| (no subject) |
[Dec. 8th, 2008|09:07 pm] |
*what a week. there are two major living artists installing work this week. we are all on high-alert. i am senior enough to suffer from the stress of such an event, yet not senior enough to benefit from such an event. i will not be the "eager beaver". ser ra's piece could crush us, literally. but i'm not afraid, the insurance is too expensive for The Institution to risk accidents. it's my boss i'm concerned about. he should have divorced his wife decades ago. guilt forms a strong bond. terrible sounding i know--now it's said and my blood is clean.
i came home in a depressed state. i had found comfort staring at the sidewalk as it passed beneath my feet on my way from work to the subway. on the train i tried to erase the anxiety and angst of work by designing my website in my head. i'm on a third major revision of its layout, but i feel the elements finding their place more easily now. i've read three books--a Dreamweaver training guide, a book on web design strategy and an Illustrator training guide.
i've been preparing for this site for a year or so now. i have about 700 pieces of artwork that will be the content. about 300 scanned drawings and collages. the numbers make me happy. the internet allows me to splurge by not editing. I produced a ton of work in 2005.
*i heard our curator say during a meeting, "ethnically inflected media, such as basket weaving and sumi ink drawing". such a delicately succinct characterization from a rich white man.
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 10th, 2008|10:50 am] |
Connecticut, 1981
Muir Woods, San Francisco
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 10th, 2008|10:25 am] |
Wedding Day, Chicago
St. Croix, Virgin Islands
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| Presently |
[Nov. 9th, 2008|10:11 pm] |
I got married to Jennifer in June on the 8th. I aim to be so forever. For our honeymoon we spent ten days in Peru--Machu Piccu, Cuzco, Lima... I finished the book Magic Mountain on the plane ride there, then could not get rid of altitude sickness once we arrived. Until our last day in Lima on the coast. I was so happy to get my lungs on the ground. After a day wondering the city on their Independence Day we watched the latest Batman movie, had dinner at an amzing restaurant then headed back to Chicago.
We plan to purchase a condo in the Spring. We've been pre-approved for a loan from Chase Bank for $250,000. Our apartment appears to be shrinking at the thought of us leaving. We've begun to let our house cats roam in the stairwell of our apartment complex.
I'm on vacation this week from the Contemporary Art Department at the museum. I've got a great job that pays little. I met Jasper Johns, Charles Ray gave me directions to the rest rooms the other day. This is good for now, but it all had better spring into something most fruitful. I'm properly positioned, performing excellently at work--it's just that I receive little pay.
Jennifer's about to finish student teacher. She'll begin to look for a paying job in January as a licensed teacher. Then we'll have two paychecks coming in.
Barack Obama is president. I bit of my cynicism has broken off and blown away. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 29th, 2007|11:45 pm] |
i am well . jennifer and i are renting an apartment together for the first time . we're having our house warming party next friday . i've never thrown a party before . she's a dream to live with, we eat breakfast together some mornings, she's from the virgin islands and i have a plan to ask her to marry me .
we just finished the installation of the jeff wall show . by far the most challenging installation i've faced . i now know how to install two 10 foot warped pine (2" x 4")'s horizontally, across a wavy wall, perfectly parallel, within 1/16" tolerance . fyi: don't trust a level , don't trust-distance to the floor , check measurements, adjust... fuck sake . next time will be immensely easier .
i bought a weightless single speed bike for a hundred bucks, surprise .
shroomed at the public zoo and botanical gardens . never should have gone to the zoo on a saturday , 90 degree heat , little kids everywhere , wearing a michael jackson t-shirt . the botanical gardens was the place to be . |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 19th, 2006|11:27 pm] |
*and from a song, Stuck in my head,
~i'm up in the clouds
I'M UP-IN THE CLOUDS
and i can't, i can't
--come down.~
it's radiohead, and i know i have the album, but i couldn't find it. finally i tried, "hail to the thief" and it's track #6.
