| FRIDAY, 21 JANUARY, 2000, PHILADELPHIA | |
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| This damn common flu-bug has given me a relapse this week so I’m home from work again. Let’s take a little tour through the château, you and I, shall we? C’mon in! It’s warm inside! Take off your shoes! No wait. Your socks stink. Put your shoes back on. My old chum Michele lives next door in the house that was painted blue by my landlord, who technically has nothing to do with Michele’s house. He just felt like painting a neighbour’s house Tiffany’s blue. Isn’t that droll? Michele’s such a good sport. |
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My winnnter wunnnderlahhnd of a backyard… I argue that white xmas lights are non-seasonal and appropriate at any time of year. They illuminate to perfection — one can see all one needs to see, yet flaws are mercifully dimmed.
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The fireplace. Sorta. There is wood in it, but the chimney is closed off. Damn and blast. “Holy Toast” is the neon piece that’s on the fritz right now. In the center is “Bunny Bread” painting on glass by Michele Cabrera. “Zen Board” was a kooky xmas gift where you write with a brush dipped in water on the canvas, then when the water dries, the canvas is blank again. I write my daily mantras on it. Today’s is visible. That’s Patrick’s guitar on the right. I don’t play guitar. I play…
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…the piano. Classical mostly, because it’s the most difficult and I like to fail. This week I’m tackling the 3rd movement to Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata - Presto Agitato”. That’s the one that goes about a million miles an hour in these crazy-ass arpeggios that require truly bizarre fingering. I like playing music that makes me break out in a sweat. It’s good to take exercise. In the background are the famous Disco Stairs of course. My paintings are all over the house. No show at the moment, though I’ve got a nibble. Should hear something next week. And on the piano itself, the requisite bottle of Zippo fluid for those days when the fingering just isn’t working out and you want to light the whole godamned thing on fire.
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This is the spooky basement where I do away with laundry and neighbourhood children.
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You can tell a lot about a person from the shit on their refrigerator. Sometimes you can tell a little too much. Sepulchritude Magnets are for sale now, y’know.
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It’s true I don’t watch TV but I’m always up for a lovely movie. Here’s a few when put side by side become a very confusing psychological profile.
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Yah, okay, so I moisturize. I’m not afraid to admit it. Fuck you too! I use soaps, lotions and goos exclusively from Château Pavot, run by Lilith out of Georgia. She does the most fantastic mail-order custom-made toiletries I have ever used or smelt. I have a particular weird fetish for musty old houses filled with flowers and mildew, so all my potions contain rose oil and tea tree oil. Smells like grandma’s house. Lilith’s products are all very reasonably priced. I highly recommend. Oh and look, a little pile of Camel Cash that people all over the country save for me. It pays off too, because this house that you’re touring right now is a Camel Row House, totally paid for with coupons.
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My office. There is actually a proper office/guest bedroom here, but since I bought my kick-ass G3 PowerBook, I’m practicing for my old age and attempting to do everything from bed. Velvet duvet by Anne Pinkowski. Moss velvet curtains put up because the window is draughty at it’s 10° today. I am always reading at least three books that contrast dramatically. This month: “The Liar” by Stephen Fry, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”, Maya Angelous, because I’ve been meaning to read it for years, and “Bastard Out of Carolina” which is always good reading for sweet dreams.
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This is Harley. She belongs on the draughty sill. And she seems none-too-pleased about it. Everything in its place, however. Harley actually belongs to my brother Pschtÿckque and I offered to watch her while he went apartment hunting. This was in 1993. I wonder if he ever found a place to live. Ohwell.
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| And now, to quote Mordantia Bat’s sig file: “Lusisti satis, edisti satis atque bibisti: tempus abire tibi est – You’ve played enough, eaten enough, and drunk enough: it’s time for you to go.” — Horace |
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