I know yesterday's post was a bad one. What was I doing, trying to be cute?
Stop decorating.
Be objective.
Describe texture.
Present images, not emotion.
After work I went to an art gallery in Chelsea, to see photographs by Todd Hido. Those of empty dirt roads and motel rooms were just breathtaking.
Some shots were probably taken from inside a car, through the windshield wet with rain. One of them: a dead end of a dirt road, exposed by the head lights. Tall, disturbed weeds stand thick in the center of the circular lights, and a road sign shines back with intense yellow, suggesting the driver's fright inside the car.
America's vast loneliness oozed out of those photographs and I was wrapped around by it. I hope my words were able to show you a little hint of what his prints had given me. I hope you and I can go see them together in February.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
No Way!
"No Way!"
Suddenly a voice sounds in my head. It must be this angry little creature living inside me because I do know that he's DEAD and I'm here alone - over the past 1,000 days I never saw him.
This thing springs up out of nowhere when least expected, like I'm in a meeting at work or lying in a dentist's chair. Stomping its feet, it cries, "Impossible!"
"How could you accept it?"
The shriek pierces my chest and drains my breath, but I know it will quickly lose its power.
The next moment, with a little whine the creature shrinks and disappears.
The room is bright with the soft Winter sunlight again.
Suddenly a voice sounds in my head. It must be this angry little creature living inside me because I do know that he's DEAD and I'm here alone - over the past 1,000 days I never saw him.
This thing springs up out of nowhere when least expected, like I'm in a meeting at work or lying in a dentist's chair. Stomping its feet, it cries, "Impossible!"
"How could you accept it?"
The shriek pierces my chest and drains my breath, but I know it will quickly lose its power.
The next moment, with a little whine the creature shrinks and disappears.
The room is bright with the soft Winter sunlight again.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Where the dead exists
People say the dead will live within the loved ones or alongside them. I don't believe that as much as I want to believe, but the evidence of his existence is here and keeps living with me.
One of those things is a wash cloth, with which I helped him rub off bandage scum from his arm, when he came home from a few-day hospital stay in December 07. The cloth has a spot where gray dots of adhesive stuff stuck on the fiber. It's still sticky when I touch it today, and I wonder if that is permanent, as long as the cloth stays intact. (I don't know why I keep it - is it called obsession?)
Some of other places he still exists in are: my cell phone, Yahoo e-mail, database of some fundraisers, who occasionally send him an invitation to donate. Oh, Netflix too. I keep hiding behind his name when I rate movies.
One of those things is a wash cloth, with which I helped him rub off bandage scum from his arm, when he came home from a few-day hospital stay in December 07. The cloth has a spot where gray dots of adhesive stuff stuck on the fiber. It's still sticky when I touch it today, and I wonder if that is permanent, as long as the cloth stays intact. (I don't know why I keep it - is it called obsession?)
Some of other places he still exists in are: my cell phone, Yahoo e-mail, database of some fundraisers, who occasionally send him an invitation to donate. Oh, Netflix too. I keep hiding behind his name when I rate movies.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
A man and his car
This is an entry on D's journal in 1995, when we lived in Japan.
__________________________________________
There's a guy in our building who is very neurotic about his car. K and I sometimes see him in the parking lot at night, just sitting in the car. Other times he obsessively polishes it. This morning at 7:00 am, I was standing on the balcony looking at the sun rise when I saw him come out of the building and approach his car. Then he stopped dead.
On the hood of the car was a tremendous white blot of bird shit. He must have stood there a full thirty seconds, taking in the horror of it. Finally he opened the car door, took out a rag and cleaned it off, but not before first wiping the dew off of all windows and the side mirrors.
It's little moments like these that for some reason, really make my day.
__________________________________________
There's a guy in our building who is very neurotic about his car. K and I sometimes see him in the parking lot at night, just sitting in the car. Other times he obsessively polishes it. This morning at 7:00 am, I was standing on the balcony looking at the sun rise when I saw him come out of the building and approach his car. Then he stopped dead.
On the hood of the car was a tremendous white blot of bird shit. He must have stood there a full thirty seconds, taking in the horror of it. Finally he opened the car door, took out a rag and cleaned it off, but not before first wiping the dew off of all windows and the side mirrors.
It's little moments like these that for some reason, really make my day.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Mini-illusion
This picture has been on our living room wall for years.
I love it from the day one to now; I never get tired of looking at it.
As I stare, very very slowly the clouds rise and the ledges give way, almost revealing something beyond them, like I'm driving a car heading to these hills. It's a mini-illusion I can get lost in, for a few seconds. It works every time.
I often wondered if D had gone over the ledges in this picture, and the thought gave me comfort.
I love it from the day one to now; I never get tired of looking at it.
As I stare, very very slowly the clouds rise and the ledges give way, almost revealing something beyond them, like I'm driving a car heading to these hills. It's a mini-illusion I can get lost in, for a few seconds. It works every time.
I often wondered if D had gone over the ledges in this picture, and the thought gave me comfort.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
HAPLESS
From D's notebook. (around 2001)
HAPLESS
3 guys break into the home of a single mother in Flushing with two kids, young kids.
2 of the guys force the woman outside into her mini-van. They want to take her to an ATM to get cash. They leave the one guy to guard the kids. A neighbor smells something fishy and calls 911. The police pursue the van into Manhattan. Meanwhile guy 3 is left there in Queens with kids.
GUY 3's DECISION:
"Fuck man they ain't comin' back."
He takes them to a bus stop. He leaves. His two friends are caught. He is still on the loose.
--- I think this was from a news -I vaguely remember him talking about it.
.
HAPLESS
3 guys break into the home of a single mother in Flushing with two kids, young kids.
2 of the guys force the woman outside into her mini-van. They want to take her to an ATM to get cash. They leave the one guy to guard the kids. A neighbor smells something fishy and calls 911. The police pursue the van into Manhattan. Meanwhile guy 3 is left there in Queens with kids.
GUY 3's DECISION:
"Fuck man they ain't comin' back."
He takes them to a bus stop. He leaves. His two friends are caught. He is still on the loose.
--- I think this was from a news -I vaguely remember him talking about it.
.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
It's a New Year,
and the ground under my feet is firm again.
I will not cry on a subway,
I will not keep your tooth brush,
I will not search your name on internet,
I will not count the days,
any more.
I will not cry on a subway,
I will not keep your tooth brush,
I will not search your name on internet,
I will not count the days,
any more.
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