27 march, 1998

27 march

amy left today; she graced swarthmore. i was honoured to have her and it was so nice to have her in my life and make love in the buildings where i normally have just classes.

sunday night last we went to new york to visit her friend, my friend eve, who insisted we visit the bell cafe with her, soho area small bar cafe with food and drinks and live music sunday nights; a freewheel jam live with tablas, digeridoo, guitar, bass, sax, congas, all improv.
it's like some kind of moment, the groove and the looks are so heavy, and what with all these beautiful people waiting in the asiles just to chill in the sae room.
what are the politics? veggie cuisine; eve calls it "veggie pangea" hgere
collision of races, aesthetics, drugs, hippies, hipsters, preppies, dreads, lots of pot, xmas lites, no 2 chairs alike, head and shoulder paintings of freaked out chicks heavy metal drum, sometimes sax sounds like wahwah sax. egg, it's like space rock dude. like drums and space

during grateful dead shows everytime in the midst of things there is most always a drums and space interlude of extended polyrhthyms and funknoise. this place, this bell band had a similar vibe to the best of the dead - the gradual compulsion to dance among many and varied individuals.
would this bell band work in another venue? i don't know, i felt locally touched.

just driving home a groove. frenzied drummer in a floppy hat. people sit and watch each other. compulsion to dance - like the dead. a serious get down. amy notes, if there was a fire, we'd all be dead. standing room only. kel + caroline join us as we stand and wait for seats. $3 entry, $5 drinks. it sets my legs a twitchin'!
afterwards, eve knows the band after many religous sunday nights' attendance, we talk with mica fancies himself a rock star, sax, and kirk, guitarist, a kindergarden teacher in nearby greenwich - you should come by some time, he says, it's a real trip.
feeling some kind of parellel to something new york magic some years back i'm moved in all directions, sitting, i write this

cra zy plu to raises it's head again 100 streets and 40 years south we funk groove we real smoove we jazz straight we rock plate vegetarians unite! wrap with chicken
music so cool you can close your eyes

it was a night on the scene, and i hadn't even read about it in in a magazine.

while we were in the hive, i checked out doug's film: home page, a documentary about home page people in which i play a large part. he showed me a rough cut without sound editing or music - some of the lines were lost, and it was 2 hours - probably about 20 or 30 minutes too long. not for me necessarily, most all of the folks in it were people i knew, the petersens, jamie levy, howard says witty things about our relationship - the early days of eminds make an appearance, even the digital storytelling festival.
with my hair and my relationships portrayed, i appear even to myself to be a damaged freak. i still believe many of the same things, but having them portrayed in my face of my face and talking and stuff i am so glad doug has laid his own relationships on the line, and the other folks in the film appear no less maligned or malicious. is it the computer? probably the publishing - people have been acting weird for eons, but the addition of digital publishing gives acting weird an uneasy power edge. that's probably what makes home page a volitile, valuable document - we haven't yet become inuered to the customs of exposing your guts online. doug's captured some the scene here before it becomes a social reality.
so i'm so glad to have a historical record - i really lived in that bare-ass apartment? - and i think doug's film has integrity. his wife, kid and parents are in it - it's his own home page made videoreal.

besides her first cheesesteak and a great art show of insane people at the philadelphia museum of art, we cooked and walked and enjoyed our time together in my space - i mean, she's my sweetheart, and she'd never seen a bookshelf of mine own. sad to see her go? one of the rare times she's left me. afternoon, three hours after our last kiss and i'm too crazy to consider;

in one hour, i leave for a unesco deal: "The Power of Culture : Intergovernmental Conference on Cultural Policies for Development" - in Stockholm. some guy saw me in doug's film and decided i would be a good speaker on diversity(?) - youth in media. heck - i'm game, they pay for me to fly somewhere. it will be twenty-some hours in transit, and then two nights - i will be wrecked, tired, underslept and my thesis will not likely be the stronger for it, but i will get to see and stay with svante, and the inside of a unesco conference.
hard to be healthy when everything's moving so fast - i often get a little altered before i get on a plane so the discomfort of travelling doesn't me so deeply affect but i should really endeavour to read some of those killer texts that i can't sit and read straight here at swarthmore on my own. somewhere there are no wires.
that and it's somehow 80 degrees freak weather here, so everything's jacked into that first day of spring mode. amy and i had sex after drinking damiana-vodka last night and today i just had to sit around shirtless and feel the sun - so my body and balls feel well stoked.
but april nothing is set to happen except a visit from balthazar; i even abandoned most other extra-curricular commitments so i could manage film, oe and considerations of technology priorities.

today's muzzik:

boymerang - balance of the force,
and i can hear james lavell coming from wilson's room.

when it gets seriously late, and i have 20 minutes to pack, i throw on original porno 4 pyros, the first album is good driving forward noise.

next | march '98 | prev

daze | justin's links

justin's links | www.links.net

justin hall | <justin at bud dot com>