Be your own flying saucer

Today is/has been a rearranging day at the chateau d'RTP. I was looking at my bare walls. I have a few personal pictures and 3 Mucha prints from a set of 4.

I'm missing the one on the right, which, I believe, represents the evening time. I start looking for things to liven up the place. I'll start with pictures today, and maybe get more plants tomorrow. Spring is here, and it's time to blow the stink off. I started flipping through the handful of images that I had stuffed into my luggage. It was full of old self portraits and a few framed tidbits. Then, I stumbled across one of my favorite shots of two of my favorite comedians...

Legend has it that whenMichael Jackson met the two of them, he asked if they were brothers. That makes me think of that old conversation-starting question about your dream dinner party. Michael Jackson, Andy Warhol, and Alfred Hitchcock have to be 3 of the top five. KJP was telling me about the Warhol show at the MCA. I've actually seen a Marilyn silkscreen at a gallery here in Prague. I love Warhol, but Mostly because I think his jokes are hilarious. Looking for Warhol shots led me to this image of Beuys, then, it was all coyotes in the city for me.

Do yourself a favor, and read up on Beuys. I don't want to do him the disservice of summarizing here. He first blew my mind whaen I was a nerdo 17 year-old who would ride the South Shore into Chicago and sit all-day in the Abstract Expressionist wing of the Art institute. They had a speacial exhibit of his work, and I kept coming back to one piece. He hated AMerica, and refused to come here on anyone's terms, but his own. He arrived wrapped in felt and was carried to a small room, where he was locked in with a coyote, only to be carried out in the selfsame felt. So much to be said about felt, lard, coyotes, and American City Life. He's my fourth guest for dinner, even if he is a fucking Nazi. Now, in thinking of representations resonant with my own reality, I'm thinking of Acconci.

His work regarding intimacy, depersonalization, and invasions of the two really hit a note. Also, he's a funny fucker. Here is his Name-Calling Chair, which I affectionately refer to as the Asschair.

I got to hang out with Vito for a day when he visited the ART school I was attending. His speech that night was absolutely classic. His writings and use of text is breathtakingly perceptive and witty. He talkied mostly about the various architectural scenarios he was involved in at the time. It just thrilled me to watch him parlay of-so-smoothly with all the blubbering professors that could not stomach his talk of the death of the ART space. He was dead-up Proletariat, as if to shake away the coyotes tugging at his blanket.

I took a break from my new self-help book and started re-reading Voltaire last night. Here is how he looked to me...

Where to now? I could delve further into the vulgar lifeblood of city living, rattling off on the people living in the train station, but the sun is shining. They filmed some scenes from the new James Bond flick here a few months ago.

Supposedly, Praha is doubling for Miami. Palm trees and beaches remind me that KJP is on her way. I can't wait until she's here to sooth my worried mind. She's such a princess to me.

I would go to church more often if this guy was gonna show up, too... You nin-com-fucking-poop!

People should listen to more Jimmy Scott.

Jimmy Scott breaks my heart every time. I first heard him on a Twin Peaks soundtrack.

The woman two tables away is eating her chicken sandwich so noisily that it's making me sick to my stomach. She's talking about upcoming short film festivals in Prague, so I want to hear it, but she punctuates each thought with a messy smack.

How big of a nerd am I because I want all these?

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