Leo Kelbs' Stories

Holiday Greetings 2010!

2010-12-08T16:32:00.001-05:00

December, 2010

Dear Friends, Family and Colleagues,

Happy Holidays from chilly New York City! It’s been a wild year of work, travel and fun. The most challenging aspect of “Life 2010” has been living between NYC and Berlin. The shifting between cultures is invigorating, yet living in two different time zones sometimes leaves me wondering where I am and what day it is!

Otherwise, my home in Berlin is finally set up and quite comfortable. I rent it out when I am away, as I do in New York, and that creates a little extra spending money while keeping the places occupied, as they should be.

This year saw some very positive steps in the curatorial work I have been doing for the last 4 years. I did two shows involving large-scale video projections on the Manhattan Bridge. The second of which, “The Endless Bridge” was seen by around 30,000 viewers over the course of a weekend. If you are interested at all in what I have been up to, you can check out my website: leokuelbscollection.com. Look under “Archive” or check the Facebook link for short video clips.

I also did several shows in Berlin, which went well, but on a smaller scale. The coming winter months will see some exciting new events in Berlin and NYC, as well as other cities. I feel like I am involved with a good network of hard-working, trustworthy people—a great feeling!

Back in Minnesota, my cabin has gone through the final phase of its renovation with a new paint job. I look forward to going back there next week to see it, visiting with my neighbors, my Mom and the TCHD crews for pre-holiday fun, then barbecuing some meats, roasting in the sauna and rolling in the snow, and also playing a show with my fine, fine band, Frances Gumm, celebrating our 17th or 18th year of operations! Who can possibly remember? What good times we’ve had.

In Texas, my Father is surly as ever, though age-related health issues are now keeping him home-bound, for the most part. My siblings there have done heroic work helping Leo Sr. to remain as independent as prudently possible and I thank them for it. As I thank my Minnesota-based brothers and sister for watching out for my legendary mother. I love my family and wish I could see them more often.

Other than that, I still miss Helmut, my old dog. Dating has been interesting, a little difficult with living in two towns at once. So, I generally survive on friends and a steady sense of knowing that I will always return to a life, which renews itself with regularity and sparkling views of Manhattan and the East River, then the Fernsehturm and Bernauerstrasse, where the Berlin Wall once stood. I catch myself having moments of uncontrollable happiness when I see these things after a couple of months away. Amazing.

Writing! Okay, I haven’t been doing much of that lately. I even gave “The DUMBO Paneling,” my small, local newspaper, a break after 4 ½ years of monthly publication. The curatorial work, plus the shifting from city to city makes it difficult to keep a regular publication schedule. While the simple way I communicate in Berlin makes my English seem like a bad translation of Gogol. I did manage a couple articles in German, of which I was quite proud!

Well, there you have it: A quick look at the last year lived in lines at airports, folded into little seats in the backs of planes with crying babies staring on, and dark, rainy Berlin afternoons. As for now, I will put on some winter running gear and hit the streets of DUMBO. A run along the river and under the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges seems awfully nice about now.

Happy Holidays Everyone,
Leo Kuelbs, Jr.

New Paneling Stuff

2010-06-30T09:49:00.003-04:00

Hey You!
Check out the link to Paneling over yonder (right). there's a whole bunch of new stuff at Paneling right now! Check it, yo!

Noise and Running the Wall

2010-06-30T09:23:00.002-04:00

I can see the workman's legs on the scaffolding right outside my front window. The sound of the table-saw's blade cuts through the air, into my slightly open window and directly into my brain. But, I cannot complain. I knew they would be building when I bought the place and made a nice little savings because of it.
Still, one must be careful who can see in and not become alarmed when the 7 o'clock cacophony starts. Always right on time and at maximum volume. At least one can be assured that the noise will abate by half within two hours. Two hours of steamy summer closed windows and itchy earplugs, half-sleep mornings ending in unenviable awakeness.

But the workmen are friendly and fast and there are only two years left before they will finish. I don't stay here full time, so it isn't so bad. Actually, I am the only one in the building these days. The neighbors arrive back at night, hiding out at work or wherever else they can spend the noisy afternoons.

A giant cement dripping utter floats by and down to deposit its load into a form resting on the cement top of the underground garage. A vent, I think, will eventually deliver air to the cars and their happy parkers below. Expensive spaces in underground garages.

I run past and out onto Brunnestrasse, north to Bernauer, the street where the wall used to sit. The Mauer Memorial Park is there now, along with pieces of the old wall, cartoons, a church, text, tourists. I noticed several months ago when I was running past, the children of the almost uncomfortable age, wanting to act up and attract attention. they acted out, a little, but in silence. They knew that their parents were reading something, experiencing something sacred and sad. Like a funeral, or a hospital visit, the kids just knew and stomped around a little, not wanting to give up their kidness, but knowing not to push too much.

Tour groups and buses. A watchtower. The luxury condo complex, "Lazarus," rises from the no-man's land of the West Side. I always think that when Lazarus arose, he must have really needed a shower. And I always wonder how long he lived after having been dead a while. You would think being dead would be hard on your organs, etc. This particular Lazarus is for the well-to-do. Rebirth for the rich. Kids walk by in bored summer dazey-dreams. Nordbahnhof train station at Gartenstrasse, back into the East sSde. The nice East Side. Alpenstueck is expensive and now there are somehow two of them. An angry looking Army/Navy store after the Invaliedenstrasse turn. The lights take forever, so I run and cross when traffic is clear. Across at an angle and another batch of cars is on the move, so I have to run between bumpers that are a little close.

I like Bergstrasse, so I run past little places I first noticed last year, when I was newer still and I cross to pass the closed wooden covers of Z-Bar, where I will go tonight, later on, for a few glasses of Gruner Veltliner and minor talk. Then around to Torstrasse past Rosenthalerplatz and the famous Doner shop and all the tourists who are less tourists than me, even though I am here more. Up past more tourists and hip stores and galleries that get more and more unhip as I run north, up towards Bernauer again, past the Tur which leads into the courtyard of construction and my place, left again in the sun, stay out of the bike lane, past the Mauer Memorial one more time and everything else one more time.

Newly Edited!

2010-05-11T14:10:00.001-04:00

das Traurige Lied der Aschewolke
von Herr Külbs

Hallo alle zusammen! Ich bin eine schmutzige isländische vulkanische Aschewolke und ich muss deinen Tag zu versauen!
Hey, was ist los? Du magst meinen Plan nicht? Das ist dein Problem, nicht meins! Das ist was ich alle 100-200 Jahren tun muss.
Und es macht spaß! Heiße Lava kam aus einem Feuerloch in der Erde und fluß über das Land! So wurde ich geboren.
Ach, liebe Mutti, du fehlst mit!
Okay, jetzt zu dir! Ich will dass du auf einen Flugplatz lebst. Ja! Das ist richtig! Deine neue Heimat ist JFK in New York oder vielleicht Tegel in Berlin! Super cool, oder? Das regt mich, an macht mich zehr glücklich! So viele Leute wie möglich sollen auf Flugplätzen leben.
Ha! Wie lustig! Hast du dich im Spiegel gesehen? Du bist sehr blass!

Aber, ich habe ein Problem und es ist sehr ernst: ich kann meinen Namen nicht sagen. Ja, echt traurig! Ich habe keine Stimme. Die heisen Lavazungen haben mich ausgespunkt. Sie haben keine Liebe für mich. Für sie, bin ich nur Abfall!
Und das ist der Grund weshalb ich euch so Leiden sehen will. Ich hasse mich! Daran solltet ihr denken wenn ihr meinen Namen verwünseht. Du darfst meinen Namen sagen, ja du darfst, aber ich kann es nicht, deshalb darf ich euch traurig machen.
Habt einen schönen Tag! Ihr habt mich zu traurig gemacht. Jetzt komm ich und werde euch kriegen. Bis dann, küss die Asche!

Blogging's End

2010-05-10T12:42:00.002-04:00

Is a short street and we may be reaching its end. "Why?" you ask. Well, endless updating on Facebook, Twitter, etc. has made it easier to make short, shallow updates instead of slightly more lengthy tome-posts.
Hmmm...more writing coming soon!

A Rough Draft of Another Article in German!

2010-05-10T12:41:00.000-04:00

das Traurig Lieder von die Aschtelle
von Herr Külbs

Grüss alles! Ich bin eine schmutzig islandisch vulcanisch Aschestelle und ich brauche deinen Tagen zu abwraken!
Hey, was ist los? Du gleichst nicht meiner Plan? Es ist ein Problem fur du, aber nicht mich! Es ist was ich nehme jeder ein oder zwei hundert jaren.
Und es ist zu spass! Heise Lava abschiesen von mein rot Mutti-Maul und fließt durch das Land. Es is wo ich kommt von. ü
Ah, Suße Muti! Ich fehle sie…
Okay, jetzt auf zu dich! Ich brauche für dich zu einer Flugplatz leben. Ja! Das ist richtig! Deinen neues Wohnung ist JFK in New York oder vieleicht Tegel im Berlin! Super cool, richtig? Es anrege mich. Alles leute denkbar leben in Flugplatzen.
Ha! Zu Spass! Hast du dich im Spiegel gesehen? Du bist zehr blass!

Aber, ich habe ein Problem und es ist zehr ernst: ich kan nicht meinen Namen sprechen. Ja, so traurig. Ich habe keine Stimme. Die Schandmauler aus Lava fauchen ich aus. Sie hat keine Lieben für mich. Zu ihnen, ich bin nur Abfall!
Und es ist warum ich machst zu sehr Lieden für alles ihr. Ich habe Selbsthass. So, zu mussen denken an Das wenn du bist meine name verwündschend. Du durfst meine Namen sagen, ja du durst, aber ich kann nicht, so ich durfe du als traurig als mich!
Guten Tag! Jetzt du hast mich zu Traurig macht an. Ich komme jetzt wieder für du. Bis dann, du wirst meine Asche küßt!

My Edited Troll Story! Yay!!

2010-03-24T12:56:00.000-04:00

Der Kleine, Schmutzige Troll
von Leo Kuelbs

Vor vielen Jahren, bin ich nach Hause gekommen nach vielen Monaten schwerer Arbeit. Mein Kopf war voller finsterer Gedanken. “Was ist los, mein Freund?” fragte ich mein Spielgelbild. Dann hat etwas im anderen Raum geraschelt!
“Ach, es ist nichts!” sagte ich zu meinen Spielgelbild, als ich mein Gesicht gewaschen hatte.
“Vielleicht ist es Zeit für ein Bier und eine Zigarettenpause! Ja, das ist eine gute Idee!” Dann habe ich mein Handtuch auf den Boden geworfen.
“Wo sind meine Zigaretten?” Ich fing an siein den Schubladen zu suchen. Dann im Schrank. “Nichts!” sagte ich ärgerlich!
Aber, ich habe viele Biere in Kühlschrank.
Nach vier oder funf Bieren, wurde ich sehr müde. Die Nacht brach an, mit dem Mond, und ich hatte viele seltsame Träume. In einem verlangte eine Wölfin Unmögliches!
Dann habe ich einen Klapps gefühlt. Ich war sehr schläfrig, aber wachte auf als ich Schritte hörte. “Hello!” sagte eine Stimme. Aber, ich konnte nichts sehen! “Ah, ist Deutsch besser? Ja? Sieh mich an mein Freund! Nein, nicht da, schau runter, hier!”
“Bist du eine sprechende Ratte?” fragte ich.
“Meine Nase ist lang und spitz und ich habe einen grüngrauen Bart, aber ich bin keine Ratte!”
“Wer bist Du dann?” fragte ich.
“Entschuldigung!” sagte Un-Ratte. Und für fünf Minuten hustete er! “Ja, danke, besser,” sagte er. “Ich bin dein zweibester Freund!”
“Ja? Ist das so? Und wer ist mein bester Freund?”
“Hier ist dein erstbester Freund! Hier!” Und er fummelte in seinem Jackett. “Ich kann deinen Freund finden. Einen Moment…. Hier ist dein erstbester Freund! HIER!”
“Aber es ist eine Zigarettenschachtel,” sagte ich.
“Aber es ist eine Zigarettenschahctel,” sagte er mit einer kommischen Stimme. “Ich bin der Zigaretten-Troll und Zigaretten sind dein erstbester Freund!” Und er lachte, bis er wieder husten musste.
“Danke, kleiner Freund. Du bist sehr großzügig.”
“Nein, es ist nur meine Arbeit,” sagt er. “Aber, jetzt muss ich raus gehen. Kannst du mir helfen mit deinem Fenster?”
“Natürlich,” sagte ich.
“Vielleicht willst du noch eine Schachtel? Ja?” fragte er, als ich mein Fenster öffnete.
“Ja, dankeschön Zigaretten-Troll!”
“Nein, du bist zu gierig!” sagte er, als er aus meinem Fenster rausfliegt. “Ich werde züruck kommen!”
“Bitte nicht!” flehte ich.
“Jawohl! Jawohl!” sagte er, bevor er in die Nacht verschwand.
Und jetzt warte ich.

The Little, Dirty Elf:

2010-03-16T15:45:00.000-04:00

Die Kleine, Schmutzig Drude
Bei Leo Kuelbs

Veilen Jahren voher, Ich habe zu meinen Wohnung gekomme nach vielen Monaten schwere Arbeit. Mein Kopf war gefullt mit vielen finstere Gedanken. “Was ist Los, mein Freunde?” besagt mich zu meine Reflexion in meiner Spielgel. Dann Etwas in der oder Raum geraschelt!
“Es ist nichts!” Ich besagt als meine Anschein gewascht. “Veiliect eins Bier und eine Zigarettenpause! Ja, es ist ein gut Idee!” Dann am die decke ich habe das Handtuch gestelle. “Wo ist meinen Zigareetten?” Ich habe zweien Unterhosen angefangt. Auch meiner Schrank. “Nichts!” Gespacht mich mit Ingrimm.
Aber, Ich gehabbt vielen Bieren in meiner Kuhlschrank.

Nach Ich vier oder funf Beiren getranken, Ich habe zehr mude gekommt. Nacht gekommt mit der Mond and Ich habe vielen kommisches Traumt gehat. Im eins, eine Wolfin Unmogliches verlangt!

Dann Ich einer Klaps gehoren. Ich war zehr schlafrig, aber Ich aufgewacht wann der Tritt Ich angehort! “Hello!” eine Stimme gesagt. Aber, Ich hat nichts gesehen! “Ah, ist Deutsch besser? Ya? Ansehen hier, meinen Freunde! Nein, nicht da, abwarts hier!”

“Bist du eine glattzungig Ratze?” Ich angefragt.
“Meine Nase ist lang und spitz und Ich einen grungrau Bart haben, aber Ich bin nicht die Ratze!”
“Wo bist Du dann?” gefragt Ich.
“Entshuldegung!” Gesagt die kleine nichts-Ratze. Und fur funf Minuten Er gehustet! “Ja, danke, Besser,” Er gesagt. “Ich bin die zweibeste Freunde!”
“Ja? Ist das genau? Und wer ist meiner beste Freunde?”
“Heir ist deiner erstbeste Freunde! Hier!” Und Er hat in seines Jackett gefummelt. “Ich kann deiner Freunde finden. Ein Moment…. Heir ist deiner erstbester Freunde! HEIR!”
“Aber es ist eine Zigarettenschactel,” gesagt Ich.
“Aber es ist eine Zigarettenschactel,” im eine kommishes Stimme, Er getrotzt. “Ich bin die Zigaretten Drude und Zigaretten bist deiner erstbeste Freunde!” Und Er gelacht.bis wieder Er gehustet.
“Danke, kleine Frunde. Du bist zehr freigebig.”
“Nein, es ist meine Arbeit,” gesagt Er. “Aber, jetzt Ich musse ausgehen. Kannst du helft mich mit diener Fenster?”
“Naturlich,” Gesagt Ich.
“Vieleicht du Wurst einmahl Schachtel? Ja?” Gesagt Er als ich meiner Fenster geoffnet.
“Ja, danke schoen Zigaretten Drude!”
“Nein, du bist zu gieren!” gesagt er als meiner Fenster ausgefliegt. “Ich sole du deinen Wohnung antworten!”
“Bitte nicht,” geweint Ich.
“Jawohl! Jawohl!” gesagt Er vor ins das Nacht Er verduftet.
Und jetzt, Ich varte.

Berlin Updates

2010-03-10T13:04:00.002-05:00

Greetings Fellow Humans!
Had a nice long sleep today after going out last night with artist and friend, OLEK. We were discussing an upcoming project for Berlin. Should have it ironed out in the next couple of weeks. We had some wine with artist Dani Imhoff, as well and it was nice for me to introduce the two. What a funny pair of artists talking to each other. Really great!
I've been feeling a little sleepy these days. Too much fun for too long. I need about a month of sleeping with virtually no human contact. That would be sweeeeeeet! But I don't think it's going to happen.
Instead...got the proposal for a bridge projection in Dumbo together and sent in. Should have news about that soon.
Tomorrow is loaded with errands, then band practice, German lesson, then curatorial meeting for the next GLOW show here in Berlin. Olek's work will likely be included in this event, too. But mostly videos.
Friday comes with more writing and some art homework. Maybe going out for drinks and talking about building issues with my neighbor.
Saturday is for resting. Sunday, I go out with Christin. Monday is another curatorial get-together, Tuesday is meeting with Marc from an American gallery with a Berlin branch, etc...
Right now, I think I will take 15 minutes to listen to some music. then it's off to Kreuzberg to meet with Matl and co. to catch up on video-art-related topics.
So, I am staying busy. I may meet with band-mate Julian later on tonight. But, if I wind up back here, in bed early, that would be okay, too.
Otherwise, the weather here is coldish, but sunny and nice. I feel bad about sleeping the day away!!! But not really. what is more luxurious than totally crashing out for 16 hours? I needed that!
So, hopefully I can get some more running in the sun in. I must say that yesterday's run was great. Running towards Torstrasse on Ackerstrasse past the graveyard and an old Berlin wall watchtower in the sun--I had to smile. And kick it up a notch.
I also hope to get some writing done, but I can see that I will have to schedule a block of free time to do it. Maybe I will head north towards the sea. I hear the food is horrible, but the views are great.
Okay, back to life in the moment!

Been a long time a comin'

2010-03-05T14:26:00.002-05:00

I've been super busy and unable to blog recently. But, check it out: bank robbery in Dumbo yesterday!
From the forthcoming Dumbo Paneling:

Taco Day and Bank Robbery Thursday in Dumbo
by Leo Kuelbs

Yesterday, while making my way through and over the sunny, cobbled streets of our quaint, fakey village, to my Spanish-owned, local bank, I was blocked by yellow tape. “POLICE LINE, DO NOT CROSS,” was its improbable message. Noting others beyond said tape-protected area, I tried to go under it and up the steps towards the friendly cash machines. “Bank’s closed,” the lady cop standing in front of doors told me.
“It is? Is everything okay?”
“Uh huh,” she answered. But a look inside through the glass revealed more tape around the teller area and several cops asking questions of the staffers inside. Clearly, my friendly bank had been robbed.
I asked one famous local panhandler (aren’t panhandlers doing pretty good these days in spite of the recent recession/depression? At least they have job security…) and he told me one guy had robbed the bank and just ran off. No word about guns or anything. Police were everywhere.
And today, the bank is open again and the same panhandler told me, upon fifty-cent donation, that they had caught the guy who, possibly, had come back to try again. They, at least, according to the talkative panhandler, arrested somebody. My street source told me the suspect was from the area and that he had really big balls. I thought the guy sounded stupid. You don’t rob the same place twice in two days, right?

A quick overview of blogs reveals some other interesting facts, such as robberies at other Sovereign banks in the area, and the possibility of a couple of accomplices. No news about any arrests, but I am sure they will be forthcoming.

So, yet another reminder that we live in a neighborhood where neighbors are noisy, garbage trucks are loud, developers are always key players, you might get robbed, and we still don’t have an actual grocery store. I miss the vigilante butcher who attacked the would-be purse-snatcher who had bitten his female victim. Oh well, at least the cops show up fast.

Winter in Berlin; GLOW

2010-01-16T08:32:00.003-05:00

Well, it's a pretty rough 2010 so far. The situation in Haiti is obviously so sad, massive and close by that it can really be felt. I haven't seen any pictures (on purpose), but have heard about them, been listening to the BBC and NPR and been in touch with Haitian friends. So far, I haven't heard of anyone directly connected to my friends who have died. But houses have collapsed, etc. I donated some money and will probably donate some more. It's big and sad and unavoidable.

Beyond that, my family lost one of our people over the holidays. I think the memorial is today in Wisconsin. Scott was my younger sister's husband. They divorced on good terms in 2008 and were close. I'm thinking about him and my sister, especially today.

Here is cold and snowy. No running as the sidewalks haven't been cleared and slipping is a real danger. So, I feel weird too with all this tragedy and limited options for physical release. But, it forces me to be kinda lazy, which I needed to do anyway.

Last night I went to an opening and met with some Berlin friends. Pretty fun! Then connected with the curator, Adam Nankervis and co. Adam and I are working on an event titled "GLOW," which happens next Saturday. Part of the concept for "GLOW" is to create some light in winter. It's about survival, hibernation, family connections--all things that keep you alive during the cold months. With everything that has happened already in 2010, I think the show will be more welcome still. Crazy! We will also have shots of Das Korn served by a science-minded bar-lab workers. Hmmm... Fantastisch.....!
Several artists are arriving in Berlin to celebrate the show and we anticipate a pretty big crowd. There's more info at my website: leokuelbscollection.com.
If you would like an e-invite, comment here and I will get you one.

I saw a good band a few nights ago at the famous Kaffee Burger. OSCA is fronted by Yuka Steingraeber who I met last year and could be described as "20s jazz disco-pop." Matching outfits, great arrangements, dancing--it was a fun night and the place was packed. That was a little "GLOW" right there. After the show, a lot of the people slid slowly back into their Berlin winter melancholy. But while the band was rocking, the place was lit up. Great! Then I helped a friend push his car out of a snowbank! Yes! Minnesota training comes in handy again.

Other than that, I am being super single. Spending tons of time by myself. Actually, I noticed last night I was turning slightly anti-social. I've been so chilling by myself and only focused on work, that making small talk was a challenge. I just wanted to find a small group of pals and drink a bottle of wine! Which I did, eventually, so all is well. This reminds me of my mid-20s, when all I did was play the drums with Frances Gumm and live in my Logan Park duplex. I remember that I had to remind myself to actually go out and meet girls after a couple winter months holed up or in my truck or at work. This may need to happen again! But working has been good and, if I can hook it up, I would also love to get back into writing some stories. At the moment, that's difficult--I'm so spread out, managing shows and places. No complaints, but it is a new type of crazy!
Oh shit! I need to edit "Goodbye Montreal." The edits arrived from MN and I gotta soak that shit up!

Lastly, I'm playing guitar with this guy Julian, who used to live in NYC and is now in Berlin. His old band, the Voxies, was pretty good and rehearsing guitar and doing some singing, after all these years, is feeling pretty fucking good.

Allright! Back into my hole! No, I'm going to pick up posters and deliver some things to GLOW artists. Fucking Awesome. Must plow ahead!

Gruss von Berlin, Again!

2010-01-12T16:34:00.002-05:00

Kicking it back at my place in Mitte. Just did a bunch of editing for an Austrian friend. Business stuff, fixing up the grammar and flow. It's a very interesting project which has already cleared a few hurdles, so I hope my work can improve it and help some more. It would be gratifying to have it all work out. Then maybe I could consider doing editing like that sometimes for CASH!!! That would be sweeeeeet.
Otherwise, my feet are really cold and my mind is in the twilight one. Feel good physically, but have no rhythm yet. Only ate once today, no working out, no running--the streets are filled with clumpy snow. Too many chips! Gotta start getting healthy--tomorrow! Enjoying some down time right now.
The DVDs I mailed from Taylors Falls for the GLOW show here have all been lost. Really crappy. It looks like some of those artists won't be able to be included in the program. What do you do? That really sucks. But, we'll fix what we can. Hopefully, there will be a second installment in the spring and we'll be able to have them in that batch. We'll see!
Went to White Trash Fast Food with my pals Julian and Artemis last night and ate a burger, drank white wine and smoked a couple cigarettes. Then Julian and I came back here and passed the guitar back and forth and drank German champagne. It's funny to be improving as a musician while I am also not caring about improving at all. It's been good to jam and I reckon, we'll work up a short set and see if we can get a show here in 2010.
What else...?
There's a lot more, actually. After I finish editing this job, then I will look at the edits for "Goodbye Montreal" and see what notes the editor made. It's a weird bunch of writing from my blog, edited and repaired, made not so personal, but it's still pretty personal. That's why I need an editor for this one. I just can't tell if it's of any value. I'm sure it's of some value, but maybe not enough to keep working on it. We'll see! Hopefully I will have a feeling about it by the end of the week and can either set it up and send it to Pepper for printing or scrap it.

NY Resolution:
To improve me German. Emailed a Berlin-based instructor earlier today. Maybe I can start this week...? That would be fabulous!
Hung out with Adam, Deb and their friend Anja last night before WTFF. That was fun. We talked about GLOW and watched some videos. We also discussed the unavoidable "Avatar." Oh yes. That is a good and scary movie. Where is all leading us? I wonder.
Okay, my toes are frozen. Time for a bath. No shower here, only a bath tub. A tiny fucking bath tub. What...? Oh yes, that's me. Bye!

Some writing...

2010-01-08T16:07:00.001-05:00

“Avatar” and the Repositioning of Victim-hood
by Leo Kuelbs

Oh boy! I just saw Avatar last night and I really enjoyed it. But, I went away with a lingering sense of fear and pessimism. First of all, those effects are off the hook. I mean, that 3-D shit is crazy. It’s the real beginning of an entertainment revolution! But I’m tired of all these constant revolutions! Damn! Did someone mention curly-cord phones in this paper? I think they did. What happened to those things? And slot cars? Are they still around? Video games are too weird to be dealt with and now, Real 3-D! That shit is going to be really freaky in 15 more years. Man, us aging Gen Xers are in for some serious growth challenges. I would hate to be in my parents’ generation moving ahead. Neither of them have ever emailed and I am sure they don’t plan on starting any time soon.

Can you imagine a scene like this: Your house is being robbed and you’ve been injured. The thief destroyed your landlines and took your cell phones. But she (yes, the thief in this case is a beautiful female cat-burglar), missed your lap top, which is in your closet.
That’s when your mom stops over with a steaming pot of hot ham and bean soup. She is surprised to find you beat up, bloodied, yet weirdly okay with it. Still, you need help! You’ve been robbed. “Mom,” you say, “Thank God you showed up! Please call the cops with your cell phone!”
“Cell phone! Those things are dangerous, people get in accidents. They’re illegal!”
“Mom, no they are not illegal. Using them while driving is illegal in some states… Wait! You can use my laptop to communicate with the cops. We can Skype them!”
“Let me set this hot soup I made just for you down. There. Now whose Skip?”
“Ahhh…Please mom, just send an email. Anything…”
“You send an email! I can’t send an email. Look what happens to you when I am not around, you should move back home with me…”

That’s probably going to happen to me.

Beyond that, the other thought I had after Avatar and all these other movies where a US Gov’t-like military force threatens an underpowered indigenous society, is that the public’s perception of it’s role in an industrial-complex ruled world is being re-worked for the coming generations. It’s as if we are all to understand that we will have to fight US Gov’t-like entities that will destroy lots of us, but we should keep on hoping that we will survive . Maybe a giant bird will show up that we can ride. A bird that will help us temporarily defeat the military-minded, paternalistic, money-grubbing fuckers! “Fight! I say! Fight the capitalists.”

But don’t make too much noise or you be arrested. This movie was made for a global viewing audience who view the US with justified skepticism. But, isn’t making victim-hood heroic sort of like reworking the idea of “faith”? I’m getting the feeling that technology-based firepower and its use to achieve capitalist ends is to be expected and that the natural world, and all of us who value it, will suffer. Geez, that sucks. And somebody is going to blow up the Brooklyn Bridge for fucking sure, you’ve seen that a hundred times. So, better get used to it. “But a hero like “Eli” will bring the world, and maybe our disembodied spirits, back together after those Capitalist bastards have sucked us dry and moved (back) to Mars!”

