April 2004; Issue No. 68
LIVING IN WARTIME, PART ELEVEN
XXXEaster Sunday.
XXXHe is risen.
XXXTrying to resurrect myself, but having
a hard time waking up.
XXXDo a Systems Check. Toes and fingers
wiggle. Lungs operate. Limbs feel perfectly attached. So far
so good. Error Reading on Hydration, but what's new?
XXXLooks gray and foggy outside. Easter
sunrise services never saw the main attraction.
XXXQuick scan indicates I am home, alone
and safe. It's always a relief to wake up in an uncompromising
position.
XXXEnter > Go.
XXXI intend to leap out of bed and start
the day running but the directive doesn't download. Right leg
countermands the left and I fall down.
XXXThis action highlights a curiosity.
Oddly, not in my usual sleeping attire. I'm wearing pants which
are gathered around my ankles. Tuxedo shirt and jacket add to
the mystery. Save query on Desktop to solve later.
XXXI lie on the floor, overdressed. Memories
of recent past fall all over themselves as I reboot my brain.
Thoughts scramble to find their Folders and Documents. Like a
downloading image, notions begin to form, clarify and sharpen,
but a server cannot be found. Desktop fills up fast.
XXXPOP UP MESSAGE > Tonight is the memorial
for Billy Dwyer at Ed Moses'. Didn't know him very well but liked
his work a great deal. William Dwyer was a minimalist who showed
with Kiyo Higashi in LA. Work I knew was well crafted, delicate
and precious. Funny work for a big barrel chested guy. People
look like their dogs but artists never really look like their
work.
XXXDOG > DYING. Yeah, the heaviness
that hangs in my heart. A storm on my Sea of Eternal Sadness.
My dog, my best pal, is living
his final days. Dustin, sweet dopey Dobie, lives with his Mom.
We are steeling for the worst and the inevitable. Have loved
Dustin over thirteen years; feelings go deep. I want him to be
comfortable. I guess it's a good thing he isn't here right now;
Would've landed on him when I fell out of bed...
XXXI NO LONGER THINK > I DOWNLOAD. All
I wanted was DSL but Technical Advisor in New Delhi led me to
upgrade everything. All is chaos. Money burns. Logging too many
hours on hold for support. So weary, so beaten.
XXXAGGRESSIVE AMERICANISM > OVERLY DESIGNED.
NuComputer tries to think for me and finish my sentences, but
it's not me. Take five steps back. Trying to understand new operating
system, so I'm trying to think like it, talk like it.
XXXDEATH > TAXES. Taxes due in four
days.
XXXDEATH > HELL > ELECTION YEAR 2004
XXXDEATH > DAILY > OBITUARIES >
WAR DEAD. Everyday, try to read obits of our fallen comrades.
Least I can do. Yesterday at lunch, had to whip out the shades
indoors and cough-away a sob, reading soldier's last letter to
seven year old son. The stories. The lives. Serving so honorably
with purest of intentions. I need to believe my leaders
act accordingly.
XXXESCAPE > POP UP MENU > HAPPINESS.
Song on new mix by DJ Krakatoa can halt all of world's aggressions.
Infectious, toe-tappin' disco ditty "Ménage a Trois"
(Alcazar) chimes, "Twice is nice but three is divine; What's
yours is hers and hers is mine; If you're in the middle then
just hold on tight." Doubt anyone with that notion in their
head would ever blow up a train.
XXXTRAIN > SPAIN. Bombing rattled me.
Have loved ones in Madrid.
XXXDEATH > EASTER > 'PASSION' BIG
B.O.
XXXMEL GIBSON > DEATH > NEW YORKER.
Most poignant article read in last year was New Yorker piece
about Mel Gibson. Told of a great personal struggle, crisis of
conscience and philosophical battle deep within his soul. Dark
place he found, scared the hell out of him. I related; Know it
well: Where search for meaning and value becomes desperate. When
old answers prove hollow and false. The search for, examination
of, and eventual death of hope. Grateful for Mel's candor; made
me realize a corner had been turned in my life. Mel found his
God and made a movie. I choose a secular, philosophically minimalist
path with no plans for cinema.
XXXDEATH > ENVELOPES. Helping friend
Tara stuff invitations to a memorial. Her mother died unexpectedly,
leaving many lives with sudden, empty void. Vital, successful,
beautiful, her mother was dancing on top of the world. Had loving
husband and tight, close family that even like to hang out with
each other. New car. New house. Thriving business. Great health.
At this time in her life, everything was well placed and sunny.
Gone. Gone. Godammit gone. I pray I go like that. With a smile.
XXXFAMILY > TIES THAT BIND > GROWTH.
Nephew Archie gets first adult tooth. Godson Duke kissing first
girlfriend. New nickname: 'The Cuddler'.
XXXON THE MONITOR > Just noticing, while
lying on the ground over-dressed, the perspective is vertical,
always up. Just noticing the carpet is disgusting and needs to
be vacuumed. Little synthetic fibers tickle my nose and are annoying
the hell out of me every time I breathe. Jesus, wonder what I'm
inhaling. I should get up. Why be hasty?
XXXSuddenly, a golden snowflake drifts
into view. A shiny little gold star. Odd. It catches the lamplight
and flares as it saunters to the nylon-pile earth. Then another
one sails in, this time larger. Soon, it's joined by a sparkling
companion. Flecks of gold are snowing in my bedroom! This does
not strike me as unusual. After all, maybe magic really
does exist in this crazy ol' world...
XXX[ERROR READING]
XXXNo magic. Studio door is ajar; Gold
escaping.
XXXGOLD > STUDIO > REBIRTH AND RESURRECTION.
Gotta get up. Got work to do. Have to restore public piece from
1997. It's a behemoth and deadline is now. Using metal gilding
and hidden text, series is about surface, philosophy and value.
Over time, the bright, polished gold has patina'd and the copper
compounds have oxidized, slowly turning the work from dazzling
hope to earthen beauty. Now it's back to the dazzle.
XXXIn the studio, fans are blowing, to
speed drying time; it's a wind tunnel. Thousands of gold flakes
are caught in the tornado and the room flares and dances with
explosions of flying light.
XXXSome Gods give; some take away. No matter
how severe the damage, force of Life cannot be destroyed. Death
is inevitable and regrowth innate. Old Man River just keeps on
rolling along. And I better roll off this carpet. Resurrection
begins one nail at a time.
___________________________________
GORDY GRUNDY is a Los Angeles based artist. His visual and literary
work can be found at www.gordygrundy.com.