molly, best friend

andy, pants —

two weeks before molly died she told me that i was her best friend, and she had a lot of friends. i was taken aback by this, not because it wasn't true, i agreed with her observation, but because she said it. It's a sentiment that later struck me as especially dramatic. i do like drama — i was a semi-professional actor in my career — but not this time. after she died, it appears to be an apparition, a goodbye. i still ache, it's only been 2 years, and i read recently that it takes 12 years to fully process a suicide.

molly was likely the funniest person in the world — and i'm funny — but she was truly magical in her humor, her funnies were works of art. it's hard to see how i've been able to survive this, i guess with the resolve of my mother and my friends, and some of molly's friends — but i tear up as i write this. we were best friends for 40 years, and it's hard to survive the sting. also, what was strange, is that she certainly did not die of depression.

my cousin, on a bit of the other side of the family — it would take some text to explain this genealogy, perhaps later — heidi, who is a few years older that me, will visit me at my apt (hopefully with something less stressed than going out to the mexican restaurant, like take-out), next month. i believe she moved to cambridge (which she is familiar with) but probably not by me. i am a decidedly east cambridge arsonist, so i only set fires near cambridge st. we have been estranged — not by any fault of our own — for about 35 years, so this will be quite a site and station. i hope to lose the 10 lbs by our rendez-vous, i'd like the word out to be: plenty thin.

i've skimmed the mass art, avant-guard, and homosexual sensibility modernism book, specifically about underground avant-garde queer 60s cinema. no doubt the kids will be lost — i warned them that on wednesday — but i will help them out come monday.

it's keeping all the modernist variants of artistic deviation: dadaism, surrealism, cubism, soviet constructivism (which is truly terrible, as it was sanctioned and censored by the state), and so on. A problem with this is that it's very difficult to actually distinguish the various sub-modernist artworks.

my lecture on marcel duchamp's "fountain" (1917) is probably best considered dada ("nonsense") but, given that my presentation makes sense of what is then otherwise defined as nonsense, displaces the work of art from any anchor in the dadaist movement, even if the artist himself identifies his work of art as dadaist. one thing you learn being an art gallery curator is that artists have no idea at all about what their work might be about. artist's talks are babbles by children, not worthy of care.

there are no blonds here at tits. the boy with the smile is gone, or off today, and it is only dark haired boys and girls that haunt my new store. it is very difficult to get a look book going in this shop. it's too crowded and broken up into work spaces.

this is the same set of problems that sink the tits down by where i work, and by thinking cup, a new spot with (very thin) hipsters, it's intellectual in a stupid way, and my order is green ice tea. the problem with this site is that it is downtown, aways, and it takes a bit of time to get down there. i should consider pavement, but the harvard one is a sanitized space — repressed — just like the boys in their harvard garb.

the fact sheet has been suddenly disconnected from the internet, which would explain that my usual couple of visitors a day have been recently absent. i have a regular visitor from the union jack who comes by every couple of weeks, and he's due, and he is on a hiatus from the website. weird, i would think that the resurrection of the fact sheet would draw a couple of regular and virginal visitors, but no. i'll still check the site detes obsessively, even if union jack is forever lost. don't forget: there ain't no black in the union jack.

in the end zone but not ready to spike,

love andy p you and me

this is who i used to be >