The Platinum Life

My brother and I have been industrious. The Internet is still up in my room, so we stay on it. We keep busy. We are going here, and there when we get the chance. Today, we are heading to Lincoln Center. Why? Well, last week, OBSIDIAN went to a studio to meet the 'Germans', a husband and wife team of artists. They have a project that is unique and they need poets to do it. He takes off in the afternoon, coming back in the evening because he has a pass to stay with me tonight.

10:00pm becomes 11:00pm becomes 12:00pm. It gets later and later. Soon, he emails me after 12:00 to tell me that he is on his way. Fine. When he returns he regales me with stories about the 'Germans' and their studio, and their project. Wow, it's incredible. He had to read his poetry and stare at a camera while keeping his head perfectly still. They not only recorded him, but video taped his head, his facial features. Nice. He spent nearly five hours doing this.

He also agreed to go to their show at Lincoln Center to see what happens in the final outcome, when the project is finished. We, me and him, get to go in for free. What? Yeah, they'll come out and collect us from the front door and in we go to see the 'project'. So, I get ready. Daniel is coming to pick me up. I shower but do not shave. Why? I'm a hobo. He arrives and we take the Way to Lincoln Center and to the SCOPE ART SHOW. Basically, at the area of the great bandshell, they built enormous tents and in this construction was a massive art show from all over the world. Fuck, what a mind blowing experience. We stroll in when Daniel, the German husband comes out to collect us and get us past admissions.

The art show is ecclectic, maddening, insane. Such artists, doing some astounding work. Wow. I am amazed. Daniel steers us through the madness effortlessly and soon, quickly, we were at his art. I stand before a darkened kiosk. Inside are two seated manikins, covered with shawls, blankets and cowls. Just one problem. Their faces MOVED. Their faces were SO FUCKING REAL. It was incredible. They spoke, spouting poetry. They were so REAL that I wanted to reach out and touch them, but Daniel stopped me. In fact, Daniel stopped many people who were amazed at the work and could not believe their eyes. They wanted to see if the poets would flinch at their reach. It was unbelievable. Mother fucker. I stand stunned.

Daniel comes up to me. He explains that there is a projector in the body of the manikin that is pointed at the face in reverse which makes it real to watch. I am amazed. "OBSIDIAN will be one of these," he tells me. Wow, what a project. He smiles easily. Suddenly there is commotion. The crowds part to let Magdalena by, a petite, dark blonde, with cute features and an easy smile like her husband. She extends a hand to me. OBSIDIAN introduces us. This is the second half of the team. She is not as attractive as my red head, but I have to stop judging all women against her.

Daniel comes to life. This is just TWO PIECES. He envisions a show with TWENTY ONE pieces. He wants a fucking army of poets reciting their work. Shit. Magdalena says that OBSIDIAN has praised my work and they want to have it. What? OBSIDIAN? What the fuck? My world flips on a switch. Not that I don't think OBSIDIAN thinks well of my work....whoa, let's put it this way, my brother is an amazing poet. For him to say that I have ANY talent to other people who may be critical is fucking with my mind. I still don't think anyone wants to hear my shit. That's what I think my work is....shit.

"Can you give us your work and join the process?" Maddalena asks. Wow. Me? I might bring your project DOWN. I think. I remember Charles Bukowski being amazed that people liked his work, so I like to mirror him. Not that I'm amazed because of him, but I can understand the inability to understand how people can connect to my work. Maybe it was Magdalena's dazzling eyes, maybe it's the fact that I'm sober as a judge, maybe it's the fact that OBSIDIAN said ANYTHING about my work, maybe it's the scope of the project. I DON'T KNOW. But I said I will give them the body of my work and they can come to their own conclusions. I'm putting myself in line with a heartache but why not take the chance?

That's the end of that. I want to pitch a show to NBC. I want to do a show that is different from the late night format that ALL of the networks has been catering to. BECAUSE THEY THINK IT WORKS. It's BORING. OBSIDIAN and I have come up with an idea. A new show that will disturb, encourage, rock, laugh, amuse viewers. We want to rock the world with our work. I search the Internet.....I find no way of contacting the powers that be at NBC. NONE. What the fuck? Don't they want NEW ideas? Hmmmm

Why am I so fixated on NBC? I don't know. Maybe CBS or ABC have a way to pitch ideas. But NBC is my idea. Then it dawns on me. I have a friend.....a VERY close friend in NBC that I miss. A friend that I have fallen from dealing with since I went homeless, because I WAS ASHAMED of my condition. Fuck! I find his email. I need to contact him, reach out to him, NOT for the NBC pitch, but because he is a FRIEND of mine. That's what's drawing me to NBC. I know it. I have to reconnect with ALL of my friends that I have lost touch with since I lost my job and went homeless. The shame is over. I need to mend.

I WANT TO TALK TO MY FRIENDS. I stop. I think. I write and email to him and wait. I forget that I wrote it. He responds. He is still at NBC, and his number is blah, blah, blah. He does not hate me. Wow. Shit. My joy is peaked. I don't know if he can help me, but just to hear from him rocks my world. Holy shit. I HAVE to now reach out to him. I miss him. NOT IN THE WAY YOU THINK. He was in my wedding party. He was my close friend for years. He was one of many that made a difference in my life. Maybe I can regain my life now. This is not a love thing like gay....it's more a love thing between men. I just want to see my boys doing well and still married and with children...something I could not have. Something I never had. These are my childhood running buddies. They are my life.

I lost my Internet connection on Friday, when I was supposed to hang out with DJ. Yeah, I knew that would happen. That's my life. I had no way of reaching him because ALL of the Starbucks were filled. Since they closed the Starbucks downstairs from me, once again, this is my life, the rest of the Starbucks are always filled to the brim. There is no way of getting on the Internet. I sit walk back and forth. There are two Starbucks in the vicinity, but both of them, being blocks apart, are filled. I resign myself to my fate.

This is just a bad week. Things will get better. I will survive this.

That's just how things go.

Hobobob