I was sitting along in the living room watching “Diamonds Are Forever” on TV when out of nowhere I was seized by a very vivid mood, a certain mental impression. I turned off the TV and wrote three pages of something just now while listening to part of the “Lost Highway” soundtrack. I was feeling nostalgic about when I was living in L.A. That date I had with John C. when we drove up to the Griffith Park Observatory at night to see the view of the city. I’d been in town maybe two or three weeks. We kissed that night, but I only saw him three times the whole period I was living there.

It’s all pretty ironic, when I start daydreaming about that time in my life; I was unhappy a lot of the time I was there. But I remember several moments clearer than crystal, experiencing new things in a different city, remembering and recording. I almost never think about when we were working on the film. I guess all that work blurs together for me. I seem to remember the lunch breaks we took more clearly than the actual work. And my time off, my free days. Walking down La Brea on really hot days, high noon, no one else on the sidewalk but me for very long stretches. Walking to Stir Crazy on Melrose for a cup of coffee to sip while I sat there reading or writing something.

Somehow L.A. is a magicial place when you’re only visiting, when you’re there for a certain period of time all the while knowing that you’ll leave. It’s when you try living there that things go sour. I wonder if Bunuel felt that way when he was there. I still think about that.

I have three days off from work stretching ahead of me. And I have a small list of things I want to accomplish in that time. If I do all the things on my list, I’ll feel good about myself later on.

It’s still so humid, so sticky, even at night. It cools down at night in L.A.