Monday, September 25, 1995

Letter to Jutta


How are you? So... Here's highlights of my life.

After we said good-by I went to the Deutches Theater. I got there right at 7:00. The performance was beginning. I don't know, maybe because I was late or because I didn't speak German or because I said I was from New York they just ushered me right in with out paying. I had a decent seat in the balcony, but of course during intermission I moved to an empty seat in the front row, center (My favorite). The performance was almost 4 hours long. I stuck with it. Visually it was good, especially the costumes. Afterwards, a midnight ride to Huffeland Str.

The next day, as I was riding to Frankfurt, thinking about the trip, I planned out my last two days in my mind. As soon as I got to Frankfurt I would go to Kannonenstemple and have my final Bratwurst and Affelwoi festival. That night there was to be a party at O&M, we would also go to "The Blue Bar" I'm sure, perhaps see Birgette and Andy. Johannes and I would have time to talk. The next day I'd take a bike ride along the Miens. Then we'd go to the airport, have a tea and then New York. As I was picturing this I heard one of the other riders say something about the date. To my horror, I realized that my fight was that afternoon at 2:50 and not the next day as I had thought. It was 11:00 and still 300 Km to go. We roared to Frankfurt, arriving at 1:45. I ran to Cranach Strasse. When I got there I called the airport and found out that the flight had been delayed 2 hours. Thank god for PIA. Johannes came right home and we grabbed a cab to the airport. We had time for a quick tea, but soon I had to board the plane. I left never having a chance to really feel the ending.

When I arrived in New York I had been traveling for the past 23 hours. I opened the door to my apartment and the Beer Garden out back was filled with screaming, drunken idiots. Upstairs, they were blasting the stereo. More Frat-boy punk. I began to seriously wonder whether I wanted to live in this town.

I sleep. Time goes by.

I go to the beach. We still have summer here. I worked on perfecting my body surfing technique. I'm lifted high by the waves, shot through a tunnel of water and thrown onto the hot,wet sand. Is this what it's like to be born?

I had tons of job offers when I got back. A good thing. I'm working at Grey Entertainment. They do the ads, marquees, programs, etc. for Broadway and Off-Broadway. We got an advance copy of the Sunday Times Fall Preview a few days before it's release. I am amazed by the incredible scope and sheer volume of Art and Culture here. And The Times doesn't even begin to cover the avant-garde. There's no such thing as a "must see" show in New York. Everything, everyone has scores of rivals.

We produced a favorite band of mine at Work House (where I am artist in residence). Little Jack Melody from Denton Texas. They are a strange contemporary blend of Sinatra and Kurt Weil. The artistic director of Work House, Damien Grey, LJM's leader, Steve Carter and I are discussing working on a musical together. I would do the book. I'm thinking a musical version of The Stepford Wives, with a little of Metropolis and The Bachaee thrown in.

The film goes on. I am still working on the screen play. I am set to do a reading, early October and begin shooting shortly afterwards. Everyone I mention it to is excited about it and eager to participate.

Still doing Yoga at dawn. Well... most of the time.

I think often of our trip. Every time I tell someone about it, I get to relive pieces of it. I have of late been very conscious of the passing of time. I often feel I can visualize it's structure. Moments strung together like beads of light, each moment stretching off into a dim infinity. I try to be as present as I can in each moment, to see as much of it's periphery as possible. I think of lying outside at night and looking up at the stars and remembering thinking "Oh that's enough, it's time to sleep". As if that were possible. As if there was ever enough time to look at the stars.

Miss you.