60. park and sun
I decided to do yellow today in honor of Denver, cut-offs and that shirt t-shirt I took from him with that dear john text written on it. I’m glad I finally did my laundry. Got my boat shoes on just in case there’s a volleyball game I can join. I stopped by June’s choice market and picked up my regular sunday afternoon needs, but didn’t run into anyone that I knew. I think that string the alien guy gave me broke off in the laudrymat. So today, I’ve decided, is a day for taking a pause and doing a little thinking about where I have taken myself.
June avoided looking into her eyes when I slid the Sutters Weekly and the six pack of English 600 across the counter. I bet someone must have tried to pass her a counterfeit bill again. When she asked me if I wanted anything else I wiggled my head and accidentally dropped the chewing gum onto the counter that I had stolen when she was in the back. Slurping, I picked up the pink ball and put it back into my mouth. I forgot that I wanted a pack of gum, I said. Juicy Fruit.
Now, I am sitting on the park bench on this bright sunny sunday afternoon with my beer, cigs, reading material and the photos Freedom took at the opening in my pocket. I got them in the mail a couple of days ago, but I haven’t taken a look yet. I’ve been waiting for the right moment.
So here it is, another sunday afternoon. Another year has passed. It’s still spring and it’s hotter than hell. It’s time to clean and plant. I am a wheel and I feel like I’ve been here before.
I had a conversation with Denver last night. He’s in Europe, but modern communication means we can chat whenever we want. He told me he’s got a job cleaning houses and thinking about getting married in order to stay. We talked about the weather as usual. He misses the dry heat. Can you believe that? I guess it’s in our blood.
He told me that people there can still smoke and drink openly in the parks, that dope is easy to get, and they show naked people in advertising. That’s what I call civilized. Here, there’s a law for everything. I can’t help being a criminal. Just smoking a cig in a public park is a violation. But what the hell. The sun is shining. The sky is blue. This is what many call paradise. First world, california style.
Another cycle has passed in the wigwam of life. Another artistic drain has taken place in the Grid. Every so often, the contemporary art scene shows its crazy head and things start to heat up and get wild. But there’s never any lasting respect, and when it gets too hot, the public loses interest. Those talented move away to seek rewards elsewhere. Those remaining become bitter in the heat, and we all wind up frustrated as hell as life trudges on in the capitol of california. Every consecutive art commission repeats the same mistakes. Politics as usual, standard operating procedure, and it makes no sense at all.
Here I am with my generic cigarettes and beer, the makings of my own little paradise, although, I do got to be careful. You never know who your enemy might be. Hello, woman dressed in yellow on the other side of the park. I hope you don’t report me to the police. Ah! I see you are also smoking something. Instant camaraderie. We can smoke and be yellow together. I wonder if I went over to her and asked if I could join her if she would let me? Hello, I’d say. I have been to prison many times. I know what it’s like to be punished for breaking the law.
Hey, over there. I think I spotted an Art Angles flyer on the telephone pole. It’s been a while since the last one.
The Art Angles Tells the Truth
A single ant can drive an elephant mad. This is true.
Tell the truth and run. This is also true.
Others create terror because they want it all,
money and making more of it.
They refuse to pay their share of taxes to
help educate and keep people healthy.
The Art Angles insists that
Saying NO is okay.
Say No
to cake, powerful laundry detergents, and paperclips.
People
normally do not separate
the means from the ends,
the rational from the moral,
the truth from the good and the beautiful.
People like to be part of decisions that affect them,
and enjoy supporting causes they can believe in.
But so many are brainwashed
by the barrage of logos, jingles and mottos,
as seen on mTV.
Stop hopping between other people’s faiths.
It’s time to become the vanguard.
It is time to get real.
We are not all mad, and
there are NO aliens.
Send your bad vibes to:
www.saynonow.com
and
bank notes to:
no to do
Poste Restante
Sacramento Ca. 95814
Well, that sounds pretty nice. I’d kind of forgotten about the Art
Angles thing. I’ll have to send this to Denver. I was always pretty
sure she was that funny chic with the limp that lives by Denver’s old
pad. I kind of miss him not being around. But we all move on. Change
is the only constant in life. I visited Freedom in the city. But
that’s ’bout as far as I’ve stretched my horizons.
So let’s see these pictures. I’ve been waiting. It’s cool that she
could make me a few copies when she did that show at the university.
The video Steve did is good. It was even on TV. Great editing, and I
like how he blended the words in and out over the pictures. Pretty
effective.
