Taking time

Taking some time with N.
Kinda fun to play the tourist with him. Strange but pleasant (comfortable) position of exteriority, of “outsider within”. Went to the MOMA with him today. Got to see the “Out of Time” exhibition. Remarkable Cai Guo-Qiang: “Transient Rainbow”. Traces/ruins of his exploding performance. The impacts form a nice (aesthetic) pattern.

Scepticism of N. for Twombly of course.
A superb Rothko on the third floor as well (should go there more often): “Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea”.

Met his ex. and her girlfriend, Lelia. Interesting.
Then saw J., back from Lisbon, at Koryodong. Charming company. As ever.
Headed to K-town. And had a few beers at Players...
On Sunday, went to the huge opening at PS1, Was mostly impressed by the John Latham retrospective. Saw C. L. then had dinner in a Greek restaurant (Greek neighbourhood) in Queens, with J. and his wife, B. Rest of the weekend, uneventful (whatever that means).

The Science of Sleep

Went to see the latest Michel Gondry film last night with E ... Was supposed to see The Departed, which was sold out.

I liked this Science of Sleep a lot, for both objective (if there is such a thing) and personal reasons. Deep resonances with the sentimental surrealism of the ensemble

Was quite a throwback to the days when I seeing N., or non-seeing, in a way. Was an odd relationship. Also reminds me of K., now married, with kids. Seems like a lifetime ago.

Discreet apocalypses: a few minor fictions

Rangements of private stories/fantasies.

* The first time, they had to fuck each other's brains out. Now, they were discussing Wittgenstein's late work. Somehow, they felt more intimate this way.

* He met her on the street, in Paris. It was spring. She was fifteen and drunk. She came to him and asked: "Do you believe in nothingness?". Puzzled, he took her to his place. He made coffee, which she didn't drink. He enjoyed her conversation and her fragile, naive companionship for a couple of weeks. Then he decided to write a novel.

* A tall Asian, presumably Korean, or perhaps Mongolian, woman. She sat in front of him in the New York underground. And closed her eyes. When she opened them, she stared at him and he could see they were bloodshot. She reminded him of a beautiful photographer he had met years ago. Maybe it was the same person. They nodded and he got off the train at Union Square.

Architectural aggressions. 72nd and Sarah Sze.

A small place crashed right next door the building where I live. Feels funny to write that. E.'s brother, F., calle. M. H. too. And S. L. and P. E., obviously a bit concerned. Heard the impact, which I thought was dynamite used in the construction site on 1st. Didn't realized what it was until people called and I turned on the tv. Strange incident.

Saw J. L. again. Was nice seeing her after such a long time. Don't know how I could let this much time pass... Her pregnancy definitely suits her.

Then visited Sarah Sze's studio. Impossibly articulate artist. Labyrinthine compositions in and of space, with mundane objects.

Line 6. Recent glimpse of poetry

“The tumult in the heart
keeps asking questions.
And then it stops and undertakes to answer
in the same tone of voice.
No one could tell the difference.

Uninnocent, these conversations start,
and then engage the senses,
only half-meaning to.
And then there is no choice,
and then there is no sense;

until a name
and all its connotation are the same.”

Elizabeth Bishop, “Conversation”