He was a ghost in the room orchestrating the turntables, painting the walls with the sound.

Peace says Fred Rogers, crazy enough to make you laugh. I had to quit that church to save my soul, says George Carlin, to save my soul, save my soul. And it keeps spinning spinning spinning like that.

Fore you know it Amadeo in your head wakes up atop three tiny café tables, one leather shoe and one bare foot, in a cobblestone square no idea. There's a rip in the button sweater and one elbow throbbing in his sleeve. And it keeps, it keeps spinning like that, keeps spinning like that.

He opens his eyes but they're black. Then they're not. He closes them and opens them. Black again. He does it three more times, Amadeo, doo-doo-doo-da-doo.

Café chairs and tables stacked up all around him, feels the metro somewhere far below, smells eggs, or sulfur, people moving among the paintings, I had to quit, I had to quit to save my soul.

30 June 2006


"You like that nostalgia eighties trip?" "No I don't go for that. What I go for is the mixing in of the euro-youth-liberation spirit of the times then with the globalized spirit of today!"

26 June 2006


He thought he wanted the boots, that the boots would make it alright. But the boots hadn't changed a thing. The awareness brought on a strangeness and he realized the feeling had nothing to do with the profile photo he felt compelled to post earlier that had plagued him and that started the rash of long-distance calls. There was behind the calls, though, after all the laughter fell away, the sense of feeling men in jeans in a mosh pit, of being one of the men in jeans, moshing and being moshed.

25 June 2006


Sweat-soaked Ed the insect, climbing the hill in the heat, half-consciously trying not to breathe the air and so feeling about to faint. Concentrating now on being methodical about setting up the camera. Heat and fumes. He knows what he’s got here. The blood rushes from his hat to his pants. He knows what he’s got. He knows who he is. He knows what we are. He begins snapping his version of the family portrait.

23 June 2006

la fenetre

On the way home she was saying "What about those things? Don't we have to pick up that stuff? From those people's house? The stuff we were supposed to send to Paris? You know? Are you with me?" So of course yes. I get in the right lane, pull the thing over, three-point-turn and head back to the middle of the city. Suddenly the night opens up. We've been liberated by banality. The thing from the people has set us on a path to nighttime freedom and adventure!

22 June 2006