Expressive on Prosecco

Walking home thursday eve, having had three proseccos with Carl and Andrew, passing the daffodils that are crispy in the near freeze…we are entering a global freezing here in hew york..a frigid weather that doesn’t seem to want to cease…

while i walked i was having a text exchange with my artist frined Daniel Joseph (have i mentioned how much i love him and his collagey-painting assemblages? Oh yea i think in my writing archive i have the artists statement i wrote for his solo show)

we were talking about how we want something huge to happen. Well to tell you the truth we used the word "rape" which sounds weird now, in a different realm of communication, but we were using it metaphorically...wanting some sort of spiritual rape...essentially...very John Donne...

I guess I always thought I would be part of a revolution…and that night, walking through the combed cold streets back to my pad, the grid of life unchanging, even though we seem to be on the brink of change, i became sad, thinking that the passion of revolution may have been sold to me as an american commodity just like everything else...that Patrick Henry is sealed in cellophane and i bought him and have kept him with me and I am charged for it...