*i'm going at 110mph perpetually for years now, on average, and i feel good. lou reed once sang, "i dreamed i was young and smart, and, it was not a waste." oh, how to burn bright and find the darkest place in which to focus your light, with loungeness."
~i will eat-you alive
i will eat-you alive
i will eat-you alive.
there'llbeNOmore-lies,
there'llbeNOmore-lies.~ |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 20th, 2005|04:55 pm] |
*getting better from the throws of last night. then, i saw hannah. jenny, melissa, jim and i all went to a new party. marat, kris, his friend all came in another car, when we got they 3amish—everyone was dancing, you could barely walk around, so many people. i saw a crowd of people i knew. saw the polish girl and her friend, the ones i took polaroids at the other party. they both hit me, i screamed at them over the music, “are you following me?” i danced with them for a while. some girl dressed in a 60’s dress was eye-balling me, she kept leaning on me, i felt pulled in every direction. but hannah.
she was standing next to me and i didn’t even see her. i was happy to see her, never thought i would again. hannah the girl whose house we all got naked on, one night, last summer. thank god jennefa wasn’t there, i do not like that girl. i proceeded to ask for hannah number, out of anyone in the room, i liked her. she said, “why?” she was surprised, “i said i could call you we could go out somewhere, i don’t know, i like your sensibilities.” she stared off into space. ok... then after five seconds or so, she said she couldn’t, she’s still friends with jennefa. feeling supremely misunderstood, i’m taken everything back into account now.
with hannah, sitting in the space i made on the couch, by lifting ten or twenty jackets—it did feel like a nest, surrounded by leather and catton jackets—fifteen people dancing at your feet, crowded into the room. i just got up and left. i was thrown, melissa, one the the sisters i came with was kept looking at me and smiling from across the room. she was standing there talking to some guy who says he’s an artist. melissa and jenny were making fun of him, as they described him to me later.
i walked over to melissa and she came over and we danced, jenny came over. i was dancing with two 5’10” sisters. the guy melissa had been talking to sat there, then walked away. they laughed, was obvious they didn’t want what he wanted. the polish girl was dancing next to me, i pushed her, she punched me back and laughed, then defended herself, expecting me to hit her back, so i slowly slapped her face, in slow motion. she pinched me, this went on and on, until we were both pushing each other creating a spontaneous moshpit, to the punk playing, everyone joined, then the song ended.
i was having fun, melissa was playing sexy, dancing with me. i put my hands on her hips, for moments here and there. i didn’t feel like dancing though, i was tired, so i walked outside onto the roof alone and just walked around. my thoughts were flying, i made a point to simply have fun with the sisters. the party was a madhouse. i walked back inside and just stood there in the kitchen, talking to jim and jenny. some guy, southsider, sox jackets, timberlines, said he knew what was going through my mind. we talked for a while, they we very eager, and inexperienced. i got some pot from them, then he said, he can get girls, $200 for an hour and a half. i was mortified, but curious like a carcrash. i saw him as a demon standing next to me. i wanted the information in his head. i asked, “how is this done? how do you pick which girl to buy?” he said, “i have a photo album, you know they are all in lingerie—you know, you can’t just show everything in the pictures.” i was disgusted and depressed. felt very disassociated, i said thanks, and walked away, back into the pack of dancers, and just stood there. flashes of the depressed lives he must have in a one photo album, a concentration of dysfunction. i suppose prostitution has a time and place, but judged from his attitude i couldn’t see much good coming from his system of employment.
we left, and i got a ride to the blueline with melissa, jim, and jenny. in retrospect, they must have really trusted me. we dropped off jim first, i thanked them for driving me around, i’d giving them a place to afterparty, we were even. we pulled up to division and ashland, i could see they were nervous, i hate that look. i said thank you, smiled at each of them and get out of the car quickly.
took me forever to get home, i had jen on my mind the whole time, feeling stupid for asking hannah for her number, even though she basically said yes but no. when hannah left, she didn’t even look at me, rude. i think she thought i would try to kiss her or something. she may of had a guy there that she liked. finally got home around 6am. half of me doesn’t want to talk to jen again, another half likes her, and her obvious intelligence and awareness and drive.
