After plying with dinner and red wine got my crack team of Archive Searchers doing just that into the long and quiet night hours. Me, Scott, Laura wending our way through the oppressive amassment of three-ring binders, looking for the rockstars of yore as well as the pre-rockstars of the Middling City. And, once in a while, the sidetrip into looking at a certain figure, a certain moment that does transfix. Found stacks of good things that I am film scanning for the Shiney Happy mag, three pages will be packed with all the hoopla past.
Just had to shoot an amazing vivacious woman at Middling City U who was listening to the Smiths (lovingly referred to as Smiffs by Yours Truly) the whole time, probably set to level uno so an undercurrent. Told her I'd never seen the Smiths but did see and shoot Moz solo, well, with faceless bands. One time at Nassau Coliseum when I was on a date with a rock star. Funnily enough, Laura came across said rockstar's likeness last night asking who is... Told her of our crazed Libran connection, how we'd see each other here and there and that was approximately three lifetimes ago, by my humble estimation. So this vivacious woman and I ended our sitting discussing the PhD quest. Most excitingly how it does involve Travel. She basically insisted that I take a vacation between schools/degrees/quests. I was sort of yeah,yeah,yeahing the whole thing and she asked when Parsons School of Dementia-Inducing-Stress is done. August 12, I reported. Well, she continued, looking at the Middling City U schedule of academic events, Fall starts August 29th, that gives you about two weeks to go somewhere warm. Somewhere warm, I thought. Where. I said Well, maybe I could see myself sitting alongside a pool in the shade with a stiff cocktail in my hand staring at the air for a few days, completely out of Type A character. Well, it's SuPPosed to be out of character.
So there you have it. I guess in August YT will be by a pool having an Oban, in theory anyway.

Anyway Love.

Bonne Chance, Bob.

Good bye to the harbinger of simple turn of word, mono syllable, noted simple, shuffled voice more of story than poesie for the duration of his readings, former rogue and always a romantic. Believing in the succession of loves following the ache of a love lost. When Creeley was still a smoker another poet wrote of his pocket-to-pocket searching for cigarettes. Then the pocket-to-pocket for the light. Then the pocket-to-pocket for another. Then the pocket-to-pocket for another. Creeley always obliged my camera and never ever can I forget the reading I gave at Central Park Grill with Creeley in attendance, his flushed Dig It following my words.
Last night, with Cheryl and Liz, drank toasts to Bob while Liz's cut flowers scented the room. Where was he, where is he and the notation that some lives lost are more of a loss, truly, than others. Some expected. Some sudden and, despite the age, the loss of that presence in the physical world is big.
Liz brought out her Creeley-signed books and in one I opened to his poem beginning Death be not proud. Goes on of loss and look in mirror.

The other deaths this week in news shadowed by the poet's.
Not to compare and contrast but that is the vrainess of Yours Truly, All Tomorrow's Parties.

Vrai Love.

Last night was sent off to Middling City U to shoot the ol' Music is Art series event featuring Terry Sullivan et al as well as Last Conservative. Breaking news is that Mike Z has completely, utterly left the band again, for good and that they're shopping for another bass player. But, as I discussed with Allen (who was there last night tucked away in a secret booth sound engineering) that it will be near-impossible to replace his stoic and somewhat sneering presence, a perfect foil to TJ's manic performing and singing. So Mike is off to all things academic, like me transorming into NJPPhD. Allen pointed out today my hypocrisy at once deriding all things academic and now like so embracing it.
So hung with members of the rock and roll famille, the knob twirlers, the video documentors, the walkie-talkie talkers, the performers and the like.
Off to make up an artist raison d'etre for the PhD plan.
The wish, plan, attack, hope for it all all all.

All Love.

Completely and utterly minding my own business, as is my ever-wont, found a PhD program not only to my liking but it is like so vice versa. They want me and will give me gold stars on my forehead and give me support and one class to teach and I get to go on field trips and it's tuition-paid and I still cannot believe what I dreamily and dream-relatedly fell upon. Yesterday.
Now to finish up the PSD and MFA paperwork and hoop jumps to the next thing.
Off to deadlines extreme and deep and so very very real.

Real Love.