a funeral by the sea

Tara Lynne and I buried Trés deep in the sands of Coney Island yesterday.

We rode our bikes out to the seaside, by way of Bedford Avenue, lined with so many large old houses, with proper yards and driveways-- "real" houses. The day was balmy and pleasant with sun and breezes, and it was a good ride. On the ride back darkness came quickly as soon as we got away from the shore.

We played Nines with a deck from Rehoboth Beach, sitting at a table in front of Ruby's. We wondered whether Ruby's will survive the impending re-development of Coney. The 6 Spades card fluttered from the table at one point, and slipped easily between decking boards, lost forever! So we altered a Joker to take its place, and made up special rules about it.

tuesday

Tres has left these shores.
Pi is alone again.

trouble

I am simply having a devil of a time taking care of the behemoth fishes these days. Tres somehow managed to injure himself over the weekend; apparently in the wee hours of the night. At feeding time Sunday morning, I noticed he was lying in a corner on the bottom and didn't immediately swim up for food (always a bad sign). He has a cut on his lip, and has mostly been lying on his side since, occasionally getting up and swimming around normally, but with struggle.

He has often exhibited signs of what I can only associate with epileptic seizures, if those are possible in a fish-- wherein one moment he is swimming along, quite in control, and the next he is overcome by a twitching and shaking, often leading him to collide with the sides or bottom of the tank. My assumption, as he shows no outward signs of illness, is that he must've had a bad one, and has got himself very bruised up as a result. I added a tonic for wounds to their tank water, but I think there may be nothing else I can do but allow him to rest. Nothing else I can think of. Pi is perfectly healthy (if a little freaked out), so it's definitely not the water.

I am feeling discouraged. Between my summer-long fight with cloudy water, and now this, I really don't know what to do.

s p a m

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missing

Daydreams of the spires of Prague
and other old world cities;
Red rooftops;
Street lamps with foreign shapes.
Unfamiliar syllables and
sinistra in the sottopassaggio!
Winding streets that lead somewhere
I've never been.
I'm missing Europe, and autumn will not likely send a return ticket this year.

- - -

Everyone I know seems to be coming to new terms with adulthood lately,
or the dawning of new phases.

We all miss a summer cottage,
or aspects thereof.

- - -

Pi responds fluidly to change,
his movements exercises in poetic efficiency:
to move is to breathe,
so he never stops moving.

- - -

There are portraits of handsome horses at the flickr page.

Same day, later.

Just been skimming through the past. (Yes! I have realized, as a result of this experiment of "blog", that the aspect of it which keeps me at it is this: time travel. I can skim a sliver of the past- thoughts, happenings, life-changes: all are here in one place for me to reflect upon. In five minutes I can see where I was last summer; read about how I was feeling- what was present, missing. It's quite powerful, and a useful tool in the ever-present present.)

Anyway. It just made me feel very thankful, and a happy soul. Progress, joy, love, art, accomplishments, future, friends, family. &c. (Not necessarily in that-- or any-- order) I realize over the past year there have been some mighty gaps in my record. I shall try to avoid such in future; post more often. (If anyone else out there gets something out of it all, well, that's just a bonus. btw- Michele, Happy Birthday, a wee early!)

Signing off, as I must arrive soon at Beast for my Wednesday night shift.

resurfacing

The acrid, sticky smell of new blacktop is drifting i through the front room windows, which is a very summer smell. Several things from childhood summers relate to tar, and as we all know, scent is the most direct instigator in the resurfacing of memories.

One of these things was a general, all-summer kind of occurrence, involving old men sprinkling of tar from a metal watering can over the dirt roads in the area where my family had a cottage on a small lake. The roads would otherwise get exceedingly dusty in the dry days of sun; tar was a way of minimizing the great choking clouds of dust.

The other was a singular incident which took place in Niagara Falls (where my family would go once every summer for a day trip, generally leaving from the same cottage, as we spent the whole of each summer there for years). Walking along a sidewalk on the Canadian side, past some construction going on up above, my brother suddenly yelled, "Hot tar!". Several gobs had landed on both he and I, though I didn't feel it as hot, as it had only fallen on my sweater, which was unhappily ruined. It is still an anecdote that comes up from time to time, as my brother's outburst had initially sounded like gibberish, and my parents had no idea what he was yelling about!

This past Saturday, Ben and I went up to the River house of his sister again. We tubed along its length in the mid afternoon, and it was delightful, relaxing. This time I did remember to bring my camera upstate (though I wish I could have brought it on our trip downriver). Here's one of the river...



(More photos are at the flickr page, link in the column at top right...)

occupation

Last night (or this morning) another dream of being amidst a war-torn, occupied country. Germany again? And again, the switching of Point of view from being in it to being an observer; at times it was a movie made after the fact and in the movie (based on the dream version of history) the Nazis had occupied most of Europe until 1968. Little in the dream bore resemblance to anything real, of course. I don't even know if the oppressors were Nazis; I recall no swastikas nor word of camps. It was a rotting and dangerous mess in many places where I found myself, though. People in hiding, starving, living amid ruins and rotten animals' skeletal corpses.

mmmmm plastic.