i woke up at 3pm and she’d left me a message at 2pm on my phone. i haven’t listened to it yet. i don’t want something she says to piss me off again. i need to chill the fuck out for a while. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 11th, 2005|12:06 am] |
*once more, i think, “what would be here if all this wasn’t here? where did i come from—we come from? why i, why we, why any of this? why not, nothing? why are things seen, why sight? planets and the big bang, knowledge, history of what? there are so many other possibilites when i take into account all i have, and Haven’t seen. these thoughts consume me, when thought. ever since i can remember, i’ve run them through my head. i went to church every Sunday as a child, my mother was my Sunday school teacher at the baptist church that was built in 1780-something. i had the firm feeling that, “all these church people as full of shit.” there are on to something, but they gave up searching for truth a long time ago. now, they are fucking and reproducing the same olde roles over and over again. same story, new name for the hero, new names for the evil doers, all to support their irrespective agendas’. (i just got done watching a good ‘south park’ episode, then the ‘daily show’.
*i’m out of everything. no pot. have direct access to limited quantities of (downers) alcohol, xanax, (uppers) pseudoephedrine, caffeine. breaks are always good, i had a martini, then another tonight, but i’m not into it. the xanax does nothing for me, makes me feeling like a baby in a warm basket, but then i fall asleep—boring. pseudoephrine (sp?) whatever, i’ll never do speed or meth, but a half a cold pill now and then perks me up. i hate the coffee at work, i don’t have the money to buy good coffee. i just used up all the good coffee i had at home. in fact i poured most down the drain a moment ago, not in the mood for joe, and i have no cream, cause my roommates drank it, cause i drank their’s.
just now kurt cobain said,
“this is outta my range
this is outta my range
and this it’s grown.~
*i’m not stoned, i Am physically addicted, or my mind has found it to fill in the gaps my lack of nurturing has left cracked wide open to my core. i feel an interesting shock of craving for coke. in major ways it’s unlike any other drug. first, like pot took me a few uses to get something from it. i suppose i always got something from it, but i couldn’t isolate the emotions highlighted by the drug. the third time, i knew how much to do, how long to wait till i had more, how long it took to recover, generally i knew what to expect—and from a drug, expectations are everything. you do drugs to feel like the memory you had of doing drugs, which should have been euphoric and confident, hungry and aware. she don’t lie, most drugs don’t, they are dependable (in this way), they say, “i am dangerous, expensive, potent, and hated by your enemies.” this is all something to seriously consider.
(a paragraph of pity) so much shit happened to me when i was young, because my parents were imbeciles. now i don’t feel normal--i don’t feel centered unless my world is being turned upside down. the world comes to me as noise till i feel shocked from a recent horror. horror is not overly dramatic, i’ve seen blood come out of people, i’ve thought i was dead at five when a car hit me, i saw my sister drown in a pool, then be brought back to life in front of my eyes. saw my mother hit my father, and its opposite. saw a kitten crossing the street and get run over by a motorcycle, ten feet in fornt of me. it leapt around like a bronco, then slept. i walked to the house of the owner and told them, they all cried. i walked away feeling familiar and dead, swore i’d kill the man driving that motorcyle—he never slowed, never changed course. i was afraid if i did see him again, my mind would turn him into a symbol of evil, and i wouldn’t hesitate. i looked for tha bike for months after, never saw it in my neighborhood. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 10th, 2005|11:44 pm] |
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*most my posts, are friends only. i name names, and depict real events that have actually happened. in the past, things i've written here have reached rl--in that moment i was forced to explain my adverbs and adjectives. they (she) wanted to know the coordinates of my point of view. i was forced to explain alot, in those moments my control is sabotaged. words seem to describe what i haven't said, more so than what i have said, since i only write .01% or less of what i experience--the percentage goes down when one takes into account the selectivity and mutability of memory. ask me. i'll tell you how it is. here in ljland i exercise my writing skills by spelling the thoughts that persist in the forefront of my skull. thank you. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 6th, 2005|11:44 am] |
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*i did it, so far, at least. i rode the white horse, i got off, walked her to her stable, and left her there idle. but i thought about her alot, she is so true of heart and spirit--she kills me. i remember nights, her white mane blowing over my face. i thought, do we have enough speed to make it to the end? we rode faster, while demanding more, and with more gaining, more needing, more satisfied, more unsatisfied. now i'm trying to forget her, even. i must find a balance. time is a factor, if i ignore the power of the white horse, she'll make me pray for a death, when i came to her for more life. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 1st, 2005|11:31 pm] |
*about the cellphone—lauren called me Monday morning, left a message, called again at 12:05pm, then again at 12:15 i picked up, she apologized for begin so anxious to get her phone back. i said i understood, i made a point of never letting on that i’d seen the porn of her on the phone. lauren asked when we should meet, so i could get her phone back to her, we decided to meet on the steps of the art museum.
