(no subject)
The back corners of the Rex float den has rotting wheels and wood from 1930. In one corner "dead mans corner" a mardi gras worker died after falling off a float; I always had an aversion to working there..it seemed darker and colder,etc. I found a cassette tape of gene Lovves Jezebel in the back of burger king, and i played it over and over until Mouse and Reynard were begging me to stop. The only slim trace of responsibility I have had in the past five years was that job; one came and left when one pleased, and worked mostly unsupervised making flowers and leaves from paper, goldleafing them, and hanging them up. Henri just made an appearance once a week to marvel at our work. I woke up this morning thinking of the time capsule that we created inside one of the rotting props which hangs in the celing of the den. Its a piece of wood that we all signed in some way with pencil, with a cartoon drawing of Wayne, and threw up inside the 20 year old decayed prop. It gave me pleasure to imagine someone 20 years later finding it. Also awoke with a certain plasure in remembering the various kinds of shadows and brands of light which existed there. Holes in the tin walls patterned the sunlight in curious ways across the paper decorations. I spent so many years in that building, that I have much of these light-moods mapped in my head. What is it to remember certain details about something which will be certainly lost? They will find the square peice of wood, with my name written on it, but never know the light which I remembered.
The portal in "Beer and More" (a small beeer pub on the Linzerstraße 14th district) extends both to the right and left sides. The wall to the left dissolves into a cascade of blue light, similar to the cheap blue bulbs at the footrail inside the bar.
I have been meaning to scan the old, battered notebook thhat I have been writing in since May 2009 - carried in my orange Julius Meinl shopping bag now for an even year - its because I almost lost it. I thought i left the little stinky bag in Cafe Einhorn in a blur of alcohol. Inside it: my ipod, a copy of Il Padrino - the Godfather in Italian, my favorite steel ball point inkpen that writes with blue ink, the emegency tablet of bayer asprin that dissolves in water and is reserved for the occassion of waking up in a strange house with a headache- and the notebook. The thing is battered beyond belief, the pages worn and stained from being rained on. the notes inside it are not profound - random jottings and flotsam of mind this past year. the thought of losing it though really struck me. I have not been so interested in writing stories lately...i just change my focus i guess..work more on concrete things. It strikes me that I want to live a life which is based more in reality..i.e wood and violins and painting in ink, earning tons of money to buy a grand piano, livingg in really nice, spacious rooms flooed with sunlight, eating in really fancy gulasch joints in Vienna.... etc , instead of having my world revolve around the self-worth one gets from developing these beautiful phantasies. But for an entire year all of any of this phantom mental worldd would have been lost....so i must scan it.
Last night, sitting drinking a beer at the Cafe Zipp with my brother, I remembered I have many of theese notebooks....over the paast five years. They are reserved for unimportant thought...random shit...but take on a lot of meaning in the end.
The portal in "Beer and More" (a small beeer pub on the Linzerstraße 14th district) extends both to the right and left sides. The wall to the left dissolves into a cascade of blue light, similar to the cheap blue bulbs at the footrail inside the bar.
I have been meaning to scan the old, battered notebook thhat I have been writing in since May 2009 - carried in my orange Julius Meinl shopping bag now for an even year - its because I almost lost it. I thought i left the little stinky bag in Cafe Einhorn in a blur of alcohol. Inside it: my ipod, a copy of Il Padrino - the Godfather in Italian, my favorite steel ball point inkpen that writes with blue ink, the emegency tablet of bayer asprin that dissolves in water and is reserved for the occassion of waking up in a strange house with a headache- and the notebook. The thing is battered beyond belief, the pages worn and stained from being rained on. the notes inside it are not profound - random jottings and flotsam of mind this past year. the thought of losing it though really struck me. I have not been so interested in writing stories lately...i just change my focus i guess..work more on concrete things. It strikes me that I want to live a life which is based more in reality..i.e wood and violins and painting in ink, earning tons of money to buy a grand piano, livingg in really nice, spacious rooms flooed with sunlight, eating in really fancy gulasch joints in Vienna.... etc , instead of having my world revolve around the self-worth one gets from developing these beautiful phantasies. But for an entire year all of any of this phantom mental worldd would have been lost....so i must scan it.
Last night, sitting drinking a beer at the Cafe Zipp with my brother, I remembered I have many of theese notebooks....over the paast five years. They are reserved for unimportant thought...random shit...but take on a lot of meaning in the end.