So here’s Denver and Kitty taken from inside the Galaxy. I like the
angle of the shot. Freedom does good black and whites. It looks like
it could be an ad for the care-free smokers’ lifestyle of folklore.
Popping pharmaceuticals will never be a social ritual.
Here’s Denver’s altar. Too bad it’s all gone. Who would have ever
thought that christians could be so violent. But then again, we
wouldn’t have gotten all that insurance money and Denver wouldn’t
have been able to take off to Europe.
Here’s my work in the gallery. The wall of postcards looks good. I’m
glad she got documentation. It seems people just snatched the
Fotoroids of themselves and ran. The truth hurts. It caused such a
fuss the first time that I decided to repeat the action and stay
living in the Galaxy. See what happens this year. I already got some
press people following me. I can’t believe I’ve actually made some
money with my neo-erroristic lifestyle. Maybe there is a future in
this. I have a year to see if I want to stay in sacto. If Denver
stays put for a while, I’m going to visit him.
Denver seems to be the only one standing still in this picture.
There’s Sally and her parents, and Freedom and Crystal. What a weird
way to have a family reunion.
Never would have thought that I would sleep with three women from the
same family. How tangled is my web? We’re connected but then again,
so is everyone. We all come from the same exploding pussy, just a
little separated from each other.
It is still weird though to sleep with mother, daughter and cousin.
Crystal wasn’t into it and, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t much
either. I still see Sally. We hang out together. She’s my drinking
pal, kind of taken Denver’s place. She’s doing a talk show on local
television, so I help her when she needs it.
Freedom has decided to live in san fran. I don’t think that’s such a
good idea. I think the city is a place where young people go to
retire. Plus, she’s commuting to teach in fresno so she’s got this
terrible drive. Three days in, and four days out. I hope she winds up
in sacto soon.
Here’s Denver shaking the hand of a local dignitary. You can see that
he’s not thrilled to be talking to her. Oh. Here’s me with Vella and
Denver. It was good seeing Vella again. It’s too bad she got arrested
for going too far. I don’t know how it happened, but one of Preacher
Dan’s disciples bopped her in the face and she got a bloody nose. I
wonder if Freedom got a picture of that.
Oh, here’s where the action starts. Here we have Preacher Dan on the
churchmobile, shouting. The blur of his arms waving is cool. And the
‘All you can eat, lobster’ sign in the back is perfect. Freedom is good.
The whole thing was incredible. Performance art at its best. And
thanks to the mysterious juices above, there is documentation.
Funny how reality and the virtual got jumbled up. Everybody was playing a part
and believing it. When it went too far, people just switched sides.
Pure chaos. Like the planes crashing into the towers a million times
on TV. Is it virtual or is it real? Just goes to show how art and
life are basically the same.
Don’t have to invent stories. The truth is better than fiction. To
think that I’ve had the justice system on my back three, no four,
times in the last year, twice just for being in the right place at
the wrong time. I’m probably going to have this monkey on my back for
years.
First, The Young Millionaires Gala. The gang of four? What a stupid
name. It’s not like we were planning a coup. I am glad that I was
cleared of the manslaughter charges though. But, damn, I just wish
they hadn’t made me swear up and down that I’d never light a
firecracker again. But then at the opening I just couldn’t stop
myself. I’m glad I didn’t get caught.
Funny how they charged me with upsetting public decency instead. Who
would have thought that stains on flags and Fotoroids of assholes
would upset people. Everybody’s got one. Bless Astro Bob for
defending my artistic qualities in court. I wouldn’t have gotten the
insurance money if I’d lost. I guess what was left of the Galaxy’s
interior was a fair exchange for his help. Even trashed, it still
looked cool when I reassembled it in his house. But I bet, in ten
years the Crocker will buy it for an outrageous sum. Such is the luck
of an artist.
And the other two arrests, well, I get embarrassed just thinking
about them.
Oh, here’s Margaret and me standing with our mouths open. Not very
flattering, but in black and white it looks okay. Damn, she looks
drunk, she’s got those sampuka eyes. It’s no wonder she came through
the brawl without a scratch. I lost a tooth, Denver got all these
black and blue marks. No one but her came through without a scratch.
What a mess. Preventing a bunch of bible thumpers from raiding a
gallery is not easy. They had a mission and, god-damn-it, they would
not be stopped. Throw in some punks wanting anarchy, and what can I
say. Destruction.
Holy lesbianismus! I can’t believe Freedom got this picture. Margaret
and Vella kissing? That must have been why Vella got punched in the
face.