i had to return vera’s camera: she had left it at my house on Saturday. i told vera to meet me on the steps of the art museum at 5 as well. i didnm’t tell vera about the porn on the cellphone i’d found. vera and i huddled out of the rain, and lauren walked up to get her phone back. she was professional looking, well dressed, she thanked me over and over again for returning her phone to her. i felt slightly guilty for having seen the video of her on it, vera standing next to me seemed to defuse any anxiety lauren might have had upon meeting me. i got the feeling lauren didn’t care if i had or hadn’t seen the video on the phone, she just wanted the $400 object back in her hand.
vera and i had coffee before her yoga class. i was afraid we’d spend the night together. i needed to make sure i got home soon to work on five collages i’d started a week ago, i’d been adding to them each day, i must keep up this pace of work, she’s great, but relationships with intelligent, introverted, polish, princesses end in an explosion of me to gold and red, dead. i can feel she is trouble--competitive, wanting and giving, hyper-aware, makes conscious attempts to be gender neutral despite obvious voluptuous female apendages and curves, capable of physical empathy, sexual healing, and manipulation. i see the way she looks at me smiling, i think i make her happy, i try to distract her from the illusion i seem to see reflected in her eyes by talking faster, maybe i have enough speed to continue on. i can’t be sure to where she’s trying to go with me, but i know she’s pushing the pace. what am i doing? i have no plans in this respect. i have yes and no answers but, i’ve posed only a few questions to myself.
*Saturday night, at april’s, about 3am, i walked outside waiting for john to give me a ride home, i looked up at the stars, stared at orion for about ten minutes. i was hoping to see a shooting star, after about seven minutes, one flew directly overhead. i saw it before it appeared, it blew-up bright quickly, then seemed to slow and fade. i tried not to take my sight for granted or its clutch apperance. i was trying to forget april’s innuendo’s moments earlier, jen’s appeals, the italian girl in the wedding dress. when tiny things from light years away, burn bright just over your head, your scale of thought loosens and my body told me to go to sleep. i walked inside to find john, i told everyone about the shooting star i saw, everyone believed me and they were genuinely interested in its apperance to a viewer in a city as bright as chicago. i was expecting disinterest or disbelief. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 21st, 2005|09:53 pm] |
*my boss at work has been on a campaign to arrest me. he thinks i’m too powerful, too full of energy, i see myself threatening his position within the art museum hierarchy, especially the hierarchy of our department. he’s loud, a bully, narcasistic, lonely, hungry to attention. when he’s not heard, he makes himself felt, when he’s not felt he threatens pain. he is talented, that’s why he holds his position, but he’s a moron when it comes to managing. he uses his power to comfort his every ego, it’s sick and dysfunctional. when he walk into the room: he sings loudly everytime, stopms, recites some crappy movie—all in a display of dominance. i look at him as a fool, as the fool looking at the fool. only he sees himself as always right, always correct, always in charge—i know the opposite.
i’m sick of his posturing and repititious speech. so sad. he puts himself in a hypnosis of cliche and parody. everything he says is layered in a vail or two or ten of sarcasm—passively aggressive. he is my father, i want to kill every hypocrisy in his theory, but i cannot. i’m inclined to stomp on his most sensitive vulnerablity--he’s intellect. he is weak so he repeats himself, as if repetition were the symptom of thoughtful willful focus. bullshit, you are a moron, who found a stupid simple formula, and stuck to it, blind persistence can pay.
