one thing today

Am in the fancy Starbucks with the cushy seats - and still no butter or cream cheese for croissants.  High end minimalism at its worst. On the couch across from me sits a couple - he’s on his phone and she's rubbing her head and shoulder on his - smelling his smell, taking him in and it makes me wonder if I’m in the mood for any of that - or if I ever will be again for any sustained period of time. Do I want someone home once in a while when I get home ? Do I want to make dinner for someone sometimes - all at this Alice in Wonderland late late for a very important date moment in time now. Is this sun and traffic streaming quietly outside, accordingly - enough?   Sure. Yes .  Maybe for a meal, for an after party horizontal pillow talk. A ski weekend or its equivalent. Jazz after midnight - tipsy, close to our bed, snow.   But ALL THE TIME? DAY AFTER DAY?   Not sure if I want to see where that would go, what that tastes and feels like. Not sure bout that coming ro...

  I am reading The Very Heart of It - New York Diaries 1983 to ’94. So close to my world.  Close friends dying and all saying the same kinds of crazy things as they slowly leave. Each different words, comments, silliness -   but so so   so in the same vein.   Author Thomas Mallon mentions he met a guy who did a porno movie and told him they had a lot of Joy dish detergent on hand for close up shots. Michael and I made that movie.  We shared a boyfriend. Not at the same time. Robert Massa, the Village Voice drama critic, died in '94. He called him quiet, steely, handsome when he smiled, hard to figure out. All true.  He writes - I have that curious, exhilarating sense these days of how all my perceptions are poignantly sharpened, all my feelings strong, excessive even, but somehow beyond sentimentality. I feel fully, complicatedly, dangerously alive.”

  This is the most beautiful house in Big Sur, one of the most beautiful places in the world. It’s on Youtube.  Big Sur House / Field   Architecture. Encounter and drool.   

  back from days at the beach at my friends house and spent hours enjoying kids being kids on the beach - so wild and free and enviably limber and never exhausted and always up for a new movement, run, stretch, laugh, splash, bigger waves, toys, showing their age, progress, fun and fright. I told my friends daughter that all Twyla Tharp has to do is observe them and she has her next opus down pat.  the joys of old, not dark yet but getting there age - they creep in and up and leave me refreshed and thankful for the tenderness I still see and let seep in and make me fuller on the beach and even on the subway - when a handsome man asks me if I want his seat and what I really want is to ask him if he wants to go on a date. my treat. oh. now. whoa. thanks friends for the wonderful weekend under yet more mid August drenched light.

  In 2022 the brilliant writer Hanif Kureishi collapsed unexpectedly, sustaining spinal injuries that left him tetraplegic and unable to move his limbs. [2 He writes a blog - a brilliant and affecting one that leaves me with a great deal of serious consideration.   The height of summer is difficult: friends and family going on holiday, disappearing for a couple of weeks to various exotic places, hanging with each other in villas and beside pools, reading and occasionally laughing. This time of year I have strong, ever-returning memories: Isabella and I packing up the car outside her apartment in Rome, leaving the city, me in the passenger seat rolling a fat joint and in charge of the music, as we head towards Naples, and then Salerno, and ultimately the Amalfi Coast. It is a wonderful drive to her mother's little house, next to a church, overlooking the bay, where we would spend a few days, wandering and sunbathing, listening to the bells. Later, we would visit her father in ...

 

                              TUTTO PASSA                       

  I bought this photo about thirty years ago at Esa's gallery. For 75 dollars. I was feeling flush. It was taken by that very popular and prolific photographer Anonymous. She told me it was given a bevelled mat by her assistant who found it in a flea market. I've loved it ever since. I just looked at the back of it for the first time.  It says ...   Jack - the dust laws - Cook .

The image we produce is the self-evident one of revelation…that can be understood by anyone who will look at it without the nostalgic glasses of hist ory.