There appears to be a swirling mass of plastic debris in the Pacific ocean that is TWICE the size of TEXAS; a very high price for an unnecessary convenience. This article on Salon gives a brief overview, and also points out s few new laws designed to discourage usage. It is a simple thing to bring your own bag, but what about those times when you find yourself at a store unexpectedly? One answer is this black mesh bag which compresses down to a pocket-sized wad when empty, meaning it can be kept on-hand in a backpack, purse, briefcase or glove compartment, so you won't be caught bag-less.

That comes off like an advertisement, but damn! Doesn't everyone hate plastic bags? They really are unnecessary.

the aural backlash, and lost photographs

speaking of dreamlike images taken with a holga...

As I mentioned, I awoke (awakened? the usage of words of or relating to waking are enigmatic to me; perhaps to most...) with a head cold; not too bad, mild congestion and that space-brain sensation. So I took good care of myself all week so far. Yesterday even had a walk to the park, sat in the shade for awhile. By last evening I was feeing almost 100%. I went to Beast for my 8:00 helper-monkey shift behind the bar. Admittedly, towards the end of my shift I had a couple of drinks, but also a lot of water. As time to go home approached, I could feel my left ear beginning to plug! Acchhh! This has happened to me before, particularly in the middle of or at the end of being sickly. It is a most disconcerting experience; one loses sense of volume, depth, even balance to a small extent. It's a feeling I have come to loathe and fear.

This morning I woke up for the first time at 8:30: ear(s) ringing, painful-- troubling! I decided there was nothing for it in the immediate, so went back to sleep.

Having hit the "snooze" button more times than ever in history, I had many many dreams. One of them stands out. I was in a house, with some family members and others. The whole dream had the tone and softness of a super 8 reel (color film; flickering shadows and nothing sharp-edged; quite beautiful, if sad-looking) The only portion I recall clearly now was an incident involving a camera. I had a camera with me; it was one I'd not used in ages, and appeared to be a medium-format Holga (that is to say, larger by quite a bit than an actual Holga; as if it shot on a roll of film that made 4x6 negs). I was trying to take some photos with it, and kept seeing things that weren't -but that had once been- through the viewfinder. It was not nearly as disturbing in the dream as it should have been; I continually made adjustments, perhaps thinking it was a play of light, or my imagination.

Then all at once, a large photographic print came slipping through one of the cracks in the approximate-at-best engineering of the camera body-- it was a copy of some photograph I had taken years before with the camera! At length, having absolutely no luck finding anything of the moment in the (admittedly non-SLR) viewfinder, I opened the camera body. Inside were crammed, somehow, a slew of these ghost-prints from long ago times! Photos of Buck, photos of my mother and grandmother, photos of people dressed up, people younger, photos of friends I'd not seen in years, photos of abstractions and textures that were very beautiful and sad, all bearing that soft brownish twinge of age and neglect. It was phenomenal- a sunken treasure recovered! Just how they came to be in there I could not fathom nor explain (but, gift horse and all that). I wanted to go through them all, slowly, and recall each day or moment, but soon they were being passed around and gawked at by the others who were in the room, which was interesting, as I heard exclamations and recollections, the "other" perspectives of others in this way added to my own slantwise ones (to which I always attribute the feeling of wistfulness; sadness always sharing some of beauty's qualities in the mind of a romantic)...

All elliptical drifting aside, it was a good dream and I wish I could remember the rest of it, but more than anything I'd like to have those lost photographs (none of which had ever actually existed. they were, after all, dream images.) Still. I'd like to have a chance to look at them more closely, any way.

(whoa- way to segue and digress!)
Point being, my ear is no longer ringing, and after sleeping away the whole morning, I feel a bit better, but still one ear is plugged and a little painful and I no longer feel nearly 100%. Feeling poorly, working through it.

the Monday "ugh"

Well, the very full weekend has taken a toll- I awakened this morning to a Midsummer's head cold! I could feel it making its languorous approach last evening, and was relieved to find I still had some Airborne™ left from winter, but it wasn't quite enough. Morning arrived with congestion and a headache. I hope Ben is faring better!

In other news, I have finally been drawing again-- many sketches in the new book last week, some of which are posted at my Flickr™ page (see links on this page).

A very full weekend indeed.

Friday night: dinner and drinks with some friends we hadn't seen in awhile. Saturday: a delightful bike ride through Gowanus and into Red Hook, where we had brunch, then watched the Mets lose to Chicago. Dinner at Anders that night, then a screening of "The Ghosts of Flatbush", which had some really phenomenal old footage. Today, we woke early and went into Times Square to get in line at TKTS to buy half-price matinée seats for "Frost/Nixon", which was very good. In between the getting of the tickets and the matinée, we walked to MoMA to see the Richard Serra works- the new ones are amazing. Unbelievable, really. Following that, grabbed some lunch to go at Whole Foods and sat in Central Park til it was time to head to the theater.
We'd been up late last night, so waking at 8:15 to go wait in line was a little difficult, but worth it.

Now: Tired.

the arrival of heat

Just in time to coincide with August. Perhaps brought on by the two full moons of July.

Electrofork is busy once again. Many design projects in progress and several about to begin. Also preparing for two group shows which will take place in September, but whose exact dates I have yet to learn. Thinking that the show in Chelsea will be more about photos and prints than paintings, but there is time yet to decide for certain (though not much!)

:: sighs ::

I have been reminded lately of Regina Spektor's lyrics from "Somedays".
(Somedays aren't yours at all,
They come and go
As if they're someone else's days)

Time for that last bit of coffee left in the pot.