*i went to the chicago art opening’s tonight, thomas mccormack had alot of good stuff showing, popular spot too. but the show at wendy cooper i liked best. whoever is great, he showed opposite my friend will in a previous group show. artificial against nature over and over again. i smiled at each cute art school girl i saw. i caught people at bucket rider snorting coke in the backroom—fuckers.
*i went home after. called a few people, hoping for something to do. no one answered, i felt rejected and bored, out of my mind! i got home, drank a guiness, and laid down, contemplating sleep. manny called then, he’s at the soccer game, but has free admission to crobar and free drinks, i decided then to call eva, since i haven’t seen her in forever. she’s moving into her new apartment, she just broke up with her ex, she’s glad i called. she’ll call me Monday or Tuesday. she apologized for not calling me sooner. she sounded genuinely happy to hear from me. i want her so bad. one of the few, i feel for. great news
then bryan r called he was the one who left with the model girl at the last party, she was ridiculously perfect. she stood out like a freak. blonde hair, makeup, but reserved, quiet. bryan is hispanic, calvin klein looking guy. he apologized to me, as is she was the girl i intended to kiss. weird, these dynamics. he said |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 17th, 2005|04:56 pm] |
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*this moment now, as i write, is rigid and sober. i’m sitting at work waiting for my boss to get back from a meeting. he gave me a half-hour of work to finish, it’s been about an hour and a half. i work for a public art museum, non-profit, been around for over a hundred years, and it’s evolved all crooked and dysfunctional. i’ve only been here for three months now, so my opinion is mostly based on word-of-mouth. i fear my own experiences might get framed by everything i’ve heard. i try to forget alot of things, you think you can get better at erasing memories, dealing with all their effects. then people notice you looking lethargic and quiet, some time passes, you feel better, you start to laugh and your chest bursts open, your problems grow an alien head, you cannot recognize, that |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 12th, 2005|11:17 pm] |
*i feel i’ve defeated my boss in the mind wars. he’s been picking at me trying to capitalize on every weakness he can see on my surface. he sees the weakness in me, he applies some kinda blueprint, from the most generic thoughts imaginable, then challenges me with irony and sarcasm, his general manipulation. he grunts, groans, puts his hands down his pants while talking to his staff, sings to the music playing in a sudden burst. he has a vocabulary of about 20 different signs, consisting of, aforementioned grunts, groans, whistling, ‘the dumbstruck’ stare, the ‘hello?! –dummy’ stare, air guitar, different boxing poses... but, i can combat him, keep my pride, look successful doing so, but it’s so tiring. and he can be relentless.
this is common—my boss will ask me, “do you tighten the clamps when you put them back on the rack?” and i think to myself, what is the right answer? is it good to tighten the clamps when you put them on the rack, as to secure them, preventing them from falling off, perhaps. or is it good to simply put them on the rack allowing others to quickly pick them up, not having to bother with the pesky loosening of the clamp from the rack. i said, “yeah, i tighten them.” a co-worker was struck by a clamp when it spontaneously fell from the rack, my boss was looking for someone to blame. he said, “oh, you tighten them? ok, good”, and he eyed me suspiciously. he expects me to lie, so he looks for answers from me for evidence to convict me.
