photo: LPT
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Sorry for Partying...
Glad Patrick Buckley was there to document.
2008 Greenpoint New York.
European Excerpt
Found this email I sent my Mother while I was stumbling around Europe last winter, funny really.
hello mother,
hello mother,
im sorry I havent contacted you or been able to talk....I just havent been ready, I didnt want to talk to you the other day because I dont want you to think that im not enjoying myself, i am, as much as I can let myself...its just very odd, very different, and very trying. I am very lucky to have had Zach with me, he is in the best place I've seen him in a long long time, and although it was very difficult to deal with his situation. It was also very humbling and I took much comfort in knowing that Zach and Maggie are very much in love with eachother. Their consistent support of one another was something I even awoke to, hoping for shreds of sunshine from america....she is driving him, and he is her...their scenerio is the complete outcome of what I want for two of the people I care for more than anything in this world.......I feel I would of dug myself into deep depression much earlier had Zach's consistent energy not been with me for the past two weeks......it was a blast, but very trying, and very tiresome...and at times I felt my light may have extinguised with sullen had he not been so ready for what the next day would bring........Im not going to go into anymore details, but instead I will write you my last two days and how my brain has been dealing with them.............so lets go.
After staying in a less than manageble hotel near Earls Square in London for a night, including a shower/shitter combo...literally, no tub, just a drain in the floor and a shower head...I decided it was time to improve our manner. Our benefactor in London had fallen plight to Jury duty, something I thought only existed in america. what the fuck, oh well I couldnt blame him for not housing us, he even offered, but coming home at 11pm and leaving at 7 am seemed little of a vacation. We hopped around for the first couple days, a night in the tube waiting for it to begin running so we could sit on the circle line to keep warm....one night in a ludicrously expensive hotel in Leicester square, just to warm our bones and clense our senses, followed by a more than hospitable lounge in the penthouse of a new friend that ran a shoe company in london...London was fun, but cold, and aimless...with no tour guides Zach and I mainly roamed the streets from gallery to gallery staying inside and ditching backpacks for as long as possible in coat checks, and familiar shops run by friends......when our time came, with no other options, I booked us two nights in a Days Inn outside South Ruislip, 2 stops from the end of the district line, 40 minutes outside London.....I didnt care, Zach was worthless when it came to planning anything, he payed no direction to detail, had no idea how subways were directed or what would happen to us...he had no credit, no money in his debit account, only an envelope full of US cash...he was alouf to the possibllity of anything bad happining to us.....which I admired, but remember he was supposed to be on this trip alone, we needed eachother...he filled our voids with art galleries and the ability to cope with our surrounding....I had our connections and a brevity to keep going, just march, and a bank account that could afford us a hotel room if nothing else failed, I bought all the train tickets, all the bus lines, all the anything that involved plastic....but I did it gladly, I only wondered what Zach would of done without me....without my friends, without my persistance to keep moving......We needed eachother, I havent felt that feeling in over a year, and while I needed Zach and he needed me....he also needed someone at home, and she desperately needed him. That thought bore itself inside me and started to drive me crazy, day in day out.....it was fuel for the fodder that has been tearing me apart for two years now....When we left for our last night in London, I had a hopeless romantics view of what our night might endure. We left the Ruislip south hotel toward inner London at about 12pm....I had long ago given up the idea that I was going to find myself on this journey, I'd found myself long ago...this was more of "come to grips" with Joe...there would be no Love in my life..there would be no understanding of Life, no coming of age, just me steering another being through my ugly adventure in Europe...We arrived at our destination, Temple stop, across the Waterloo bridge on the southbank lay the Hayward Gallery and a show Zach wanted to see......as we got off the stop we got two salami on croisant sandwhiches and two flat whites....espresso and milk, and walked across the bridge...it was the nicest day we'd had since arrival in London and as we crossed I lingured on the cold wind against my cheeks as the pale sun through grey english clouds warmed them back. As we crossed the Thames the London Bridge was a shadow near away, Big Ben was within walking and the huge Ferris wheel of Londons skyline rotated with us over the bridge. I snapped a few photos as we crossed and let the hot milk in my cup soothe my tired insides. The exhibit was of an artist named George Condo, I was vaguely familiar with his work...he had many facades....some picasso esque, some tormented contorted faces of royalty, some hastily scraped clay dipped in glorious bronze....the show was good, it was better than good, only taking up three rooms, they were filled with the many different conduits of Condo....the first floor of the gallery was much different, a visual artist that specialized in video and broken media....Zach was not impressed and even said we shouldnt bother to visit..but I persisted, I'll admit, Im not that fond of video artwork, but the artist Pipa had something to offer, she was generally interesting to me.....the main floor was pitch black, hanging from the ceiling in a maze around the room were 30 foot high sheets of white cotton arranging the labyrinth....projected onto the the hanging pieces were collaged imagery of undersea creatures cut with fisheye shots of a women bathing in a false sea setting inside a bathtub, all accompanied by a droning score of ambient melodic tones and familiar sounds...all around on the ground were stitched pieces that resembled torn apart scarecrows lain about for viewers to lounge on while inhaling the visual and auditory symphony.....I was in love, I immediatly took solice on the floor and told Zach I was going to take the best 10 euro nap of my life.....he couldnt argue, and nestled in on a sewn torso next to me.....I let myself drift, I took in the colors