Are we being taught through entertainment (remember, those paintings of Bible stories were awfully entertaining in their day) to accept devastation to come? Fight against it, and the human spirit will overcome?

I may be wrong, but I feel like people have been played like this several times throughout history already, and seeing this, and other films like it, thoroughly re-inforce my view that, despite unbelievable technological advances, people are still tied to our archetypal heritage. Those having their pyramids built, those of us bricks that sit within the structure, and those slaves who do all of the dirty work. But hey, don’t worry, somehow it will al work out. Or, at least, you will get 20 virgins after you die.

"Goodbye Montreal" Rough Book Manuscript...

2009-12-29T17:26:00.004-05:00

If anybody reads this, I would love your thoughts!

Here Goes:

Take Her Away from Me Forever

So, it has finally come to pass that I have given up on my marriage.
After over nine years together, six of which we were married, I have finally given up any possibility of a reconciliation with the adulteress that was my wife.
She loved another man for close to two years, and when I confronted her, challenged her to give him up in favor of our marriage and everything it represented, she refused. And for the last three months, she has maintained her lover, while vacillating back and forth between divorce and near divorce.
I have offered what I could. I answered her first request for reconciliation by communicating a desire to take it slow. This was answered a week later with a change of field and a return to her desire to be single.
In the end, I travel alone to Spain to sort out my thoughts and my feelings. To face my failures in the handling of this marriage, my plain poor choices in the woman I chose and my weaknesses of character.
This morning, she told me it wasn't because she didn't love me, indeed she wants to have a positive connection and date me later. I told her that would be impossible after her actions-which she took responsibility for only two nights ago, but has since absolved herself of. She also has forgotten the moment in bed three weeks ago when she apologized and told me that she knew she did me wrong. This she doesn't remember.
Two months ago, she refused to put aside her lover while trying to work on our marriage. Then she said she wouldn't see him for a period and that in the meantime, we would see a therapist. A day later, she bought an airplane ticket to meet up with him in Mexico.
Prior to that, as we separated for two weeks to clear our heads, she booked a string of hotel rooms with her lover. With our charge card. I know this because the company called about the hotel charges and asked if I knew what was going on. That's customer service.
And she says it isn't about the other man. She says she just doesn't want to be married, that we can date later, be friends. She says she loves me. What kind of love is it that What kind of love do you have for a living thing as you choke it to death?
And yet I love her. I still wish it was different. I have been willing to extend myself, my love, across the divide to be turned away and told, “I still love you. I want to have a positive connection with you, be friends, maybe date later. I just do not want to be married anymore.”
She loves another man. She cannot face her infidelity and her inability to stick to her commitments. She is an egomaniac who I must get away from now; I must let her go for my own sake. And for that, I am weak-again. Selfish and controlling.
God, please free me from this marriage to that hateful, blind woman. Let me go; eject me from the purgatory of her company and my commitment to her. It has been so long since I have tasted real affection and love. I have done all that I could. I have tried. Please grant me peace and success in my quest for future happiness. Please, God, please. Take my love for her away from me. Remove her from my world as soon as possible. Spare me the sight of her. Take her away from me forever.

Overwhelmed

I'm not sure what to say. I am overwhelmed. On the way into town, I listened to “Roller Coaster Ride” by Belle and Sebastian. The song played melancholy as the road through the forest rose up and down along with the waves of feelings flowing out of my body.
On the long drive from New York, I talked to many of my siblings and it always came back to my dad and his fantastic recovery from serious illness then relapse into his various painful (not old-age related) behaviors. What a drag. I am ready to give up. But that's today. Another round of trouble---separate--and I'll then be ready again; like we were taught to be. The family esprit de corps. But, until then…
The ride in to Belle and Co. was fantastic and bittersweet, slow and careful. Too close to risk a deer accident. I realize now that the last several times I've been back, Martina has joined me. Ha! But now I kick it alone, and feel that grinding sadness that will be worn down by the friction of moving into the inevitable future. It always seems so new: the pain, the realization; the everything, the dating, the river, the stars, the sounds of the geese and ducks echoing across the water and off the houses. All this. Another shooting star in a sky AWASH with stars. Were they always this good? Did I forget since the last time I was here in this season? Or is it a special time, some amazing secret night? Both, I suppose.

A moth the size of a bat just flew by. Wait. Okay, it is a moth. I'd bet a bat would really like to eat that moth. That thing's the size of an Australian grub worm. I'm sure almost as meaty.
So I think of Australia and my friends there and I worry that I haven't heard about things. It's up to me to make the connection again. It's always up to me. But, I'm getting vibes, energy. There's always the thing waiting. The big thing, then other big things. And we keep waiting. Hoping to somehow avoid the inevitable. Ha, ha. What a life we all lead until we die!
I caught the big moth and put him onto the porch. Then he flew right back in. Then I caught him (her?) again and took her further away, re-released onto the porch where I'm sure I'll find the thing dead in a day or two's time.
The sky is miraculous and the forest and river sing the sleeping songs of swans, geese, ducks. I'm here now for a while. And to any of you thinking of me, I too am thinking of you. From here to where you are right now. If only you could see these stars. Here tonight.

Granada Update

Well, I stayed up all night and watched the Super Bowl! Yay! Broadcast here in Granada with no commercials-in Spanish even, though they left the Rolling Stones alone. Watching Mick Jagger running up and down the stage was pretty funny. Ballsy guy, but still ridiculous. I watched until the fourth quarter when it seemed the Steelers had it locked up. It felt ridiculous, staying up until 4 a.m. to watch American football in Spain, but that's what I did.
The excitement (and the jet lag) were such that I didn't fall asleep, and at 6:15, I geared up and began the pre-dawn walk to the Alhambra. Word was to expect long lines, get there early, by 7 a.m. The walk was steep but short, and I found myself at the right place before 7 a.m., more than 1 1/2 hours before they opened, and froze my ass off waiting for the sweepers, then the guards, then the gate keepers, etc.
Once inside, it was lovely. The main palace is the most spectacular ruin I've ever seen. Steelar! (Wait that's the super bowl again). I meant STELLAR! The decorative workmanship, the gardens, the fountains-and these were just ruins-it was amazing. I admit that I am in a sensitive emotional state and the beauty of it made me cry.
From a parapet, I looked down on the chilly Darro and saw the plaza from which I spied the castle two evenings previous.
Another highlight was at the Generalife-the smaller, more casual palace further up the hill from the main structure. In one of the gardens, the place where you would put your hands was instead being employed by a fantastic and ancient aqueduct system. Too much to explain, I suppose, suffice it to say that the Alhambra is worth the trouble to visit. I brought along a travel copy of Washington Irving's “Tales of the Alhambra,” a English copy printed in Madrid. Red leather. I read it front of a fireplace while I laid on my couch in St. Paul, MN, several years ago. My dog sleeping beside me and a small glass of brandy on the table. A different life ago.
On the Americans:
I have encountered very few Americans. I think they have all been students. And all girls. Actually, I am surrounded by a gaggle of them right now at this pub I am sitting, writing in. They are kids, sloppy, dumb, smoking, talking about where they are going tonight and classes tomorrow. If I talk to any of them, I'll have to ask where the teachers are hanging out.
To my close friend Jim R.:
I had a dream that I was hanging out with you and your brother. We were waiting at the police station for him to check in or be interviewed or something. Then he ran off and you, exasperated, but not surprised, followed, knowing that the cops weren't interested anyway. Your brother was an updated version of his childhood self, running wild and we followed him around, humoring the poor fellow. He was clearly going to get into trouble. The question was whether he would do it when we were around or not.
Anyway, we wound up at my (unique, dream) place. While we talked, your brother darted into another room inexplicably loaded with comic book memorabilia. Plugged into the wall was a dangerous mess of cords and wires, dollar bills intertwined in the works. You said we had better check on him, he might grab some of the bills and mess up the tenuous electrical balance.
We entered the second room and he was nowhere to be seen. As we looked and called, I saw movement near the cord area. He was hiding, waiting for us to find him. Then he pushed through the cable mess, smiling, but unhappy. The cords seemed okay and I knew it was time for us to get out of my place.
That's the dream.
Student Update:
Two American female students are having a serious talk. The pretty one is explaining to the less pretty one that she likes her and appreciates the use of her computer, but that she doesn't really want to be friends. How they are both too mature to have communication problems.
Now they are talking about skiing. Damn, I was supposed to ski with Angela. I had a place booked with view of the Sierra Nevada. My heart aches that I wouldn't be able to get there, to be in the mountains, on this trip. That battle is for another trip, another time, another version of me.
And finally…
Obviously, I am feeling better about my dying marriage. I have extended myself to a great degree, I have tried to make improvements in myself, I have discovered a vast wealth of love for my spouse that surprised her and myself. And that love hung there as an offer that was accepted, rejected, accepted and finally rejected. I have to give up. I am here until it is over. I look forward to the future.
I'll be heartbroken and crying later tonight, of course, but I definitely feel well-founded. Angela is a woman who lives on shifting ground. It is her way to live in vague shades of gray. She is welcome to her life and her choices. They are no longer my concern.
I am trying to get to the Iberia office to make my return trip arrangements. As cheap as food is, my deluxe hotel (chosen for good make-up possibilities) is expensive and my reservation is semi-rigid. If I wind up staying much longer I will move to cheaper accommodations, but I would like to get home this week anyway, get back to dating, and sorting the nuts and bolts of my divorce.

In the Woods

Kicking it from my cabin at 1 a.m. Wednesday morning. It's hot out here and Leopold and I just had a midnight jog. I thought it best to bring him along after all the wildlife I saw today. Plus there was that bear incident last summer. So, here's a list of the interesting animals I spotted today:
1. Bald Eagle
2. Dead Turkey (Eagle was eating Turkey)
3. River otter. Very cute, but very close to my dock, etc.
4. Fox
5. Possum
6. Deer
7. Weird decaying, fossil-like, frog carcass on my screen porch.
That's about it for the critters. Anyway, Leopold accompanied me on two runs today for a total of about 3.25 miles. He's 11, but kept up well and I am very proud of the old mutt. He's looking at me right now from his cushion. I think he misses his pal, Izzy.
Well, I had to say “No, no, no…” to friendship with my last girlfriend today. That sucked, but something about the proposition seemed false and though I don't have a complaint against her, I am pissed off at the way I wasn't surprised by the way things unfolded, plus a few other various and sundry small hurts, etc. Nothing major, just the usual. It's tough finding people you like well enough to spend time with, so that's the real issue: you hate to give that up. But people get different things out of relationships and friendship isn't something I'm interested in. Better to just drop it completely and move on.
Okay, animals, post-break-up news. What else?
I did visit with another ex yesterday. It was pretty good to see her. It brought back many memories and she's a very supportive, though not often talked with, friend. Seeing her was weirdly reaffirming and it gave me some juice for the continued headlong flight into my future.
Beyond that, one of my brothers is flying into Montana tomorrow. He's taking my mom and her sister on a helicopter tour of the neighborhood where the girls were brought up. What a fun time they will have, I'm sure.
So, that's it. Living in a hazy summer sadness. Adjusting to a long stay here and falling into the necessary patterns to make it a successful one. Feeling pretty lonely and trying to get out of the self-pity zone I'm currently bogged down in.

A Little Knot

A little knot of feelings had stolen the joy out of everything for a moment and the idea of sleeping evaporated like fog in the sun. Just before retiring, a close friend called and thanked me for the dinner I had made his visiting family. “I just want you to know, they really had a good time. It was a very sweet thing to do.” I didn't want to talk, so I thanked him for thanking me-thus completing the thanking chain-and trundled to bed where I would lay in a vain attempt to make it an early night.
His parents were older and on the verge of being completely unhappy with each other. The father was fat from drinking, which was necessary to cover up the pain and shame of whatever troubles he had, mistakes he had made. His wife held the moral high ground. “We've been married too long,” she said before his sister short-stopped, “Not this again,” and veered the conversation back to shallower waters. At this point, my friend's woman decided to leave and that marked the end of the night. It was peaceful on the whole and I could watch and listen to people who don't get listened to much anymore. They took full advantage of my open ears and spun tales of family histories, spirits guiding the old woman's writing and interests, rabid wolves at the door of her baby grandmother's shack in the wilderness butted up to the tiniest banalities. I knew they were comfortable if they could share such things and skirt right up to the edge of telling me why they should get divorced and the other people they once loved.
It all left me feeling exhausted and bittersweet. But the notion of family, even someone else's, was a nice and listening to the parents talk to their son and daughter about happy (and sad) old memories was worth something. They had lost the ability to direct their children anymore and everyone knew it and was sad for the time that had passed. They liked his girlfriend and I couldn't help but think my friend and his girlfriend would be married soon and that the moment was a very special one.
The last person I accidentally fell in love with filled my thoughts. I knew I would see her the following evening after two months apart after eight months together. The idea depressed me. I knew she would re-affirm the necessary “over-ness” of the situation, making it undeniably final. Which was okay with me. But it hurt. It had to be this way. I fell but she didn't. Well she did, but for some guy in Japan.
And the bittersweet family feeling and my friend and his girlfriend and the hopelessness of marriage and relationships and the desire for love, intimacy, surprise and hope. Everything had evaporated like my desire to sleep, so I put my clothes on and walked to the park.
Plus I was falling apart. When I woke up the morning previous, my foot was aching from a muscle strained by the previous day's long and wonderful run through the summer evening. What a great run. It felt so good and I was running like a fine machine. But the morning turned the power to pain and I found I could barely walk.
My thumb had also been filleted for a drunken “blood-brother” bonding ritual with the same friend whose parents and company would later be my guests. One may have a hard time cutting his own hand, so we cut each other's and he went deep and cut a vessel in my thumb which had pumped out blood which I flung around the apartment and the bar afterwards. With throbbing pain at two ends of my four limbs, I cleaned up the blood spots that had appeared in amazing places throughout the apartment. I had really gotten around. In the laundry bin there was one bloody pair of jeans and a shirt that would have to be dealt with later. It was all so absurd.
But thinking on everything was driving me crazy so I got up and went out the door onto the stairs (since the elevator was broken) with my incredibly sore toe and lose thumb-tip and emerged into the humid New York night. I stayed clear of the bar whose interior I spackled the previous evening and went towards the river with the city park between the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges as my destination.
It was midnight and many people and dogs were about and everybody seemed to be talking to someone else. Even the homeless guy was chatting up a young woman. It was all so preposterous. Everything that had happened forever added up to this and it turned out to just be an ongoing gyration with, quite possibly, no point whatsoever.
But the night was still and the air full. Dogs stared at me from the fronts of bars where their masters drank beer after beer. Some Cholos were drinking beer and watching a movie that was being shot in the next park over. The state park, which figures into 5 million movies, was again called into service. They had been shooting movies and TV shows all over the place the past few weeks. I had to run around three good-looking (in a dumb way) party chicks on the aforementioned jog vying for the attention of some low-level Abercrombie-type models at the famous local pizza parlor. Yikes.
The movie-watching, beer drinking homies were just chilling and gave me an easy pass. Everything was completely cool tonight. Everyone was okay, in some groove. Still, energy crackled and I wondered where the wild card lay. I thought maybe celebrity was afoot.
A guy took a nighttime shot of his girlfriend with the Brooklyn Bridge and the big movie lights in the background. He was really fat and she was cute and fit. Another couple was laying on the grass making out passionately. The guy looked up at me as I scoped his woman's splayed ass. Funny. Someone whistled at someone else and I looked over. The photo couple had rejoined another couple. A couple of couples.
Then another boy/girl love-team appeared. The girl was surrounded by the boy, who pumped gently then took her hand and put it in the dick area. She was into it. By the time I made it around the corner and looked back, her legs were spread-still dressed-and he had moved into the central, missionary position.
I wanted to tell somebody, but the guys smoking cigars on the benches were engaged in a discussion about Arnold Schwartzenegger's immunity to health concerns. I thought he might be around and looked over at the big lights. It was too far away to see anything and who cared besides?
By now, the sex couple was just a blob in the grass behind me. I couldn't believe they would fuck on the grass in the middle of all those people in the park. It was perverted or maybe wonderful.
The point is that I was watching it. I saw it. Everything was of a piece. And when I cracked the lock of my apartment's door, I felt a little bit better and was able to get back into my lonely bed and fall right off to sleep.

Goodbye Montreal

It's raining and gray today. I've been staying in an area called “The Plateau,” that is renowned for being “edgy, trendy, & hip.” There's a grocery store across the street, a SAC, where you can buy good wine, nearby, even a coffee shop downstairs. It's prime Montreal, but I just want to leave.
I came here last Sunday to attempt to move a fledgling relationship forward. It had been six months of long-distance talking; one meeting in Europe and this would be my fourth trip here. The woman in question is young and beautiful, dark, complicated, provincial. Because of a past indiscretion, she wouldn't be allowed into America until 2010. The waiting, the constant need for travel on my part, caused friction and difficulty from the start. So too, differences in language, attitude. But despite the fact that each time we were together we had to have a big fight before we could get along, love grew even though the situation was difficult and huge.
The first conversations covered issues like living all over, Berlin mostly, New York, other places. And these conversations became the bedrock lifestyle idea that we both dreamed about. But after a few months, it became clear that not only was the blockage into America a factor, but so were the needs of her career in Montreal.
For those of you who know me, you know I can be a handful on my own, especially if drinking. But you also know I am not afraid of complicated women and situations. And the problems associated with this, as well as the one-week per month trips to Montreal, to see her, kept me busy and began wearing me out. I started going back and forth between realizing the situation was untenable and feeling like getting through it would be an almost religious exercise. I could see being together and growing old, kids. I could see the future, her face, going to my cabin. But then, we would talk and fight and I would swing the other way and realize that it was virtually impossible. More trips to Montreal, hope, time, money, would she ever really be able to join me anywhere outside of Montreal?
And what of Montreal? Her family as here, and she swung from being estranged to wanting them back. I met some of them and they were nice people. Smart. But who can know what goes on between family members? All the history. There were stories she wouldn't tell me, but it wasn't my business. All I eventually gathered was that her feelings toward family and friends could be extreme and brittle.
She is smart and talented, lovely, angry, quiet, alone, hurt so many times.
I know I hurt her again. I came here to try to make this go forward. I made arrangements to have some of my own space while visiting this city. Days before I left, she said it was bad timing. She was tired and feeling something else. Flashbacks to bad experiences, more relationships fading into and out of view. I arrived at her apartment; she was tired, and beautiful. Within 24 hours, I was alone in the next neighborhood over, the Plateau, and I would never see her again.
I don't know exactly what happened. She was tired, got ill and asked me to leave. It's more personal and complicated than that, but I wound up here, sleeping alone; the woman I passionately love, across town, alone too. And sick. I was frozen out. It was really a stunning feeling. And Montreal did its part, lending a freezing cold couplet of blizzard days that made it obvious why February is the top month for suicides in this town. After the travel, three months apart, to be alone felt more than wrong. It was like a kick to my soul and spirit. The air was sucked out of the space I protected for this relationship. In the morning, I asked how she was, she was still ill. When pressed, she snapped. And I snapped. And all of the negative pressure of everything else came back and it ended. Over the internet, while we were only five miles apart.
No more word, no more life. A ton of hope sucked away, turned quickly around in stunning irony. A week ago, I was counting the days before I got here, now I am counting the hours until I leave.
After holing up here in someone else's apartment for four days alone, I did manage to meet a couple of writers and a singer while going out, trying to function like a human being. They all said it was good that it ended. My friends, over the phone, have said the same. They said, “Come back home.” But I had to wait. The apartment swappers are in my Brooklyn place until tomorrow, my flight is tomorrow. I'll be gone from here tomorrow.
I decided yesterday to have my tarot cards read. My vibe was on fire, I felt so bad about wrecking this wonderful, impossible thing. The card for her was “The Hangman,” and the theory was that, “At best this person has drug use issues, and at worst you will be trying to change someone who isn't ready.” It went on, “If you are very patient and persistent, with time, there is a chance.” It was funny, how accurate the whole reading was. She said she couldn't be herself around me. I realized, very late, that I had been wishing her into someone more perfect for me, instead of accepting her for who she was. I kept waiting for situation to change, to magically improve. One great problem with not seeing someone you love is that you can project qualities onto him or her that your subconscious needs or wants to air out. You idealize them, or the other way around. You want to overlook the difficult parts that you don't like. But it doesn't mean that those things go away. Instead, they get more pressurized.
After I finish sorting through this mess of feelings, the wrecked passion, I will awake back in my life in New York, in the middle of three projects. But her face is burned in my mind. She was so beautiful when she opened the door to let me in, just five days ago. The love surging through me was so intense, I was almost overwhelmed. So much passion and intensity. Then to be asked to leave. Even lovingly, after all this time part. And to never see her again. Wow.
So, it rains in Montreal. The people don't care; the weather doesn't care. I said goodbye on Monday night. I haven't really been here since then. But I will say it another time. One last time. Goodbye Sara, Goodbye Montreal. I don't think I will see either of you again.

My Day in Tokyo

Hi Mom! I'm still in Tokyo! I don't know too many people and everyone here works until 8 or 9 p.m. so I get the days to myself. Yesterday, I went to the Roppongi Art Center in the fashionable neighborhood of the same name. I was very excited to see some new work, especially Japanese Modern Art. On the way, I noticed signs for an overview of the Turner Prize, which is English, but still pretty good.
At first, I couldn't find the museum, so I wandered around in search of coffee and something to eat. Soon enough, I was at the residential edge of the village and had to turn around. I did, however, manage to find some small cakes and espresso, plus directions to the art center. Oh, I forgot to mention the cab fare was about $27. Things are expensive here.
Ah, the museum! Was closed. The new show wasn't up yet, so I turned around and headed into the Roppongi Hills shopping center. I should mention that I bought a Paul Smith shirt the day before for about $170 US. That's about 30% more than in NYC. But I had to have it. The person I was with thought it looked good and all my clothes were getting a type of dirty that I would have to describe as “hyper-molecular.” La, la, la…I meandered around, ate a hamburger and looked at clothes. I found a raw cotton shirt for $35 and thought about buying it. It was also pink and since pink is the thing for this spring I considered it. Then I realized it was $350. Shopping in New York suddenly seemed like the thing to do, even for me, so I closed my desire and moved on.
Most of the shopping center was being renovated so I decided to try and find the other museum I was looking for. I found a map, but there was a curious tunnel involved in the journey, so I decided to walk around the greater neighborhood instead. Roppongi opened up before me as I walked past shops selling fake fashions and the big stores selling everything you can image-from food to costumes (mostly school girl outfits).
Speaking of girls, they are mostly pretty and all wear black stockings, which are very sexy. But everyone is wearing them, so it dilutes the sexiness level. There are noticeably less plastic surgery victims here, which is nice, though women in Korea from afar appear to be much more stunning. I would say the denizens of Tokyo have more style though. Much more cosmopolitan.
As I walked about, I began to notice things familiar to me, things which made me feel warm and cozy inside-a Hard Rock Café store, for instance. McDonald's and Starbucks! Home at last! Yay! “These will make nice photos for the folks back home,” I thought. Check out the pictures I made, you will see. I would have also taken a picture of me at TGI Friday's but my fingers were sticky from the “Rib Ticklers” I enjoyed within.
I kept walking and saw a Volvo dealership. Volvo is owned by Ford now, so I decided it was American enough to walk by and check out. One car inside was $88,000! But it had a V-8. I coulda had a V8! Then I passed the used lot and saw an S60, much like the one I had when married a few years back. That brought back pleasant memories. Geez. Then it started to rain and I thought about the Korean woman I met in New York named Rain and how mean she was. Then I thought about marriage again.
I rounded the corner towards what I thought would be my eventual way home. I thought about heading into an Iranian restaurant, but worried about possible abduction, so I kept moving. I saw a Poodle puppy in the window. Very cute! The dog was $2200. Which is expensive for something that could be eaten. I took a picture and had warm thoughts.
Eventualy, I arrived in Tokyo Mid-town, which is a pretty ritzy area. I traipsed into a fancy mall and pretended to have more money than I actually do. It was really expensive. I did find a reasonably priced glass off (Australian) D'Arenberg Shiraz, at an American wine bar, which I enjoyed next to a lazy, rich, drunk, American housewife and two pudgy American white boys growing old fast. I was depressed! I left after one glass without letting on my nationality. The woman was kind of cute though also a plastic surgery survivor. Her face was stretched into a painful-looking smile that worked against her angsty drunkenness. She was waiting for her dog to be groomed in a shop down the hall.
I had passed a chocolate shop and decided I would buy some for myself and my friend Tomoko who likes chocolate and who I would be seeing later on for dinner. Four pieces of chocolate: $32. The Japanese clerk behind the counter told me it was the most expensive chocolate IN THE WORLD. I had to try it.
I was still starving and light-headed since I had a long run earlier in the day. So, I caught a cab and was back in the comfy confines of my hotel-which is much like a blue-collar prison with an okay view-took a nap and waited for dinner time.
Eventually, I heard from Tomoko who said she would be ready at 11. Which is pretty late for dinner, so we decided to skip it. I wound up eating some snacks and going to bed early. I had seen three of the four movies already and just wasn't ready for the 24 hour porn block. The fourth of the “regular” movies was a Steven Segal adventure movie. Segal was okay up until he put out that blues record. That's where I draw the line. I wish he would have worked with Bruce Willis, that would have been a barn-burner, but solo? No way, Segal!
Do, do, do….I started getting bored. And hungry again. So I surfed the web, in search of a fun bar that would be open and not too sleazy. Ahhh…The Park Hyatt Hotel Bar! This is the one that was in “Lost in Translation,” not my hotel, the Hyatt Regency Tokyo. My place is a wedding hotel, not so hip. The bar here is populated with businessmen in black suits drinking hard liquor and smoking cigars. Live jazz at the Park Hyatt. And just around the corner. I did take a cab since it was raining, and soon enough I was pulling up to the hotel I wanted to stay in, but wasn't. Lots of good-looking people waited for cars and I hoped I wasn't too late to join the party.
It took an eon to figure out the way to the 52nd Floor. A series of elevators+walking is necessary if you want to scale the heights and pay the $20 cover of the Manhattan Bar. I practically live in the real Manhattan, so this would be perfect. The view was insane and I watched the rain fall outside, over the city which laid out vast and wonderful before me. Red lights twinkled on the little buildings below, way below, so planes could see the roofs in foggy, grey weather like this.
The acoustics were horrible. The only attractive single women were all at one table whose other occupants I couldn't see due to an obstructed view. I drank 4 glasses of Cline Zinfandel and enjoyed Duck Fat French Fries and Marlboro Reds. I was pretty sad my dinner plans collapsed and determined to (try to, anyway) have a good time. I took in the view a little extra, to mark it. The band was okay, what I could hear. The girls left with two small sumo wrestlers (two girls for each), then it was last call, then my bill for $110 was paid, then to the bathroom, where, for the first time, I tried the bidet-that was something! Gee, that water is hot! I smiled in a cleanly manner, took the series of elevators back down, got another cab, through the rain, and in moments, I was back here. 12.30, not tired, barely drunk, no plans and rain forecast for the next day.
I went to bed and woke u this morningp, and it's still raining, so I decided to skip my day trip. Besides, everyone works until like midnight, so traveling more alone doesn't do much for me. Soaked, cold, on a train to someplace I'm not too sure of. Tomoko is out of the scene now too, I think her boyfriend is back in the picture, so until tomorrow, it's just me, kicking it solo. Maybe I'll head to another museum, there's one here in Shinjuko. Yep, that's what I'll do. Then I will work out ($21) at the gym here. Oh yeah, I now have clean clothes. I had some things laundered ($63).

Arm in Arm

Sunny, Spring
The dogwoods popping out in Soho
People: tourists, mostly.

I rush up to feeling that hole where a person used to live inside of me
Dead now
Though I see her on the other side of the street
Arm in arm with something else
A living ghost, a vampire
Fed off the life of my memories

So much taken away, given up, died away
Or maybe I loved a ghost
Died away into that apparition
Across the street
Arm in arm
With something else.