*i’ve developed an odd habit of saying “hello” unusually loud when passing acquatainces in the hallways of the museum. or today i helped pack the toulesse lautrec show. what is takes to get a $50,000,000 piece of artwork from one place to another is simply amazing. i want to go to vienna or paris or brazil with something. i’m going to put ever effort into couriering. anyway, at the show, everyone was so tense. an air of pretension so thick. people from moma and woman from finland were present to watch us work. my boss was doing nothing, while appearing busy and happy. i tried to ignore the nervousness and acted normal, it caught on at least with those i spoke to directly. i work for a public institution, they have a high retention rate, they rarely fire anyone, employees stay for decades. and during that time they develope complicated relationships with their co-workers. i’m new to this all. i hear gossip constantly, i don’t know the faces to the names i always hear. it’s mind numbingly boring to hear the histories replied for me over and over again. the same complaints from those who have been there forever. it’s a condition i’m trying and must stay conscious of its effect.
*some girl at the art museum is fantastic, she looks and is always catching my attention, but she’s subtle and obviously aware of me, but have never spoken. we accidentally followed each other from work to the atm to the ‘el’ one day. then this afternoon i went to cross michigan avenue and across five lanes of traffic, i saw her at the opposite curb. walk sign appeared and as we passed she smiled and said, hello. i smiled to say to her, “i like everything i have seen of you so far, you are rare to me, i want to see more.” i couldn’t muster a hello, i was surprised to hear her say. i would have screamed when my mouth opened anyway. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 4th, 2005|12:30 am] |
this dialogue from a song by someone, he always changes his name so fuck em'. I know it by heart for some reason.
~"Charley, I've uh...I've been with another man.
aren't you gonna say anything?
you just gonna sit there?
Charley, I didn't know, when you were coming back,
--or if you ever would.
I tell yuh, the men round here don't respect anything.
--I told you about all the guys that called me up.
and then there was Cliff.
he didn't make a pass at me
i mean, he didn't even do it at all, charley.
i knew what he wanted,
but he didn't do anything about it.
and then it was like the two of us just had to.
Well, aren't you gonna say anything--you just gonna sit there?"
"I don't think I'm up for anymore of this.
Why don't you just go to bed.
We'll work all this out in the morning.
I'm just gonna sit here." |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 3rd, 2005|12:07 am] |
*these days get more and more unfamiliar. i dont have the words or the punctuation to describe all that i’m feeling properly. i read some thoreau today and he could tie a sentence around my neck, suffucating me before i knew his thought was finished. i’m reading ‘walden – essay on civil disobedience’—i just started it today and not a year too soon in my life. i borrowed it from another livejournaler that i live with. “the mass of men leave lives of quiet desperation. what is called resignation is confirmed desperation.” that quote is nearly a cliche: i stumbled upon it and was struck by its truth all over again.
i stood on my back porch and watched a thunderstorm roll in. the birds were going crazy--mostly skylarks and sparrows. i wondered if they were hunting confused insects, scrambling for shelter as a rain began to fall. i watched myself watch the birds. i couldn’t help my self-consciousness, so i tried to romanticize it all. i was slightly successful. the rain blew in from the southwest, i could see a definate line of white clouds moving quickly northeast. as soon as they were over head, the wind picked up, the rain fell determined. i moved to the front porch on the east side of the building to avoid the driving rain. i sat there on ther porch, hidden from the wind and read the first 18 pages of the thoreau book.
*i usually go out each weekend. i do crazy things, i accumulate stories and tell them on Monday. people say, “i can’t imagine living your life. what is it like to be you? i live vicariously through you, so i don’t have to suffer the anguish.” one friend said this—this is the general consensus. i’m, of course, self-conscious when i repeat such things. i value such statements by friends, i Must be uncommon, nothing common is exceptional, to be exceptional may be great. lately, i don’t leave the house all weekend. i stay inside, draw a little, work on my collages, drink alcohol, plan for the next week, miss jessie, miss helena.
each night i have nightmares that something is unfinished and someone is after me. i’m always on the defensive, i’m weaker than them but surviving. i’ve gotten used to these threatening nights of rest. yesterday, i decided to stop sleeping cause the nightmares would not cease. i knew once i woke up, i’d stop being tortured by the nightmare feeling of...abandonment was the general theme last night. in the dreams helena is always ignoring me, jessie is far far away. i can’t imagine ever wanting a woman close to me. i’m floating in a stage in a cycle that i’ve experienced before. soon loneliness will overcome me, i’ll develope crushes on attractive, intelligent, lonely women with great style. apperances are so important. gary numan is playing now, the same chemicals pop in my head every time i hear song number three.
