Blame it on the Genius Bar.
Techie Jason urged me, after my laptop fiasco, to take the day off so to speak. Fearing that any wrangling of info on the laptop would result in smoke and flames and that horrid scent of burning electronics, I blogged and emailed on other computers placed here and there on the landscape.
Taking the advice emanating from the Genius Bar I skillfully avoided working on the thesis show timeline of digvids and instead walked the rather long walk to the movie theatre to see the Frenchie Elevator to the Gallows at that theatre way over to the east, past the Bouewerie (as they spelt it in the days of yore). Movie good. And the crowd was delightfully not full of popcorn munchers and the young guy in front of me even took his cellie outside the theatre to answer his calls. Amazing. Even at Film Forum you are coping with people arriving late, parking their arses wherever they can, crunching.
The movie is shadowy and Jeanne Moreau looks haunted and elegant throughout.
Following the shots of gai Paris I needed to have some vino - for who can participate in looking at gai Paris sans expression of the powers of Bacchus. Of adult possiblilties in the form of liquid inspiration and possible subsequent revelation.
So I headed to Rivoli, where I've had good luck with inspiration and revelation in the past.
I sat at the bar, reading old research papers and notes by Yours Truly. Even some poetry I had forgotten and some I did recall. In the readings of the research I realized it is not urban theorist Jane Jacobs I need to read but Lacan.
All about looking, The Gaze. If what I'm doing in my digvid Art work is studying loci of gazing, people moving throughout art spaces, I sure as hell need to read about the study and remarks of looking.
All right, enough of headiness, on to more rock & roll matters at hand.
Keren Ann, the francophile who also habitates the loft, meandered out of her room mid-song-write to say Hi to me and Jason (uhh, that'd be Duval, Jason Duval, the swain of Dorota - not the Mac store geek) who were hanging in the common area. She emerged with bottle of cognac in hand and a smoke. She shared the cognac and regaled us with a most happy story.
She had just been to Electric Ladyland to look into studio spaces and asked to see a storage area that was mentioned in passing. She persisted as they said it was nothing but she wanted to look.
In her French accent that is most beautiful and makes the heart pang for some long walks in France, she told us that she stepped into the room and told the man Music needs to be made in this room.
The man said that the room had been Jimmy's apartment.
Thee Jimmy.
Oh, come on, you know, Hendrix, fercrissakes.
So this is going to be her space.
Soon I am off to head up north to do some digvid shooting in art places as I have this vision that I want to see in the camera, on the computer.
Until then.

Electric Love.

THIS JUST IS:
AND YES, I AM SHOUTING.
I AM AT JFK. WHICH I LOVINGLY REFER TO AS THE GUGGENHEIM OF THE FAR ROCKAWAYS AND MY FLIGHT IS DELAYED ABOUT AN HOUR. IN LOVING PROTEST I AM SINGING ALL TOMORROW'S PARTIES WITH HEADPHONES IN PLACE UNTIL THE PLANE NOT ONLY ARRIVES, PARKS AT GANGPLANK, BUT HAS US ALL MERRILY NESTLED INTO OUR GENEROUSLY-PROPORTIONED SEATS OF LEATHER. OH, ONE MORE DEMAND. WE ALL GET THE SNAZZY NEW LEATHER HEADPHONES FOR FUH-REE, NO DOLLAR REQUIRED. SHE'LL TURN ONCE MORE TO SUNDAY'S FLOWER AND DIE BEHIND THE DOE.