and sounds, the waving of the cotton hanging from a far away ceinling and the vast darkness of an art gallery in mid London! Beside myself I let go of my thoughts and fell deep and dark into the void................Zach shook me awake a bit later, Alright tough guy enough sensitivity lets roll....I looked at my phone, we had slept for over an hour, I had my moneys worth...ok, lets get out of here.....on the way out of the gallery, Zach presented me with a pin he'd purchased for me at the gallery bookstore...it was a George Condo painting rimmed in gold, I fixed it to my chest and thanked him....I felt good.....we left the gallery and walked down southbank along the Thames river. The cold air was much heavier than earlier and the chill entered my nostrils and crept through the voids in my clothing. It felt good to be cold, we were rested, we were awake...the night was young. Ahead in the distance were lights and noise, we moved forward. Coming down 3 flighs of old concrete stairs before us was a vast open market....steam and smoke and breath loomed off the crowd of tents and people piled into a small square, yards from the frosty river, all around us was noise and movement.....holiday spirit, open casks of ale, and charcuterie filled the few open moments of oxygen....we pushed through the crowd and were drivin to a stall of fresh jerky and mutton, Have a taste, taste on me Ya boys, will ya? well of course, we shelled out 2 pound and 30 pence for a stick of boar and osterich long sausage.....stuff that would make a slim jim cry in the night...so good, so so good....two stalls later we were trapped by a curlish women offering acorn fed boar sausages with homemade hot vinegar sauce, we looked at eachother trying to fight the temptation but twas no use.....while Zach waited for the sausages to grill, I ran off and found a homemade whiskey mull cider and brought a steaming cup back to wash down the spicy meat........I dont know if anything hit us better than that on the whole trip..we crossed the millenium footbridge to inner London city, two very satisfied boys and aimed ourselves at our last night in London. My main contact in London was a friend of mine named Will, Will Harmon....he grew up in Raleigh North Carolina. but I knew him from San Francisco and New York. I always liked Will, he was tame, he was true, a good skater, fun to drink with and never focused on the industry of skating as a skater, more as a business man who skated.....I liked him for who he was, not who he could be.....Will ran a cut and sew shop in the Shoreditch area of East London and Zach and I had been stationing there for the past few days...Will let us leave our bags there and offered us any direction he could....we were forever thankful, just alone having a place to brush our teeth and have a shit.....jesus it saved us. As we crossed the bridge into London city I sent Will a text offering a pint with two lowly yanks....he immediately accepted. We pushed on through the crowded streets, it was Christmas season and the hords were out in force. Pushing and jostling about trying to find refuge for a pint, or wrestling with the next over what was left in the imploding store fronts. Zach and myself dipped into the nearest quickie and allowed ourselves a pint of Grolsch a piece......I was already aware of the open drinking laws of the EU, but Zach just couldnt let it slide......I mean if its legal why isnt everyone doing it? he would ask, half hiding the pint in his jacket as if he was still liable....because its age old, no one cares anymore, and besides its fucking winter...we are the only two people freezing our hands off with pints in the frigid cold.......oh well he said, fuck it then, and drink up.....we made our way to Covent Garden, an outside mall where we would meet Will and move towards a Pub he knew about. We met Will at the mac store in Covent Garden, the garden was an open air market much like the one we had just come from on the Thames only it was coupled with food and craft vendors as well as mainstream corporate emporiums.....it was a bit strange, but the holiday air was still there. We met across the new Ipads and after we had each had a turn at free internet we agreed to move on.......My friends having a birthday shindig at a pub across town if you fancy, Will cracked me up, hearing a north carolina boy using british twang was too much for me....4 years in the Uk and he'd turned brit on us...I let it slide but poked fun whenever I could.....Cheerio I said, lets have a romp down to Camden then.....Ha, he was not amused.....Zach and I followed him to the bus stop. After, 3 busses, two broken ticket machines and 6 wet socks we decided to pile into a london cabby. The driver was more than friendly and agreed to drive us to the pub for a pound less just so he knew where it was for the future. I was just happy to get my wet dogs into a warm cabinet for the ride. 10 minutes and 14 pound later we arrived at the Cat and Mutton, a upscale eat and drinkery on the east side of London, I fell in immediately. As we entered the door the strong smell of Mussels and Pints hit us forward...the room was overly crowded with young faces.....men and female, I hadnt been to a place like this since I arrived in europe. Everywhere else we'd visited held an air of locality, this was different, there were mixes of young all around us. And the tables wern't held for one party, you could sit wherever you pleased. Order your pint and your food at the bar and squeeze it, and the menu was the best I'd seen. I forced my way to the bar and was about to order promptly until an english Barbie doll almost forced a laugh out of me. Behind the bar was the equivalent version of a jersey shore girl in america.....a buxom, button nosed, bleach blonde beauty, opened her mouth and spewed out.....What'll it be love, I almost lost it....3 pints of Kron and an order of Sardines, I choked out.......No Worries Yank, she splayed....Ha, we were crowning eachother, oh well......I sat that night around a table of new faces and absorbed all I could, running into an old friend from Barcelona and finding out we had all the same friends, being tugged off into an unwanted tale of self enlightenment from a drunk co-hort and making a needed break from the mass before it was too late.......We said our goodbyes and thank yous to Will and his associates.....steering our foggy lenses threw the wet cold London streets before we missed our train.........As we waited for our double decker of freedom to show, I felt whole with our stay in London...but I was weary about our return the next day to the unfamiliar tones of the french.....oh well, we'd made it this far......fuck it.
til next, Love Joe.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)