Easter

These last few days I've been musing on the past. What started it all off was talking to my sister back in Montana a few days ago; she caught me up on the basic goings-on and I reported back from my East Coast outpost. At conversation's end, she wished me a “Happy Easter,” that, to my shame, surprised me suddenly. I hadn't really thought about Easter for a while and that disconnection had me feeling like a traitor to my childhood.
Easter. David Sedaris' account of all things American Easter to his French class came right to mind later when a French friend laughed at me and mangled her English wishing me rabbits and eggs and telling me she wouldn't make it over for our little party. But that was later, first I had to recount what made Easter important to me and muse on its current value.
Of course, the most colorful memories are tied to my childhood-dressing up nicely for church on promising spring mornings, the egg hunt just ahead. Catholic church is more fun at Easter time, more pageantry, getting out of school for Ash Wednesday, the big feasts, early spring football games played in forgotten parks with family and friends.
You know, thinking back, the egg hunt was pretty weak. Maybe because there were so many older kids in my family, the hiding was haphazard and the rewards questionable. And besides, you give up on the preposterous Easter Bunny pretty fast and that loss of innocence is the gateway to the impending loss of Santa and the grotesque pains of early adolescence. What's there to love about that crap? I might as well make a holiday of the time I dented my head on a doorknob at the old house in Bloomington - every year, I could rub salve on the scar's remnants and recall my first feelings of true pain. Oh boy.
I guess pain figures into most Easter memories.
Another meaningful Easter was spent crying and writing letters to a terrible old girlfriend. We had broken up for the zillionth painful time and I was, once again, promising some vague repentance in an ultimately successful attempt to win the bruising shrew back. I had recently finished Mallory's “Le Morte de Arthur” and was moved by the fantastic mythology of the lone knights searching through a bizarre purgatory for the valued grail - the cup from which Jesus took his last drink. What a job! Anyway, after enduring all sorts of various painful and creative situations, the remaining Knights of the Round Table returned home to celebrate Easter. Back in Camelot, they got to eat, rest, worship and tell stories of their fights and wonder where and how their lost comrades were felled.
From this type of material, I fashioned a winning letter, filled with tears and promises of calmer times to come. The winter was over and it was time for us to rest, then renew, with open hearts, the quest for our elusive love. I remember the big, blue sky overhead with an oak tree blowing beautifully in the wind, buds in mid-sprout. Easter's inspiration through Mallory will forever be trapped inside of me as a time to drop the miseries of winter's struggles and look favorably, with renewed joy, to the Spring, Summer and Fall ahead. And don't forget to thank God a little for helping you to, yet again, make it through January's gray jaws.
Those are the thoughts of Easter that my heart holds in a special chamber. The more modern religious aspects of the holiday do not resonate so much in me. I respect religion, in general, as a useful device for the organization of society. Even as a great means to connect to our (I think, inherent) spirituality. Who can argue with the Ten Commandments or the Golden Rule - these are handy guides. My fear is the desire of various religions to profit as the gatekeeper between man and man's essential spirituality/God. I fear “believers” who batter “non-believers” with randomly-interpreted snippets of the bible and hold Jesus out as a guy who would cast you into the worst possible existence if you don't give your life to “Him” - i.e. your choice of Christianity's (approved-by-man) branches.
God is love, that's where I am at. And as I sat around my place last night, considering the friendly people who attended the dinner party and the wonderful conversations we had concerning these topics and several others, I gave thanks for my good life and the ability to continue through the seemingly never-ending piles of garbage winter threw in my path. And I treasured the clarity and peace I felt, the dishes done, the guests comfortably loaded up with leftovers and gone, my new girlfriend playing guitar and a nice bottle of wine on the table. And all the memories of lovely Easter's past and my friends and family, wherever they may be.

Old Country

I am back in the old country hoping to rediscover my own mainland which I departed from nine years ago in search of the new world. The native turned hostile and I had to leave that new country or lose myself completely. She offered perversions and sadness, subjugation and despair in exchange for her body and what company she would afford.
I broke somewhere out there and just now came to, here in the land of the old Catholics, looking past domes and down on multitudes of old squares, the sun burning through misty winter clouds.
It is cold and I am alone. The language, the place, everything is foreign to me. Everyone is paired off in front of me, complete circuits walking on the smooth stone streets while I look for airborne internet access and a connection to whoever is out there, listening to me. But, it will not be her. The native is far away, back on her own island, waiting for discovery by someone, something new. I am back in my old country-this time, a tourist.

Montreal Reject

I'm sorry I freaked out. This isn't what I wanted.
But when you got sick, I realize now, that I felt your body was rejecting me. Then, when you asked me to leave and insisted that you needed me to go in order to get better--while I was actually here, in Montreal--that felt like another rejection. The following afternoon, when I sent the text about how you being sick and us not being together was having a negative impact on the relationship, you sent a text back that said, "Fuck You."
Then I flipped out. I felt like I couldn't tell you how I was feeling about the whole thing.
But I was on auto-pilot then. I didn't really know what I was doing.
Anyway, it's for the best that this is over, I guess. I really did love you and thought you were the one. But our personalities clash too much.
My feelings were so intense that my reaction was too. That's how I am. And I think you are the same.
So, know I really did love you. Your face is burned into my mind and I've been sad and crying all day. I wish we fit better. You don't know how much passion I had for you.
Too much, I think.
I hope you got feeling better. I'm sick now with sadness. I really need to get home.

On the Pain of Breaking Up

I can offer this bit of advice about healing:
As soon as you realize your spouse was the complete asshole you always worried that they might be and you probably should have never dated them, let alone married them, and you were blind and foolish for doing so, then you can begin to heal! I know this from experience. You have to take the blame for making a mistake that you should have been able to avoid. Once you take responsibility, then you are free to realize that your spouse was simply the wrong person, on maybe even, “a” wrong person.
When I think of that long-term affair going on even as we spent time with each other's families, our friends and when the three of us played music together, how she defended his drunken inability to perform on stage, all off these things-I come to a brutal realization that the whole thing was an exercise in bitter futility. I mean, anyone willing to construct and manage such a complete secret life with a mutual friend IS NOT good wife material. I wish I could have known earlier. Then the bedraggled monster of a marriage could have been kicked into its grave that much sooner.
But see? Once you accept the facts, you can fill in the holes in your memory where the questions used to be. Your spouse was terrible. There's no other way to see it. From there, the healing gets easier.
More healing!! Healing now!

Granada Day Two

Day two of Granada has, so far, brought me back into the world of the living, out of the despairing place I arrived to. The iron-clad reality of my marriage's end had me feeling incredibly lonely and vulnerable as I passed through the evening streets. It is a lovers' city, Granada, everyone is holding hands or looking desperately for someone to hold hands with. Last night, my hands were stuck in my own pockets as I searched the nearby streets in hopes of acclimation for today.
Granada itself is wonderful. Sort of a cross between Madrid and Toledo, meaning, lots of old Moorish streets, twisting around the city’s lower reaches. These small walkways open into larger roads that lead out to still wider roads and the nearby suburbs.
What it lacks in art and museums, it makes up for with its general beauty and the Alhambra, which overlooks the old town. I have yet to make up to see the famous castle on the hill. I think that's for Monday morning, when the mostly Spanish tourists have gone back to work. I did have a look at its flank, perched high above the River Darro, which rambled on and on for over 100 meters.
The river itself seems tiny, but flowing vitally. As I bent over the stone wall to have a look at it, deep in its own small valley, I wondered if it might have run stronger 300 years ago. Surely it did, its banks tell of a deep history. As it runs now, I can't imagine anyone fighting over it, trying to protect it. But rivers in Spain seem to be a precious commodity.
My hotel room was once part of a monastery, so I did a lot of praying last night. I prayed that the idea of my wife and the marriage would fade as quickly as possible. I prayed that I would encounter her as little as possible in the future and if I did see her or hear of her, that I wouldn't care whether she was happy or sad, or alone or with someone. She already is with someone, she was never without.
Tomorrow I will cross the spit of a river and storm the old fortress.

Spring Missive

Twice this past week, the little telephone in my pocket buzzed to life, alerting me to some fantastic situation happening hundreds of secret miles away. Okay, it wasn't that fantastic. But when I picked up and heard the robot on the other end, “The City of St. Paul has declared a snow emergency…” I did feel something like a tingling in the root of transplanted heart. It was good to hear from my old hometown. Good to know that order was being kept in spite of the snowstorms that hovered overhead for the days previous.
Other messages were also transmitted from home. Friends alive, some sad, others okay. Just living, going on. Steady steps one after another. Mom is getting surgery, a friend's son turned one, a band played a show at a bar, talk of summer gatherings has begun.
Out here, in New York, I feel special. I feel the yoke of my shattered marriage has slipped off and has landed somewhere back there. I saw my ex-wife, a thin bag of leaves, sauntering down a Chelsea hallway like a shell shocked battle survivor with only a general destination in mind. I was flustered a little, then-just nothing. I looked at her a second, made a little greeting, touched her shoulder. She felt like clay. No sparks passed, no electricity, just a dull feeling of earth beneath my hand.
I kept walking past the gallery we had in common, reached the hallway's end, called a friend I was to meet and joined him upstairs in another room, to look at other things.
When I returned to the space in question, my ex was gone, but I knew that already.
The next afternoon, as I made my way to the subway, my little phone again buzzed, I fumbled for it, pressed the button and the City of St. Paul was, again, on the line to tell me of its latest decision to declare another snow emergency. “Man, they're really getting it,” I said to myself. Then, “Thanks, St. Paul, for the call.” And as I clicked the button and put the phone back in pocket, I looked up at a clear blue sky and walked into the early spring wind under the gathering warmth of the sun.

Updated Edit, Edit...

2009-12-29T17:26:00.001-05:00

More Montreal
by Leo Kelbs

The last time he had seen her, she had become ill after intercourse. “What a message,” he thought then as she rolled about in agony. He had searched the internet for answers, but none held any promise.
“Can you go?” she asked. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“I suppose,” he replied. “But I haven’t seen you for weeks, and I would just as soon take care of you, make sure you are okay.”
“Just go, please. We can meet in two days.”
Two days later, they had ended it. The physical rejection along with the emotional and spatial distances were a combination that unlocked his feelings for her.
Their last communications were about love and impossibility.

But that was a year ago and everyone had moved on. There were many moments when he thought about her, even tried to communicate, but was met with rebuffs and rebukes. Friendship, it seemed, could never be.
In the moments that did come, he could see her face perfectly, smiling her big, open smile of real happiness. It was so clear and loaded with inexhaustible love that he knew some secret connection hadn’t been severed. There was something, deep down and useless, between them still.
The bad memories and the use of strange mechanisms of control vanished when the full-size smile appeared to him. The extremes were so opposite that, he realized Sonia was likely bipolar—a quality he had always been attracted to and repulsed by. There was nothing for it. In the days since their relationship had ended, he had learned to avoid such types of persons: women of extremes. Yet, well-balanced women bored him and Sonia’s face stayed in his mind, despite knowing how wrong it all had been.

And it appeared again, as the airplane flew within 50 miles of her hometown below. Up at 38,000 feet and she, on the ground, working at home or in her office, her face beaming through into his head. “She must be thinking of me,” he thought. And he remembered how they thought they had found their ideal match with each other, how they had talked about living together and children. It had all been perfect until reality, with all its unavoidable difficulties, arrived to spoil the fun.
But there she was, in her white jacket that she had purchased when they traveled together to Berlin. He though of how happy she had been when he picked her up in the taxi and they drove to meet his friends for dinner. She was so beautiful. He was proud to introduce her and was relieved when she responded in her smilingest, proudest ways.
They were to live together in Berlin and told his friends of the impending plans. Wishes, plans, fantasies equal impossibility and disappointments, crashing down upon the dream lovers.
But here she was again in his head. He missed her and craved her and thought about how well they made love. Then the sickness lovemaking could cause her. It was impossible. And heartbreaking. And he wanted to reach out to her, so he did from his heart through his spirit, then his mind, out the window and into the air, doing his best to imagine where she might be. “Maybe I will just send it to her house in Cotes des Nieges,” he thought and that was maybe where it went.
He lingered on her face and energy a few more moments, then, with difficulty, he put his headset back on and tried to follow the remainder of the in-flight entertainment.

Two hours later, he was stalking the streets of his old neighborhood, amazed at how far one could travel in so few hours. What used to take months by boat, now only hours, and he felt his energy still floating somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean, waiting to catch up with his body and click back into place.
He saw his face reflected in a shop window and wondered if he might appear to be any different without his spirit. His blue eyes appeared brighter and more aquatic. He looked at the reflection as if it were a stranger. And, it seemed to him, that it wasn’t him at all. Though who, he couldn’t tell. “Maybe when I am unpacked and all the mail is sorted, my vibe will be back in here,” he said as he thumped a fist over his heart. A tourist looked at him and quickly turned away.

The coffee shop was crowded with neighborhood visitors. It was a big weekend Sunday, still lovely, late, late Autumn yielding one more fine day from its dwindling supply. A fat used newspaper sat on the café bar and he picked it up and paged through. “We haven’t seen you for a while,” the barista said with a smile, “Where have you been?”
“Just chilling in Berlin. Just got back a little while ago. This is my first stop after home.” It was busy, so conversation stopped and his espresso was prepared and he looked around the café for anyone he might know. Everyone was a stranger. He pulled out the money and laid it down as the little cup was set upon the bar. With fingers from both hands, he picked it up. One of the strangers then bumped him from behind and the dark brown espresso sloshed out of the little cup and onto the bar.
“Entschuldegung,” a pretty German tourist said, “I’m so sorry!”
“I’m okay,” he replied. “It was an accident and I didn’t get dirty.”
“We’ll get him a new one,” the barista replied. And the German woman waved and moved to a table somewhere while the coffee was made again and another dollar pulled from his wallet to cover the extra expense. “She should really pay,” he thought, but it’s okay, it’s two coffees. I’ll drop an extra dollar.”
It was busy and there was a line at the espresso machine. The newspaper was wet with coffee, so he absent-mindedly looked at the dollar in his hand. On it, was something written with a black Sharpey. On the front of the bill was written her name “Sonia” once and again “sonia.” He thought back to her big smile and their moment together two hours before. Then he turned the bill over and above the “ONE” was written “love you.”
“Here’s your espresso,” the barista said.
“Okay, thanks,” he replied as he slid the bill across the bar.
“This a tip?” asked the barista.
“Yes, it is. It’s a special one, too.”
The barista looked at him and smiled, “Okay, I believe you.” Then he put the bill in the big glass jar with all the others and took another order.

My Annual Holiday Greeting to Follow!

2009-12-15T18:17:00.000-05:00

Leo Kuelbs’ Holiday Letter 2009

Dear Family and Friends,

The 2009 Holiday Season is upon us and it is now time to, once again, connect with everyone, everywhere in the world. So, here goes!

The main news is that I am now living between Berlin and NYC. After about a year of searching for a place in Berlin, I finally found a great one, right in the heart of the action. There is a lot of work going on nearby, so it’s a little loud sometimes. But the fact that all that is happening made it less expensive! When I am not there, I try to rent it out, and that seems to go well. I will be presenting art works/shows there in 2010, as well.

As far as the Leo Kuelbs Collection (leokuelbscollection.com) is concerned, 2009 was an action-packed year. “FUTURE=FERTILE” and “Immaculate Collapse” were the big shows in my NYC space, with “Luminous Flux” happening at Galapagos in Brooklyn and “The End. And…” at a gallery uptown. I am mostly concentrating on video and installation/performance. Not a lot of sales out there with this economy, plus it is difficult for people to conceptualize owning these types of works, but that makes it more interesting. The idea of rectangular wall hangings just gets me down these days. Give me kinetic action and art in three dimensions.

By doing the shows in my own spaces, costs are contained and more daring work can be presented. It’s going pretty well, really. Currently, there are two shows conceptualized and scheduled in Berlin with a third event in the works—all by Spring. Here in NYC, there will be a new show in mid-February. So, I’m keeping busy.

Sadly, what has suffered is my writing. The 10th of 10 books was put out earlier this year. “Built for These Times” marked the end of a five-year plan to create two books of short stories per year. Some new stuff has been cranked out since, but I think it’s time for a break. I would like to shake my brain up, like an Etch-a-Sketch, and come up with some new moves. By the 10th book, I felt like I was working from a lot of the same interior spaces. But, two books of collected materials are in the works and another book of new things should emerge by summer of 2010. So, it’s not all over, by any means.

In other writing news: My “news” paper, “Dumbo Paneling” is now available in Berlin, as well as online. Plus, I’m writing some copy for a new fashion products company. This whole fashion world is awfully interesting…

And what of Frances Gumm, my rock band? A new record will be out this winter! Stay tuned and let me know if you would like me to send you a copy. I will do it. It’s no idle threat, I assure you. You can find Frances Gumm at Myspace. Plus, there are lots of live videos of us rocking out on Youtube.

Between all of these things and participating with the Twin Cities Harley-Davidson situation, I’ve filled my time with running, working out, socializing and waiting around at airports. It’s an ADD lifestyle and it’s pretty been pretty fun and amazing. It’s hard to imagine how depressed I was after my marriage ended. Life is weird. I now love not being married.

My family seems to be doing well and my groups of friends are wonderful and widespread. It’s a good challenge, living in two continents. Plus, there is always life back in Taylors Falls, where I upgraded the cabin to last another 25 years. It’s so pretty there. A part of my heart stays in that valley full-time. And somewhere in doggy heaven, Helmut runs free, killing squirrels to his heart’s content. I still miss Helmut and think of him every day.

I’m sure I am forgetting several things, but I think you get the picture. It’s a big, wild life now, heading into its next phase. I certainly didn’t imagine things would be this way, but I am pleasantly surprised that they are.

I hope you are all well and happy and that I see you soon.

Warmest Wishes,
Leo Kuelbs
Brooklyn, NY

Monday, sing your sweet song of construction's destruction...

2009-12-07T05:11:00.001-05:00

Well...
I didn't drink too much wine, but by the time I got home last night, the accumulated effects of being out three nights in a row, running most days and super-awesome front-yard construction sleep-blocking had taken its toll. How I wanted to stay up late and watch the Vikings play football on the internet. But, by midnight, I was tucked away in my bed, sound asleep.
Speaking of sound, when 7 am hit, the front end loader started its hauling mission. A mission too earth-shaking for mere earplugs, so I began the programming day with a deep, rumbling body alarm, only then to discover three guys standing outside the window on scaffolding. I was wearing a flannel shirt and a towel. I was almost porky-pigging it, thanks god for that towel.
So, now I am over at Oberholz and their orange-juice machine is broken and it's too early for lunch. But the sun is shining, and I am tired, but feeling totally awesome in some punch-drunk way. I foresee an early lunch so I can sleep at noon time when the yellow-suit construction gear operators will be on break.
This week promises lots of action and I have met some interesting people. It's been a life changing month. Texas with my dad was enlightening, the "Sonia" dollar incident book-ended my trip to NYC with running into my ex's wreck of a boyfriend and feeling strangely vacant and void about it. In between was the weird Nathan dump, to arrive in Berlin feeling lighter and seeing another direction forward with some crazy new energy. Oh, and this boyfriend guy tried to friend me on Facebook! Yeow! Can anybody say "no, no, no?"
I can feel something good really nearby. I feel like I'm being set-up by fate in some weird way. Of course, I only say this because I am totally exhausted and punchy, but it does seem like I've been enlightened to my new position and it is quite exciting, I think. certainly inevitable, though also malleable and friendly!
And, by the way, the Vikings lost, so sleeping was a much better use of time.

What next?
Some museum visit later this week.
Copy writing for fashion gig in NYC.
Going away party for Matt tomorrow at White Trash.
One more short story?
More work on the interior of the place here.
Paneling article?
Two meetings, at least, related to art events.
Regina and friends later tonight.
5 K runs every day.
Abs and upper body, too. Starting again today.
Take pictures for Miyuki to look at in NYC.
Meet with Arian about rentals, etc.
Meet with Christoph about everything.
Rest on Wednesday night.
Hat party on Thursday. Special fun? Maybe.
Not sure about Friday.
Go to cash machine for Christine's tickets to NYC
I think that's it. That's my list.
That's not too bad. Wednesday rest night is very appealing...
Okay, better figure out the food situation and get back to (non) tranquility base.

Only 10 Feet Away!

2009-12-03T05:47:00.002-05:00

First, a new picutre:

There are two workmen setting up the basic structure for a new terrace to be attached to the front of my place here in Berlin. What is interesting to me about workmen in Berlin is that they seem to have uniforms depending on their jobs. These guys are all in gray. The yellow guys run the big yellow machines, the blue guys put in kitchens, etc. All very organized.

After two failed attempts (both my fault) my new fridge has finally arrived. Fucking hell, that was a huge pain in the ass. But now it is here, to be plugged in and filled with stuff from the everlasting temporary fridge which will, today, be moved to the studio clubhouse of a bunch of 20-something art people a few blocks away. Bon Voyage little fridgey!
The fridge that is going away was purchased from "Cup Cake Girl" who has now moved back to the states. It was so dirty when I got it that I had to clean the thing for, like, 45 minutes. What a nasty scuzzholder. Everything purchased from CCG was dirty or broken and most of it has been replaced. the exception is the World's Weirdest Silverware, which I actually love. So much broken stuff--all for 400 Euros! What a hose! Oh the frustration and pain...

Since I arose at such an ungodly hour (7 am!), I think a nap is in order. Then a shot at another new short story, then maybe some art looking at, then dinner and more art things with one of my friends. It's like these workers are digging in my head, they are so close. they are now boring holes into the building. Go workers go!
Yikes. Earplugs?
You betcha!

A New Shorty: Unedited!

2009-12-02T07:19:00.000-05:00

Miles Behind
by Leo Kelbs

The last time he had seen her, she had become ill after intercourse. “What a message,” he thought then as she rolled about in agony. He had searched the internet for answers, but none held any promise.
“Can you go?” she asked. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“I suppose,” he replied. “But I haven’t seen you for weeks, and I would just as soon take care of you, make sure you are okay.”
“Just go, please. We can meet in two days.”
But that was it. Two days later, they had ended it. The physical rejection of her sudden illness along with the emotional and spatial rejection were like a combination that unlocked him from his feelings for her.
Their last communications were about love and impossibility.

But that was a year ago and everyone had moved on. There were many moments when he thought about her, even tried to communicate, but was met with only stern rebuffs and rebukes and friendship, it seemed, could never be.
But in the moments that did come, he could see her face perfectly, in his mind’s eye, smiling her big, open smile of real happiness. It was so clear and loaded with inexhaustible love that he knew some secret connection hadn’t been severed. There was something, deep down and useless, between them still.
The bad memories of random illness and the use of other strange mechanisms of control were lost to when the big smile appeared to him, bright and full-size. Her exalted look was so opposite to her negative moods that, to him now, it appeared as though she was likely bipolar—a quality he had always been attracted to and repulsed by. There was nothing for it. In the days since their relationship had ended, he had learned to avoid such types of persons. The women of extremes. Yet, well-balanced women bored him and Sonia’s face stayed in his mind, despite knowing how wrong it all could have been.

And it appeared again, as the airplane flew within 50 miles of her hometown below. Up at 38,000 feet and she, on the ground, working at home or in her office, her face beaming through into his head. “She must be thinking of me,” he thought. And he remembered how they had thought they had found their ideal match with each other, how they had talked about living together and children. It had all been perfect until reality, with all its unavoidable difficulties, arrived to spoil the fun.
But there she was, in her white jacket that she had purchased when they traveled together to Berlin. He though of how happy she had been when he picked her up in the taxi and they drove to meet his friends for dinner. She was so beautiful. He was proud to introduce her and was relieved when she responded in her smilingest, proudest ways.
They were to live together in Berlin, but that was another wish that turned out to be impossible for her to deliver upon. Wishes, plans, fantasies equal impossibility and disappointments, crashing down upon the dream lovers.
But there she was anyway, and he missed her and craved her and thought about how well they could make love. Then the sickness lovemaking could cause her. It was impossible. It was impossible and heartbreaking and he wanted to reach out to her, so he did from his heart through his spirit, then his mind, out the window and into the air, doing his best to imagine where she might be. “Maybe I will just send it to her house,” he thought and that is maybe where it went.
He lingered on her face and energy a few more moments, then, with difficulty, he put his headset back on and tried to follow the remainder of the in-flight entertainment.

Two hours later, he was stalking the streets of his old neighborhood, amazed at how far one could travel in s few hours. What used to take months, now only hours, and he felt his energy still floating somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean, waiting to catch up with his body and click back into place.
He saw his face reflected in a shop window and wondered if he might appear to be any different without his spirit, which would arrive sometime soon. His blue eyes appeared brighter and more aquatic. He looked at the reflection as if it were a stranger. And, it seemed to him, that it wasn’t him at all. Though who, he couldn’t tell. “Maybe when I am unpacked and all the mail is sorted, my vibe will be back in here,” he said as he thumped a fist over his heart. A tourist looked at him and quickly turned away.

The coffee shop was crowded with neighborhood visitors. It was a big weekend Sunday, still lovely, late, late Autumn yielding one more fine day from its dwindling supply. A used Sunday paper sat on the café bar and he picked it up and paged through. “We haven’t seen you for a while,” the barista said with a smile, “Where have you been?”
“Just chilling in Berlin. Just got back a little while ago. This is my first stop after home.” It was busy, so conversation stopped and his espresso was prepared and he looked around the café for anyone he may know. Everyone was a stranger. He pulled out the money and laid it down as the little cup was set upon the bar. As he picked it up with using fingers from both hands, one of the strangers bumped him from behind and the dark brown espresso sloshed out of the little cup and onto the bar.
“Entshculdegung,” a pretty German tourist said, “I’m so sorry!”
“I’m okay,” he said. “It was an accident and I didn’t get dirty!”
“We’ll get him a new one,” the barista replied. And the German woman waved and moved to a table somewhere while the coffee was made again and another dollar pulled from the wallet to cover the extra expense. “She should really pay,” he thought, but it’s okay, it’s tow coffees, I’ll drop an extra dollar.”
It was busy and there was a line at the espresso machine. The newspaper was wet with coffee, so he absent-mindedly looked at the dollar he would leave for a tip. On it, was something written by a black marker. On the front of the bill was written her name “Sonia” once and again “sonia.” He thought back to her big smile and their moment together two hours before. Then he turned the bill over and above the “ONE” was written “love you.”
“Here’s your espresso,” the barista said.
“Okay, thanks,” he replied as he slid the bill across the bar.
“This a tip?” said the barista.
“Yes, it is. It’s a special one.”
The barista looked at him and smiled, “Okay, I believe you.” Then he put the bill in the big glass jar with all the others.

