||It is Sunday morning in my writing room, listening to Miles Davis, a breeze tossing the fronds of trees and brush in the back yard.A small perfect moment.|
The album is "Birth of the Cool" recorded in January 1949 with Miles, the great Al Haig (the pianist, not the former NATO "I am in control" guy from the Reagan era), Max Roach on drums. I am taken away from the dappled sunlight in my writing room to a black and white, wintry, grey but vigorous New York, the city of Maya Derren, Jackson Pollock, John Cassavettes, Edward Albee, Alan Ginsberg and William Burroughs, the reclusive Louise Brooks who should've hung out with the Bohemian crowd instead of retreating further into her torment and gin, this New York, where the world went to see its future. This was when the New York of legend began, and, in a sense, the city has traded on it ever since. But I don't want to think about that--I just want to hear the splendid, gorgeous, sexy music...
I am here, trying to begin my day somehow, and start later than I wanted, but thought I'd check into Mutation with Miless going behind me.
Have had an enjoyable if busy weekend thus far. Spent most of Saturday with Amie preparing for a visit by an artist friend, from New York, who'd just spent a week at the paradisical Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. I cut the small back yard. I use a man-powered push mower, old-style, and enjoy using my own muscle and sinew to trim the grass. The patch of lawn is small enough that I can on hands and knees pull up some fo the errant weeds that are too thin for the blades to catch. That way, when I'm done, the yard doesn't resemble my balding head, with pieces of hair randomly sticking up.
I read the New York Times this morning. Usual array of bad news and snide commentary. I tried not even reading the paper during the past few weeks as I successfully manage to ruin most of the morning. But like a junkie needing his fix, I amble over to the bookshop and buy it, but read the Style, Arts and Weeks' Commentary sections first, and if I make it to the news sections at all it may be tomorrow.
I'd rather recall that last night, after picking Linda up at the bus station, me, Amie, artist Ruth Bolduan and Charlie her flamenco guitar-playing husband with Linda enjoyed the therapeutic bromide waters of the North Side Community Association Pool. It's nicknamed the "Outlaw Pool" because its membership includes artists, musicians, academics, and other folks, and it isn't affiliated with some snooty club. If you know the lock combination, you can swim out doors at any time of night. When evening time allows, Amie and I come here to get some exercise and just work out muscle kinks and the pschological exertions of the day--and beat the heat, too.
With friends and a bottle of wine, it is a grand way to end an evening.--HEK
no more heroes anymore??? - 13/07/2003, matthias breitenbach,
you named a few of my heroes.
(„Maya Deren, .....and William Burroughs“)
even i sang in the eigthies with THE STRANGLERS „no more heroes anymore“ i still have a few.
and i´ve to admitt ;-)) a lot of my heroes are from the US.
i don´t know should i talk about maja deren, which i adore really, her life, her power, her films, or should i talk about my other heroes or heroes itself.
i´ve to go to the rehearsal soon, so i´ve not so much time.
heroes are important for me, they show me a way, what is possible, how far somebody can go. learning from them.
and of course, it helps me to identify myself with others, who also like these persons.
for example, i think we´ve something in common, even we have a connection to the same artists.
heroes or inspiration, you can call it like you want, the thing is, they could help me flying with a free mind. i´m still so bound and fixed in social rules and moral images i learned.