August 01, 2005

THE WAY YOU LOVE WHEN YOU LOVE

I was reading the zine of Mike Taylor (no linkable internet prescence at this time), Scenery #18, at the kitchen table early in the am. In his opener-page manifesto, he talks the only funny-and-poignant (not too much mocking, not too much cynicism) talk about what getting to be an older punk is like. And there is a line about how when you are young& punk and you think all yr friends are revolutionary geniuses and yr going to blow the lid off the world... and you know, that's kind of just how you have to think. That's how everyone thinks - ie. water polo players think that this is an unprecedented time for Water Polo.

But it is an unprecedented time for Water Polo, surely! And my friends really are the funniest people ever, and we are changing the world with our projects built on love and fun , right? (Btw, I did not write as George Plimpton, but rather as George Hamilton. George Plimpton is very "dapper sweater", and Hamilton is very "the boneyard" and "tanning 'til wallet-y": please! no-brainer!). Also, my friend Cali, congratulations to him: his first art show of paintings and he sold 13 works. And I think he started painting, like, seriously, 6 weeks ago. His pictures are so good and frightening: Five feet tall portraits-on-cardboard of cartoon-y super 2D style white dudes, withered, rocking nothing but soft cocks and gym socks, while holding a knive, smiling like Golem. Creepy like Joel Peter Witkin, like looking at it, your very soul turns into a soiled re-fastenable Pamper.

Did you have a nice weekend? I hope you did. I sure did. I rode my skateboard all around both days, for the first time in two summers, and despite feeling a bit wracked, my only injury came from running into a parked police cruiser. Skateboarding: still not a crime .

I am not making time for this here blog much this week, maybe. The effing phone company sent my DSL connection to, like Poughkeepsie, and so, everyday, I work at the library, or ciphen internet from willing friends til it gets fixed. Then Britt Barton Lindsay, my oldest and dearest and bestest, she comes to visit, and I imagine my every-day will be spent making her smoothies and bringing them out to the yard on a little tray, where she will be perched, turning, sweating, roasting, like gyro-meat, in the sun, while she studies some law, or reads aloud to me from our favorite Jackie Susann novels. Lack of home DSL connection and my love-interest being on tour, it means I am free of distractions and righteous diversions and thusly, the next few weeks will be spent in full-on production mode with the new comic collaboration zine, title es explanitory: JESSICA HOPPER AND MIKE TAYLOR MAKE ART, and working on some other manifesto strewn hotness, riding bikes, playing "Who Shot Ya?" a zillion times.

Whatevs. It's summer. Why are you even inside reading this? You could be outside kissing animals and eating apples. Go. Go.

Posted by Jessica at August 1, 2005 02:24 PM | TrackBack