There's a Back-hoe in my Front Yard

2009-12-01T07:47:00.004-05:00

Oh Yes, sing your sweet song, oh development. Construction starts with destruction and somewhere in-between is where the back-hoes, the front end loaders, then the jackhammers, then the pile-drivers arrive with their noise and smoke to be put to use by men in yellow jackets hunched over levers and controllers.
So, that's happening here in Berlin and it's fucking up my sleeping patterns! These guys start at 7 am, yo! I got me some jet-lag issues...!
Other than that, I seem to have lost my old friend Nathan. He sent an email telling me he wants to not be in contact anymore. Ever! It was a shocking turn of events, frankly. Very weird after 30 years of friendship. It all seemed very overblown to me. But, it's his life. Gotta do his thing. After all these years, I think we've just grown apart. Kind of sad, but, life goes on. He's always been an asshole anyway! But a friendly, talking asshole, which was kind of nice. An asshole that wasn't always dirty, a pink, fleshy asshole, healthy and hearty. Farty? You betcha! Fartistic, I would say. Okay, bye, buddy!
In other former people news:
I ran into my ex-wife's boyfriend on Sunday while killing time before brunch. I actually saw my ex through a gallery window, as well, before running into this guy. We talked for a minute. Very basic, no need to get into too many things. It's amazing how little I felt. I actually forgot about it when I saw my brunch date, then remembered and that feeling of nothingness was pretty interesting. "There's only air where I used to care," The Owls sing. It's true. The air is very clear.
It's raining here in Berlin, and it's cold and gray. I would like to take a nap, but the sound of the destruction outside can't be contained by mere glass. Oh no. And it was quite a dusty mess in here when I arrived. I had to kick it over to Obie, Berlin's (much crappier) Home Depot for a mop and cleaning stuff. What fun!
Also, I have a new high speed (as of 2006) router, but setting it up is a nightmare! Everything is in German and set up for a PC. I hate to say it, but I need a little help with that one.
Fridge News: It's so exciting! My fridge arrives (after two failed delivery attempts) this Thursday. I will be very on-duty, watching out my window for that slippery delivery truck to show up with my cool (ha! ha!) new fridge. You know you are tired when you can get excited about a fridge.
And....It seems like I will have time to do some writing finally. I've had crappy writer's block for for about two months, but I have two stories, pretty much, ready in my mind. I was hoping to break into some new areas, but the stories I have in mind are pretty basic and in my usual style. But, getting anything written might help break into the new stuff. Blah, bah (for the sheep), blah...
Wait! Frances Gumm will be playing the Turf Club on December 23rd. Celebrate the Winter Spending Holiday with Frances Gumm and friends. Your holiday helpers. Besides being on the brink of our new record's release (Girl Trouble/Cop Trouble on Pigeon Records--just in time for the Winter Spending Holiday?), we are now offering "Personal Shopping" services as only Frances Gumm can. PD will scour Twin City's thrift stores FOR YOU! While the rest of us rub your feet and back. Check out our Myspace Page (fgrocks) for more info.
Wait More!!! Paneling is now in Berlin. Yes, we're in Mitte and Dumbo, two neighborhoods that care! Web updates to follow!
Wait More Still!
Just Wait Some More Now!!
A Little Bit More! Don't be a jerk!
Just A Little More!
And...
Wait....
Wait Another Second!
And...
We're Just About...
Oh, Those Back-hoes Are So Loud!
Wait, You Fucker!
And...

Okay, dig it. Time for a little BBC.

Gray, foggy pre-Thanksgiving

2009-11-25T15:48:00.002-05:00

It's so foggy I cannot see the Chrysler Building or any other features of the cities skyline. Just the former projects that are now luxury condos. I will be going to one of those tomorrow for Thanksgiving Dinner with a small group of friends.
Otherwise, i am trying t finish the paper, maybe start some other writing, but I'm stuck in writer's block. No focus, no ideas, really. A little too busy with everything else, I guess.
Hanging out with my father in Texas last weekend was something. He yo-yoed from being great to freaky. Totally deaf and oblivious that everyone can hear him expose whatever secret life he was hoping for. Trying to maintain the status as the "big man" though he can hardly move and has been robbed twice in the last couple years. Crazy.
Off t Berlin on Sunday. Looking forward to that. Hiding out a bit before anyone knows I am around. that will be great!
Okay, gotta run. Artist w/video on the way up.

Some "Picutres"and News!

2009-11-17T17:43:00.004-05:00

Greetings Fellow Humans!
All is well in NYC. Just went for a nice 5K run though the Dumbo early evening. Lots of twinkling lights across the river in Manhattan and I got a good view at the new apartment that is for sale for 25 Million! It was all lit up up high and I wondered if prospective buyers were checking it out. Yikes! 25 Million. Batman should buy that thing. It's got a 4-faced see through clock on it, too. Really impressive and huge. I wonder who the new neighbors might be?

By the way, the Artist Tom Lendvai, who did the big installation, titled "Two Steps.." stopped over and took these documentary photos his work in my place. This big, graceful wall hangs elegantly down the middle of the space. The opening provided by the angle makes a long door, if you will, of varying heights. An amazing object to live and interact with. I highly recoemmend one for your home!

Boy, writer's block has been tough lately. Really out of the writing groove. So many distractions with the Berlin situation and its never-ending stream of difficulties, NYC with work and social lives spinning, as well as the band and business in Minnesota, family in MN and Texas--off to Dallas on Thursday--bills everywhere as well as trying to get the NYC and Berlin places rented out. A guy gets a little overwhelmed sometimes. But, whose crying? Boo hoo! In most ways, everything is excellent. It would be nice to actually have a girlfriend again someday, but living in multiple places makes it a tricky proposition at the moment.

Off in a few minutes to hang with Ole and Sam O. "Radio Happy Hour" is Sam's onstage "radio" show which is actually streamed on line. A couple members of The Hold Steady participated in the mini murder melodrama, as well as playing a two tunes and being interviewed. Writer Chuck Klosterman also yapped and it was really a fun time, though hanging in LPR's basement performance space at 1 p.m. was kinda bizarre. It was practically dark when I left.

I can't say I'm a huge Hold Steady fan, though I used too really like Lifter Puller. But the two acoustic tunes they played Saturday were really lovely and sweet and had an all-together different feel than the live shows I have seen. A fun time, great to see Sam perform again, too. Thanks Taya!

Okay, uploading tunes into my computer in order to put them into my Itouch so I have something new to listen to in Berlin. Will be back there right after Thanksgiving. Looking forward to it, though not the grey, grey, grey weather.

Time for a song or two, then off to the East Village to find Sam and Oily.
Tchuss!

Cold Finally Going Away!

2009-11-11T15:36:00.002-05:00

Yes, after weeks of being kind of ill, I think my cold is finally going away. It was a simmering, goober-rich type of illness exacerbated by Berlin's endlessly freezing and gray days and nights. It has been pretty nice here in NYC since I have been back, and that has helped mightily. Swine flu? Yikes! I hope not!

Prepping for upcoming winter art events. Working out details and infrastructure stuff. Have two new video shows coming up in Berlin in January (GLOW: info at leokuelbscollection.com) and at my place in NYC in February. Oh my lord! My co-curator for the NYC show has been under the weather and won't be participating to the extent originally planned, but it's for the best. I think some rest is in order for her.

Otherwise, I got to play some good rock last night with J. Parker and D. Starling. It took about an hour to warm up, but then we took off. Always nice when everything clicks into place.

More art stuff tomorrow and then it's time to focus n Paneling over the weekend. Maybe even kick out a story. I may have some ideas, not sure at the moment.

I decided not to go to Goa. Just too much running. Kinara seemed a bit disappointed, but I will visit those guys eventually, for sure. I'm off to Texas next week, back here for turkey, then back to Berlin for a bit, then MN for Xmas, NYC for NYE, and back to Berlin mid-Jan through its end to take care of GLOW. My real home away from home is all airports, especially JFK and Tegel.

Okay, time to lift some weights. Must be strong in preparation of 2012!
ATTTAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

Back in NYC+ something weird about Canada

2009-11-08T17:48:00.002-05:00

I was flying past Montreal today thinking about the woman I was seeing from there last year. We wrre planning on spending more time in Berlin, but it didn't/couldn't work out. Anyway, I was really thinking about her while flying within a hundred miles of Montreal, 38,000 feet above, on my way home from a place in berlin that could have figured into the situation in a very different way.
Okay, then I got home to Dumbo, went to the coffee shop, ordered an espresso from a guy from Minnesota who moved here a few months back. I paid. then I spilled my espresso. Then he made another one and I pulled out an extra dollar to give as a tip. I looked at the dollar a minute while the coffee was being prepped and noticed writing on it. On the dollar was the name of the person in Montreal I had been thinking about, written in a black felt tip marker. Thinking of the girl from Montreal, I turned the bill over and on the back, in tiny letters above the "ONE" was written "Love You." Then I wondered what she was doing. But I can't be in touch anymore, she made that clear. Even to be friends would be great. to have a coffee sometime in Belrin. But...
Anyway, that happened as my vibe was still somewhere out over the Atlantic, waiting to catch up with my body, which is back here now, in New York City. 60 degrees and the sparkling city across the river.

41 and cold in Berlin!

2009-10-31T09:01:00.003-04:00

Greetings from 41!
I have some type of minor chest cold as a result of all the fun and walking around in the cold, cold Berlin autumn. The party here was really a special one. I sat and looked at about 15 people eating lasagna and realized that I hold know Matl the longest--almost two years. Otherwise these are all new people. Crazy! Life is weird.
Then I finally got (crappy) internet! Yay! Now I can check my email without going to Oberholz. I never have to leave home again! Yay!
The place isn't finished, but it is livable and comfortable now, which is great. It's actually set up better than NYC in many ways. especially the greater level of privacy for the sleeping area. Picutres (that's right "picutres!") soon.
Went to the Berlin branch of Haunch of Venison with a curator friend yesterday. Pretty amazing show by Matt Calishaw. Lots of interesting old technology mixed with new. "The glow" is definitely in play.
Okay, time for frozen pizza!
PIZZA!

Gray Berlin

2009-10-22T09:55:00.004-04:00

Yello Everyone,
I'm kicking it here at a coffee shop in Berlin as my internet (I hate you, Tchibo) is, once again, asking for another little chunk of cash. They make this Tchibo thing so hard to use that even my German friend had to spend two hours trying to figure out the monthly flat rate--which, for some reason, ran out after 3 days. Fucking awful.
But who cares? Yay! Life is good.
I ate a huge hamburger with my friend Dani last night at White Trash Fast Food. It was very good. then we drank wine and talked for several hours. The last report was that she was laid up at home recovering and not leaving her house today. One of those nights, I guess.
Otherwise, she's hopefully going to help me get going with Alice W-LAN tomorrow. I hope it works out as having internet makes my place more of a home.
I got invited t go do some writing at this curator's country house in a couple weeks. I think I will head up there. I guess it's an interesting crowd of cool, creative people, so that should be nice. I'm curious to see what all entails "the countryside" out here.
Norwegian pal, Ole, flies in tomorrow from London. Gotta rest up for that. The Norwegians are bred for party endurance.
So, just continually getting my place together. Large steps forward include the installation of the kitchen, the walk-in closet is basically set as are the bedroom's frosted windows. So much more to do it's a drag to think about. But we're getting somewhere at least.
Okay Birthday party for me next Wednesday. That should be fun, but I have no idea what to do for food. Yikes! Shut your mouth!
41, here I come.

OMG!

2009-10-08T17:29:00.002-04:00

What? Just chilling at my place in NYC today. Prepping to take off to Berlin next week, so it's fairly quiet around here, at the moment. Looks like some renters will be staying while I am away, so I've been cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. Fantastic!
Getting motivated to run. It's looking pretty nice out there, I can see the sun reflecting on the East-facing windows on 20 Jay. Hazy, white clouds. Should be nice!
The art show is still up here and quite wonderful to be living with. Lots of documentation photos coming soon, as well. Plus, Olek sent a bunch of doc photos from the performances here and through the neighborhood a few weeks back. I'll get 'em up soon.
Otherwise, I have a meeting today to plan the video show in February. It's going to be a good show. We're going for something special.
Okay, I'm tired...don't wanna run. But I gotta kick it, yo!

What in Blazes...?

2009-10-01T14:13:00.002-04:00

Yo, kick it! Coffee Talk time. Chilling in the early autumn rain in the border lands. It's nice and quiet, slow moving people, slow pace. A good antidote after some serious NYC ass-kicking in the weeks past.
The first morning here, I slept until 2.15 and realized I hadn't slept in a bedroom with drapes on the window (except a couple hotel-bound eves in Berlin) in 6 or 7 weeks. Yikes. I have been, pretty much, exhausted for a while. So, getting my body together, running, prepping to work out some today, then run. But it is cold and being lazy would be easy and it is more than tempting. It seems almost like the right thing to do.
Some rockers are coming out tomorrow night--designated party time. That should be fun. I better set the gear up, actually.
Otherwise, the moon was so bright last night when I was running towards my own shadow--back and forth. A weird blue-white light, moonlight, I guess, washed over everything and the shadows of the phone poles looked like twisted tree ghosts.
The people here are talking about the bears running around the roads right now. The electricity people have been cutting down the branches hanging too close to the power poles in preparation for the dreary winter ahead. The critters are agitated!
Speaking of that, I had a slow-moving possum run across the road in front of me last night. I thought perhaps he was trying to commit suicide by jogger. I clapped my hands and told it to get going, but the speed was steady and he slipped into the trail-hole and back into the river-side forest.
Kinara had her baby! That's great! A boy named Atlas. The pictures f her, the baby and daddy, looked great. It was touching to see so much wonder and happiness on their faces.
Other than that, art show went well, life in Berlin waiting around the corner, more quiet time and some limbo time in NYC.
Saw "Rules of Attraction" again a couple of nights ago. I love that movie. First time I've seen it since I moved to NYC and it changed for the better. Also saw "Jennifer's Body," which, I think, I have already mostly forgotten. It's got some good moments and was likely great conceptually, but it ultimately was forgettable. Not nearly as interesting as the walk I had at 1 am a few nights ago, looking at the stars and the low-laying haze.
Okay, I've been here a stretch. Hate to wear out my welcome. How some people can chill at a coffee shop for two or three hours at a time, I cannot fathom. But they do. And I still exit, so, I guess, all is right with the world.

It's about to go off!

2009-09-26T12:54:00.001-04:00

Tonight's opening should be quite special. Already today, we are prepping for OLEK's performance/installation "100% Acrylic: Art Guards," in which 5 pair of camo-crocheted "guards" stand watch over various art-fest related sites. Gotta get them the outfits, some water, wine, etc.
Then they will roll over to LKC (after a rest) for the second go-around of OLEK'S "Kin Selection" performance. All under Tom Lendvai's graciously hulking "Two Steps..." installation and in between Peter Soriano's trio of "Other Side" installations.
Peter's work gets better as you spend time with it. It reveals itself only when you really consider what it is about, how the process creates a narrative, etc. Lovely.
Okay, I need to eat now. Big trouble starts soon.
Leo

Preview of "Immaculate Collapse" at LKC

2009-09-25T18:37:00.002-04:00

Yo Check It,
The preview party for "Immaculate Collapse" took place here at LKC last night and it was super fun.
Here are a few photos, mostly of OLEK's performance piece "Kin Selection" which will also appear at the opening, tomorrow, Sept. 26th from 6-9 p.m.
Besides OLEK's amazing performance, Peter Soriano's trio of spray-paint and wire wall-installations looked fantastic and drew lots of nice compliments. Thomas Lendvai's massive "Two Steps..." piece was right in the middle of the action. 10+ meters long, it appears to be slipping through the ceiling. Theo Ligthart's "das Korn" was served for a short time wwhile the accompanying videos played through the night.
It was really, really a great night.
Now onto the official opening event! More info at leokuelbscollection.com

Did I Hear Someone ask for Picutres?

2009-09-18T10:55:00.002-04:00

Yes, that's right! It's no typo. "Picutres."
Anyway, I don't have any today. This installation is too massive. We're waiting for a wide-angle lens in order to get the whole thing in a frame. The picutres are just getting weird, as there is no real context from which to judge the scale.

Otherwise, all is well. Hopefully, it will be a chill and quiet weekend. It will be nice not having to accommodate these guys at 8 or 9 am to whenever for a few days. It's taping and mudding time, then all the install should really be finished by Tuesday afternoon. At that point, I'll begin more general space preparations.

Okay, it's nice here in NYC today. I don't see a cloud, but then again, most of the windows are covered in plastic. But, I know what's what, Mr. Man! It's nice out. It had better be, or I'ma gonna go all 'my mom in the 70s' on yer ass!

That's it for now. Boy, when's the last "Celebrity Fest," anyway? Sure has been slim pickins on the celebs.

The Wall is Up!

2009-09-15T14:05:00.004-04:00

Well, it's been rough and rocky traveling, but Thomas Lendvai and company have managed to get the his large-scale installation "Two Steps," up and the attachment process has begun. It took eight people to get it into place and, without a hitch, it fit right in and was stable enough (with minimal extra support) to stand on its own.
The LKC website is also updated now, so check that out at leokuelbscollection.com.
You can see the process in the photos included here. There's a shot with Tom instructing his crew on how best to put the thing up. Very teacherly, he was.
Okay, I hope that gives you good idea of what has been going on over here. As a matter of fact, I'm moving out tonight, so he can work late. we've managed an apartment trade, so I will be over at his place tonight. It's exciting to think about the progress I'll encounter as I swing back over during the day tomorrow as well as the days following.
Kick it.

September Paneling Preview!

2009-09-09T17:38:00.001-04:00

Are You a Socialist?
By “Little” Jackie Larva

My life is pretty good! I live in Dumbo, where the cliquey people are mean and the views all right! Yay! It’s my life and I LOVE IT! I get my chocolate from Jacques Torres and my sweets from Almondine! Do you? Probably not. But you are probably also thinking of voting for Barack OBAMA! Boy, be careful. If that yahoo gets elected you can kiss America GOOD BYE! That guy is a Socialist WOMAN. It’s a fact.

Did I mention he’s a FOREIGNER! I think he’s from China. He’s probably a Chinese spy! That’s what I think. But I haven’t heard back from my sources yet. Do you have sources? Probably not. But I DO! And they tell me that if he gets elected, prepare to enter into a gay marriage because that’s what he is in to: GAY MARRIAGE. To Animals! So, I would have to marry a male dog. It’s true. Plus, rich people would get more money while the rest of would have to go to socialist hospitals where we would be killed by doctors who want to harvest our organs to sell in New Jersey to pay for the hyper inflation that we’ll all have to deal with if that foreign gay woman is elected. When is the election anyway?
Man, I can’t wait for John McCain to put this country right! And that Sarah Palin! Pant! Pant! She drives me crazy! She’s so f****ing hot I can’t stand it! I would swim upriver for some of that wild Alaskan action. I mean, I hope she gets divorced and MARRIES ME! Then I could live somewhere near the White House with her and help her clean her guns and, generally, be her slave! That would be heaven! A slave to Sarah Palin! She can definitely kick my soccer balls! Yum! Give me some of that! I can’t wait. And she’s smart! A huntress! Beauty and Brains! Sounds like heaven! With guns in it!

GUNS! No guns if OBAMA is elected. That’s a fact! Did I mention he’s a (possibly Jewish) werewolf who eats babies? It’s true! I got an email about it from a RELIABLE SOURCE. Unlike Obama, who is obviously unreliable. I mean, look at the facts! You don’t go around electing a baby eater, do you? Would you trust our school children to a WEREWOLF? Not me. But not everyone has common sense. Some people are actually thinking of voting for this guy. But who are these “people?” Possibly they are also Chinese spies. Certainly not Americans. People who would vote for Obama and that other guy, want to UNDERMINE OUR COUNTRY! It’s true. They want to take this country and turn it into a moral garbage dump. That’s what people who would vote for Obama want to do. Turn this country into a garbage dump of beastiality and gay marriage for all. With NO GUNS!

Ha! But that’s not going to happen because people like me are giving you the STRAIGHT (not gay!) story. So, when you go to vote later on, be sure to go for McCain and Palin! Imagine being her husband! Mmmmm…Ooops! Don’t elect a gay woman foreign werewolf that would eat a baby and make us all make love to animals. That’s my main message. Listen to what I have to say! It’s true and WE ALL KNOW IT!

There's a Wall on my Floor!

2009-09-08T18:56:00.003-04:00

Here's another post! I'm on FIRE!
Hey, I have an art show opening here in a few weeks. It's called "Immaculate Collapse," and the artist Tom Lendvai is erecting a huge wall which will appear to be falling through the ceiling. That's right. Do you have that in your place? Probably not. You would also probably vote for OBAMA! That foreign woman. He's a GAY FOREIGN WOMAN actually. I think he does drugs, too.
BUT NOT ME!
Oops! This wall is being built now. It's a pretty crazy thing to have this wall being built (born in a way) for a show about willful negation. It's an amazing thing actually. It could be terrible around here, but the wall is so amazing that I really don't mind too much. Plus, the whole experience of having this built here is unique experience that is part of the "living gallery" situation that I have going. But if OBAMA gets elected, I'm sure I'll have to stop my cool gallery idea and become a socialist! I'll probably have to also marry my MOM'S DOG! Because that's how Obama would have it if he gets elected. Did you know he's a (possibly gay and Jewish!) werewolf who eats babies? IT's TRUE! I got an email that spells it all out. Look out America! Don't elect a baby eater into office! Unless you want to wind up in a GAY MARRIAGE! The whole fabric of our society is crumbling like it was in the 1960s. But Woodstock is okay with me. Did you see the fun movie about how they made that happen? Hmmm! It's sweet to think of people working together to make a dream come true! I love the 1960s! And the music? Holy Sheepdip! (Have you ever had sheepdip, by the way? It's not any good. That's a fact!)
Oops! I forgot, I've been told by the television and radio people to get you the straight story (HE'S GAY!!!) about Obama and what will happen if he is elected. I'm not exactly sure when the election is, but I know you will vote for McCain/Palin. Just think about her for a minute! Yowzer!
I do, however, know the opning date for "Immaculate Collapse" and that is September 26th. More about that next week. Plus, you can check leokuelbscollection.com for actual details.
Hey, did somebody say they wanted to see some picutres?
Auf Wiedersehn. I can say that now because I bought a place in Berlin! Ha! Take that! Do you have a place in Berlin? NO!

Would you like to see some more picutres?

2009-09-08T18:32:00.002-04:00

Yes! More picutres! If you don't know what a picutre is, please check the post below. It explains everything. It also gives you a good idea of WHERE I STAND with regards to the possible election of Obama! Boy, look out! We'll all be communists in a few years if the stupid American people elect that guy! DON"T DO IT!
We need John McCain and Sarah Palin (she's f****ing hot! Who doesn't want to do her?) in the White House! They will take us where we need to go! And where we need to go is likely to war with China! Those Chinese really bug me.
Ooops! You want to see picutres! Ahh, yes.
So, these picutres are of my new place in Berlin. Berlin is a rich, rich city where people wear spacesuits and use straws to sip drinks out of urinal-shaped containers carried on the backs of small children! It's true! It's a veritable fantasy land of happy, happy people!
You can see that the place isn't finished yet. I'm still working on it. But I'm gonna make it AWESOME! Just like America! And not the America we would have if that Obama jerk gets elected. He's a foreign woman! That's a fact! Look at him! He wants everyone to be in GAY MARRIAGE Even if you don't want to do it. Oh yes. That's what he's about. It's a fact! Wake up.
So, be sure to vote for McCain/Palin! Did I mention how hot that wild Alaskan is? Holy Cow! I hope she gets divorced and MARRIES ME! I'd swim upriver for that action! You know it.
Oops! Picutres! Enjoy them!

Dear Blog:

2009-09-08T18:20:00.004-04:00

They say pictures are worth a lot of words. It used to be 1,000, but I think it is more now because of inflation. And wait if that Obama guy gets into office! Then inflation is going to be like it was is Germany! Weimar Germany! Boy, if he's elected, we'll all be in trouble since he is clearly a gay socialist foreign woman! And health care! We'll all die! He would like us all dead! That's a fact.
Oops! Here are some picutres of my band. That's right, "Picutres!" I don't want my picutres to suffer from the possible effects of inflation if that guy gets elected. When is the election, anyway?
Well, enjoy these picutres. Please note, our nimble keyboardist, Kim, was not able to attend this event. Which was sad because our band is more fun when she is there. when it's the three guys, it's kind of like playing in a world of socialist healthcare foreigners. When it's the whole gang, then it's more like how I want the world to be.
Ooops! Do you like the picutres?
Many of them were taken by a friendly camera operator named Brent.
See the band! Don't you wish you could hear us rock out? Think about that for a minute! Pretty sweet, huh?
If you search our band name on Youtube, can CAN WATCH US ROCK OUT. AND HEAR IT, AS WELL! Way better than picutres, actually.
Okay, it's time to fix up some new picutres of my new place in Berlin. then I will show them to you. They will appear, weirdly, before this installment.
Oh yes, the band is Frances Gumm
Bye for now

Gruss von Berlin

2009-08-30T03:25:00.003-04:00

Well, hello there....My it's been a long, long time.
How am I doin'? I guess that I'm doing fine...
Kicking it in my hotel room in Neukoln Berlin. I just slept a whole day. A whole Saturday as the last few weeks of traveling, working, running around were starting to wear me out, a little. Ahh, it was super nice. After an afternoon of shopping with my friend Artemis, I eventually made it back to the far-reaches of Neukoln for a rest, then out for dinner and fun with the artist Elly Clarke. We mostly talked about art and relationships in art and the tricky nature of these two seemingly opposing interests.
I was happy that we made it to Kiki Blofeld, right on the Spree. It's kind of a secret place. Really pretty views of the famous bar on the opposing bank, as well as trains speeding by on a picturesque bridge. All to nice drinks and cigarettes outside under the Berlin skies.
Then I went home and fell asleep and awoke at 2 p.m. the following day. At that point, I figured I was about due for a major rest and kept going until 7 am Sunday. That was really nice.
Then, as luck would have it, I ventured down into the enclosed village that is this hotel and sat down for breakfast, which turned out to be free! Kick it. I'm not sure if it was meant to be free, but when I asked, they said I shouldn't worry about it, so there you go...
It's Sunday, which means that I cannot shop for my new place. I get the said place on Tuesday and am really looking forward to it, though not to all the shopping. For you see, there is NOTHING THERE. That's right, nichts. I even need scissors and stuff like that. Crazy. A computer printer? Why sure! A whisk? Of course, I need that too. Everything.
I have managed to order a bed, a couch, a couple chairs, a coat rack, some matching-ish white tables, and a few others bits and pieces. But I am hoping my friend Dani will escort me to IKEA to help do some major junk buying. But I haven't heard from her for a couple of days, so I'm not sure.
A lot of people are still enjoying what's left of vacation time, so there is that...
Art Stuff: Besides talking with artist Elly Clarke, I have a meeting scheduled for next week with a curator from a French cable TV station regarding the development of a NYC-based video artist program. I am looking forward to that. Plus some other meetings that were supposed to go down yesterday with other curators, which I slept through. But sleeping was so good...
So, it's a bunch of work coming my way, but I should have a functional place by the time I leave here a week from today.
Okay, goodbye everyone in the world. Until later...
Leo

Summer Days

2009-08-08T16:29:00.002-04:00

Greetings Fellow Humans:
First off, my aged father had a stroke yesterday, but seems to be doing okay. He's down in Texas. He's sure to be making trouble again soon.
Frances Gumm played in Minneapolis at the 501 Club in Downtown Mpls last night. What a nice place! The staff was friendly too. But we barely got paid. That's depressing. It was FG Gold, meaning, just the three-piece. But we played a nice long stable show. It was really great, then we repaired to Stainless D. Theil's place to drink beer and hang out with his nice wife and white dog. Earlier, we did a barbecue--grilled up some lobster and shrimp, etc. Very civilized!
It other news: I had a closing for the place in Berlin yesterday, which means the deal is happening! I'm excited. The place is really cool and I will be back there later this month to furnish and finish the deal up. Kick it. Let the international games begin.
Lots of impending art stuff, too. But more on that later.
I'm off to the store. Going to Walmart! Then to the grocery store. Solo-burger night for me. time to do some mellow chilling.
Family meeting tomorrow, then more sols rock. Looking forward to some melllow down time.

Been a long time

2009-08-03T15:11:00.003-04:00

Greetings fellow humans!
Broadcasting from Taylors Falls--Coffee Talk, to be exact. Been chilling out here for a week already! Yikes that went fast. Got to see a selection of friendly humans, play lots of music, eat lots of grilled meats, boating, running, drinking of beer, etc. etc. Very fun.
I also spent some time with my brothers. That was interesting. A good bunch of fellows with diverse perspectives. It was great to kick it at the Harley Shop for a while. Business is slow, thanks to the recession, but the bikes look cool and I bought a bunch of shirts, coffee mugs, etc. which I gave mostly to the friendly country people who live nearby.
Hmmm...The closing for my possible new place in Berlin is scheduled for this Friday. there is a problem now with the kitchen, but I don't think it will amount to much. My advisor is there and everything seems like it will fall into place. All parties seem interested in making the deal work, so that's good.
The show at Latin Collector, "The End. And..." seems to have gone over well. the opening was really good, with performance and a shimmering room full of videos projected onto walls, from monitors, etc. A good crowd and some fun afterwards. My first show uptown! Fantastic.
Okay, better keep moving. Oh wait. PICTURE TIME!!! Okay, they are over there. Well, you can see the ugly little cabin itself. But, what is ugly on the outside is fun! fun! fun! on the inside. That's right, yo!
Then there was a tractor parade yesterday afternoon. It was rather endless, but in an enjoyable way. I think it lasted 30 minutes. But some really cool tractors with some very interesting country-people attached to them.
And finally, a picture of the sauna. Lots of sauna fun on Friday night. That was quite interesting, though afterwards I wondered if I am aging appropriately.
Okay, there a Frances Gumm gig this Friday, I think, too. So, if you are around, look for that. Where? Only Paul Dickinson knows!
Bye.

