There are tears. Tears and tears that separate us from heartbeats and mind games. And sentimentality. A sentimental crusader I am. I like nostalgic pining and genuine reminiscence and crude emotional displays of of complete sentimental stupidity. It is a beautiful thing. That saves us. It does. It saves us from the present fear and torture of the present moment. That moment we are in. We are in, in always supplicating, fighting the desire to be somewhere else.
When I finally got to Pete’s it was not a pretty display. This was not ending well. I felt sad and a little guilty. Guilty I hadn’t been up to his place and at least tried to be there. He was kneeling, ‘every time I see you falling, … ’ and it was not optional. He was in despair. A despair like in conflict, curled up ‘I’ll never see just what we’re meant to be’ … This genuflecting Pete was the final straw. I just saw, that in his toughness, in his hubris , he couldn’t help humiliating himself the way people are bound to do given plenty of rope to hang with and the intelligence to drive himself ass mad.
So I mentioned the animation progress was crap, right? All I could hear around me was how someone ‘made it to the nationals’ and another guy who got ‘bought out’. What was that? Bought out from a job? A rent controlled condo ? A start up ? How could I get ‘bought out?’ It sounded lucrative and easy, but I was stuck in emotional turmoil, philosophical ambivalence, and mental masterbatory machinations of no use! A light box shines light up though an image drawn on transparency and then you take a photo. Simple, but the sheer number of technical, mainly lighting variables and the overwhelming number of outcomes was paralyzingly me. I couldn’t afford to be paralyzed any longer. I decided to correct the one thing I could, talk to Pete.
All I could think about was putting together this animation and everything was going crappy on me. I kind of felt guilty now for ignoring Pete. I tried watching football at the spanky new sports bar on Greenwich. But since the niners were really sucking, it was hard to achieve distraction. It was snowing. Which I loved normally but frankly was just in bad enough mood for it to annoy the crap out of me. I remember going to a bar in TriBeCa, deserted at lunch time, and crying on the sidewalk before I went in. I remember the bartender being hot and not affirming my ego, but rather just serving me midday whiskeys with a frown and talking to her colleague about how some psychology guy was stalking her. I thought briefly about how it would be to stalk someone and thought it would be boring as shit so I wallowed in my misery and couldn’t take my mind off suffering Pete.