I walked out to try and shoot the moon and found blue paint spattered in the road and a blue moon spattering the petals. I’ve finished a first collage round on the little hooker witch drawings and so it was odd how trick or treat it all seemed… like spring had toilet-papered the trees. I wanted to fly on my broomstick to Newport and remember all the sordid pleasure of youth. That said, I have a new modern work station for the i-mac and the whole studio feels cleaner and better organized and more spacious… I’m all about De Kooning who had a neat studio and then painted like a drunk lune… like the guy we saw stumbling up the afternoon blossom street.
“Is he drunk,” the better half asked. “It doesn’t seem safe for him to be walking in the middle of the road like that.”
“Drunk, or overdosed on his antipsychotic meds… or both… He seems to have the Palsey that shit gives you at higher doses… He’s shaking like Kate Hepburn: The calilillies are in bloooooom again….”
Later I got ready to walk the dog in my weird cut off striped P.J.s and she told me I looked like I’d just escaped from an asylum.
“Why do I look that stressed?” I asked.
“No. Look at those pants with that sweater and those shoes.”
Suddenly I saw what she was seeing and we both just started laughing to beat the band (after a fairly bickering spring cleaning day, it was sweet).
And it is a Lunatics moon out tonight following me through the cherry blossoms.
Newport at full moon by the Breakers, I keep thinking – with the hush and rush of the waves on the cliffs and the briney foam falling like petals and that sweet salt air… it is a basic pleasure… like India Pale Ale.