Was ist los mein Kind?

2009-07-15T13:49:00.003-04:00

Just returned from a good 5K run around Volkspark Friedrichshein on a really lovely evening. It's really cool how people just go to the park and fly frisbee or grill or run or rollerblade on these nice nights. What a chill environment. Beer drinking in public! Guitar playing, etc. Great.
I have been having a succession of meetings regarding the purchase of a property on Brunnenstrasse in the Mitte neighborhood. It's a good street for art things, lots of small galleries and artists stationed nearby. Also, a good address with regards to rental opportunities. The price is good and the place is all cement and wood. A balcony will be installed next month, as well as a kitchen and some sundry repairs. 2 bathrooms, really cool. If all goes well, the various transactions will take place in August while the transfer of property will be as of September 1st. I am planning on flying back for the transfer and to make payment at that time. I am excited as I think it is a very good place and the dealing has been straight-forward and efficient, unlike the last situation.
I have met some great people here and look forward to seeing them again when I return. I have a little life in Berlin!
Now I need a guitar!
The show at Latin Collector opens right away when I return to NYC. That's also very exciting. Announcements go out soon. There will also be a DVD catalog of the show, which is a new innovation that I thought of! I'm very proud of the idea and the staff at LC have done a good job keeping everything going and together. It's a good step forward for me, to be included in an uptown show and I look forward to seeing my NYC friends there!
Right after that, it's off to Taylors Falls for a few weeks of total rest at my cabin. Boat rides, swimming, barbecue. I get to visit my new/old truck! Kick it! Nate from Korea will be there and I also have a lot of family business-oriented work to do, as well. So, not too much chilling. Maybe no gigs this time with the band, which is good. It's been a busy year fro Frances Gumm and just chilling and jamming in private sounds pretty appealing.
Okay, the bath is ready. Time to jump in and wash last night's excesses out of my body.
Yeow! K-K-k-k-k-k-k-k-KICK it! Yay! WHAT?
Yay! YES! Cool? NO? Yes? YES? YES! YES! YAY!
YAY!

Random Thoughts on Narcissism in the World of Politics

2009-07-11T11:29:00.001-04:00

By Leo Kuelbs

Over the past years, I have often wondered why people like Dick Cheney and George Bush need to have so much money and so much power. How is it that they can comfortably preside over wars which shape civilization towards some idea they have about what is right? Their idea. Lots of people can get killed. People who also have actual lives, but somehow, these lives are lesser than those of the politician’s family and those of his college buddies.

Having spent time around the ultra-wealthy, I had noticed that after years of financially-based exclusivity—I mean, some people are just too rich to be around everyone else—they can lose their footing in “standard reality.” In situations where everyone around a person caters to their needs and desires and defers on everything—not based upon character necessarily—and “yes” is the main word on that exclusive world’s lips, you have the perfect incubator for narcissism.

I’ve known this for a while. I once had a rich woman tell me she thought she was an Egyptian Goddess at times. And that she was chosen by God to do whatever she wanted to, never mind the consequences. All these thoughts came flooding back to me and clicked into place when I heard an interview with Jeff Sharlet on his new book “The Family.”
In short, “The Family” is a Christian Political organization (their words) that, in very simplified terms, feels they are destined to lead, given personal mandates by God. Lots of people in the news are members, including two conservative Senators recently admitting marital infidelities.
But who cares about small stuff like that when you are chosen by God to lead? I mean, if it is your destiny to shape the world towards what you feel is right—because you are, after all, doing God’s work, what’s right for you is right for the world! Then who cares about little stuff like that.
Now let’s get 1000 people who think like this working together, supporting each other’s narcissistic fantasies. We are now talking about a large part of the Republican Party, as well as many other politicians of differing stripes world-wide.
My fear is that we are all governed by a group of self-sustaining, hyper rich, narcissists who could give a fuck about the lives of those not in their camp.
To me, this answers my questions regarding the motives behind the accumulations of wealth and power for a few at the expense of everyone else. The answer? They should have it because they can and they deserve it because it is God’s will. Amorality, immorality, can easily be justified if you are a narcissist. And who goes into politics? Oftentimes, it is the rich who enter the fray. The poor have to work at Burger King, they don’t have time to raise money for political campaigns. Nor do they have the connections.
I don’t know what to feel about this, other than terrified and fairly certain. It illuminates many conspiracy theories and reveals that there’s no conspiracy, it’s mental illness and delusional thinking that guides many of the world’s governments’ decision making.

Berlin Update

2009-07-11T09:59:00.003-04:00

Well, after a lot of looking and the collapse of the last deal, it seems as though I have found a place in Berlin.
It is in Mitte, which is the best neighborhood for art, in the former East Berlin. It's a nice big loft set back a bit from the street, so it should be quiet. They will be building near it for a while, so until that is finished, it could be noisy sometimes, but the plans for the work nearby and very nice and will ultimately increase the property value.
So, that's good. If all goes well, I will close this coming week.
Also, I hope to have a couple days to drop things off there. The goal is to have workable place when I return this Autumn.

In NYC, I have a show opening on the 23rd of July at Latin Collector Gallery on 57th St. It's been difficult and frustrating, at times, to co-curate a show in NYC from Berlin, but I think it's on track and look forward to some hard work when I return on the 19th. Yikes! That's pretty scary. There is more info at my website: leokuelbscollection.com.

The social life has been interesting and I have met a lot of nice people out here. I get a little worried when they tell me about the seething racism that still bubbles beneath the surface of Berlin. That's a real turn-off.
Otherwise, the people are great and I have made some friends here that I think I will know for a long time.

Okay, time to make lunch. I've been going out a lot and I need to take care of myself in the coming days. There's so much happening, as mentioned above, plus my family business rolls forth and I have much to do in that realm, as well.

I wish Helmut were around to visit the land of his heritage. I weirdly keep thinking of him all the time.

Back to life without internet.
Tchuss!

Update

2009-07-05T10:15:00.001-04:00

Gruss von Berlin

Well, it’s Sunday, the 5th of July and all is calm in Berlin. I celebrated the 4th with some American friends at a burger place near Mauerpark. The Bird is owned by some Brooklynites who pride themselves on the kind of fun/rude service model, which is okay. The burger was great, but so many Americans speaking English was a little disconcerting.

Lots of fun afterwards at a couple other places with a variety of nice friends. Some very nice Austrians, art talk, friendly discussions of everything.

I have made a little progress on the property front, but nothing concrete. The way business is done here is very frustrating. There seems to be a level of emotional connection to property transactions that I haven’t witnessed before. Definitely some cultural differences that I have yet to sort out. If I don’t make any concrete progress by the end of my scheduled October trip here, I think I will give up on finding something.

The other deal fell apart 5 days before the closing when the seller, basically, pulled out of the arrangement. No real reason was ever given to me, but I suspect he got a higher offer. That would make the most sense. But the seller was pretty abrupt and rude and, on the whole, I am happy to not have anything to do with someone who does business like that.

So, it’s sunny and I may go out again tonight. There a barbecue I’ve been invited to, as well as the possibility of having a drink with a friend of a friend. But it may be good to stick here and have dinner alone and prep for more action tomorrow. I think I can crank out another story if I stay focused and stay in. Working out has been nice, doing push-ups and ab stuff, then short runs, rebuilding the strength in my leg. Staying in, working out, getting lots of sleep sounds pretty enjoyable. Need to watch the diet out here to. Burgers and beer. Danger!

Otherwise, family news has been hard to come by. Lots of unanswered calls. No one is around. Maybe I will call my sister. That’s a good idea.

Okay, better get back to the day to day.
Tchuss!

Short Story! Celebrate the 4th!

2009-07-04T13:08:00.000-04:00

National Holiday
By Leo Kelbs

First Draft
July 3rd, 2009

Even though it was mid-Spring, when Jerry pulled the drape aside, he was greeted by the site of an ice storm. “Oh well,” he thought, “At least today is a holiday and I don’t have to go to the bakery.” Instead, he returned to bed for another hour or so and finally, once his back was sore from sleeping so much, he got up and thought about his day.

It was the national holiday and he had tickets for the annual celebration at the indoor stadium downtown. There were three comedians and several bands, and some stirring political speeches, he supposed, too, but not many. Over the last several years, pride in his country had turned into something more like a comfortable malaise. It was true, that, in general, the population cared about the government and where they lived, etc. But it had more to do with their homes, their families, food. The bigger political stuff, they cared about, but in a more abstract way, so tonight’s holiday event had more to do with entertainment and less to do with anything really serious.

Jerry fingered his tickets. They were nice ones, his brothers, who still worked at the family bakery, had good connections and usually at least one of their wives would want to stay home with the kids and watch the event on television. As it was, Jerry was offered two tickets and was bringing a date. He and Barbara had met at a cooking exhibition two months before and, though they liked each other, sometimes Jerry felt that they kept going because there really wasn’t anyone else for either of them. She was pretty and an enthusiastic lover, so at least he had that going. She liked sweets, so he would always bring her a cupcake or some other special treat from his shop, which was small, but famous, so she was happy enough about that. But today, the bad weather would keep him from the bakery, so when they met up, he would be empty-handed. “I wish I could bring her one of the little cakes with the national colors on it!” He said to himself. But it would be all he could do to get to the stadium on time, let alone across town to his shop. Instead, he listened to another advertisement for the evening’s event.
The recently elected President tried to sound warm and fun with his scratchy, crackly voice as he read the list of bands and then repeated his famous post-campaign slogan, a chant, three times, “I won! I won! I won!” Jerry listlessly did the associated fist pump and thought about the bands. None of which he was particularly interested in anymore.
They were always the oldest, most established bands. Everyone knew every word to every song and, in this way, the bands’ old songs had supplanted the national anthem, which no one ever really knew the words too, anyway. The whole evening would, in essence, bring all who attended together. At least for a while.

When Jerry left his apartment, the storm had abated, but traffic was amassing. One problem in exchange for another. The sidewalks were still icy and what would have been about a 40-minute walk was looking rather impossible. The show was to begin at 7 p.m. and it was already 6.10.

Horns were honking and every taxi was filled with passengers trying to get to the event. A woman in a fur jacket was cursing her husband, who was helping raise her from the sidewalk onto which she had slipped. Jerry wondered about her pointy, high-heeled shoes. But, he supposed, no one had planned for such awful weather, so she could be forgiven. Besides, they looked like official types and the fact that they didn’t have a ride to the celebration seemed an unplanned for pity. Jerry had given up his car recently to help pay or his new business. Besides, it would make little difference if he had it anyway, as traffic was blocked in the intersections. Accidents were being cleared every few blocks and horns honked as desperation at the prospects of being late for the event began to mount.

There were still remnants of new president’s celebratory “I won!” posters pasted to the sides of buildings and Jerry smiled as he walked past. The president was so little, almost cute in his grotesque smallness. His efforts to look normal and fun fit in with the rumors of his slightly wacky and capricious nature. No one knew much about him and no one had expected him to win. An odd insider who had been working for years in the darker corners. If anyone would have actually cared much who ran their country, they would likely have looked a little deeper into how this character had won the election. But, as he had pointed out, he had won. No one cared how. And this would be his first big speech. It as supposed to be 10 minutes long, between the second and third bands.

It was already seven when Jerry reached the far side of the parking lot. Cars waited in a long row to get in, some even pulled out. If he didn’t have Barbara waiting he would have turned around, too. His brothers and his father would be attending as well and that gave him pause. He hadn’t seen or talked with his father since he left the family business to start his own a year ago and wasn’t sure of the old man’s feelings. After months of silence, the realities of running his own business toke the fore and he forgot about his father as a living thing. Only as an abstract character from his relatively happy past.

Still, it would be nice to see his family again; he had been away from them for so long. His brother who offered the tickets certainly hadn’t given a hint of any rifts, so Jerry hoped for the best. Likely, everything was fine.

The lobby area was massive and well-appointed. Still new, it unveiled for a National Holiday just a few years ago. What a party that was! Free food and liquor!
Jerry went to the designated spot and found Barbara talking to another fellow. “Oh Jerry! You’re so late, I was getting worried about you!”
“It’s the ice, what can I say. Traffic is ridiculous. The sidewalks are too. I saw a government lady fall down out there. Crazy weather we’re having. I wanted to brinbg a sweet, but I wasn’t able to get to the shop! I’m sorry about that.”
Then, “Hi, I’m Randy. I’m the new CFO for your family’s business. I’ve heard a lot about you!”
“Oh, I’m fine. I hope you didn’t hear anything too terrible.”
“Oh no.” Then the new CFO took his leave with a little kiss to Barbara and a firm handshake for Jerry.

People milled about as Jerry and Barbara made their way upstairs and into the slightly more upscale section of the balcony. The place was still only half full, the event would be delayed, Jerry realized. Or else the ice might keep people away. Whenever the weather gave an excuse, people seemed to stay home in droves.

“It’s this row, in the middle,” Jerry said, taking Barbara’s hand to help her along. She pulled it away.
“I can do it, Jerry,” she said, “You don’t have to help me.”
“Excuse me,” Jerry said to a couple of fellows seated along the way to the seats.
“Oh it’s you.” Jerry looked down to see his father. “I thought I might see you here tonight.”
“Oh, hi Dad! It’s good to see you!” Jerry replied happily.
“I wish I could say the same!” his father replied while his oldest brother sat silently next to the old man and stared straight ahead. The energy was not good.
“Is everything okay? I’ve missed you these past months,” Jerry went on.
“Is everything okay?” Father replied, mimicking his stray son. Then he smacked his lips and sighed.
“Well, it’s too bad. I didn’t want to make any trouble with any of you. It was just…Well, it doesn’t look so full; I think we’ll just sit somewhere else.”
Father nodded and looked away. “Come on, Barbara,” he said and again, held out his hand.
“I’m going to sit here, Jerry,” she said. “You go on.” And she took her jacket off and sat next to Jerry’s father.

“That was awful,” Jerry thought to himself, “but I can’t let it stop my life. I’ll find a seat and make the best of it. It’s not like it changes anything.” And he made his way down several rows, to a seat where he would be visible, but not too close to his just now estranged family. He wondered why the others had invited him at all.

It was also possible that someone else would come to claim his new seat, which was quite a good one. Better than those of his family. More people were arriving and finding their seats, the show would begin soon. Jerry decided to have a look around the mezzanine, maybe get a beer or something to calm him down after the unsettling affairs between his family and Barbara. But whatever disappointment sank close to the deadness that he felt in his heart for the whole situation. He couldn’t please anyone, barely himself, so these new developments only deepened and better defined his malaise. After tomorrow, he could go back to his own business and loose himself again in work.

In the lobby, people milled about, looking at souvenirs and waiting for food. There seemed something abuzz near one of the nearby gates, but Jerry was lost in thought about his family and Barbara—a combination of anger and loneliness swirled between his heart and mind.

Just then, the people nearby went to attention and from a doorway leading into the deeper bowels of the stadium, the new President appeared. He has alone, no security detail, and much smaller than he appeared on television. He put his hands into the air. “Greetings citizens!” he said. “All together, ‘I won! I won! I won! I won!..” He went on pumping his two fists into the air with great vehemence, the people joining him reluctantly. They weren’t used to this kind of display of fervor.

“That wasn’t good enough!” the tiny leader shouted. “Not by half!” The crowd wasn’t prepared for this. No one thought they would see the President in person. They were here, after all, for the show, the music.
“Everyone kneel! I am the President. Kneel now and do the oath.” Some near to him sank down first, others followed, Jerry amongst the last. He really didn’t feel like participating in this exercise. Especially not in this moment.
“Now, let’s start!” The President said. “And I want you too do it with feeling! Watch me.” And he began the oath that no one completely knew, except him. He punctuated his words with his fingers and his little gray hair began flopping around and his little pink lips were wet from his aggressive pronunciations. A sense of uncertainty and fear filled the area as the group wondered whether it mattered if they followed the new President’s instructions or not. Plus, since no one actually knew the oath and everyone was mumbling and pointing along with their new unknown leader.

Jerry was the most listless in this exercise and thought about getting up and leaving. Others apparently thought so too, looking at each other nervously for support and guidance. But no one dared.
When the oath was finished, but all were still on their knees, the President looked at them and said, “No. No, that wasn’t good enough! Stay on your knees! And you,” he pointed to a man near him who had tried the hardest. “He will be shot because of this. Right on the field before the show begins!”

By this time, a few official had arrived at the scene, along with a befuddled security detail. “But I tried to do a good job,” the man protested, “I did better than everyone else!”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s for the good of the country!” No one moved, except the President. “He will be killed and if anyone has a problem with that, you can let me know and I will have you killed, as well.” By now the President was coming closer to Jerry who looked around at the people near him. The President’s little smile from the posters had returned.
Still no one was sure if the man would actually be shot. No one made a move for him. “You have been getting sloppy and now we will get this country back on track,” the President told the bewildered crowd who were slowly standing up. “I will straighten you all out. What do you think?” he asked woman next to Jerry. She tried to smile.
“I think…”
With this, a rage rose up in Jerry and he grabbed the little President by the throat, then shoved him to the floor. “How dare you!” the President said; yet still, no one moved, except Jerry, who now picked the little old man up by the feet, swung him over his head and smashed him onto the cement floor. Several times. Until he was obviously beyond dead.
“You can’t do that,” one of the officials said after the fact. “That’s the President!”
“He was going to kill that guy. That guy’s life is clearly worth more than his,” he said, pointing to the President’s bleeding corpse. “Obviously.” Jerry was weirdly calm. Then the crowd began to move, realizing what had happened.
Then Jerry realized that no matter what, he was in terrible trouble. Still, no one knew who he was. If he could get out, pick up some things, maybe he could get away somehow.
“Sir, you should come with us,” a friendly-looking official said to him. “You didn’t do the wrong thing necessarily, but you should come with us and maybe we can get this sorted out. Maybe there’s a place for you somehow…”
The fellow seemed harmless enough, yet other security people were now looming and Jerry made the quick decision to try to get away from all of them, get home and get out of town, if possible.

The crowd was such, as was Jerry’s level of adrenaline; that mixing in wasn’t impossible. Plus, the officials and security seemed less than motivated. When the friendly offical turned to address the issue of the corpse, Jerry fled. The security team watched him go, without taking chase.
In the main mezzanine, where he had met Barbara just 30 minutes before, people who knew what had happened were exiting while the others sat, oblivious, in their seats waiting for the big show to begin. He had a good chance to make it home.

He was close to the doors when he heard his name, “Hey Jerry! Jerry wait!” He turned to see one of his customers from the bakery. “This is Jerry, he killed the President! I know him. I shop at his bakery all the time. This guy is going to be a rock star!”
“I have to go. I don’t want to be a rock star. I’m just going to go. Please don’t say anything else about me, okay? We’re friends, right? I need to get out of here. You know, don’t say anything.”
“Jerry, what you did was heroic!” The man’s friends gathered closer. “The President was going to kill this helpless guy for not reciting the whatever it is. And Jerry killed that little fucker instead! Fucking genius. He saved our country! He’s a hero! A fucking rock star!”
Jerry turned towards the door, but it was too late. Different people were pointing and others were spreading the story around. When he tried to exit, the customer blocked him. “Hey wait, Jerry! Come on, you can’t go. You’re a rock star, man! Look at all these people, they fucking love you!”
Soon enough, a crowd had gathered around Jerry. And no one ever saw him or heard from him again.

Yo, Shorty!

2009-06-20T06:57:00.001-04:00

Two Bottles

A few days ago, I was talking with a classically-trained pianist about her fine Boesendoerfer baby-grand piano which is too be shipped to Berlin in the coming months. Though I cannot play the piano at all, I think it’s the “King” of instruments and find it enjoyable to mess around and play basic melodies, etc. I mentioned that there is a piano where I am staying, an old upright parlor piano probably from the 1950s. But she was clearly still lost in thoughts of playing of the special Boesendoerfer waiting somewhere back in Austria.

I then remembered an old organ that I bought at a garage sale maybe 15 years ago. It was $15. She re-engaged me eyes and asked how I was playing that thing.
“Oh, it was pretty easy, just flip some switches and you have a whole mechanical back-up band at your disposal. Any idiot can make something when you have that kind of technology behind you!”
“Well, it’s no Boesendoerfer, but it sounds fun!” she replied. I couldn’t tell if she was being condescending or not. “Do you still play it?”
“Oh no. It lived in the music room, which is in the basement of my cabin. It’s damp down there and eventually the organ started having problems. Some of the keys stopped performing, etc. I gave it to some neighbor. I would have to say we did an ‘organ transplant,’ actually.”
She laughed, “But the transplanted organ didn’t work so well. That wasn’t very nice.”
“It’s better to have a partially functioning organ than no organ at all, isn’t it?” I asked.
“I suppose so,” she replied, looking at me in a way wholly different than before. Maybe less trusting.
“Well, you are welcome to your opinion, but I feel like quite a good person having transplanted that organ,” I continued. “I think we should celebrate with a bottle of proseco, actually!”
“In that case, I agree, you did a fine thing transplanting that organ,” she finally agreed.
“I hope to transplant another organ after the prosecco!” I remarked as I flagged the waiter down.
She laughed and said, “In that case, let’s have champagne.” And we did. Two bottles.

At Cafe! Drinking More Coffee!!

2009-06-17T06:54:00.000-04:00

Wednesday: Berlin Frustration

Besides the ever-changing weather situation, there are lots of other happenings making the days since I arrived very unfun and quite unproductive.

First off, so far, there is no working internet service where I am staying. I can’t tell you how annoying it is to have to leave this place every time I want to check the email. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if I didn’t have a show that needs tending to in NYC or if I wasn’t negotiating to purchase a place here RIGHT NOW! Of course, there are ways to lessen the hassle, but only lessen and not alleviate. It’s ridiculous and causing me to waste a lot of time while feeling anxious and crappy. It also lessens any feeling of connection I would have with the apartment I’ve swapped for my own. This is bad too because it keeps me going to places with wifi—which also means spending money. Then you forget something and have to go back again. I can’t tell you how much unwanted coffee has already gone down the hatch.

Otherwise, the place is fine.

Unforeseen troubles have also arisen on the property front. It turns out there is no fridge or electrical hook-up for a fridge at the new place. Also, no hook-up for a clothes-washing machine. Really weird. Other problems include: loose faucets, unattached window hardware, unconnected vents in bathroom, etc. I’ve asked for these things to be repaired and, so far, the answer is “No.” Can you believe that shit? What’s up? It’s an extremely large turn-off and the deal is now very much in question. I have begun looking for other places, as well.

Geez. So, it’s been really difficult to get feeling good about anything. Though I did get a German phone number and cell phone which is forcing me to learn German the hard way. I have to keep both phones with me for reference. Really a lot of ridiculous garbage at the moment. Transitional static.

On the up side, the i-touch works sometimes allowing for randomly happy/frustrating email checking periods, some of which end for no reason. There is a real technical bias against Macs here, that’s for sure. The problem with the internet connection here at this place is that the ISP does poorly with Macs. It’s all over the internet how crappy this ISP is. Great!

So, I am supposed to get a neighbor’s wireless info sometime in the next 24 hours. In the meantime, I’m tethered around here—free to the coffee shop. What a pain in the ass!

Last Night in Taylors Falls

2009-06-06T13:16:00.002-04:00

One more night in TF, then off to Brent's place in Maple Grove in preparation for my early morning Monday flight. It's raining and cold today, but a couple of buddies are stopping up for barbecue, rock and whatever we can salvage out of the weather. It was my Mom's 83rd Birthday a few days back, which was a mellow celebration. Steaks at my brother's place. Very nice.
Also showed my new Electric Bike to family at the stores. I rode the thing 10 miles and it took about 30 minutes total. You must pedal, but the option of the assistance of the attached electrical hub motor makes facing hills a much less daunting task. A great product. If it wasn't raining today, I would have taken it on the road to Coffee Talk, where I am at now.

Working on the show in New York City, "Working Fiction," which is about the space between ideas, "reality" and documentary. We've got a good list of artists and loads of work to do. All happening in these small gaps of time I will actually be in NYC. There next week, then again in late July. Why?
Off to Berlin, of course. It looks like everything is moving forward on the purchase of the place there. Though I have an issue or two to iron out. Nothing major. Wishing my German language skills were more usable. I will be in need of translating assistance, that's for sure. But I should be moving in in July! Back in October to set up my first show!

Hmmm...That's the majority of the excitement right now. The gig with the band turned out to be at Jackson Sq. Park in NE Mpls, not the more glamourous Loring Park. Also, my friend Ben D. who always produces the band, turned up and told me he would playing the Loring show later this summer! Blasted! He's always a step (at least) ahead! But, the show was shot with multiple cameras along with an actual sound guy for the recording, so the documentation should be interesting. We're talking about videos for every single song on the new album, so maybe the footage of us playing in a hole in a park come to use.

I just realized, maybe we could put a live track or two on the new record, "Girl Trouble/Cop Trouble," is the title, btw...

Lastly, my colleague, Michelle Heinz gave me a nice painting for my cabin while she was passing through town. It's of a gutted salmon. I hope it isn't a precursor to trouble. No, it is a good painting. A nice fit for the cabin collection.

Okay, now back to prepping for good times with rock and roll buddies of yore. Next time will likely be from NYC, God willing!

Been a Long Time...

2009-05-28T18:01:00.003-04:00

Greetings World,
So much has happened since way back when when I last posted here at my friendly blog. I've returned from Berlin, did a closing event + took down FUTURE=FERTILE at my loft (see leokuelbscollection.com), I've been tapped to curate at a gallery uptown, made a deal on a new condo in Berlin, bought an old SUV for cabin use in Taylors Falls, Frances Gumm played in New York and now I am back in TF, at Coffee Talk, to play another show (Loring Park; Tuesday, June 2nd 8 p.m. FREE) and to help cook burgers at a fundraiser for my friend Brian Hall who had a tumor removed from his head earlier in the month.
Whew!
It's nice in Minnesota, finally. The trees are green, the sky is blue. I have to go, actually, and work on my boat.
Kick it. More soon!

So Much Stuff

2009-05-08T12:45:00.002-04:00

Gruss von Berlin,
Heading back to NYC tomorrow. It's been a powerhouse trip. Really great.
Art:
Upstairs Gallery: Simon Schubert's "In Apnoesie," installation of white on white embossed panels depicting various morphed interiors and op-art abstracted views of houses filled the main room of the Upstairs' first floor. Placed inside the room were other "closed circuit" sculptures, such as a circular feather/bird that never came to an end. Other black and white sculptures offered views of nothing. Or almost nothing. While ceramic hands held up sconces, chandeliers, or released fluid emissions into the ether.
Somehow evoking memory and the subconscious, the artist's desire to make one "breathless" was achieved when the viewer noticed the detail with which the panels were rendered. It is a room with pictures within matching moldings of other rooms, other houses. It reminded me of the "house" dreams I used to have several years ago, where I would worry about unused areas of my big, new house falling into disrepair, or into the sea, since I couldn't maintain it all. Thinking back, "the house" is surely a metaphor for the subconscious and Schubert's piece did a fantastic job re-opening those memory/mental worlds.