*i was so tired a week ago. i worked 12 hours, got home at 10pm after naked modeling. i was feeling alone and bare, i collasped on the day bed. it was 50 F outside, i closed all the windows and sobbed. i didn’t have any pot to smoke, the present was here to stay, and it hurt like hell. each breath ached and left a growing desire for something that was not near to me. i’d seen a girl at lunch who looked just like jessie—same hair, same freakles, same tiny lips, same blue eyes, same chin, same spiked hair, christ. i examined her red hair and it even grew in the same density, same consistency. i wanted to hold her, the realization would have been crazy to all who witnessed—so i tried to forget the likeness, while holding what i remembered close to me, so i had something to hold, at least.
*i’ve somehow developed a career. i’m in position for a salaried job at the art museum. for the last two days i’ve been the guy in the ‘vault’ opening crates of artwork, doing the paperwork, calling conservators when pieces arrived damaged. i held 51 faxes that david hockney sent in 89. i’d read about the piece in art history, always liked the idea. i packed monet’s first impressionist painting—as if you could call one painting the first—though that’s what it’s identified as. $50,000,000 here, 10,000,000 there—i only touch them for about three minutes at a time. i’m excited to see the new addition put on. hopefully i can maneuver myself into a hiring paying position as the museum expands and grows a more contemporary wing.
*there is a registrar i’m in love with. tall thin, long blonde hair, despite this i’m attracted to her. she has a reputation. my boss says she’ll chew you up and spit you out. her parents are art collectors, she comes form old money. we’ll see. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 18th, 2005|10:03 pm] |
*i went out friday to a club—manny, lara, jenna, three other people, came with. (“came with” an expression i’ve only heard in the midwest.) i bought some stuff beforehand, a ton. i’d been anticipating Friday night all day, at 430pm i was filled with anxious, delightful waves of adrenaline—at 5pm i ran home. one of manny’s students put us on the list at the club, so we got in for free and drank for free till twelve, we arrived at 11. i would never pay $10 to get into such a place. i guess the club recognizes three types of customers, those who pay to get in, pay for drinks—those who get in for free, free drinks till 12am—then those who get in for free, free drinks, and get access to areas restricted to the other two types of customers. the people who go in the vip areas are jacko rich boys, their girlfriends and strippers.
on these sort of nights, i can sometimes have fun, feel euphoric by being with other people in a group social setting, where sex is a pretense. but this night i was hoping to talk to lara, i had sensed an attraction between the two of us, i wanted to pursue her further. when manny and i arrived at the club to meet the girls, i saw she had some beafcake looking rich guy with her, who was actually a really nice guy. they are moving to LA together, the longest conversation of the night was with him, while i tried to forget about the wide eyed, freakled girl with the vinyl bra on.
i stood alone most of the night, danced for about an hour with our group, some girl with a b/f kept rubbing against me, making eyes—she was gorgeous. her guy whoever kept her at a distance—she was playing a game for sure. the most attractive women bouncing from guy to guy absorbing their fawns. i felt myself playing for keeps, i wanted to meet someone thoughtful, unusual, new. their was potential but my mind was wondering somewhere else, i couldn’t get with the pulsing beat, flashing lights and lifted breasts, go-go dancers, posing.
on the way out, two girls with fantastic bodies were taking pictures with a guy friend. i repeated myself and said “i could take a picture of the three of you.” the most fantastic girl handed me the camera. i framed the shot, the flash went off, they liked it. she put her arm around me and said, now let me take a picture of the two of us. she smelled great, and said, “oh, why did you smile like that, no teeth.” i said my teeth are fucked. she said, oh, come on, let me see. i showed her, she said they were fine. the exchange was awkward, i touched her waist and said goodbye.
