Thursday, January 9, 2014

January 9, 2014

January 9, 2014

When I went to New York City this past month I visited Margret who I haven't seen for ten or so years.  She looked great, in fact beautiful. We met at the Strand Bookstore at 7PM.  I was kind of nervous to meet her, and we agreed to meet at the TASCHEN floor, because its small and compact and would have been impossible to miss each other.  While waiting I looked at the Jane & Serge book that just came out, and it struck me how sad photo albums are -even in the happiest times, there is a sense of tragedy around the corner.  It is one of the reasons why I don't keep photo albums in my home.  To look at the good times just reminds one of the bad times, and that is often too painful for me.

Margret showed up, we hugged, and I almost (I say 'almost') forgot how great she feels when you have your arms around her.   She has aged like me, but is and will always be an attractive woman.  I never understood why we didn't take our relationship one step further, but sometimes these things are not in the cards, and it is what it is.

We walked down to Canal Street, to have some Chinese food, which to be honest wasn't so good, but I ate very little because I really wanted to dwell into Margret, and everything she stands for.  Or to put it more honestly, what I think Margret stands for.  Often we project our desires that seem real to us, but alas, it is just a photoshop image of what we think we want.

One of our most lasting (and never ending) conversations is our argument regarding the early years of Scott Walker's music comparing to the music he's making now.   It seems everyone loves Scott's music, but never the same period.  So many of my friends love the early material, but really have a hard time with his later music.  Margret and I, when we get together, have heated discussions regarding the career of our Scott.  I actually feel that there is no difference between his early music and his later stuff.   It is one long thread between the ages, and you can't ignore one aspect of his work, because it is really 'one' long piece of music.   She, like others, doesn't see it that way.

We walked up Broadway, to window shop, and usually we don't touch each other, but for some reason we found ourselves holding hands and even though we didn't say anything, it was kind of a shocking moment for the both of us.

I think we love each other, but the thought of love was much more powerful than the everyday version of it.  When we departed, we just waved goodbye to each other.

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