Bereznitsky Gallery: A big experimental space just floating at radar level, Adam Nankervis' excellent group grope, "Reliquaries of Empires Dust," featured the work of dozens of artists in all sorts of media, winding up an installation onto itself. An extension of his ongoing "Museum Man" project, in which the artist collects found objects and offerings from a global network of artists, Nankervis uses installation-assemblage to successfully elevate trash and kitsch to a holy level while knocking high art down a more reachable level.
Parts of the initial "Museum Man" installation were recreated and placed on a stage from which it provided context and an anchor to the proceedings. The huge selection of found and donated artwork, which changed with each visit, seemed alive. The passion placed in this unholiest of holies manages to provide a pulse into what otherwise could be seen as a pile of junk. Fantastic.
The two installations were also great. Christian Schmidt-Chemnitzer's installation, sculpture, which featured the artist standing in jumpsuit on stones set to best feature him as sculpture on high, was impressive. But I was most taken aback when a human couch ran past my friend and I. Only later did we note another gallery-goer, squeezing the couch, fondling it, sitting on it. The button moved as the couch, set within a gallery sitting room, breathed and twitched slightly. I declined a seat on said furnishing.
There were many, many other great pieces, including freaky-warm-ugly reliquaries by the curator. Too many to go through. Suffice it to say that "Museum Man" covers a lot of ground and covers it well. Look for an upcoming show in Kiev.
Geez!

Otherwise, going out to see Lisa Bassenge sing tonight with friends, then back here to sleep. Then I am off in the morning back to NYC. Happy to be heading back. Though unhappy at the same time.
In other news...
I have made an offer on a property ("Objekt" in Berlin) in Kreuzberg. Really nice spot not far from the Kanal. It has come to my attention that there are many nice places to chose from, so if it doesn't work out, no big deal. I'll be back soon enough and can continue the quest then.
Okay, more action later.
Tchuss

Back in Berlin

2009-05-01T05:28:00.002-04:00

Well, it's gallery weekend, so I am back to check out what Berlin's many galleries have to offer. There are a couple events tonihgt, including one at Upstairs Gallery, that looks interesting. Should be a fun weekend.
Afterwards, I am staying for several more days to look at property and hopefully, talk more about art and do some writing.
The funny thing is I am staying right off Torstrasse and I have already been in this area and know my way around from last October. Some bittersweet memories from that time. Lots of places I've been to before around here, but never alone. Oh well. I keep thinking of Ray Davies songs. It's one of those moments that someone else has also experienced and written about. Evey word is applicable.
Okay, I am exhausted and need to sleep for a while.
Gotta prep.

A Shorty from Berlin:

2009-04-13T13:40:00.001-04:00

The Music of Styx
by Leo Kelbs

One night, after band practice, the guys and me repaired over to our favorite local watering hole, the Ace Box bar. We had been playing well, getting shows, doing better and better. I was singing and playing the front man. With this group, the songs were mine and I could be a little cocky sometimes. I suppose you could say I could be a cock sometimes, too, but hey, this was a while back. To the dismay of some people, I have since learned to forgive myself for past indiscretions.

So some of the guys were playing pool and the rest of us talked to the scraggly English bartender, Kenny, who had bad teeth, but still seemed cool because he was foreign and we were in our early 20s. Kenny introduced me to the Pogues, which he had playing in jukebox whenever possible. In reality, Kenny was a drunken loser who had likely fell off the wagon while attending one of the myriad internationally-renowned treatment facilities we had in the area. But Kenny was a bar friend at the time and set us up with free drinks and good music. We were on a roll. And this night was like so many others. Everyone was laughing and carrying on. Some other band guys came in. It was going to be another fun night, like so many of them were, back in the 1990s.

The other guitarist and drummer were playing pool, so eventually we moved our happy cloud of fun over there, to see what was up. “So you guys are in a band together, huh?” one of the slightly down-at-the-heel pool opponents asks me, using his cue to indicate my bandmates.
“Yeah,” I replied. Then I turned to the singer from the band that practiced down the hallway and continued our conversation.
The guy tugged my sleeve. I looked at his hand, he pulled it away then asked, “You the singer?”
“Yeah, I am,” I replied. It was his shot, so I gladly went back to my grunge-rock blather and jokes while he missed an easy 13-ball in the corner.
Suddenly, he was back at my side. “Hey! Do you like Styx?”
“No, don’t. I hate them actually,” I answered. It’s hard to hate a band, but Styx is a special exception.”
“But do you know ‘Come Sail Away’?”
“Yeah, ‘Come sail away with me, LAD!’ Fucking awful. Look, play your game and maybe we can talk another time. Better yet, we’re playing next week at the Entry. Come see me there. If you make it, we can talk more.” Then a few of us went back to the bar for more beer.
The pool went on and I made some jokes about the Styx-loving idiot and his desire to convert me to their ickey music. I mean, the alien in the song refers to a human as “lad?” There’s something wrong with that.
“Uh oh,” the bass player said to me. “Somebody is playing Styx on the jukebox. Hey, check your friend out.”
The Styx-loving pool player is looking over, rocking out, pointing to the speaker and making a face that said, “I’m so into this. You, too?” He played his cue with zeal. And I shrugged at him, nodded my head, “No,” and went on with my business, such as it was.
“I think guy is in love with you,” Kenny snorted, then walked away.
“Thanks, just what I want to hear.”
A moment later, the drummer joined us at the bar with the Styx guy in tow. The guys from the other band had taken over the table. My new special friend asked if he could buy me a beer. Of course, to that I had to agree. I thanked him, we toasted, then I turned in favor of the people I actually knew.
For the next several minutes, like a drunken satellite, he hovered about, making the group a little annoyed. Then, from behind my back, I hear, “So, you like Styx now, right? How can you not? Did you hear that solo? It’s where the space ship is taking off with the guy IN IT!”
“Yeah, you were rocking it out over there,” I replied.
“I put some more Styx on the jukebox, so try to check it out and I’m sure you’ll like it a lot.”
“That’s just super,” I said in return.
He looked at seriously and replied, “Super. Duper.”
To which I retorted, on beat, “Pooper. Scooper.”
He looked at me a moment and I turned back and took up my beer. He walked away. “Hey Kenny, did you catch that?” I asked.
Kenny smiled, showing me his brown and yellow teeth, “It was very good,” he said. “The next one is on me!”
“You don’t think that guy and his friends are going to be pissed off, do you?”
“He’s in here all the time. He’s harmless. Besides, they’re leaving.”
“But he’s going to miss the rest of the Styx program on the jukebox!” the drummer said, and we all laughed.
A moment later, the Styx guy and his friends walked out the back door and were gone.
A few years later, my band, my whole crew was gone.
Yet the music of Styx somehow remains.

Some Press from the Village Voice

2009-04-13T03:30:00.001-04:00

Luminous Flux
Date/Time:Daily from Fri., April 3 until Sun., April 5
Price: $10-$25

BLAST OFF!
Artists take you on a tour of space
BY ANGELA ASHMAN

Fasten your seatbelts—the lovely ladies Gemini and Scorpio, whose Russian-bathhouse dance party was included in our Best of New York issue in 2006, have teamed up with curator Leo Kuelbs to take you on an intergalactic trip. Inspired by the theme of flight, their video-art party Luminous Flux is three days of installations, live multimedia performances, and VJ sets, with more than 30 artists presenting work in four showcases. Friday's showcase, "Fearless Flux," focuses on experimental multimedia performances; Saturday night's "Space Flux" is a space-themed costume party to celebrate the anniversary of the first man in space; and Sunday features the kid-friendly "Family Flux" and the Luminous Flux Artist Party, with an artists' reception and a "live video mixing playground."

Gruss von Berlin

2009-04-12T07:58:00.000-04:00

Easter 2009
Berlin

I was walking around Prenzlauerberg, feeling a little out of it, surprised to see so many Leute on the streets. I had heard that everything is closed and the city, basically, shuts down for Easter, but that isn’t the case. The cafes are mostly open and some of the delis. People are walking around in football jerseys, on their way to a match at the local stadium. Getting drunk at 12 noon on Easter Sunday.

The U-Bahn stop near the stadium was letting out under a bridge that holds the tracks above. I passed under to the sounds of CCR doing “Suzie Q.” and wondered what the hell year it was. When I doubled back in search of a café in the sun, “I Put a Spell on You” was blaring out the speakers.

I am now back here on the balcony, sitting shirtless in the sun, hoping my scar (on my forehead) won’t get any darker. I met a guy with a big scar from a childhood auto accident and he gave me the briefing. “Always wear sunscreen,” he told me seriously, “Otherwise, it will get really dark.” Kind of scary. But the trees are all healthy and green and the air is hazy—filled with life, as well.

The cascading bells from the very old church next door woke me this morning and almost made we get up. Then the bells from Gethsemane church down the street, then some other bells. Then some more. So it was undeniable that I wake up from my slumber and into a rather lonely Easter.

I sadly remembered an email I sent last night. How I hope it doesn’t merit a reply! Ah, love. How the fuck are you properly managed? Fruit and lunch, a feeling of—hmmm….what is it? Something funny. It’s always like this after you present some big event—there’s always this depressing comedown. This time it is in Berlin, the place I chose to come back to for Easter.

The first night—late—I was here, I received a call on my cell. I was surprised to find it was from my bass player who rarely if ever calls. I didn’t pick up, since I was sipping wine with a friend at Trodler in Kreuzberg. It was funny to be getting that call just then.

In the morning I checked it and heard the happy drunken voice wishing me well, missing me. Very sweet. Only today did I realize and remember that I used to always think of Easter as a time for going home. I think of saturated greens, like rugs that knights rode horses over after struggling to find the grail for the King. Break Time! Come home and rest a bit, then get back to it. My life is so tied to the seasons and archetypes; I accidentally organized it again to reflect some inner story line. I made my life in New York move forward these past weeks and, as always, I needed to get away from the in-your-face action and talking. Looking back, I remember deciding whether to head back to my cabin in MN or to Berlin. Berlin is, obviously, more of a hassle, more money. But it felt right. It felt better than the idea of going to my cabin, and now I realize, there’s something like home happening for me here. I am comfortable here, happily a little anonymous. Not a lot of talking. The people I do meet, have met, are all performers, artists, and they are real. There’s not a lot of money here, it’s cheap and decent (when the weather is nice), but this is where those who really have passion wind up. Or else it is for those who want to avoid real life, call themselves artists and use that as a cover for drinking/drugs.

Either way, these are people I understand. The bittersweet city is like my bittersweet heart. Torn and lovely, hopefully 51% happy.

So, I guess I have a new iidea of home. It’s something deeper. Maybe for my whole family who are so far from me now.

In Berlin

2009-04-08T07:02:00.002-04:00

A pretty easy flight, a reasonable cab ride and I am now in Prenzlauerberg in a cool apartment in a good-looking neighborhood. Thinking of the last time I was here makes me sad, some things have really changed since then. But you can't fight reality, though it can still make you blue.
Okay, really tired. My seat was by the bathroom on the plane, so it was stinky and I was always being jostled by over-eager lav waiters. More soon.
Leo

Oh Yes, the Hits Keep Coming #2

2009-04-07T15:43:00.003-04:00

Wow, what a run. Last time I blogged here was before the show "Future=Fertile" at my place. That was an immense amount of work, but successfully completed. About 120 at the opening--a very nice group with a diverse selection of downtown/uptown/Brooklyn/artists/professionals. The show was wonderful and well-received. Pictures soon.
Then we cranked out the Dumbo Paneling. There's a new editor and we've been getting better, though getting it on-line has been a bridge too far it seems. We'll get that covered shortly, once things chill some more.

After the opening and the paper, I was working as a guest curator for a weekend event titled "Luminous Flux," which took place at Galapagos art space here in Brooklyn. I was in charge of 12 artists who were presenting their work in a 4-Channel environment, meaning 4 projectors, four projections. There was a lot of good press--I was even name-checked in the Village Voice--a good turn out and everything, though stressful, fell together and worked well. I also met a lot of great and talented new people.
Tore down the projectors, etc. yesterday, prepped for travel and set up a Bday party for the Polish fabric-artist, "OLEK," did that, cleaned up, hung out a little today, and right after I post this I will lave for JFK, then to Berlin. I'm staying in an apartment swap situation in Prenzlauerberg, so that should be fun.
I'm excited to leave NYC for a few days and hang out in a relatively foreign city. Should be fantastic! Yikes!
There is a lot more going on too, of course. The last time I as in Berlin, I was traveling with a companion and that situation has changed. I feel pretty sad about it, but try as I might, and miss it as I may, there's no recourse, no way it would have worked. The lives were too different. But I can see her face in my mind often and I know she is thinking of me. But there's nothing that can be done.
Hmmm...I will be submitting more work soon for publication. Hopefully I will get a couple things set up while in Berlin. I need to edit "Built for these Times," but lost all my notes. Oh well.
Okay, I better get going. You never know how long it will take--the BQE. Could be 2 hours for a 20 minute trip.
Next stop: Berlin.

Here's an email!

2009-03-26T16:32:00.000-04:00

Dear L. Kuelbs:

Hi, my name is Mel C. Thompson. By sheer chance, an acquaintance from Maryland had been published in Heeltap 12, and he sent along a copy to show me his work in there. I ended up reading the whole zine from cover to cover and stumbled upon your prose, which, to me, seemed poetic somehow. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that was a well done piece, and I hope to stumble upon more of your work in the future.

Cheers!

Mel C. Thomspon.

What a Hateful Young Lady!

2009-03-19T15:59:00.004-04:00

The recent situation with the book send-outs has caused some personal connections to be revisited. As you can see below, some people are happy to receive such communications, while for others, it provides an opportunity to vent long-standing frustrations.
In this particular case, a woman I dated a year or so ago, in the course of chit-chat about the book being sent, arriving, etc. let me know that her cat had died. Recently, my dog, Helmut died, so I could identify.
Then she emailed me, letting me know that since the death of this cat, she had rethought a lot of things in her life, relationships. And she had some things she wanted to tell me in person. She needed to get some issues off her chest.
This person lives far away, by the way, and we saw each other maybe 6 times.
Anyway, I replied that it's okay to to tell me her feelings, as long as it is realized that people don't operate in a vacuum.
"Vacuum?" she haughtily replied. And started to let it be known that she was very unhappy with meeting me.
I tried to explain how different my life has become and the stresses of it since moving from my set-up life in MN, etc. But really, what was she thinking? I wasn't in love, nor were we really dating, at all. We had spent some time together, that was about it. It wasn't forced, nothing I needed to do.
So, basically, she went off on a e-tirade. Which I barely read, then deleted.
Some people think very highly of themselves and will point out the fact that others haven't volunteered for "Meals on Wheels" lately. And because of that, one is better than the other. Who the hell uses their own good deeds as a means to be better than other people? At that point, your volunteer work is actually selfish. Get it?
I don't often point out the fact that I make no money showing challenging art or that I commission daring work from living artists. That I actually spend time and money (also board service, in the past) supporting and encouraging the arts. It's part of my life, it's what I do. I don't go about the business of living my life to tell others I am better. Give me a break.
That's just part of the high-handed, self-righteous crap coming from this "better" woman.
Hey, you know what? Maybe there's a reason you are single.

To her credit, she did mention that I didn't deserve to know her. In that, I wholeheartedly, agree!
Ish.

A Letter I just received:

2009-03-19T15:59:00.001-04:00

Leo,
Hello, ole friend. So nice of you to send me your latest creation. You threw in a wallop with Lakewater and the trice (it's my new favorite)--I think we can all relate to those days of taking on the mother-daughter combo, but now,...the mothers have gotten too fuckin' old! Now it's time for girlfriends and daughters, know what I mean? Of course, I'm married, so that doesn't go for me.
I think the first two stories shine: playing with the time concept, it was brilliant-where did you get that, who did you steal that from? Do you mind if I borrow it for my own writing?

Over the years it's been a real treat receiving your books in the mail. Finding some quiet time to sit back and read them/digest your muse, and talk to the author in my head. Oh, what a journey, many, many places over the years, but as I've told you before-always too short. The fun times are stopping though? How about the big one? don't be shy about sending me the fat, ten pound, coffee-table novel. I know it's brewing in there somewhere. I'll even pay for postage on that one!
I just put a rubber band on all the books. I've got twelve in all. The first two are from Wolf, and as I look at them, placing them in sequential order, little memories pop-up: how cool is that? You're right, time is rapidly passing, but as it does I try to recall the good times, the happy memories, the remnants of compassion left in my heart. And your books, for me, are just that: good memories. Even though I hurt for you during your dark period with Kristen, I look at what you've accomplished with your writing and what it's given me as one big overall positive. With that what else can I say but: Thank You!
Love and best wishes,
Fred

Friday afternoon in New York City

2009-03-13T17:08:00.002-04:00

Well, I'm chilling here, looking out my window. Traffic is moving slow across the way on the FDR and it is a little cold out, but sunny, so it isn't too bad. I'll be out running in about 45 minutes. that should be fun. The tourists have returned along with the beginning of Spring and it feels good to be out of the gray winter and its moods.
Two r three weeks ago I was freezing and miserable in Montreal. I tried to be in touch with the person I was seeing up there, but she is totally angry and I think she will be for a long time. Maybe forever. Which sucks, but it's those kinds of traits which made it difficult in the first place. Looking back, I think the world is a pretty big place and getting too wound up about little things all the time doesn't do anybody any good.
So, I have to live with someone thinking I am a crappy person. Oh well.

Otherwise, the new show at LKC, "Babies," will be opening late this month. I am working on the test for the show and will unveil everything next week. Then, the following weekend, I'll move the circus over to Galapagos art space where I am curating a four-channel video installation as part of a larger event. Then, back to Berlin, or maybe Minnesota. Probably Berlin, but I have some business in MN that it would be good to take care of. Hmmm.

"Built for these Times" has been sent out and I the feedback has been good. The homeless local guy who reads my stuff told me I was back in form. He didn't like "Dead Birds" or "Household Magic" too much. I am grateful for that guy.

Okay, just catching up a moment. More soon.

Look, I'm actually using my Blog!

2009-03-02T00:59:00.000-05:00

Snowy Sunday in New York

Well, a big storm is blowing up along the East Coast and, no, is outside my window. The river is visible only as a surface for across-river lights to reflect upon. All I can see in the city itself are a few stray bright lights. Otherwise, it’s hidden in a grey-white haze.

Went out a bit ago to get some tea and honey, also to check out the Brooklyn snow. It was warm and a little slushy, nothing like the storms in Minnesota, or Montreal. Otherwise, chilling at home tonight. Watched “Body of Lies,” which was pretty good. I might watch another movie too—into being home after the disastrous trip to Montreal. Wow, that was so painful. I never loved JFK airport so much as I did last night, once I was off that plane.

And look! “Sex in the City” is on. Last time I watched that was Cotes da Neiges in Montreal, sitting on the couch next to this woman I was in love with. A day later, I never spoke to her again, just all gone. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

But that already happened. I found an email from her today where she mentioned that her “brain was weird,” due to stress and too much work. Looking back, there were signs that something bad was going to happen.

Okay. Went out last night until 4 am. That was fun, talked a bunch, didn’t get too crazy, but was so happy to see my friends that I never got tired. It was such a relief to be with people I know, uncomplicated, true, normal friends.

Not really much to say otherwise. Worked a lot today on prepping for the upcoming art events. Spent more research time looking for projectors. The show is going to be good. There’s other stuff going on at off-site venues, which will keep me busy, so I am happy about that, as well.

More of that tomorrow. A long list of stuff. Maybe a reading later this week? We’ll see. Paul Dickinson, poet and band mate, will be here mid-week, as well, so I’m looking forward to seeing him, too. That will be fun.

Until then, I’m staying home and taking it chill.

Just Because it's Sunny Doesn't Mean its not Cold

2009-02-28T13:26:00.002-05:00

But at least it is sunny. Just finishing up here at my swap in the Plateau. I id the dishes, cleaned up and am packed. Leaving soon for something nice to eat at my favorite lunch place in Montreal, then to the airport to finally fly away.
Yesterday was rainy and depressing and a good day to feel the worst, go though it, just feel lousy and accept it completely. So, after getting out for about an hour, that's what I did.

I don't know if breaking things off gets easier as you grow older, or more difficult. In a way, I know everything will, ultimately, be fine and that I will probably meet someone else soon enough. But, to meet someone who becomes that special--important enough to consider moving from continent to continent--is rare. There's no denying how serious and supercharged I have felt the last few months, but, in the end, it only made for a more spectacularly ridiculous and ironic imploded ending.

If I wrote down the actual things that have happened in my regular old life in the last four years, no one would believe it. I know I have included bits and pieces, anecdotes from life set in plots from the imagination, but the actual stories, even the end of this relationship this past week, would seem like the most fake, plots from some bad 1890s melodrama.

But that's it. That's how it is sometimes.

So, the weather is better today. People are out and it's easier to feel like this isn't the end of the world. Someone was telling me that it is the end of A world. So, there's a new one to begin sometime soon, I suppose.

In New York, my friends are waiting for me. My new book is finished and there's so much work to do for the upcoming shows, that I won't be able to come up for air until the end of March. Then I think I will go back to my cabin or to Berlin, and chill out, expand and think about all craziness of the winter that is about to pass.

I've said good bye to Montreal, to the woman I have loved who will stay here, and even though she, and the city in some way, will both stay in my mind for a long time, forever maybe, I go forward alone again, as it always seems I wind up doing. The memories are piling up in a corner, animating themselves whenever certain songs are heard, or other triggers inspire them.

I'm so happy to be leaving. But I have a lot of unresolved feelings that I will attempt to leave here.
Oh well. Time to turn the computer off and finish packing. Then to lunch, then to the airport and back home to New York.

Goodbye Montreal

2009-02-27T16:27:00.003-05:00

It’s raining and gray today. I’ve been staying in an area called “The Plateau,” that is renowned for being “edgy, trendy, & hip.” There’s a grocery store across the street, a SAC, where you can buy good wine, nearby, even a coffee shop downstairs. It’s prime Montreal, but I just want to leave.

I came here last Sunday to attempt to move a fledgling relationship forward. It had been six months of long-distance talking; one meeting in Europe and this would be my fourth trip here. The woman in question is young and beautiful, dark, complicated, provincial. Because of a past indiscretion, she wouldn’t be allowed into America until 2010. The waiting, the constant need for travel on my part, caused friction and difficulty from the start. So too, differences in language, attitude. But despite the fact that each time we were together, we had to have a big fight before we could get along, love grew: fast and intense.

The first conversations covered issues like living all over, Berlin mostly, New York, other places. And these conversations became the bedrock lifestyle idea that we both dreamed about. But after a few months, it became clear that not only was the blockage into America a factor, but so were the needs of her career in Montreal.

For those of you who know me, you know I can be a handful, especially if drinking. You also know I am not afraid of complicated women and situations. And the problems associated with this, as well as the one-week per month trips to Montreal, to see her, kept me busy and began wearing me out. I started going back and forth between realizing the situation was untenable and feeling like getting through it would be an almost religious exercise demonstrating my feelings for her. I could see being together and growing old, kids. I could see the future, her face, going to my cabin. But then, we would talk and fight and I would swing the other way and realize that it was virtually impossible. More trips to Montreal, hope, time, money, there were problems, would she ever really be able to join me anywhere outside of Montreal?

And what of Montreal? Her family is here, and she swung from being estranged to wanting them back. I met some of them and they were nice people. Smart. But who can know what goes on between family members? All the history. There were stories she wouldn’t tell me, but it wasn’t my business. All I eventually gathered was that her feelings toward family and friends could be extreme and brittle.

She is smart and talented, lovely, angry, quiet, alone, hurt so many times.

I know I hurt her again. I came here to try to make this go forward. I even made arrangements to have some of my own space while visiting this city. Something of my own for long-term thinking. Days before I left, she said it was bad timing. She was tired and feeling something else. Flashbacks to bad experiences, more relationships fading into and out of view. I arrived at her apartment; she was tired, and beautiful. Within 24 hours, I was alone in the next neighborhood over, the Plateau, and I would never see her again.

I don’t know exactly what happened. She was tired, got ill and asked me to leave. It’s more personal and complicated than that, but I wound up here, sleeping alone; the woman I passionately love, across town, alone too. And sick. I was frozen out. It was a stunning feeling. And Montreal did its part, lending a freezing cold couplet of blizzard days that made it obvious why February is the top month for suicides in this town. After the travel, three months apart, to be alone felt more than wrong. It was like a kick to my soul and spirit. The air was sucked out of the space I protected for this relationship. In the morning, I asked how she was, she was still ill. I wanted to see her. When pressed, she snapped. And I snapped. And all of the negative pressure of everything else came back, it cracked so fast and it ended. Over the internet, while we were only five miles apart.

No more word, no more life. A ton of hope sucked away, turned quickly around in stunning irony. A week ago, I was counting the days before I got here, now I am counting the hours until I leave.

After holing up here in someone else’s apartment for four days alone, I did manage to meet a couple of writers and a singer while going out, trying to function like a human being. They all said it was good that it ended. My friends, over the phone, have said the same. They said, “Come back home.” But I had to wait. The apartment swappers are in my Brooklyn place until tomorrow, my flight is tomorrow. I’ll be gone from here tomorrow.

I decided yesterday to have my tarot cards read. My vibe was on fire, I felt so bad about wrecking this wonderful, impossible thing. The card for her was “The Hangman,” and the theory was that, “At best this person has drug use issues, and at worst you will be trying to change someone who isn’t ready.” It went on, “If you are very patient and persistent, with time, there is a chance.” It was funny, how accurate the whole reading was. She said she couldn’t be herself around me. I realized, very late, that I had been wishing her into someone more perfect for me, instead of accepting her for who she was. I kept waiting for the situation to change, to magically improve. One great problem with not seeing someone you love is that you can project qualities onto him or her that your subconscious needs or wants to air out. You idealize them. You want to overlook the difficult parts that you don’t like. But it doesn’t mean that those things go away. Instead, they get more pressurized.

After I finish sorting through this mess of feelings, the wrecked passion, I will awake back in my life in New York, in the middle of three projects. But her face is burned in my mind. She was so beautiful when she opened the door to let me in, just five days ago. The love surging through me was so intense, I was almost overwhelmed. So much passion and intensity. Then to be asked to leave. Even lovingly, after all this time part. And to never see her again. Wow. It makes me sad. It really fucks me up.

So, it rains in Montreal. The people don’t care; the weather doesn’t care. I said goodbye on Monday night. I haven’t really been here since then. But I will say it another time. One last time. Goodbye Sonia, Goodbye Montreal. I don’t think I will see either of you again.

I can sum up what's going on in my life with the following:

2009-02-24T22:29:00.001-05:00

Well, it's too bad you can't offer anything during the few days that I am actually here. To see you. I spent time and money to get here. Even if you're sick, you could still have spent some time with me.
I hoped that something good would come of this trip and it turned into a fucking
nightmare.
There's an open invitation for you to be in touch while I am here. If you chose not
to, that's okay. If you can't figure anything out to talk to me about, that's okay, too.
I tried. Whatever is left is up to you.
If you can't offer anything, then good bye.
I can't believe the incredible failure this trip has been.

Some news from Brooklyn!

2009-02-19T17:33:00.001-05:00

Local Elves Squirt Juice on Residents

A group of seven to twelve elves has recently taken up residence in Vinegar Hill! The elves are very shy and spend most of their time in the small compound that’s set-back from the road and hidden by several trees!

The earliest evidence of the elf-infestation was noted several weeks ago when a small group of faeries was seen flying from the F Train stop on York to the gates of the compound, which magically, it seemed, swung open! One witness, Melissa Fink, watched in awe as the faeries were greeted by two or three slovenly elves! “I waved to one of the little buggers,” Fink said, “And was quite thrilled to see an actual elf in the flesh.
“Then he walked towards me! Imagine my excitement. I was actually thinking of asking him out! But instead of talking, he squirted me in the face with some sort of sticky juice. It was sweet tasting and he shot it from his finger! I was appalled! Then the little bastard ran away, the flying things disappeared and the gate closed. I didn’t know whether to be thrilled or angry. I chose angry!”
Since then, Ms. Fink and a few others who have been sprayed by these wily little devils have protested the elves’ compound occasionally. “Only when we feel like,” one of the protesters said.
Paneling looked into the ownership of the parcel and, apparently, the compound has been under the ownership of R. Stiltskin for the last two hundred years! Wow! He’s old. Give me whatever he’s having!
Rumor has it that some of the elves eat at local restaurants, so keep your eyes peeled, but don’t get too close, or you might wind up needing a shower! Ah, the wonders of DUMBO just keep unfolding before our eyes!

Rainy Wednesday...