manny and i met up with the girls, lara was drunk drunk. she could barely walk—i’d heard she ends up like that alot. the beefcake guy had to help her walk, he appeared too happy to me considering the condition of his date.
manny gave me a ride home, that was a mistake that could have ended very very badly--distaster averted. we sat and talked for a while, he told me that when his was a child his father made the family move to texas during the winter, then back to chicago during the summer. he didn't like the weather. when he was in high school, he systematically tried to get as much personal information from each of the football players. he got a thrill from them opening up to him and telling him, their deepest secrets. some cried while they answered his questions. and, this last weekend he got stopped in oklahoma, the police found the dime bag he had in the car, he had to pay $950 in fines or else he had to stay in OK awaiting a court date. he managed to find $950 from credit cards and other sources? he arranged everything, paid the fine all while his elderly grandmother, sat in the car, in the parking lot, thinking he was straightening out car insurance problems. |
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[Sep. 9th, 2005|08:52 pm] |
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*this past month of strain and hunger and overexertion has congelled and cooked under it's own weight, and boy oh boy does the final product taste good. i have money, food in the frig, my health, various drugs, charged cell phone, immediate plans, future plans. and now a twinge of doom coming from somewhere, i'll ignore it. i'll dismember doom and bury its rotten corpse in the garden for the homegrown. that's all for now. |
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[Sep. 7th, 2005|11:47 pm] |
*today was not nearly as grueling as i expected. i finished two crates today. my boss was in a good mood, and his usual game off put-downs and confrontation, became instead an expanding game of oneupsmanship. his friend was doing pcp in middle school, then o.d.ed in high school. his live-in girlfriend was a playmate. he is fun most times.
*a curator mocked me. a conservator had asked me what art piece was rolled up on a 30 foot long cylinder in the middle of the storage area we were all standing in. i said, i know it's not the mao. the curator repeated me with an odd tone, "the mao..." it seemed to be a jive. this is the second time she's taken a subtle shot at me. maybe it's her way.
*david sat down with us, mike, eric, michael. david said, "i was in this issue of 'painting now' and my email address and picture were featured. well, this guy emailed me, and asked me out on a date," he said. he laughed and laughed, i spun around in my chair reacting to his intent to shock us, coming from someone i thought was too reserved, mature, preoccupied to offer up such a simple story.
today at lunch, i was sitting outside on a marble slab, surrounded by art schoolers on their third of school, david sat beside me and i stopped reading "notes from the underground". he stared through an invisible point about a foot from my face to some distant point yards away in a tree somehwere, and asked me how i liked working with john and mike.
i've seen this game before in this institution. there is a constant stream gossip. you tell a story and cast your boss in a bad light, that boss's image then becomes suspect in the mind of the listener. once, at work, i walked around a corner and found my boss's nemisis eaze-dropping on the conversations going on in our area. stories are always being told involving gripes, and beefs, and complants, and i'm not supposed to tell you this but, and.
the woman i caught eaze-dropping, knew i'd caught her, since then she's been trying to win me over. she's snuck up behind me and tried to scare me--in a cutesy playful way. she's tried egging me on to complain to her about john, to the point where i had to say to her, "i have to go, they need me over there." she wouldn't stop with the questions.
i'm reading 'the idiot' another dostoyevsky book. i wish i were as capable as the idiot in that book. so david sat down next to me in the garden, on the marble slab, i'd been reading 'notes from the underground'. i proceeded to tell him my personal feelings about john and mike's image at work. i need to be more mindful of what i reveal. everyone talks, and i don't know anyone well enough to know who is good and who is bad.
i want to go to switzerland as a courier with a painting. get in good with the boss, make him understand and trust you and you can fly to south america too, they've been to china, where art museums are. i loaded a $50,000,000 dekooning onto a truck, there is so much posturing that goes on, during the process. you have five guys to move a 400lb crate, everyone shouting commands, based on their personal knowledge of equipment, the artwork, its crate, the general physics of an object that is 10 feet high and 15 feet wide.
out. |
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cepheid's journal