Thursday, August 09, 2007

Late Nights & Early Mornings

I get about 100 emails a day from the two Arts Council email lists I'm on (yes, it's annoying), most of which I don't ever read. However, this one caught my eye:
fire-eater/performer (preferably gay male) wanted for appearance at exhibition opening in September, limited cash for limited performance but maybe perks i.e. photos.
I like the use of the word perks. Nice touch. If it appeals, get in touch for the original email. I found this article in the Village Voice, about a Californian journalist murdered after exposing an Oakland black militant sect. http://www.villagevoice.com/news/0732,thompson,77457,2.html The story is sickening, more so that the authorities failed to follow up on any of the allegations. The article is written by a journalist who also wrote about the sect and had to go in hiding. He writes in the article,
"It's not the death threats I mind," I joked with friends. "It's the credible death threats."
Last night we watched the sunset from the rust-eaten legs of the West Pier. Marcus dove in the water and swam to a post, which he climbed up and stood on top of like a pale Grecian statue. Marcus is also pale, and skinny, so he looked more like a pelican. He dove into the water again and we lost sight of him for a long time until we finally saw his head bobbing right next to the decrepit corpse of the pier itself. When Marcus climbed out of the water, blood ran from both shins. He shrugged when we showed him. "Blood always runs like that when you've been in the sea." Soon, Marcus stopped doing headstands on his towel & everyone left except for me, evil Ben, George & Kesh. Kesh got some sad news from Sri Lanka so we all stayed out longer than normal. I told her that distances make it harder, but that sometimes it's important to be sad because it reminds us that we are alive. The water was beautiful and shimmering, and I thought about my family and what is real and what is not. I also thought about how I live in a city where no one ever grows up and this made me simultaneously happy and sad all at once. Evil Ben and George went up to Taj and picked up some dinner for us. We ripped tandoori chicken off the bone, scooped up tabouleh with the little plastic spoon and sipped wine from plastic cups. It wasn't really cold, just cooler, and we were all secretly glad that we weren't the two girls who were swimming in the sea in their underwear. George and Ben told us the story of how they met. It was nice and a bit silly, in the way that those stories always are. Polish bars and transvestites and places that don't exist anymore.

Labels: , , ,

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home