2009-02-18T16:47:00.001-05:00

Outside, it’s rainy and cold. The loose downspout in the building across the street pours water onto its shorter neighbor next door. The East River is gray, boat traffic is quiet and the neighborhood is quiet. Since 2005, I’ve sat at this desk and looked at this view innumerable times while writing and editing. Each day has its own special qualities and has its own demands. A day like today is for thinking back and taking stock.

Sunny Winter's Day in NYC

2009-02-16T14:55:00.002-05:00

Just hanging out at my apartment this President's Day. Not much going on at the moment, while huge amounts of stuff of stuff is floating nearby, waiting for me to keep pushing it along.
We've been running some video arts tests here at my place and that's been fun and interesting. The projector is hooked up top my computer and we can bring live work from anywhere in the world, here into my place and blow it up to 15'x6'. It's pretty wonderful, though not incredibly original. More work and venues in the pipeline, as well. Should be an interesting Spring.

Last night, after working out in the city, I had a chance to walk to the grocery store and check out the Sunday evening vibe. It was very chill, not too many people about, the stores on 5th Ave.'s lights still on, but closed otherwise. It was as if the city was resting, taking a deep breath, which I guess, it continued doing today, the holiday.

Tomorrow we'll be back to worry and the roller-coaster stock market, but today and last night, it was nice out. Not too cold, everything felt reasonable, even pleasant, for winter time.

What else..? I went to a party on Friday. It was crazy, there must have been about a hundred people in a Williamsburg loft with a penthouse. The owner of the place and party host, was a very nice guy, but I couldn't see what you want with that many people crawling around your place. I mean, I have art events here, so it's almost the same thing, I suppose, but it's not quite. But maybe I am missing something. Or maybe I am 40 now and not all that excited about seeing a ton of people I don't know and will never know. It's NYC, I get that on the streets every day! Hmmm...

The editing for my new mini-collection of stuff is about done, though my writing group keeps canceling. Everyone here is ill. I would guess there's about 4 different types of winter illnesses going around. Quite ickey! It does make one rethink about living in a cold climate. I mean, if you have a choice, why not live somewhere warm and lush? The thought haas been crosssing my mind more these days.

On living in different place: Let's talk Berlin. The economy has definitely affected my plans to get a place there and start working. Travelers aren't renting my place like they were and one wonders about the future of volatility. If you could invest in volatility (can you?), I would say that you could make some money. Judging by the last several years (weather, economy, terrorism, George Bush), I can say with confidence that I am unconfident about the return of stability in the upcoming decades. Get in shape! Watch you shit! Is that what we're looking forward to?

Oh well.

So, art events and more writing coming soon. Trying to kick it and enjoy the winter by sleeping extra and drinking less.

Ahhhh, it's Friday in NYC

2009-01-30T17:17:00.002-05:00

Well, the good news is that my story, "Greatest Hits" has just been picked up for publication by University of Texas-Pan American in Edinburg, Texas. Great! I'm glad people still read short stories and value them enough to put 'em out in journals.
So, that's hip, hop, happening. Yeow! Whaaa...?

Otherwise, I've been writing and doing some editing and stuff. Prepping some new work. I think I can get some more stuff done in the months ahead. Thinking of collecting some of the writing from Paneling and putting that out, like I did several years back. there's some funny stuff in there.

besides that, my close, close friend, Wolf Vest has revived his stupid comic strip, "Why I Drink" and that should be appearing on the Paneling sit in the next few months. Mr. Vest doesn't have a scanner and lives in cardboard box in a little park on Adams St. right below the BQE. A nice fella, but he's got issues.

Okay, it's time to go work out. I've been watching "Pumping Iron" lately and pondering the use of steroids! I want to be huge! In Japan!

That's about it. Gotta go!

Tons of New Stuff at Paneling Website:

2009-01-30T17:16:00.000-05:00

Two month's worth of excitement and good times over at:
http://auldepaneling.tumblr.com/
check it out. please...?

Just thinking about Winter

2009-01-28T16:48:00.000-05:00

Winter 2009
Leo Kelbs

I awoke in the small, northern-most bedroom of my little house in the woods to the clanking sound of the radiator as the heating system tried to keep up with the extreme mid-winter cold. My bed was right up against the northern wall, under a window, which poured cold air down the closed drapes and onto my head. The air was almost liquid as it cascaded over my ears, eyes, my face. I pulled the blankets up until only my face was exposed.

Out the other window and through the leafless, reaching branches of the backyard’s trees, I could see Mars, flashing red and bright from wherever it was to me in the freezing little room. In all the years I had been staying there, I had never seen Mars through the branches. I lay there quietly (there was no other way to be unless you were a radiator) and stared at Mars and realized that to be so cold, the night sky must also be very clear.

A few days before, on a similar, night, I decided to walk down a hundred yards or so to the river. From there, down the snow-covered steps and onto the river ice, which I could safely cross all the way to Wisconsin on the opposite shore. The walk down was pretty and strange and each flake of snow was so cold it made a scratchy noise when moved. Every piece, frozen, alone, no clumping, no joining into snowballs or thoughts of melting, re-freezing and turning into ice, just flying up, shaking against each other, then falling back down.

The moon wasn’t visible, but the usual fantastic spangle of stars was in full display. A few days before, when I first arrived, I closed the car door and started up. It’s always a thrill to see bright starts again after a few weeks of the city’s imitation moonlight. I could see Orion and it ties me back to Newcastle on Australia’s Eastern coast. Orion was also visible there, but across the way lay the Southern Cross, which, of course, is nowhere to be seen in the northern American wilds. But we shared Orion and the night I was on the beach, a few weeks before, with friends, staring at the Southern Cross and the falling stars, shooting stars and other constellation rarely viewed by Northern Hemisphere eyes, was with me then and time shifted a little to accommodate both moments and join them together.

The river’s white surface glowed under the star’s pale blue light. “Never walk on the ice. Ever.” It’s the safest way to never fall through in transitional periods. But now was safe. I could see Wisconsin’s slumbering trees indistinctly waiting for me. I crouched down and put my face close to the snow covered ice and looked at the broad white expanse, made uniform under the light. Then I heard the groan of ice forming down below and decided that the middle river’s deep gully, cold and filled with slow-moving fish, as far under the ice as it was, was no place for me to tread. Maybe an adventurous snow-mobiler, but not for me. Everything was perfect as it was and I was happy.

Back inside my cold room, days later, I thought about being on the ice again. I wondered if I shouldn’t have crossed over. But why? It didn’t really matter. Besides, the river’s dangers are mysterious and more complicated than most people realize. Funny things happen to those alone, in rivers, on rivers, at night. Nature throws up surprises that thrive on human sacrifice. Quietly. Then goes about its business as if nothing had happened.

But now I was restless. Mars kept flashing its red and white signal. For what? I didn’t know, but I crept out of my bed and into the cabin’s chilly air. I made my way down the dark hallway and into the little living room from which I would able to see a good part of the river’s white expanse, the opening between the trees and all the stars that shimmered behind.

Nothing moved other than the flashing glimmer from Mars. It reminded me of a store sign in Asia. I thought about the discussion of possible life on Mars and wondered if the planet was intentionally trying to attract our attention. Maybe something lives below the surface and it needs help? The thoughts we have at night…

I could see my footprints, the only ones, through the snow, to the river bank. They existed too, just as they were when I created them. When was that? Just a few days ago. Nothing moved. Mars flashed. The living room radiator made a unique-sounding clank. I sighed, filled my eyes and memory with all of this, walked back down the dark hallway to my room, climbed back into the bed and under the covers and went back to sleep. When I woke up the next day, it would be to return to the city.

Here's a New Story... Kick it!

2009-01-22T16:03:00.000-05:00

Layaway
By Leo Kelbs

“Five minutes!” the dispatcher said to George. You never know if it will be “Five minutes,” “Fifteen,” or if the car service simply won’t answer. It had been snowing and ungodly cold, so George thought maybe fifteen. But it was five. And that’s how long he had to organize the rest of his outfit and get ready for dinner with his friends.

These days, dressing wasn’t the easy activity that it used to be. It required care. You had to think about which neighborhood you would be dining in and what company. These were days when the fancy stores stripped their bags of all adornment and the untouchably well-heeled were uncomfortable showing off in front of their friends—many of whom slipped into “financial touchability,” and many of these newly touchables were being manhandled. Or worse. Suddenly there was value in a lower profile. Better to look like a nice, clean-lined, well-cut brown bag than a logo-encrusted marketing tool. It was a new depression and everyone felt it.

The custom hunting jacket looked great with the big, shawl collared sweater underneath. Right out of 1924! It was a bit much, George realized. But then, when do you wear stuff like that if not now, for a winter’s dinner with you closest friends? They, just like George, were also suffering. And he considered the dinner destination: a comfortable Thai place on the East Side. Hmmmm. The outfit was a little over-the-top for the neighborhood. But the fellows were coming straight from work, so they would be in suits. George compromised, put some nice jeans and tennis shoes on and went with the jacket, sweater combo. “God, this outfit fits so well. It’s so well made, it feels great,” he said to himself as he slipped his leather gloves on and hopped into the back of the warm town car.

Greg was waiting for him at the bar when he arrived. He was wearing one of his regular, which means better than average, office suits. George was relieved. “Hello, George! How goes it?” Greg asked with an unusual smile on his face.
“Fine,” George replied. “You seem to be in an awfully good mood.”
“Oh yeah, I just had my annual review. It went really well.” There had been many firings at Greg’s company since the economy began to slide. He was one of the last few standing, albeit with two or three times the work. “The only negative is that I am not, apparently, a ‘team player.’ But in a way, I think my supervisor likes that. He said I made up for it in other ways.”
“Like your amazing ability to be an asshole?” They laughed, “Well, that’s great news, we need to have a toast.” Drinks were ordered and George went on, “I guess the stress is off for a while, right?”
”Well, it was nice to hear. Still, there’s so much more work and no bonuses for the foreseeable future. It’s better than what Roger or Gerry have going. I don’t know what those guys are going to do, frankly.”
George answered, “I think Gerry got a job in Chicago.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, those guys are moving, as far as I know. But if things get bad in Chicago and he losses that job, after having moved again…”
Greg remembered, “Isn’t their kid in elementary school?”
“Junior high, I think.”
“Time flies.” Then the drinks arrived. “Well, here’s to not turning into an animal!”
“Here, here,” George replied listlessly as the pair clinked glasses.
“Ahh, you didn’t look me in the eye that time,” Greg said.
“I didn’t? Okay re-do.” And they did.

Their friend, Baker, arrived shortly after and the three were seated. “I’m only going to get a beer,” Baker said. He had been hit the worst. In fact, moderation had become a sort-of heroic, selfless act in the last few months. No one wanted to tempt their friends, who may be on a worse slide, by happily binge drinking, like the old days, only six months ago. It was a weird time.
“I was thinking about my old college job,” George said. “It was retail. This is before the internet. Anyway, this was what, 20 years ago? Okay, well, if a customer couldn’t pay, they could put stuff on lay-away. Do you remember that? That was before credit cards. You didn’t get whatever you bought until you paid it off, but there wasn’t interest and you could pay it off in, like, up to three months.”
“Credit cards took care of that,” Greg said. “I mean, why not have the thing right away and pay interest instead of waiting?”
“Maybe it’s a leftover from the first depression.” George said, “Trust mixed with verification? I’m not sure where it comes from, but the lay-away days were a long time ago.”
Baker chimed in, “You know my credit was frozen. For no reason. I didn’t do anything different, nothing happened. Sure, business is horrible, but I am paying my bills, just like always. I mean the credit card company totally changed the rules on me. Without any notification.”
“I suppose bankruptcies are going up. If foreclosures are incrasing, then bankruptcies are too,” Greg said.
“I like your suit,” George told Greg.
Baker asked, “Is that custom? It really fits you well.”
“No, it’s just one of my regular ones. It actually fits better than the custom ones. It’s about three times the price though, so I shouldn’t complain about custom.” Then they all thought, unbeknownst to each other and separately, that they would be wearing the clothes they currently owned for many years to come.

The table was quiet a moment. Then, “Shall we share a couple appetizers?” George asked.
“I’ll let you guys pick,” Baker answered.

After dinner the friends had another drink. But the talk was strained and depressing and there were so many new rules making themselves clear all the time that being together was becoming tiring instead of fun and supportive, like it had been. Though they were generally open and truthful about their respective situations, it was impossible to know what the other was really feeling. It was almost impossible to know what you yourself were feeling; everything had tumbled so fast. So much money had been lost and now the effects of a greater general slow-down were kicking in and no one knew what the future had to offer. As bad as it was, the three were okay compared to many others, but there was another shoe—or maybe a big Army boot—that was ready to drop. There were still wars going on, a new, impossible deficit and economies collapsing in pockets all across the world. There was no shortage of bad news and winter seemed to be going on forever. Thoughts like these loomed in the backs of their minds, manifesting themselves by making the hosts tired and desirous to find some other type of comfort or distraction.

Three separate cabs were entered and the friends went their separate ways, all towards their respective homes. It was emasculating, eating dinner at a discount restaurant and watching your spending. With only the confidence provided by his clothing, George sent a message to a girl he liked who lived near his place. He hadn’t seen her for a while, but she had called him a couple of times lately. She also had good taste. His neighborhood was a mix of those formerly with money and those who had never had any. Depending on the night, George could either be judged an elitist yuppie or one of the gang. If she showed up, it would be the latter and possibly better.

As the taxi crossed the river, George saw the Brooklyn Bridge sparkling a few hundred feet away. Then his phone went off. It was a message, maybe she would see him later on. She was busy for a while, but could meet up, at a local bar in an hour or so. “Good enough,” he thought. “I’ll see who is out anyway. Hell, maybe I’ll even meet someone new.” The few beers he had drank began to make him feel more and less human all at the same time. He could feel his chest tight underneath the hunting jacket. It felt good. He asked the car to drop him off outside of a convenience store where he bought a pack of fancy cigarettes. When a little tipsy, the hundreds of thousands of lost dollars slipped out of his mind and the good old days of 2007 were right back where they used to be. He lit up as he made his weirdly contented way down the street.

George shivered as he flicked the cigarette away and composed himself for the bar. He adjusted his collars, stood up straight and went inside. His girl friend would be a while, so he had to monitor his alcohol intake, in case she wanted to accompany him home. He was feeling pleasantly drunk and comfortable and sincerely wished for her company. Despite the fact that he hadn’t seen her in months, he took comfort in the fact that she was wealthy and a little vain. She wouldn’t mind, to the contrary, she would be happy that he was dressed up for a night in the city.

It was a mixed bag at the bar. Some wore outdoor work outfits and the artists, as always, proudly displayed their paint-splattered jeans. No suits. He felt a little stupid. “Hey George!” He looked over his shoulder at a friend of his, tottering drunk, but smiling and smelling strongly of marijuana. “What’s going on? You on a date?”
“No, just out in the city with friends. Having a drink on my way in.” He didn’t care to mention his possible rendezvous in case it didn’t happen. “You’re up a little late. Isn’t it a school night?” And he meant this literally; his friend was a teacher.
“Yeah, but I’m going home soon. Can I buy you a beer?”
“Sure. That’s great. As long as I can buy you one too.”
“We’ll see. What’s up? What were you doing in the city?”
“You know, talking about how crappy everything has gotten. One of my friends had his credit frozen and it’s messing up his company. The other guy basically got his work load doubled. You know. The crap that we’re living through. Just kind of a support group for friends.”
“I don’t know,” the teacher shrugged. “It doesn’t seem hat bad to me. sure, it’s on the news, but I haven’t had any problems.”
“Didn’t your 401K take a hit? I mean, I’m doing well compared to most other people, but I’ve lost a ton in that thing.”
The teacher replied, “No. I don’t have a lot in there. I haven’t made enough to where I worry about stuff like that. My wife worries, but we’re thinking we’ll be able to maybe afford our own place now. So, that’s good.”
“Yeah, that’s great!”
Just then, the door swung open and there as Rainna. She was decked out in some special designer wear, heels, walking straight and tall. All the men and most of the women turned to have a look. George and the teacher walked over, as if pulled. “Hey beautiful!” the teacher said as he moved closer. Rainna caught scent of him and made a little sneeze. George stayed a little behind, not wanting to appear to eager. He asked her if she wanted a drink, took her order, and let the teacher talk a while. “She’ll get sick of that soon enough,” he thought to himself. Then he handed her a glass of Malbec and the teacher his new beer. He put his foot up on the railing and acted as though he were deep in thought. All the while he kept tabs of the inane conversation.

After a few minutes, he felt the time was right to rejoin the twosome. He stood across from Rainna and made a “pot-smoking” face while the teacher went on. She laughed, went back to the teacher, but then gave George a few looks that he thought were quite dirty. Just little things. But he had seen them before and knew what they meant.

“Oh god!” she said. “I know what you mean. My computer just broke and it is totally killing me! I actually have to save up to get a new one!” George turned to her, a little confused, thinking that he as well-off. She always acted that way. “And my phone is dead, too. It’s ridiculous!” Her wine glass was empty.

“Can I get you another, Rainna?” he asked.
“Yes please, but maybe something different.” That meant more expensive. He eventually handed her a new glass and joined the conversation.
“It is really getting bad. My friends, you know Greg and Baker, they’re all experiencing various levels of difficulty. Me too, obviously. But, some of us are actually finding our situations improved. I mean, our friend here is looking at buying a new place!” The teacher raised his glass happily.
“Really?” Rainna asked. Her eyes growing slightly.
“Yep. Not quite yet, but soon!” The teacher’s eyes twinkled with drunkenness and a touch of true happiness.
“For god’s sake,” George said dramatically, “I need a cigarette. You?” Rainna nodded and followed him out the heavy glass door.

He offered her a smoke and she accepted. Then he lit both and they stood in the dark cold. “How have you been?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in months, since last year.”

“I’ve been working. You know, it’s crazy.” He didn’t know she had a job. “I’m always up on the Upper East Side, talking to clients, it’s driving me crazy. But, I have to save up. Like I said, my computer is dead and my phone only works from one spot in the whole neighborhood. When I get over there, I have to stand outside in the freezing wind and, like, 52 messages and voicemails pop up. It’s ridiculous. Here, look at it.” She pulled out a battered silvery thing with a cracked glass cover. “Can you believe that? I can’t really take it anymore.”
“Huh,” he said as he flicked the ash of the cigarette. He could see the smoke holding together in its wispy tendrils as it rose away from them. Up above their individual smoke strings intermingled before dissipating, alone again, 25 feet above. He thought about her body. He shivered. It would be nice to not be alone again. And cold. He looked back at Rainna and smiled.
“I’ve been saving for a month to replace this stuff,” she said as she put her phone back in her huge purse. “I’m at a point where I would do about anything to get the money I need.” She didn’t look at him, but at the ember of her cigarette. She crossed her arms, ashed a bit and laughed. “Pretty much anything. Legal or illegal,” she said, then she looked right at George. “I can’t afford to be without anymore.”

George thought back to the year before, all the dinners they had shared, the fancy places. Then he thought back to buying her things, small gifts, whatever. Then he knew. Someone had taken his place. And that someone could no longer afford Rainna. She was back if he wanted her.

But it would cost. What would he take for his money? He thought through all his dirty fantasies. All this while she looked at him, smoking, cocking her head a little and smiling. She was pretty. But she had slipped too far and there was nothing for it. “Well,” he said, as he flicked the un-smoked remains of the cigarette away, “It’s too bad you can’t put that stuff on layaway.”
“I remember layaway,” she said. “That’s funny. Layaway.” She paused. “The world isn’t like that anymore.”
“How about I buy you another glass of wine?”
She said yes and smiled at him almost warmly. He held the door for her and they went back inside.

Here's a little something...

2009-01-14T14:35:00.001-05:00

Local Man Walks Across Street, Criticizes Neighbors

Each afternoon, just like clockwork, one longtime local resident walks across the street from his live/work space, lights up a cigarette and, under his breath (or to anyone within earshot), criticizes his neighbors. When asked why, the smoking complainer said, “Well, that guy is a douchebag, I mean, look at his clothes. Fucking newcomer!” When asked if he actually has talked to the passerby, our friend said, “I would never stoop to his level.” The passerby went about his business.

Later that evening, our complaining friend was seen, standing on the same corner, along with some other patrons of a nearby bar. He smoked a joint as he talked, never offering a puff to any of the friends. It’s no wonder that a person might mistake barroom camaraderie for actual friendship when one’s life is generally lived within a 50-meter area. His assessment of recent changes in the neighborhood was punctuated with doobie-wielding gestures. The cigarette smokers looked helplessly at the glowing tip of his joint and nodded on in hopeful anticipation.

The spell was broken when another newcomer, this one from the giant high-rise down the street, walked past. “That guy is a douche!” our corner judge spat as the target of derision crossed the street. “Fuck that asshole!” Then another puff off his joint, and finally, “So what have you been up to lately?” And the joint was crushed out beneath the heel of his work boot.

After a few more cigarettes and a couple of hours drinking with certified old-timers, our complaining friend said good-bye to the bartender and walked the 30 paces back to his space. Inside, the familiar companions of lonely men everywhere: ashtrays and porn. Another night alone. But, there is tomorrow to look forward to, the walk to the corner, the defense of his turf against the ever-increasing number of new douchebags. He shakes his head as he lays down. “Fuck those assholes,” he mutters as he falls off to sleep.

Ahh, Happy New Year. So much Happening...

2009-01-10T09:56:00.002-05:00

Oh my lord. Upon departing Seoul, it was 11.5 hours down to Sydney. One great thing about traveling with my buddy Ole, is that he has all these memberships to various skymiles clubs, so I was able to chill out and eat turkey while waiting for the plane to Sydney. Plus, there was free internet and massage chairs--pretty exciting stuff.
Then down to Sydney, where it was warm and fantastic, straight to the train to Newcastle, where I hung out with my friends, the Hartsuykers and Accardis for a couple of days. I've been visiting them every few years since 1987! Yikes!
The beach in Newcastle was lovely as were the kids and everyone else. Free tickets to the Newcastle Jets soccer game--the Jets lost!--just like last time.
Then it was off to Sydney for New Years with my friends Stu and Lisa, as well as Gav Barbey, the artist. The sad part of all that was I decided it was time to end the long-distance relationship with a woman I really love, but whom I can never see, based on travel visa issues between the US and her country. It really sucked and colored the rest of the trip. I mean, if I can't see someone unless I get on an airplane and leave my life, it wears a person down. And there are so many other factors to consider like visiting my mom in Minnesota and my dad in Texas and getting to Berlin to work on expanding my arts business, and staying in NYC to focus on my existing arts business and, all of this, while the economy slides quickly down and down and while my interests in my family businesses are also uncertain--certainly not great or even good. And I need to finish my new short book, too. I just can't do it all at the same time and it hit me and the whole thing made me very sad. It's so tough to meet people you actually think you could build something with. It is almost like a cruel joke played on me (us?) by fate. But, whatever.
Anyway, as depressed as I was, sitting on Stu and Lisa's porch overlooking Bondi Beach, and, further, Sydney Harbour was great. A bathtub full of beer and a bunch of new people on whose shoulders I could cry on! I t wasn't so bad, especially after I couldn't remember anything anymore.

What else...?
Back in Seoul, I picked up some custom made shirts and jackets, then, pretty much was back on a plane to NYC.
NYC greeted with dark tidings of the year to come. Brutal phone calls and ickey looks at my portfolio had me wondering what to do about Berlin plans. It's amazing that things can change so quickly in just a few months.
On Wednesday evening, I met up with my first girlfriend ever who was visiting NYC from Minnesota. I wasn't up for much, as I was pretty much exhausted, after a good celebrity-fest (more below) and a night of cooking and socializing at home, as well as serving on jury duty earlier that morning/afternoon.
Jury duty: not so bad, except the fact that the 1 1/2 hour lunch break allowed me lots of time to wander around outdoors in the freezing, windy drizzle of Brooklyn Heights. The worst turkey burger ever went into my stomach. No useable internet service, and not a lot of direction as to jd procedures had me feeling ready for a major nap upon re-entry into home area.
No time for rest! Must meet with the ex. I had explained to my mother that I thought my ex would try to proposition me. It's just how she is, even after four kids and a marriage. Then I thought that idea was just plain silly, retarded, even. My mom didn't like the notion and I gave it up.
Until...
She told me she was planning on divorce.
So, I was right, though nothing happened, of course, as the whole thing was scuttled from this end. You just cannot go back into the past. I couldn't do it. Besides, there was the person I couldn't see who I was thinking of all the time, even as reality subsumed our romantic hopes for the future.
The breaking up thing has been hard. Really hard and I wonder if it is for the best. Then I realize how mush effort it has taken just to see each other and get to know one and other. If it is meant to be, it will work. That's about all I can say about it and where I go when it gets me down.
Maybe there's hope out there somehow. But, as of yet, I can only find bits of it that don't add up to doable. My brain, however, keeps trying.

Celebrity Fest:
Upon reentry into NYC's atmosphere, I made a trip with friend to a secret bar near the West side highway. After a few minutes of drinking Gruner Veltliner and unburdening myself of the break-up issues, who should show up but Sean Penn (CODE:Orange) along with Josh Brolin (CODE:Orange) and some old guys. They all smelled like cigarettes and BO. After a few fun-filled minutes, I turned to see Robert Downey, Jr. show up (CODE:Orange). The three celebrities left for a bit, presumably to do some weight-controlling drugs, then Brolin and Penn reappeared. I don't think anyone was drinking, but they were loud and very guy-like. No one was stressed or weirded out and that made me happy. They all looked old.
But I'm 40 now, so, you know...
Since all of this, I have acquired a chest cold and have been laid-up in my apartment with heater on and humidifier blasting away. Lots of sleep. It's good to sleep when staying awake has you depressed and thinking about impossible situations. Well, hopefully not impossible.
Okay, time to keep trying to get better.

Back to Minnesota next week, by the way. Frances Gumm will be playing on the radio, January 20th, then a live show on Friday, January 23rd at the 331 Club. Hope to see all you good people there.

Merry Christmas from Seoul, S. Korea!

2008-12-25T04:51:00.002-05:00

Hello Freindly Humans,
Here at the Seoul airport, prepping for the flight to Sydney. It's been a fun and interesting trip, as usual. My friend Nate and his wife, Mikyong, lead us through various parts of the city, where we drank sojo and ate a variety of Korean dishes. No dog, though. Oh yes, my Norwegian pal, Ole is along for the ride and I reckon he's had a good time, as well. He's handy to travel with since he's a "awards club" member, or some such stuff. So, instead of sitting at the gate, we got to eat special airport holiday turkey and get free internet. Kick it, yo!

But the holidays have brought a special surprise: my gross new flabby stomach! Fantastic! It's been meats and $15 Heinekins! I must say though, despite the expensive beer, the Grand Hyatt was quite nice. A great view and, in general, great everything.

Hmmm...Discrimination report!
Two cabbies refused to give us white guys a ride last night, even though we were with Nate's wife, who is Korean. I believe Nate actually slapped the second guy. these were old Korean dudes (like all the cabbies in Seoul), except they were especially nasty. It made one long to be in Itaewon, the neighborhood where they don't hate white people. It sort of sucked, because we didn't know where we were headed.
It's interesting because my father can be quite racist, at times. He is also an old man. Could there be some correlation between racist thoughts (and actions) and aging in men? I am sure there is much more to it, but we all found that to be an interesting topic last night.
Also...Last night we stopped at a "music bar" where the acoustic was handed out to some patrons to sing, mostly, sad, Korean ballads. Very sad, I guess. Anyway, Mikyong, without my knowledge, set it up for me to perform. I didn't know what was going on, so I went with it and did three tunes on vocals and guitar, then a coupkle more Elvis cuts on vocals, along with "Rudolph the Reindeer."
Good audience response! Oh my lord!
Okay, time to head to the gate. Lots more to tell when I get to Newcastle and re-access the internet at Ann's place.
Summer, here I come.
Next stop New South Wales.
Merry Christmas from the other side of the world. Thinking of all my friends and family,
Leo

Greetings from Early Winter

2008-12-10T13:33:00.002-05:00

Early December in Montreal, for me anyway, comes complete with cold and snow, gray skies, and djs galore. If not a j in some corner spinning away, it's volume up disco in the lobby, in the restaurant, everywhere. I think in Montreal there are two djs per every citizen. It's as if djs are following you, stalking you?
The djs have clearly defeated the graffiti artists in this town. The buildings are too old to be spray-painted. You wouldn't guess that some of these structures date back hundreds and hundreds of years. You know, the French and English fought over these freezing parts just after the American civil war. Did you know, the Catholic Church told the embattled French citizens to have children in order to not lose their place in (post defeat to the English) Montreal?
And somehow, an excess of djs is the result.
The whole club culture really is a big deal up here. Lots of drinking, and loyalty to particular sub-genres. Maybe it's the winters. In Minnesota, one could surmise that long winters helped get the angsty rock scene rolling back in the day. Maybe young people turned out to the clubs here? Seems like a legit thought.
As for me, I'm sitting the lobby of a nice hotel, Christmas lights twinkling, snow on the ground, other guests and staffers milling around near the free espresso machine, listening to disco music on the pa system and sending this message out to you.
Leaving tomorrow.

