20:16) Chris Abraham 29-AUG-94
I spent a romantic day.
I spent a Romantic Day.
With a woman who sees me leaving for
a brief spell, but the truth may be many months.
I second guess me motives. Money seems
more important sometimes than artistic
integrity. Loan. Cards. Late afternoons
on the roof at 'Perry's.'
"You are young and it must be," says beautiful Mark.
"Don't act middle-aged before you are," say my dad.
"Don't be a pussy," says a man who could be my father,
but unlike my father, has many regrets.
"Chrissy-pher," she says, "but don't you love me?"
"In the movie 'The Goodbye Girl,' the leading man leaves
his love his guitar-- his most prized possession-- to
prove that he will return."
"Her previous lover left one day, leasing out their
apartment," she said as we took a walk to her new
apartment, the one in which only she will live.
I spent an entire day walking, becoming overly fond
of Washington-- seeing it mellow and gain some semblance
of couth, even in Capital Hill. I thought of long
lazy days on the pacific, making images and hustling
places to jack in (maybe for some chocolate or coffee),
but have bought an acoustic coupler just in case.
"You will *always* be able to contact me at:
[email protected]"
The day was hot and we walked on tarmac, sticky from heat,
and there were many black faces, and brown, and white. In
Capital Hill, we are at the crossroads.
We pass a German, sweeping out the shards of glass
still crowding the sill of the door of his late model
Mercedes 300SEL.
"They took my radio. It was no big deal. The alarm must
have gone off because it has a security system," said
the German.
"At least the glass didn't tear the leather," I said mournfully.
In England, people penny nice cars.
We share the love of cars, the respect of cars, with
Germany.
In England, people penny nice cars.
"I will need to sell my Mercedes when I finish
my drive across country," I mention to lover-girl.
"You simply adore that car, leave it with your mum,
drive a rental."
I leave it at that, and can't wait to brush-up on my
SCUBA diving skills.
I wonder what Judy, cradling a warm notebook, in a recovery
room, or Anna, overlooking Sausalito and telnetting in from
the ditto of a love fest, would do if given the opportunity
of leaving a 9-5, starting a creative venture without any
guarantees, and driving and flying all over the world,
hopscotching the south pacific, dining in Indonesia, shooting
sea scapes off of San Juan, and beyond.
But to leave a home and friends and a lover. To leave the
security of a 9-5, the salary, the paid-for car, the flat
with cable.
A year ago it was a no-brainer.
"Anna sees flesh part from bone," I say over the phone to
a man with a bassy tone.
"Judy reunites the broken with the whole," the man replies in
code.
I found a lovely little Russian cafe in South East.