Ezeakeal Saw The Wheel… way up in the middle of the air, for STANLEY K.
The fact that Brian Wilson is still alive and still hitting the notes is quite the nicest story of the late twentieth century, or when are we now? It is sort of an weird vibration with the hunger artist woman finally dying and the pope going on the food pipe as a weird act of sympathy, or is it a sin of comission?
God save the Queen – she ain’t Human Bein’ – We mean it Man – and England’s bleeding.
Well the Queen is dead, long live the Pope.
Been watching the DVD’s of Tribute to Brian Wilson (which I saw) and Pet Sounds in England. Talk about Good Vibrations.
Like a strange man in black Tarrantino character I gave the better half a foot rub. Heaven is exactly like where you are right now, only much much better.
Indeed, Laurie.
In deed.
Reminds me of the time when Connie and I drove down from Providence to see the Last Gig of Sarah Vaughn when she was dying and singing on the morphine at blue note. We drove like a bat out of hell and hit the second of a three set gig at Blue Note. She’s done well in the first set, but felt nauseous and cancelled the second set. We hung in the street till eleven when Sarah was taken to the hospital… So we called Scooter who was living an MTV real world sort of existence and he took us on a tour of East Village bars that still offered dollar drafts. We watched Bruce Willis Die Hard (I kid you not) and the creepy droog tender had a bat and a rule for the bowery bums…. head hits the bar three times and you’re out of the bar for an hour. It was hard core … and you’re not hardcore, unless yhou live hard core and the rent was way hard core.
So Sarah died and we drove up i95… the two of us not sharing the driving as I was drunk. connie kept nodding off at the wheel right around R.I. IT is possible that he didn’t want to go back to school. I had to sing to him to keep him from veering into Jerusalem beach front.
And the question is as always:
Caroline Why?
We loved the same girl as sophmores. She was a Georgian peach blossom beauty and a hell of a painter. She wore a red coat all that winter and she was like the British to my Paul Reveare heart. I could spot that coat at a thousand paces and my skin would turn the same color red in camelion sympathy and my heart would jump into my throat like a frog. I dated her for exactly three days and lived in pain to the fouth or fith, or hundredth power of that. First date was listening to Laurie Andrson’s entire box vinyl of United States with wine and candles and my bohemian pals. She wore a shimmering cobalt blue scarf, tied simply into her hair. It had little golden disks afixed to it in a perfect color contrast thant jingled like wind chimes. She looked like an Andalusian rose and I did say yes to her yes yes. When it was time to get alone, I got to kiss her and I’d been stalking her already for months (thanks L.). I don’t ever think I felt so lucky (until later of course, but that’s a different and happier love story)
Tragedy came after three nights of instense courtship. She told me: “I can’t date you because I want to be a painter. I don’t have enough time for both of you.”
So I took up painting as if that would solve something… and cast her in my first college movie with Colin Waters the Buddhist Golf Hacker in a Black Droog Bowler with Dylan Guitar. She had the role of painting in India ink little null and void signs over a black foot print of the director. Oh I was a fetishist to be sure and then she met Conrad and let’s face it: he’s sort of cute. It didn’t work for him either and I suppose the thing that really bonded us a friends was heart ache.
Oh Carline Noooooooooooooo.
“I want to be a painter?” It strikes me as a cowardly way to breakup with a guy, but then we were all pretty young and self absorbed. Last I heard she’d won a Creative Capital grant and is still making art in Georgia… and is married. Hotlanta indeed.
And in another of a series of Mise en Scene by Carl Sandburg and the Good Witch of Long Island: Doug Lyman my old Semiotician droog from the Silverman days of Camp Bruno is on IFC talking up SWINGERS.
He’s, I suppose, our most filmic hollywood success story from Brown. Even if Jauques Boyreau and John Moritsugu get to make the more difficult looking films, Doug has really pulled off some caviar (and not every one has a taste for Divine dog shit Mr. Waters – Rodger also against a Wall and Colin and all waters on which I cast my ashes in the rain). Ever want a cigarette? I know I do.
Clark and I Smoke, from Willoughby, ITIN ’05
… and like Mingus, or M.P. Nakamura, or Joisette the Paris whore… I am back right in mid thought the better for nicotine… it does seem to help one concentrate and I love Smoke and Jarmmusch who said when I gave him a drawing at lucky strike of my dead dad in honor of his film Dead Man, in Soho, where he was dining with I think the producer of Cash’s last albums… what’s his name…Def Jam gug… beard and bear and beard like a guru in drag?
“I’m trying to quit smoking, so I’ve hired a bunch of people to smoke around me so that I get it ambiently…it’s not working though. I just bum cigarettes from my staff all day.”
Dead Man may have been tha last film my dad saw on video…. Basquiat was the last he saw in the theater… a propos of nothing…and everything.
Stark naked in front of the mirror
A pudgy person some how did appear
Seems lately all i’ve eaten is sugar and fat
It’s getting obvious that’s not where it’s at
A big pot and trippily chin
Oh what condition my condition was in
Laghing at myself
It’s such a cryin’ shame
What ever happened to my Greek Godly frame?
H.E.L.P.
Well there were photos of me working on the American Indian Surf’s Up flag with a dead crow that got eaten by Rocky Racoon and Toni the Japanese Haida Indian cut them up when I got tossed out of school for being too sad.
The dog fish bitch cut up all the beautiful photos of me with muscles and good looks and it’s all over now baby blue and who does that?
I still love my memories of love and I could never destroy her image… maybe she kept the negs (like my Barrel of Paris negs with which I could recreate most of the collages I made there… anyone got five grand? I’ll make you a collage you can’t refuse… you like sugar? It’s good… dolce.
(Brando voice please: management)
Where’s you’re diamond tiarra Blanche? You ever hear of the Napoleanic codes?
I like how Glen Gould and Keith Jarret make weird sexy sounds when they play. It just knocks all the German out of Bach doesn’t it?
Glennmorangemonk, ITIN ’05