|THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016).|
Food that looks beautiful but tastes terrible.
Hong Kong is very overwhelming.
It's the tall part of NYC times 20, maybe more. With windows full of
air conditioning units and clothes hanging and crazy wires and shit.
got an email from my mother this morning. she's in
victoria b.c. she said nothing about the food.
insane and crazy. we rarely have conversations
that lack detailed descriptions of her most recent
sexual encounters. like, seriously detailed.
i had planned a trip to China last year. then i
met my Chinese girlfriend. we just booked 4 nights
in Montreal. as with our last trip, i paid for
hotel and plane, she'll pay for the food. food
looks asspensive in Montreal but not so much as
nyc. my mother and i came here in 1986 when i
auditioned for Juilliard. 2 cappuccini and 2
brownies at Rockefeller Center: forty fucking
dollars. we laughed about that for years. now i
know we coulda just gone to Queens and probably
got the same thing (sans gratuitous view of a
skating rink) for $3.75.
to pick up a bottle of cheap wine at walgreens.
yesterday, as i was coming back, i passed a
homeless guy bathing himself in a garden on the
side of a dentists office. there was a hose still
attached to an outside faucet. he was clothed - t-
shirt and shorts - but completely wet and
grinning. it must have been wonderful for him;
even late in the day, the temperatures are still
hovering around 100.
this evening i ran across him in the public park a
couple of blocks up from the dentist's office.
this time he was standing next to a public
drinking fountain doing his ablutions. his back
was to me. he was washing his ass. he was wearing
loose-fitting shorts and had his hand stuck down
the back rubbing away at his scrawny cheeks. i
don't know if it was with his bare hand or some
rag he'd picked up somewhere. i didn't feel right
about sitting there and staring.
i'll bet heather could see something like this in
hong kong if she went to some of the "non-
touristy" spots. and, of course, in nyc. chicago.
ass-washing is universal.
sounds homey. a city is where you live by the laws
of the concrete jungle.
besides...in the woods, who will watch your ass?
the ass-washing guy from a previous post. it's
been relatively cool, lately - in the low 90s -
and i thought it would be nice to go out there and
finish the book i was reading.
the main character is in lust with the femme
fatale. she convinces him to kill her husband. he
stages an accident, but the victim turns out to be
his own best friend.
i hear what seems to be singing. i look to my
right and see what looks like a woman walking up
the street from the west. she's far enough off,
and my eyesight isn't good, so it still looks like
a woman. blond hair in a mullet; the voice sounds
like a woman's. but the closer she gets, i find
it's just just her talking to herself...in wailed
bursts. she sits down on a low wall in the park
and is quiet.
at this point in the book, the main character is
standing over the body of his friend, who is not
quite dead yet. but his body is mangled and one
eye is hanging out of its socket by a tendon. then
i hear a voice to my left.
"this whole park was once a water garden, this
whole thing," he says again when i look over at
him. he is making a sweeping motion with his right
arm to indicate the park. he's in his mid-fifties
to about sixty, as far as i can tell. he's wearing
a baseball cap and his long, salt and pepper hair
goes down to his shoulders. he's wearing a faded
t-shirt, shorts, and has a purse-like bag slung
over one shoulder.
"actually," i said, "this park has been here since
1905. the water park is over in the southeast part
"no," he said, "there was a water park here. i
know because this is my park. there was water
i realized this guy had his own reality. who am i
to contradict it.
he pointed to the east, "see that construction?"
i nodded, though i didn't know what the hell he
was pointing at.
"that's mine. i built that."
i nodded and looked duly impressed. this seemed to
satisfy him and he walked off. stopping just once
to look back at me and say, "i have spoken."
about a nurse in los angeles who was a jewish
refugee from austria during ww2.
i hear a scraping sound. from my peripheral vision
is sea a field of blue and green. i look up and
it's a man - a black guy, just to set the scene.
he's wearing a flowing robe of blue with a green
sash or whatever hanging over his left shoulder.
his hair is cut to the scalp on the sides, but
what's left on the top is dyed blue.
he's four feet away from me. i look up at him and
say, "hello." he says hello back and walks off. i
watch him walk off across the street to the
courthouse. he walks alongside it and you think at
some point he's going to bless the place.
I am feeling tired even thought I wasn't doing anything. It was naproxy (medicine) making me so sleepy when not doing anything.
Yesterday at the gas station, A lady from my high school day ran into me and asked me if knew her. I was dazed and confused until I recognized her face.
Tomorrow, I starts my class at the community college. hopefully, this will occupy me from being boredom and keeps me from getting depressed.
what happened with the audition at Julliard?
The lack of an answer only sends my crazed imagination into over drive. Scenes of foreign intrigue flash through my mind.