Art Week (Day 5 - Nighthorks)

Subtitle: how to ruin metaphor.

Art Week (Day 4 - St. Francis' transvestite B & B)

There are no good dads, if sons are any indication:

Art Week (Day Three - Self-Portrait as the Sun)

Art Week (Day Two - Devil with a blue dress on)

Good golly, Miss Molly!

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*The First Temptation of Christ, ca. 1222. Miniature from an illuminated psalter now at Der Kongelige Bibliotek, Copenhagen.

Art Week (Day One - Krispy Kreme)

Old masters re-interpreted -

Another parable

 The Parable of the Daughters and the Angels

Zeus woos Alcmene.

Genesis 6:1-7

Then, he said:

     “Is the kingdom of God like this? God made them, and they had daughters; and the daughters were so fair the angels desired them. And as the angels’ desire followed the daughters, so taking the daughters followed their desire. But the fault was not in the angels; it was in them and their daughters – so God determined; and God determined as well that their lives would be limited – theirs and their daughters’. No human would live more than 120 years.

     “Meanwhile, the daughters taken by the angels had children, and their children were tall and strong and afraid of nothing. When God saw they feared nothing, he was sorry that he had made man and woman and their fair, fair daughters. And God decided to cover the earth with the waters that covered the earth before creation – and man and woman – began.

     “I see you have ears. Are they hearing me?”

                                                             10.14.16

The Indian place that used to be

(If you haven't read what I posted earlier today, this won't make sense.)

  The Indian place that used to be at Division and Stepford 

I don’t pay Bob, because (so he says) he doesn’t have a license; but I buy his stupid frothy drinks. That way (so he says) I have something invested, and I’m more likely to follow through. And maybe I would be, if I thought he knew what he was doing.

The Gaza Bar & Grill

No one sits at the tables out front even in good weather,

because in our town you can't drink on the sidewalk.*

      But one of the exercises he gave me I keep at, when I remember, is around every so often to  find five positive things to say about whatever space I’m in. Like: I’m in the kitchen bathing my gluey eyelids with hot coffee; they’re opening, I look around, and through the amber haze I say: “It’s good to have a refrigerator and better to have hot water. It’s almost better still to have a chair at a table you can sit at with your coffee. The ceiling fan is off. And the radio: I can pretend NPR has lost its voice.”

     Now, on my way to meet Bob, I say: “Thank God I brought a jacket. And left my cell phone in another. Maybe I’ll be early enough I can get one drink up on him. My shoes match.”

The day I lost my foot and forearm and the skin was rolling off my torso like the sky off the heavens in Patmos John’s Revelation, I also lost my voice; but I didn’t know that, because there was no one to say anything to. I didn’t know I’d lost it until I got it back. That was after I’d found the foot and forearm and used the skin to glue them back in place. The phone rang, and when I answered I could talk.

     It was Tom Nashe, asking if we were still on for lunch.

We ate at the Indian place that closed not long after. That’s one thing I wanted to talk to Bob about. I thought he might remember the name – his wife is Indian. 

10.10.16

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 * Well, except to smoke.