It was a busy day for home improvement and cleaning and picking up framed pictures like the one above from omEGG. First off I wanted to sleep, but the farmer’s market called and then I had this desire to go and take a boat ride on the Gowanus Canal and then see the multimedia projections as part of the Submerge Festival…. But the better half wanted to clean the bathroom and vacuum and buy a blind for the kitchen and hang that blind and rehang the Phospherous Tracer painting that fell off the wall on … was it 7/7? and rehang everything else in response to the newly framed drawings. By the time I got down to the canal, nothing was happening… nothing till it got dark anyways … and well frankly it looked like it wasn’t going to be so exciting, so I beat a retreat from a personal Waterloo …but I did find two nice pieces of quality ply wood to work with in the studio with the sweat pants that my dad died in…. and some great old tapes (second time in one day I found tapes… people seem to be tossing out whole collections… Peter Gabriel, Led Zep, Beethoven, De La Soul, etc…). These bastards are throwing out my youth and if I weren’t walking down the block, well who’d be there to collect it? I mean to say that there happens to be a tape player in the studio… Hell I threw out my youth a long time ago. I’ve got almost nothing that plays a tape anymore…
We ended up going to our old haunt, Rosewater. It was one of the first good restaurants in Park Slope (now it’s becoming a veritable scene). Nostalgia filled the air. You could taste all the years that have flowed away like the waters of the Volga… and it was some sort of Chekhov night… I had allergies, but that can’t explain all the tears, can it? We drank an Alpine wine from the Savoire and talked to John, our old neighbor and the restaurantuer and time and space got all funny, like the Murakami book I’m reading (Kalfka on the Shore), or a Nicholas Roeg movie. He was talking about coincidences too… what a coincidence.
They brought the bird out on a silver platter. She had been fattened on tarmac and cheetos and fried up in the the orange marmalade of napalm and butter. It was delicious, but you couldn’t help but think of all those who’d died in the kitchens and Roman arenas. They’d been eaten by lions and here we were eating the lions, while the music played dominoe on the old black and whites.
