Next phase? We'll see. The next city must come through the internal logic of living as opposed to being imposed upon life. That scares me, but it's the only way.
Sometimes planning is the fear of not getting what one wants by doing what one wants.
Had a good weekend. Out of town. Lots of records purchased. Too many to for me to even list. Sorry.
Lots of really nice house music and disco music and also a box set of one of the better performances of Tristan und Isolde (Bohm at Bayreuth in 1966) in practically mint condition for $4. I still don't like opera, but the prelude, you know what I'm talking about. Beautiful and historically important and beautiful.
Someday I am only going to listen to classical music. Even if I live in a trailer in a trailer park, I am going to decorate one room with wood paneling and a couple bottles of fine liquor and just listen to classical and disown my "hip" past. If classical music, at least the non-hip non-avant-garde stuff, stays cheap, I should have a lot of great music by the time the paneling is installed.
There's a certain pleasure. Wagner hated us Jews (well I'm half Jewish, which is certainly enough Jewish for him) and he is dead and I am alive and I get to listen.
So some records in Western Mass and then dancing in upstate New York. You can guess where if you have been paying attention. Drank way too much. Met a girl. We wandered through an abandoned building and kissed a little and passed out at her friend's house and had a nice morning of awkwardness and asking each other about the things people generally might know about each other before kissing. And also Wire and Roxy Music, both her choices (this could be dangerous) and delicious food. And awkwardness. Surrounded by people I don't know drinking coffee and knowing they are wondering who I am and what happened and I can't reconnect with my friends and I can't discuss the previous evening and I can't tell if people are being legitimately nice or just putting up with me and this doesn't get easier with age (quite the opposite) and I wish I could have heard what she said after I left and I don't really care as long as she was and is honest with me.
Finally we part, she to her crew and me to mine and they think they know what happened and I tell them who and they are impressed. She is really cool. Not only in that I think she is but also impossibly hip attractive Brooklyn artist who can handle her drugs whose last guy supposedly looked like Johnny Depp and acted that way too and now I have kissed her. But for all the looks of admiration in their eyes I know the truth of the drunken fumbling and stupid things said while watching a movie slipping in and out of consciousness and two weird people just being themselves in a way they aren't amongst others. I know the truth of my loneliness and her isolation and touching her head for a moment as she slept facing away from me wondering if acts and feelings and words did and could ever possibly match. I am not a conqueror and she is not a piece of land.
I like her. She might even like me too. Her dog likes me (can he talk?). Only 186 miles away in the mountains and I have no car. Typical.