I think that was just after I lit the firecracker. I guess the
thumpers thought someone had shot their leader, because that’s when
they attacked the art work.
I came, I saw, I provoked. But aren’t artists supposed to provoke
once in while? Geez! Somebody’s got to take a critical look at things.
This one is brilliant. Everyone inside is in motion, and Preacher
Dan’s standing outside looking in. That’s a powerful image.
Oh here are Troy and Mike with that Weather Bud guy. Come to think of
it, none of them got hurt either. Fags seem to have that talent. I
can’t believe that Weather Bud got busted for having sex with the Art
Fag in the bathroom and lost his job because of it.
Oh good, she did get a photo of Vella with a bloody nose. What a
scary image. I’m going to ask Freedom and Vella if I can blow this up
and make a poster out of it. Use it for a campaign to legalize
euthanasia. Vella would understand the joke.
Cool! Freedom got a good photo of Preacher Dan being arrested. This
is a masterpiece, the beginning of the end for Preacher Dan. Serves
him right.
Preacher Dan leads his congregation to mass suicide. Six hundred
people drink poison fruit cocktail and expire on the streets of
Sacramento. No they didn’t, I wish. Once again the truth is better.
He got arrested because his crusade against art backfired. It just
goes to show that christians are inherently violent. It’s no wonder
they acted the way they did. Praying to a tortured and dead man on a
cross is not a very calming image.
The whole gallery brouhaha got the congregation thinking. But I guess
tongues really started to wag when the news about Crystal’s affair
with Preacher Dan’s sons broke. She has my respect. She knew what to
do to create a scandal. What a great idea to blab to the choir about
her sexual adventures. Brilliant.
But the rosette really dilated when his sons turned on him. I guess
the phone call to the FBI was easy to make. I mean it took long
enough. The shit he’d been laying on them for years, anybody could
have seen it coming. Sure was stupid of him to make those bomb threats against Realife from his home.
What a dog! Exploiting José’s opportunist ideas for his dubious ends.
Good that José didn’t get sucked into the whole mess. He deserves to
be in prison, though I’d sure hate to be in the same cell as him.
The opportunity church is no more. Now there’s a disco in the
building. Strange how the same thing happens inside, except now
without the guilt.
I remember her taking this photo. I felt so stupid standing there
with the police. I can’t believe she managed to convince all of us to
pose. Boy, we really do look like we just got out of jail. So wasted,
the dark circles under our eyes. We look lost but somehow happy. Too
bad she couldn’t keep the camera while we were in the jail cell. I’m sure
those photos would have been great. Well, that was cool. I’ll have to make
her a few works on paper for thanks.
So here I lie, on the grass in the park. In some way it is the good
life. Sutters Weekly just published my first major story. I used an
alias so I wonder if anyone will figure out that I wrote it.
I paid back my student loan and I can study again. I can’t believe I
dropped out with only five credits left to do. But soon, I will
finally have my journalism degree. Too bad formal education is such a
commodity in this country.
So, I’m back to ground zero. No debt behind me, no debt before me,
and the speedometer in the Galaxy is fixed. Yahoo. Other than that,
pretty much the same.
One more year in the Galaxy. I’m glad I keep a diary. I’ll have more
stories to tell. It’ll be different this time around. It’s nice that
I don’t have to be so hyper-creative anymore just to eke out an
existence. Things have changed and life’s different. I’ve got an ATM
card and a cell-phone. I think I’m entitled to a little comfort,
either that, or I’m becoming yuppie-scum.
I wonder how Denver is doing? Sure must be nice to travel, experience
and learn so much. I wonder what it’s like over there? Not that much
different, I bet, it being western and all. I think that must be
their problem. They are getting more and more like us.
Still, they do have different words for things and eat frogs, snails
and yeast poop on toast. But a place that allows people to smoke and
drink in the parks and has naked women in newspapers sounds highly
civilized to me. Where are my cigarettes? It is time to break the
law. It is my duty to work within the system to change it.
That’s strange. Hello, yellow woman looking at my car. Hey! Please
don’t spit apple bits on the hood. What’s so interesting about a
Galaxy 500? Perhaps you identify with it somehow and are having a
moment of closure? Perhaps you are waiting for someone like me to
take you for a drive? You do look familiar.
“Excuse me. I hope you don’t think that I’m too forward, but when I
was in prison, I learned how to make a bong out of an apple. Want me
to show you how?”
01. sun and park
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