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Sat. Oct. 16
11:32pm
Goin Back To Reno
Back in the Midwest, everyone that's still there, my friends, are people who refused to redefine themselves. In a certain way, that's very admirable. To me, I can only see it as a lacking in some way. This is only my slanted perception because, really, they have been just as–or maybe more-true to themselves as I.
To write about what I've learned in the Fishbowl... you'd like me to offer a completed encapsulated review I'm sure.
An advantage I have, being a poor bastard, I'm free to do as I please. The idea of slavery is of being bound: have to do this, have to do that and by not earning a real income, I've avoided slavery; this life is not that.
I'm simply not bound to do any particular thing.
Thing, material. Art, action, service, thought, perception. Train of thought going through my brain, Beatles on the track, burger at a Mexican joint. Rain's made soft swish streets. LA I will miss you.
Elaine's encouragement. Support from witnesses. Friends of friends get to know.
Writing is harsh. Words are cold.
Beatles, that's a movement I'd like to bring about.
Maybe it's love I'm talking about. Music can bring about the emotion of love. Can writing?
How bout this moment? I'm sleeping in the garage of Elaine's house. I love this house. The garage? Well, it's a garage. It's not the better side of the house as the hill looking out and over is on the other side. The big deck is spacious and it's a special place. This place is enclosed.
It's rainy. That's ok, I'm loving this weather. It's foggier on this side of LA. We're in hills over here, it's sculpted and the roads wrap up and down and around these hills and it's all been here awhile so it's not that this neighborhood is new. It's not like I'm off at a strange part of LA, I'm in the thick of it. The valley is above me and tons of people live up there, and scoop through this area to get onward, toward the coast. What does everybody do around here? Silver Lake is not cheap. It's a beautiful area.
Right now it's late and sitting where I am, at this outdoor table at the Mexican late night joint, gays are coming by after the bar. They close here at 3 I think.
I was writing about art or wanted to. Actually I was reading about an artist, Damien Hirst. Then I started thinking about warmth and the Beatles in my earbuds and the warm love they create. They still inspire warm emotion in a cold world. They let their growth show. They grew up and others followed that growth. They were seen, they let themselves be seen.
I'm going back to Reno. This moment in my life, this weekend, this sleeping arrangement, this weather is inspiring my feelings. I have no money, hence can have no lover, aside from a slut that would just like to fuck here and there and I don't even get to have that. I don't want it badly enough.
Last night, today rather, I dreamed of my last girlfriend. This gave me a waking feeling of loneliness. The other day, while sleeping in Elaine's super comfy bed while she was gone, I had a lucid dream. In the dream I realized I was asleep. This was a huge experience for me as I understand how important that can be. We are to figure that out in real life as well and that's when we can master life when we see it for what it is, which is just a game, just a projection: reality is unreal.
This is not the place for this round speak, the wanna-be spiritual-paradox shit.
So many friends in Reno. I'm afraid of getting stuck there. I'm afraid of my heart. I don't want to be tied to Reno, once again, by what I feel for the place. Many people there I have love for and it could feel too easy to stay there and that is the fear I face.
I have no choice as I see it. I cannot let all these paintings that I've created just die. I can't let go of them. They have to leave the building now. I have to go save these paintings. Maybe I should go and kill these paintings. I have a feeling some will need to die.
At least one will be sold, this is a great thing. I'm selling a printer I think. I'll let the thing go for cheap just to get rid of it. What else? I'll smoke alot I'm sure. I'll drink. Maybe some sex will happen.
I'll see Amy and we'll have fun together and the parting will be hard. I want her to come to LA. I must admit, I want her to experience it with me. She's one of my oldest friends. To write this, to read this, sitting here this early morning, I wonder about my future and I don't feel as confident as I do sometimes. It's OK to feel this way of course and I think of coffee.
I'm loving the Beatles right now. Dave Hickey had a talk I just watched. I want to be a kind of Dave Hickey. I'd like to direct artists. This interviewing thing is going great. Maybe that's my ticket. I'm sick of wondering what my ticket is.
I'm good at so mayy things, when's it all gonna' be over? When can I stop searching? Will I ever just be there? Will I ever get to relax and know I'm where I need to be?
Nothing's gonna change my world.
I'm thinking now of my videos. They may be art, they may be the warmth I'm searching for. The videos are warm. They are alive, they're expressive, they're emotive, they are popular. Infotainment. They're in series.
My plan was to talk about my art I think; my own art. My art is connection, it's social engagement, it's the connecting. When I think of the objects I've made and I think of Hickey's words about elitism and materialism and I see his as the instigator of object worship, he's ok with it, he's in Vegas, he believes in the worship of the material, he seems to find it comforting enough to hug objects around him and say joyous things about the elite stuff he's got and can bring to the world.
I'm on a certain path and mine is more connected to time than to space. Humans inhabit both, we live time and space together and no one can reject both of these.
He mentions the internet's link to community. He's against democracy in terms of art education. He doesn't want coddling of artists and creatives just because they create. He's ready to go back to only holding up the really good ones. Art is only the best, the rest is just practice. Art is the highest achievement. He believes in the idea of a masterpiece. There are artists to be compared, one against the other, but they are only the best that deserve to be talked about. Art is not a charity.
I like all this. It's exactly how I feel, although I'm at odds with the materialistic outlook. As a visual artist, I make stuff. Maybe it's video I'm more suited to.
Holy shit, I think a whore just walked in. I'm in too peaceful a mood to scoop her up. She is drunk so this could be helpful. I don't feel like partying with her and her friends right now is the problem. I wish she'd just walk her stilettos over here and drop those ample titties on my face.
How's that for materialism? The sensual, sexual, apple bottom, nipples in my mouth. Oil painted hair and musculature, her smooth cheekbones are more soft than they look.
Tonight, Hickey bled while he talked. We came off a little pathetic, fat old bleeding man with a shaving wound. I noticed he was sipping Starbucks.
Wow, now that pisses me off. The manager of this shit hole sent his employee over to tell me not to use the power. I'm not. She speaks no English, it was hard to explain till I picked up my laptop and said I'm not. This pisses me off. He's going to lose my business now. I'm going back to Reno.
Maybe a poem's in order here. With a poem I could just look at the art in this situation. This moment, moments to come or whatever I'd like to talk about.
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