?

Probably.

But he gave out nothing.

It's not that he didn't give out.

It's that we didn't connect.

He was so hostile though.

Yeah, it does reflect in a way on me somehow.

No, he-- he certainly made it difficult though.

Yeah, but like had he been attracted to me.

Because men often take very different pictures

from women of each other, because I've seen pictures

of men that women have taken.

They're sometimes so charming and such a come on.

Like some of Shayla's pictures of men are just wonderful

and touching.

Like there she is, this beautiful woman out there

on the streets and she aims her camera

at a construction worker.

I'm getting off track.

I can't even remember what the track was.

You were-- you were looking at the Ginsberg.

Yeah.

And it really didn't have much.

Actually, I hated it the first look.

Second look, I thought, "Well, it's possible.

I mean, it's not uninteresting."

But I did think

in my snobby way it would be great to have

Ginsberg and Burroughs in a book, in my book.

Like when Susan said, only for her friends, I was thinking,

"Would Susan Sontag write an introduction

to my book?

Or should I have Vince Aletti write it?

Or Frank could write something funny."

The publisher would probably have something to say

about that anyhow.

Oh, he'd probably love it. She'd probably help sell books.

I mean, wouldn't you be more likely to pick up

a photography book?

If-- I mean, I'm sure

it would help sales than by Vince Aletti.

I would really love to make money off of it.

Also have it get around.

You know, I've always had a star thing.

Wanting to be some kind of a star or a star.

I would like my work to stand above that.

I would like my work to stand about that.

That my work could stand so all by itself

without a single star in it.

Well, it could.

I mean, I find the star thing very superfluous.

But they're not your everyday stars.

Like to me, those were stars in the show.

Hm.

It's-- it's a different thing.

You know, these people are very accessible.

Like Joan Crawford.

It's like the same thing.

Like-- like Joan Crawford.

I mean, wouldn't you go out of your way

to see Joan Crawford?

She's not one that interests me that much.

If she was around the corner, you would see her.

No, I'm telling you, I'm very blasé about stars.

What about an evening with Joan Crawford?

I think it would be gigantically boring.

You're probably right. I'd still be very curious.

Yeah, I'd rather meet Bette Davis.

Well, there are other people that--

I mean, I just picked Joan Crawford,

because Vince showed me a book

and on the cover there was a scene

from, I think it was King Kong in New York, some movie

where New York floods and you see these big waves

coming down the street and it was Herald Square

with Crawford.

Where was I?

I put them in the envelope over by the door

and I look at the Ginsbergs and I don't like them.

But I said, "Well,

there are one or two that aren't really that bad.

And I'm sure if I really print it incredibly..."

Printing can sometimes...

What? Bring out things?

Yeah.

I mean, even in the quality of the face.

Like in one print the person looks completely different.

It's like adding something or uh, forcing something

to happen, which is interesting.

And I uh, started to write down

my last notes of this.

And say, "I'm going to bed."

But then I got up once I'd done that

and I went inside the harpsichord

and I run through part of the Bach thing that I know.

And make a few mistakes, but I do it over

until I play it nicely and it sounds good.

And I turn out the lights and first I set the clock

and brush my teeth.

You hadn't eaten this whole time since dinner.

I would've eaten six things by now.

Actually, I was feeling bloated.

I don't know why,

whether it was tension or why does one feel bloated?

What is that a sign of?

Because I didn't eat much

for dinner but I felt like the food was in my stomach

for hours.

Well, it was probably shitty food.

I think your stomach is shrunk. That's what it is.

No, it's actually sticking out.

No, I-- I think your stomach has gotten so small

from not eating that a little food

can stick it out.

After one and a half liverwurst sandwiches

my stomach was actually popping out.

I think it really has something to do with smoking and tension.

You put a lot of energy into smoking

that you could be using in other ways.

It's no good, I know.

It upsets me.

It really does.

I wish I could stop.

But I don't feel good.

I have smokers hangover all day long.

And then the harpsichord, brush my teeth,

set the clock for 10:00 a.m. and I go to bed.

I fall asleep almost immediately.

And then within a few minutes uh,

I wake up, because the whores are out on the street outside.

They have this conversation.

They talk so loud

with closed windows I can hear every word

they're saying.

What are they talking about? About the trade?

Yeah.

Just shop talk?

Yeah.

Do they keep you awake for a while?

No.

I got up.

And I looked out the window.

I watched them to see what they looked like.

One was putting on makeup in the dark

in the mirror of a car,

outside mirror.

Actually, it wasn't a car.

It was that blue truck

that comes from the junkies' detention center up the block.

They have this blue truck with tinted windows

and it has a small, rectangular mirror.

And then I went back to bed and fell asleep.