MY DELIBERATIONS
You can't call a color anything but its
color - chocolate brown or coffee brown
notwithstanding - though coffee is often
taken black. Go figure that. Now the moment
before me has opened up. The train-voice lady
says the Trenton Local is running 6 minutes late.
I can't wait! She's talking, evidently, about the 'past';
it has been, until now, 6 minutes late. Yet now it
breaks now into my 'future' - 6 minutes of my
'future' to be taken up. What is all this gibberish,
and oh how time bends.
-
I think I'd like my tombstone to read - 'I can't
talk now' - well, not so much for me, I don't talk
much anyway. Maybe the others, (who never seem
to stop), can hold the advice while pissing on the space.
I don't really know, but I won't discuss it. I can't talk now.
-
In Japan they can't remember addresses because there
are none - like in Tokyo, no place has a place really.
I'd like that - everywhere - and for all I care everyone
can remain lost : looking for things; looking and listening.
Before me are a number of paintings, done by a girl -
she gets the faces right, and the limbs are perfect, in an
almost sexual perfection of delight. Overall, they are
paintings, say 20X20 inches, of girls kissing girls. OK.
Girls in bonnets, in ballerina outfits, in tights, in masks,
in short, 'fuck-me' skirts with open vests and taut, cute
breasts. Everything but naked. Yet I can imagine the
rest she need not paint : that thin tissue of vertical skin,
wadded and pulpy and leading within. Also, two guys
on a beach. I wish I was them.
-
You can't call a color anything but its color - rose madder,
ivory white, ebony black, cerulean blue. That'll have to do.
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