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I’m in love (with a car).

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I want this Angel too.

 

I love Jim Carroll. I think I read him before I heard him, but that doesn’t really matter. Whatever the method they are delivered, his words shatter me.

 

I have been feeling that the things that make me are fading. Or being smothered. If something doesn’t switch back on soon I will completely disappear. It’s a matter of being fearless, I never used to hesitate about hurling myself into the unknown. But lately I can’t even find the unknown to throw myself into it. I have nothing to force myself to face. I am more reactive than active so without something to respond to I don’t know what I am supposed to be doing. A normal life does not suit me.

This song came along today and I heard described in some but not all of the lyrics the Angel I want back.

 

I Want the Angel by The Jim Carroll Band:

 

I want the angel
Whose dreams are fatal
They cause the snake’s milk to run and curdle
I want the angel
Whose darkness doubles
It absorbs the brilliance of all my troubles
I want the angel
That will not shatter
Every time I whisper, Girl it does not matter
I want the angel
Who’s got the proof
She signals her devotion from the rails on the roof
I want the angel
That comes to stay
She don’t let lawyers and ambition lead her away
I want the angel
Whose eyes are raving
Who takes what I’m giving and not what I’m saving
I want the angel
Whose bones are so sharp
That they can break through their own excuses
Well, to be a blind man,
Hey, that would be a fine thing
Then I could dream at night of total strangers
And all the music would be so spaceless
And all the women would be so faceless,
They’d be so faceless they’d be like old film
Just like old film I never did process
I want the angel
That knows the sky
She got virtue, she got the parallel light in her eye
I want the angel
That’s partly lame
She filters clarity from her desperate shame
I want the angel
That knows rejection
Who’s like a whore in love with her own reflection
I want the angel
Whose touch don’t miss
When the blood comes through the dropper like a thick red kiss
If I could break through I could be certain
But this obsession is like some fiery curtain
All the numbers reduced to zero
And those who died young, they are my heroes
They are my heroes, they took the walk
Where the heart made sense and the mind can’t talk
I want the angel
Whose child don’t weep
She’s got dreams designed for eternal sleep
I want the angel
That will not change
Into a four-legged monster in love with the strange
I want the angel
That never chooses
And don’t come running back every time she loses
But I want the angel that never loses

The real day ten

– Around the World in 80 Days

-6 1/2’ tall tomatoes

-squishing in a chair with my little buddies talking about jungle beasts

-passengering along the viaduct and West Seattle bridge hanging out the window taking pictures of containers and factories with my Holga

-salvaging booths at a Chinese restaurant that is in the process of being ripped out of the bowling alley

-pot stickers and yummy tofu at MOON TEMPLE

-cans of Rainier

-walking home from the store with a balloon of the world for my little buddy’s birthday – it’s like walking a dog that floats in the air behind you

-making blueberry submarine ice cream and Maharishi Ice Creamy

-ordering my little buddy’s new microphone and stand  

-and now beddy-by!

One of those nicest summer days.

day eight

4 days into the cleaning. I should be done but I keep finding boxes full of things I loved at one time and am still gonna keep:

-magazine collages from my early 20’s 

-love letters

-birthday cards from my grandparents

-a lot of really cute coin purses. I think I used to pick those up wherever I went

-bullfighting themed scarves

-funeral notices

-at least a million photographs.

-an art history book I bought in the Porta Portese market in Rome in which I had begun to paste the cut-up contact sheets from my study there. Plus a box which holds all the unpasted bits. I love it.

the lists. We used to love to write lists. Lists were lists of what made up our ideal men. It was silly and fun, but upon rereading them we were pretty right-on about what we each were looking for. 

-a stash of little ceramic cups I made while learning to throw off the hump at the UW.

-a plastic bag with I think all of the print outs from the special photo booth at my sisters wedding.

-a column of hat boxes at the back of the closet with all my favorite hats

-a suitcase filled with my early secret attempts at painting. Not too pretty.

-copies of photographs of my grandfather coaching football

And what is filling the garbage bags? And I mean filling!

-old nail polish

-old medication

-old make-up

I used to be a beauty junkie. Actually I still am, but now know to dump things.

day seven

The Fruit Stand

-pull a chilled pint glass out of the freezer

-add 1.5 shots gin

-add 1 bottle Jarritos Toronja

-smoosh and break up 5 tarragon leaves into teeny pieces and add to glass

-squeeze in some lime

-stir

-add ice cubes

-add 4-6 nice juicy cherries

-drink up! And don’t forget to eat the cherries!

day six

I am finally hot. Today was way hot. I think 92 is the perfect temperature. It feels like my body is drying out and all the pain is gone. My brain has decided to only do what I want not what I should. So I am watching tv and drinking cold wine. I think tomorrow I will have a nice long wander in the heat taking pictures of broken stuff.

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diagram of a bad idea

I scrapped this idea as being too much of a whack in the head. But I think I am going to alter the scale and produce it as multiples then incorporate the idea as one of the pieces of the interior of my home that I am making.

-so I have the full-scale plate mail wood veneer house facade, some windows made of words, blankets made of books, I am starting my bird nest for people, and now the mirrors that don’t let you see you.