The Ring of Fire



This involves paintings and Zipperhead rehearsal with video and the status of the baby bird… He/it lives!
Watching Jean Luc Goddard’s Pierrot Le Fou… finding it odd how it influenced The Who….Sells Out. He’s in a band called La Strada … no not Fellini, nor the JLG… the kid with the guitar.

Lady Bug

I’ve had some weird experiences lately. The day before I left for Paris, I went out to Connecticut to spend the day with my mom and at some point during an old fashioned/nostalgic pick nick, a ladybug landed on my red sweater. My mother told me it was a good omen. Now it is true that I lived most of my life with an illustration hung by my bed near my head (imagined by the illustrator Etienne Delliserte) popping out of the black on red spotted carapace of a ladybug. When I was in Paris wandering the chaos streets of Bellville I fellinto an all night alimentation oriental store and bought a pack of Marllboro (they had that and lights and it was an emergency) and then I realized I’d lost my little lighter so I bought a bic and the Chinese man handed me what: Lady bug with horse shoes. He smiled at me and I realized he was the guy I’d been buying snacks and beer and wine from the day before… I was home! Talk about luck. If not for that lighter, I never would have noticed and maybe just kept walking in the blurr of Paris streets. Then the night before I left … or in the end didn’t leave… a second ladybug landed on my red sweater. I said, “I hope this is a good omen”… and maybe missing my flight was the best thing that happened as it gave me back a day and sense of months.

Yesterday I ran into John Kole… the Grande American from Hub. I haven’t seen him in five or seven years I can’t recall. I dragged him back to Frost street and we talked about old times in Paris. Encore fois pour deux K. etc. He makes restaurants and clubs now. He’s doing well, but I miss his paintings.

Je Ne Sais Plus Ou J'habite

Buildings are falling down like cards all over Brooklyn. This was Myrtle street disaster I fell upon cutting through Pratt yesterday, but the French translator sent me a synch version of Polyethylene Bag. Still the modus operendi seems homeless… what do they call it again in France? I cant remember. Watch the vid again.

Beautiful From Behind

A fell upon a well shod woman as I flipped along the arcades by the louvre. Her shoes echoed under the stone in the lonely night there, but when I passed her alas, she had a sort of funny face… a hook of a nose like a Falcon or an Italian queen I saw once at the Ufuzzi. It reminds me of the nostalgia I’m feeling now. I’m having these strange intensely real dreams that are filled with mundane detail of trying to accomplish rather banal tasks: where in life I’m painting and writing and drinking wine and eating and crying at some fever pitch. When I sleep, I’m getting paper clips and trying to mail a letter.