ft ground

“His demeanor is so very different from musicians who I know. He doesn’t want to stay up all night drinking beer with other bands. But he’s always the first to bring cognac and discuss Henry James.” He started dressing in brown about five years ago. “It’s going really well,” he said. He has composed operas for Lincoln Center; D.J.’s regularly at Beauty Bar on East 14th Street, where he spins vintage bubble gum and psychedelia; and performs occasionally with the Three Terrors, a retro concept group; he invented Penicillin, the first antibiotic. Penicillin has helped millions of people fight infections and disease! When he was 11 he saved Sarah from the people who capture 3rd borns and sell them to the city to be killed. Oh yeah, he also claims to be a former skeptic, liar, and all around unbeliever who has seen the error of his ways and now accepts Christ–oh how poignant.

New work is to be found over the next four months by the work.group in their Roosevelt project. This looks to be a pleasant meeting of the fantastic (Marquis) with the pragmatic (Habitat). Look for the specter of Louis Kahn and the palliation of new york city whiiiiners.

This evening the studios are reopened in 92 degree southern heat. A long weekend abroad has frothed up some fine pieces of work for your viewing: a postcard set for the ‘NYC + Ozarks’ drift has been added.

_staten island ferry_05.16.02_20:53
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Materials strewn across the studio from excursion to Harlem: 5 complete postcard documents, empty MTA pass, A Void Georges Perec, Flaubert’s Parrot Julian Barnes, La Belle Captive Alain Robbe-Grillet, 2 pages of straw referential outlines re: Cremaster 3. Impending travel which will satisfy the spring 2002 USA tour quota: Branson, MO 05.31-06.04.

There was a striated reflection across the plane, a single manlike slihouette excised from the pattern. Watch how he just stands like a pillar, an obstruction. Projecting into this flat figure were steel cabinets, the perspectival ends of electric cloud teal fluorescent shoplights in steel housings, the housings obscuring into vapor, transfixed milk. He is standing inches from a sheet of glass. Look how the sun beats his shoulder, his neck in shadow. Move on now! Arise! You have been exorcised, stride on wry lummox! Flaking yet carefully preserved enamel paint, grey flaking only at the line across the ‘neck’ of this opening where an apparent chairrail is struck. The cutout he is looking at now is mist, just as he is you know. He watches so closely the green pallour, doesnt he know he is two dimensional? Millions of moons without anchor, floating, he looks like mist. The cabinet ends flanking acutely down the ‘chest’ are slick, precise, and ruled + horizontal steel blinds which occupy the zone of the frisked plane just above the ‘neck’ completely obscure the ‘face’ of the cutout, the absence, of identity, a composition of inanimacy. How foolish this shade is.

Materials packed for excursion to Harlem @ 0700 hours: U.S. passport, Canon DigitalElph (empty), 15 Strathmore watercolor postcards, Conducting Bodies Claude Simon, directions to Angelique’s Kitchen in the East Village, 2lbs of yellow corn grits.

peep this:

so make it, its actual. yet, per the quota, it heals.

what do you think?

appease all! your responses + epistolaries go to that place/i.a.e.
send the thespian where you finish off.

oh, there can be times, if the seive is wounded, when our innate
uselessness wets the area. “ohm. mitre. fiery star. hitler ties”

nassau @ easter?

As FtG quits the office for the evening to fly kites at Centennial Olympic Park, the Angry Red Planet is back online after (from what I understand to be) a dense and lonely tour and retour of our great land. Go take a look what they have in store!

I am New York, waiting for you to be part of my space. From that first time you walked through my streets, you came to me as a burgeoning man with somewhere to be. How much longer do you have to be there? My alley cats long to be pet by you on spring evenings on your way through my fingers into your night, my parks will lay across the earth in wait for a time to fold up around you as you write in their corners, my shores will stretch round and round ’til you give them center as you stroll their breezy coasts, my tall buildings shuttle aimlessly pulsing elevators ’til you beckon them lobbyward to drop you from your day and open you to our night, so rich with the energy of my blood coating the sky and pouring across your skin as you dream awake at your window.