Category Archives: Syd Barrett

Love Plus Zero No Limit

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Wishing you a Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ll be doing a screening Sunday Febuary 22nd at 3pm at 17 Frost Street. I’m toying with the idea of making Lolita the invite/movie poster. It might be the only way I get it together for SuperTrash anyways.

Hanging Myself

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Not funny really in this time of Infinite Jests, but maybe it is really exactly how I feel. I mean in the sense of eternal return, or Metampsychosis, or however you spell it and whatever Joyce was talking about…. I’m hanging the show. I feel like a worker… in the Marxist sense of that word: working on the ladders with the back into it. I mean to say that hanging a book is a physical act. I’ve been training for it like a boxer at the gym.. but my fucking thumbs are still weak for the push pins and the map pins and the pins and needles and needles and pins…..feel like a carpenter… feel like Christ crucified… stigmata on my thumb. LOL. music here is some odd Brian Wilson post Smile mid mad period song. Fucking lovely and perfect fit for my raw time lapse. More to come…

Pittsburgh Going Ashore – Pittsburgh Coming Aboard

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ABC is as easy as 1 2 3 as easy as Do Ray Me, you see?

Once I saw the changing of command on the USS Pittsburgh at Grotton, CT with my brother from a Bolex mother. When The Captain leaves the ship they blow a dog whistle and say: “Pittsburgh going Ashore.” It is as if the soul of the boat has left the boat. When The new Captain walks the gangplank, the dog whistle is blown in opposite progression and the Ensign speaks these magic jazz hand words: “Pittsburgh Coming Aboard!” and it is as if the boat is born again.

Me and Pat call melady Young Pas (or green onion in Korean, or Sly to the Midwesterners or Sylvie to you… etc.): Pittsburgh. She is the Captain my Captain. She is the queen of that little steel Swiss, but rusting Town in the middle of the Eastern Sea Board. I was throwing out all my old clothes yesterday and getting rid of all the wire and plastic hangers… nothing but wood is good quoath Pittsburgh and I concurred while wearing the buddhist Stettson and the silk guns and the Star Wars blasters still in the a tiny casket to be burried by the IRA somwhere beside the river Liffey. I tripped and fell upon a Bazooka shell full of old memories of Pittsburgh’s youth and there were steller shots of her as Stella amongst the stars and my street car named desire and some calling cards from old beaux and a shot of her leaning away from a dire wolf… him stealling kisses and trying to eat her heart out and I realize it is good to walk with pax but always have silk guns in a silk casket somewhere… the silent big stick as the Church on the Hill said, or was it The Mac daddy Author, or Ike? Yes Ike who I like if only because he said, “Beware the military industrial complex”… The king can speak the truth, but the wolves are still there… stealing kisses, and hearts, and gold, and souls.

I became quite green with jealousy looking at the explosive contents of the shell… and then I found a receipt for the first futon we ever shared and a letter I wrote to fair Pittsburgh in Pittsburgh when I was in the Tower of Pain and hats and song. It was not the most regal of things… a manic all night scrawl on yellow legal paper… but you know what? It was really a very romantic letter. It brought a single tear to my eye that dropped into the vast Atlantic… How can a shell hold such wealth I thought? For in that moment I realized that this was a contract signed thirteen years ago… So Why has it taken me so long to honor it and honor fair Pittsburgh?

… Because you see, I have been hiding in plain sight, playing the fool on the hill. Now it is time to wear the purple robes and take the crown that is mine. Today Pittsburgh. Tomorrow the world. It is my job to be her knight in shining armor coming to her emotional rescue on a fine Arab charger. It is my job to keep the dire wolves at bay. Hail Pittsburgh hail the Queen.
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I was at Freddy’s the night Sly Fox left for Las Vegas and I gave two guys my moleskin and said, “Make me a drawing, buy me a beer…sort of as a joke…and I went outside to smoke… when I got back they had drawn this and bought me a magic hat #9… it is names of the superbowl champion (two years in a row) Steelers from the seventies when I used to wear the black and gold slicker to protect me from the hard rain…. Coin see dances coincidences…. They were Pittsburgher… friends from many moons ago… reunited in the city on a drunkes Spree… fiddle di di.

Three of a Perfect Pair

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One half of one collaboration from Paper and Me, from The Library Project and smashing together of three cards from Robert Watts.
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“Death is not an Hallucination,” She said.
“I didn’t say it was,” He said. “I said death is psychodelic.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something about the brain chemistry of dying seems similar to the strange brain chemistry of the psychodelic experience, or maybe even psychotic episodes… the change of reality… Change of perceptions of time and space… The dramatic shift from Being to Nothingness.”
“Well you could just say that death is Philosophical.”
“No, we’re philiosophical about death, but death is not philosophical… it’s more experiential than that I think, because you don’t think it, you do it… you be it.”
“Oh the philosophy of Frank Sinatra,” She said. “Do Be Do Be Do.”
I was thinking more the Grateful Dead.”
“So you took acid once at a Dead show and now the word dead seems psychodelic…”
“It’s a good guess, but it’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I never took acid,” she said. “It scared me.”
“Death scares everyone.”
“Not, death,” she said. “Hippies.”

He laughed and it was nice to laugh standing in front of the stone.
“I sound pretentious.”
“No, you sound pretentious and sophomoric.”
“Now you sound pretentious.”
“Let’s go eat Saussages,” She said.
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