watched this movie on sunday and i truly loved it. i felt such pangs of nostalgia that moved beyond just california and high school. nostalgia lingering on the fact that revisiting the past is always an exercise in fiction. and that we grow old. old news. the red madras headdress by matisse. i had a good met go over the weekend too, walking around central park and everyone looked lost in this cold. chins burrowed deep in scarves, lips chapped. i saw the much-too-small show of thomas struth photographs. here’s one: west broadway in 1978. his photos of soho back then are extraordinary. vacant lots and corner men who look like boulders, recoiling.donna j wan photographs the view from bridges where people jump off to end their lives. not trying to be morbid here. how do you react when someone tells you his or her favorite poet is shel silverstein? i some how prefer the squiggly illustrations of madeleine
Archive for November, 2014
It’s the difference between a cortado when you’re feeling posh, and the Nescafe you make with hot tap water in a bus station bathroom. Or orange juice from blood oranges you pick in a beautiful orchard at dusk, and the last sip of orange juice that’s soggying up the cardboard point on your container of expired Florida Juice from concentrate with the deceiving barber shop straw stuffed in the fruit on the logo you drink during turbulence on a plane you think you’ll die on. But you drink it.
I watched a bonfire where people were lighting furniture on fire! And we roasted marshmallows with fencing swords, that was special.