Rainy Sunday Evening

2008-11-30T16:58:00.002-05:00

With football blasting behind me, I'm taking a minute to connect with anyone out there who might be reading. As mentioned above, it's dark outside and wet--only 5 p.m. Ahhh, winter...Nothing much happening today. Had some people over last night, drank wine, watched SNL and listened to records. Made a bunch of food. Pretty fun times. Rather lonely though. Everyne always splits--which is great, but it is still weird to wind up alone so often. Hmmmm.....

Visited Sam Osterhout's Bday bash last night too. That was fun. A good group of smart, interesting people. Anything in the East Village is great and I have to say that Sam and Mass' place was really nice. And, they're engaged! Kick it! Man, marriage! Yikes! They'll make it though, they have some good magic. Really fun.

Speaking of nice couples, Fredrik and Sanj hosted Thanksgiving and extended so much hospitality that I was full until yesterday. Geez. The turkey looked overcooked, but turned out perfect! It's no wonder my turkeys always need to be put back in the oven for another 45 minutes. Good lord! The view of Brooklyn from their balcony was great, so I spent a lot of time out there looking towards Dumbo and Williamsburg. There's a building blocking the view between, otherwise, they are right across the river from me. Pretty cool.

Okay, I better take care of travel issues. Going to Seoul and Sydney soon!

Greeting Fellow Humans

2008-11-24T01:54:00.002-05:00

I've been very lazy with the blog lately. Deeply involved in my deep and serious thoughts on the universe and all things "cosmic..." Okay, never mind that. Let's start with...
"CELEBRITY FEST 2008" Crazy times in NYC? You bet. Me and Norwegian scat artist (not THAT kind of scat!) were chatting over beers last week, when I noticed this woman looking over at me and telling her boyfriend something. I thought, "Well, that woman knows quality when she sees it," then went back to the conversation. A few minutes later, Ole tells me that some "B-List Celebrity from the Entourage" was just standing next to you. Did you see how stupid those girls started acting when they saw him. So pathetic..."
"Was it that Jeremy Piven (CODE:Yellow) guy? He's in a play right now."
"Yes, it was that guy. Anyway, the point is how bored these people are and how they crave celebrity."
And here I thought it was me.

What else?

The small closing of my last art show happened a couple weekends ago. It was a very chill event, super good vibe, more contained and less crazy than the opening, which was extremely well attended. Thus, highly stressful. We had a chef on hand and a new selection of really fantastic wine, as well as a special crowd and, of course, some bad ass art work.

Most of the work is gone now, and I ill miss the three bright pink bitches with the two fighting dogs. One sans head.

The next show will be video-based. Sorting it out now. To open late winter.
Otherwise, prepping for a trip to Texas, another one to Canada, then to Seoul and Sydney.
Kick it.
Hmmmmmmmm...
Well, I also have a cold. It's been kinda nasty freezing out here. A little too quick of a start to winter. I've also been run down from all the running around. I've actually been running too, which contributes to the problem, while making me feel better, at the same time. Weird.
Looks like I will not be doing my annual Thanksgiving exercise for the first time in a while. Too much running, too many openings, too good of an invitation to a nice, sit-own thing where I won't have to do anything other than eat turkey and accompaniments. I'll take it.

My last book in the series of ten should be done by the holidays, though I have no idea how. I need one more story, but haven't gotten anything down. Ideas? Yeah, sue. Always. Too many. Too many distractions. I hate the digital age.
But, there's one really good story going in already. Pretty happy about that.
Okay, better run.
take it easy!

NEW DUMBO PANELING ONLINE!

2008-11-24T01:53:00.001-05:00

Czech the link:
http://auldepaneling.tumblr.com/
and you can see all the magic that is the current issue. It's actually kind of good.

Oh Canada!

2008-11-13T17:51:00.003-05:00

Greetings from rainy, cold Montreal. I'm kicking it over at the St. Paul Hotel in the old part of the city.
It's been an interesting trip. I got up into the country a ways, encountered some snow and lots of terrain that brought Montana to mind. High country, cold, mountain rivers and water falls. It was very pretty.
I have been spending some time with a friend of mine, an interpreter, writer and translator, and that's been pretty fun. We drank a lot of wine last night and listened to music and went out to eat.
The food here is really better than it should be. I've been to Moishe's steak house and that was insanely (expensive, too) good. Also, the smoked meat sandwich I enjoyed yesterday afternoon was something, too. It's a Montreal specialty: smoked, corned beef, I think, some mustard--everything with coleslaw and a pickle--like a Jewish deli. Lots of places like that around. Great pizza,too. Actually better than NYC, I hate to admit. I'm getting fat! Too much eating, drinking of the wine.
I did manage a 2.75 mile run in the freezing cold last night. FREEZING. I ran up the hill which plays host to the University of Montreal. I was going to run around this big cemetery, but it was closed. I guess this cemetery is really pretty and all the important Canadians are buried there. Pierre Trudeau is one name I recognized. But alas, it was up, up, up hill. I felt kind of weird running around a college campus with all the students carrying their books back to the dorm rooms. I hoped I looked like an industrious, health-minded professor instead of an almost lost tourist. I was asked for directions--in French--by some car-bound students, so maybe I passed. Until I answered back, in English, that I was not from these parts. They drove on and I kept running to the tippity top of the hill, then I turned and sped back down.
Obama is also big news up here. Bigger than the Canadian elections which are still being played out. Otherwise, I haven't had much television or radio, for that matter.
Not much else to say. I'm fine, chilling solo at my place. It's the nicest hotel I've been to up here.
It is amazing that there is this French-speaking city all by itself on Canada's Eastern-most edge. The people have a slight chip on their shoulder--not sure if they are better than everyone else, or worse. It's interesting and reminds me a little bit of Australia's "Cultural Cringe."
Okay, time to go lift weights. I had hoped to get more writing done, but I have been a lazy slob. Very lazy, indeed. Meanwhile, the US economy keeps getting worse and worse and I wonder how much more traveling I will be able to do, how many more fantastic restaurants I will be able to enjoy, how many fine hotels, before I have to wrap it all up for a while and go conservative. What a depressing thought.
Oh well.

Autumn Almanac

2008-10-22T18:23:00.002-04:00

My back hurts!

Monday was boat winterization day. Plus, dock getting up the hill time. The dock got hung up and my back got a little torqued. But, hey, nothing a run and a stretch didn't fix. Until the log splitting extravaganza that was Tuesday. Beef stew for dinner. It turned out pretty damn good, I have to tell you. No running last night though, too much renewed back pain. Really, it was enough exercise, getting all that split. Brian Hall did the cutting. Fantastic!

Lots of stress dreams about the Twin Town High release show tomorrow. It's the 10th Anniversary and I forgot about it, until my dream calendar reminded me. It turns out the bases are about covered and I will be attending with Brent Ashley, former band mate (LTD Action) and Am Rep rep. Good feller. Prior to attending the show, I will be making the rounds to Dr. Jim R.'s place and Brent+family's, as well. Got to see the kids. All the kids.
Speaking of...
Just saw Baby Mama last night. It was way better than the reviews. I really liked it. It made me feel old. Leold. About to be 40. Kick it. Lots of Birthdays right now. Fantastic. What...?
Okay, I'm going to run back to the cabin to snuggle in for a lengthy evening of eating and television watching. Debating a visit to Tangled Up in Blue (Bleu). Probably not. Want a wine/beer break. Give the body a rest. It's raining now, so running tonight might be out. It may stop, maybe. But the road is new now and there is no white line to follow in the dark. Dangerous road-kill situation, not having that precious white line.

Okay, no writing to speak of. But I did get a lot of winter-prep stuff done, so I have a feeling of accomplishment anyway. Watching that pile of wood grow, then shrink into organized stacks makes you feel pretty good.

Oh yeah, I did leave my board post at Dumbo Art Center. Just no way to keep contributing. Not in Dumbo very much and just not as interested (for various reasons) as I used to be. Better left to those who can contribute more. I wish them all the best of luck. The annual art festival is a big deal and an important thing for many people from all over the world.

Okay, bye!

Frances Gumm Rocks out (again..?) in Minneapolis

2008-10-20T14:45:00.003-04:00

Yes, it's true. we did what the headline says. We played 14 songs, took a break and then played 6 more. Bedlam theater is a cool spot, we had Joan from story Hole reading and her boyfriend, Soupcan (aka Tom Siler) was in the house, as well. I gave him a Harley T-shirt! Kick it. He was representing with his Dad's biker coat, resplendent with big, silver eagle and lots of other patches and pins. A great visit. Tom and Joan used to live in Brooklyn, but the city wore them down. Who doesn't understand that feeling? Yikes!

Randall Throckmorton and Andy, the saw guy, were in the house along with Tim Boehm and a clutch of other cool humans. It was a fun time, well worth the drive and self-roadieing. Is that a word? Definitely a state of mind.

Look for new Youtube videos soon!

Okay, time to attend to other matters.

Coffee Talk news

2008-10-20T14:24:00.002-04:00

Ahh yes, back at Coffee Talk in lovely autumn Taylors Falls, MN. Super chilling out here, no plans until Thursday, no visitors, just gotta prep my boat for the coming winter months, which I will likely do today.
The light is amazing here. All the ambers, coppers, remaining green in the leaves filters this raking autumnal light, leaving these intensely vivid and glowing shades and hues. With a brilliant, virtually cloudless blue sky behind it all.
Of course, missing Helmut. And there are three Shepherds sitting here right now, ridiculously well-trained dogs. Very pretty, but not nearly as nice as Helmut. He was the best. I miss him (dream about him a lot) so much. I hope he's chasing squirrels in doggy heaven.
It was funny, actually. A few days ago, I was talking to some of the Coffee Talk regulars, we were joking about marriage and divorce. I finally said, "You know, it's my dog I really miss..." and everyone laughed. but it was a sad laugh of knowing. Bittersweet truth about why dogs are better than people (total love and commitment--based on food?), something humans have a tough time doing.
My friend Sonia in Montreal sent some picture of her partying with friends--that was awful nice of her. Drunk people at a table! fantastic! At least they are all good-looking.

About Saturday Night:
I knew it was going to be fun, maybe Hillbilly crazy. So, I made sure to get a good run in (up to Trumpeter Trail and back--3.25 miles), then I took a nap, which consisted of me watching "Guns of Navarone" for an hour.
Tater fired up a pretty big bonfire out back. Random people (mostly guys, as always) showed up with lots of beer and cigarettes. The neighbor, nicknamed "Bat Masterson," for his reliability and good nature, made barbecue pork sandwiches and we all embarked on a beer drinking, sandwich-eating festival under the bright blue sky, then the jewelry stars. Lots of talking, really fun stuff.
I only see many these people once or twice a year, but after 10 years, we've gotten to know each other. Lots of blather about Berlin, writing, Morgan the big farm-raised guy is coming to New York, his, kind of slow, brother, lost his virginity (at 22), jokes, drunken Tater, (a dog breeder just mentioned some remaining semen!), this, that, birthdays just past and just ahead, the brilliant stars, occasional boats up and down the river. No cold, the fire is huge, clean and brilliant!
The night before, I took all of my ex-wife's remaining vinyl LPs and burned them until they turned to a black slag, then disappeared completely. A weirdly non-cathartic happening. Just house-cleaning. Many of them were originally from here parents. So long to all of those people finally. It's been three years since the end began and now it's all over. There's virtually nothing connecting the old days to now. But the black smoke seemed toxic and terrifying. But it's the last of that kind of smoke.
Back to last night:
Eventually, a fellow with a light attached to his hat shoed up with lots of stuff: pieces of metal, a television, etc. He had arrived to set up a television outside, so we could watch the boxing match. It was a pay per view thing and he had to install a satellite receiver, everything. And, as we watched, with beers in hand, joking and talking, poking the fire, that's exactly what he did. An hour later those of us left, sat under the stars, warmed by the big fire, beers in hand, watching a pretty good boxing match, by the river, on the gorgeous night of the 18th of October, in the year 2008. Hillbilly paradise!

NYC Update

2008-10-14T16:45:00.002-04:00

Hello Fellow Humans,

Oh Yes! Oh, well, no, actually. The offer I made in Berlin wasn't accepted. That's a disappointment. But, there's also a lot of learning going on here. I'll make a plan shortly to return and continue the search. There were many good qualities to the place, but I am sure there are other places of equal or greater interest. Also, the endless uncertainty in the marketplace--here and in Germany--gives one reason to not fear a pause in financial activities. So, we'll see what happens with that. More news later...

Otherwise, it's been warm here in New York. Muggy. My place smells funny since the wall was soundproofed--all the dust everywhere seems to be holding stinky stuff--airing it out right now and will be doing some cleaning tomorrow, as well.
The waterfalls were shut off today. I saw cranes prepping to take them down. There goes summer. Kinda depressing.

I've also been working on the bridge projection situation. No information forthcoming. Which is depressing. The project earlier this year was such a good success and DOT told me they wanted to go forth. But there are a lot of politics in tiny Dumbo and I may be running into that.

In other arts news: My assistant got a full-time+ job, so we're without her now. That's sad, Keegan was good and fun too work with. Smart young lady. I'm sure she'll do great! But the economy is so bad, I'm holding out on replacing her. I mean, the opening here had 120+ visitors. we did 30+ art tours over the weekend and no one asked for a price list! Good bless you, George Bush and friends. thank you for fucking the country up so much. I wonder what will happen to galleries that are already a little bit on the edge. This could be a tough year. Thank God for my thrifty business model.

Okay, laundry time!!! Then a meeting with one of the artists in the current show. Kick it. Then off to the gym for some fun times with weights!

Bye

Guten Tag, Meinen Freunden!

2008-10-10T07:24:00.001-04:00

Giant Excitement?
October 2008
Berlin

Well, I made an offer on a loft along the Landwehrkanal in Kreuzberg. We’ll see how it plays out the next few days. It’s a nice space—opening up to courtyard—second floor. Lots of art businesses and residences there. The best thing is how close it is to the walkways and bridges along the and over the canal. Plus, Goerlitzer Park is two blocks away on the other side and there are some spectacular ruins of Communist era monuments in that park.

Otherwise, everything has evened out. The place I’m staying is okay now—the internet works and I’ve been able to get my business done. I haven’t done too many fun tourist things—I haven’t even visited my friend Judith who works at Upstairs Gallery in Mitte. Actually, I’ve hardly seen any of my friends while I’ve been in town. Connecting has been difficult and doing business is my priority on this trip.

Also, my friend Sonia and I have been trying to do stuff together since we never see each other, so there’s been a lot of time juggling going on.

I ran into Melissa and Elias a couple nights ago, at White Trash Fast Food. That was pretty amazing. They are a couple I met in Brooklyn two or three years ago—he’s in the band Nervous Cabaret, and now they both live here. Great seeing them. We drank beer and talked about music and gentrification! I think I’ll write a story about that for the Paneling.

Crazy shit, yo! Back to NYC on Sunday, then to Minnesota on Thursday! Yikes! It will be nice to winterize my boat and have a look at the river one last time before winter. I am thinking a thermos of coffee trip on the pontoon with Brian Hall sounds a like good deal.

I learned some French:

“Bonne Affaire”=”Good Deal”

Okay, better get doing whatever it is I am doing today. I think I’ll look at art on Linienstrasse and get some lunch. The offer is out there, so I gotta wait now. Maybe I will try to set up a hangout tonight with Regina und Matl? I need to see Heidi, as well. We get together and play campfire tunes on the guitar. So many ways to go!

Okay, bye from Berlin.

Hello Germany!

2008-10-06T05:35:00.000-04:00

Berlin
Monday, September 6th

An interesting and stressful trip so far.

The flight over was fine. You cannot complain about trouble with flights anymore because air traffic trouble is the norm. One is better off to point out the highlights instead of the lows—the highs being much the rarer. So, with that, I will say nothing about the flight from JFK in NYC to Berlin Tegel, other than it was average.

I was set to meet a friend of mine from Montreal, a translator whose schedule coincided with mine. Her flight was scheduled to arrive before mine, but a lucky tail wind brought me in first, customs was relaxed and we were both through, unbeknownst to each other, in a few minutes. I was prepping to make a call which would bring my friend Max and his girlfriend, Anna, over to pick up Sonia and I and bring us to the flat I had rented out after breakfast.

Oddly, my cell went off and it was Sonia, talking with someone else, having called me by accident. It turned out it was Max and Anna—whom neither of us had ever met before! They were waiting around with a sign with our names on them and walked up to Sonia and asked her name, later explaining in her Polish accent, “She just looked like a Sonia!”

A light breakfast, a plan to meet at the flat and pay, and soon enough Max and Anna were off to Poland for a visit and we were loaded into our slightly dumpy second floor walkup on a quiet, former punk bloch of Mitte. The place was large providing us with lots of space to be alone and work. A big, old maze and you wondered who had lived there in the hundreds of years that the place had existed.

It was the national holiday celebrating the fall or the Berlin wall and as we threaded through the police and young (and older) punkers near the old Communist theater, we felt like observers to a special vibration rippling through the city. Would there be trouble? No, but the riot cops were ready. By the time we returned, all the police were gone, no trouble, it was as if nothing had happened. But Berlin is like that, isn’t it?

After some wine and talking we were ready for sleep. It was cold and got colder and it became clear that the heat wasn’t working. The cold in the morning reminded me of winters long ago, in Minnesota, when everything outside of the bed was freezing and the quick trek to the bathroom, the bathtub was frought with hypothermic peril. The underwear scamper, the water cascading down into the ceramic bath with exaggerated noise and impact, a shiver, the wet, hot air, slipping into the tub. Then the renewed sense of warmth, ready to steal you through the morning walk to school and a day that was dreaded for years before. Always.

“Yes, I have been having problems with the heating unit,” she told us. “I can’t get it repaired until Monday, earliest.” That wouldn’t do. I could feel the hot irritation starting through my sinuses. It was 40 degrees outside and I knew my sinus infection warning signs. We dashed about while the landlord looked into possibilities. Bad Neil Simon play, here I come! I thought to myself. But, shortly thereafter, we located an apartment/hotel thing nearby. We were told to return in the morning for a better rate. A back-up plan!

But, you know, dear old jet-lag is a harsh mistress. Though we went to bed early, we didn’t wake the following afternoon until 2 p.m. We missed out 11 a.m. meeting about what to do about the freezing cold place. We missed 15 phone calls from our renting friend.

She made plans to bring our money back later on and we went out to secure our new location. Which was now completely rented. Two hours later, after searching on-line, it was clear that ALL THE HOTELS IN THE AREA WERE TOTALLT RENTED OUT. But, perseverance pays, and soon enough, we were making a deal on a better place (seemingly) for less money. No phone, but internet was included, so we could make due. The crazy German artist-type was one of us. She ran her own used clothing shop and danced around a little once she knew we were friendly. It’s always good to have a French Canadian around. It dilutes the American vibe which can easily put people on edge. I will say that everyone is friendlier now to Americans since GW Bush brought us down a few pegs. Non-Americans realize just how awful things have become in America, how our rights have been taken away and our money stolen. Many of them have lived through worse. I digress, we made final arrangements at the old place, got our cash—she only kept 30 Euros—and a cab was whisking us to Chassestrasse a moment later.

Our new rental boss, the crazy shop manager, was inside to greet us when we arrived at the three floor walk-up—which, in America, would actually be the forth floor. I bring this up because, Sonia, being a girl, had a giant and heavy suitcase that was really beyond her ability to carry. Rolling? That’s okay, but up all these steps is a man’s work and that’s who did it. Along with all my stuff and an extra bag of groceries.

Finally home! Such as it is! She showed us around, helped us with this and that, then we got out our computers and she set about getting us going that way, too. Two hours later, it was realized that these computers, for some still mysterious reason, couldn’t access the internet at this location. She made calls—to no avail. She asked her neighbors—same problem. We had signal, but no access. And no phone. We have work, business to attend to while here and, pretty much, no ability to do it from here.

We spent last night in another vain attempt to find a hotel and met with the same results. Not even another flat could be found. All emails were sent out explaining the limited access we would likely be not enjoying while here. Our business to be curtailed. Our renting friend is back on her way here at 1 p.m. Perhaps the connection can be fixed? I am very dubious, at this point. Maybe she has a new place for us to stay if the net repair fails. But I wonder what I might find there? What new problem will pop up on day four of my trip to Berlin. Day four—third place?

Oh well, at least it’s raining.

Announcing "Space Within Space"

2008-09-21T15:23:00.003-04:00

Installation Shots from "Space Within Space" at LKC.
On megumi Akiyoshi's "Flower Illumination," site-specific installation and
detail from Nilton Maltz's "Untitled," Narrative Canvas.

“Space Within Space”
New Sculpture and Installations
at “dumbo art under the bridge festival”

Opening Party:
Friday, September 26th
6-10 p.m.

Special Open Hours:
Friday, September 26th , 6-9 p.m.
Saturday, September 27th, 12-6 pm
Sunday, September 28, 12-6 pm
by appointment through November 1st

Work by:
ON
OLEK
Thomas Lendvai
Christy Singleton
Adriana Varella
Nilton Maltz
Chris Herbeck

By using existing work, as well as new pieces created specifically for LKC, we consider questions of space as an aspect of art that, while often discussed, are never formally or fully answered. Can art, instead of architecture and design, greatly shape the spaces we spend time in? Dwell in? And how does the work itself color the experience of entering or interacting with such places?

We are creating worlds within worlds.

Besides the use of space, there’s also the question of narrative. When we remove the narrative content from the confines of the flat wall and make it 3-D, the work becomes more tactile, more dangerous. We can feel it vibrating in our midst. It has invaded our personal zone and we must deal with it. No longer is the work set up for passive, wall-mounted observation; this show instead asks for experiential, living interaction.

Leo Kuelbs Collection
50 Bridge St. #516 (at Water)
Brooklyn, NY 11201
718-222-0802
leokuelbscollection.com
F Train to York/Right on Jay/Right on Water/Left on Bridge

What Goes On...

2008-09-21T15:12:00.002-04:00

Well, everything is happening these days.
There apparently are some humans who are dissatisfied with my contributions to the arts. It seems as though somebody was saying something regarding me and my associations with various organizations. this seemingly happened while I was on my summer holiday. But the vibe here, upon returning, was very odd indeed and now, I think, the source of said issues has been revealed. Very interesting! Small town, NYC! Crazy stuff.
The good news is that I think I know what's up. It does seem that various local political factions are not big fans. It's the Paneling and some weird other stuff--the kind of thing you get used to when dealing with art people. Art people are not always the most stable individuals in the world, if you hadn't noticed.

Just had a nice meeting with the artist OLEK at Superfine. Her work is everywhere these days and I am proud to have purchased two pieces of hers myself this year. One of which will be in my upcoming show "Space Within Space" which appears, so far to be the best show I've presented ever. It's going to be an intense festival this coming weekend. A lot of heavy vibes are floating around, but I plan to keep my head down, stay focused on the show here and have a wonderful, fantastic time. These festival weeks are really stressful for everyone, so you don't want to get caught up in anything not worthwhile. No engaging stressed-out individuals with tiny axes.

Hmmm....CELEBRITY FEST!!!

Okay, well Thursday brought a rare Julia Roberts (CODE:Orange) sighting. She was over by Gramercy Park, where I do believe she has a place. It was a lucky siting, for when I continued on my merry way over Park onto 22nd, I also found $40--two $20s--laying gingerly on the sidewalk in front of a building. I scooped it the bills up happily and continued on my joyous way.
Thanks, Ms. Roberts!

What else....
Off to Berlin again soon. October 2-12th. Should be fun! I hope to get some writing done, as well.

Okay, waiting for artists to finish their installs. Lots of waiting. I think I'll take a walk to the park, get a coffee, say hi to Antonia at the carousel, then come back and wait more! Installation days are fun!

A...a....a....a....kick it!

Yello Peoples!

2008-09-09T18:03:00.002-04:00

Back in Brooklyn. was just up in Montreal and that was fun. I got to spend some time with a writer/translator up there who is a friend of mine and quite nice! Luckily, I stumbled into the Montreal Trieniele (good lord, help me with my spelling!), which featured some good work by Canadian artists. It was a nice show. The food was good, the scenery was nice. It's kind of a quiet place compared to NYC, but it was better to be there than here, especially while...

My place is torn up badly right now. I'm having the wall between the unit next door replaced and the contractor is (of course) behind schedule. The contractor is a friend of mine, so it's not the biggest deal ever, but I am getting sick of (and from) the dust, plus the general chaos. Had I known, I would have spent more time on the road, instead of being in this rather crappy environment.

The new show is coming in, though due to this project's delays the install is also put off. Hopefully, we'll have the install going for Friday. I have seen a preview of some of the pieces and they are fan-fucking-tastic. I'm pretty happy about the impending wonderfulness that will be this show. Oh yeah, and I hired an assistant. So far, she's really good and cool.

Also, I've been spending some time talking with clothing designers. It looks like I might get some free custom made shirts! That doesn't suck. Hmmmmm....what else...

Continuing with the Berlin project. Heading there early October.
Okay, writing meeting tonight and since I blew off the gym today, I better go for a run. It's like grossly humid out there, so it should be a sweaty affair!

Kick it...

From October of 2005

2008-09-09T18:02:00.000-04:00

Random thoughts on a Hawaiian Vacation
2005

Part One:
How I came to be in Maui

Here I am on the last full day of a trip to Hawaii. I’m here with my brother Paul, The World’s Cheapest Man (Google him, you’ll see!). This trip is an award given to Paul’s employer in recognition of the fine work he has done this last year past. Paul is the oldest of my many brothers, seventeen years my senior, lives with Mom back in the Midwest and is consequently single. I would love to see any fifty-five year old pull that move off—“You’re place or mine, Paul, baby?”
“Yours! Yours!”
It’s too late for that kind of thing anyway. Paul was actually masturbating when I walked into the hotel room just now to begin this tome. Naked, towel over his loins—I kept moving. Clearly, he still has a sex drive. Where that drive will deliver him too, I’ll likely never know. But I do know, he wouldn’t eat anything unless it was paid for the his Big Daddy company, Harley Davidson. That’s right, this mamma’s boy, teetotaling cheapskate is one of the Midwest’s top motorcycle sales people. He doesn’t ride a Harley, or any motorbike, for that matter, and when questioned about this, his reply: “I serve so that others may ride.” This usually goes over pretty good, I guess. Anyway, these bikes have been so sought after the last few years that a five year old could move ‘em out.

Me, I live in New York now, I have a wife, a social life and dreams. Last night, I dreamt I was home away from my idiosyncratic brother and the collection of various suburban weirdos that make up the majority of this contingent.

Part Two:
The Road to Hell is Paved with (bad) Texans

A couple nights ago, our hosts, Harley-Davidson, threw a big group dinner. My brother Paul, who invited me along on this trip, and I joined hundreds of other dealer-operators for cocktail hour then we were sent out into the Maui night on tour buses that deposited us at various dinner locales around the isle of Maui. Our group, group Central consisted of all the regions from Minnesota (where Paul’s dealership rests) straight down to Texas. Now I have family in Texas, and I have spent a fair bit of time in that state. But I do have prejudices. Here they are:

1. George Bush
2. You have to drive everywhere in Texas
3. Redneck Racists
4. Every town other than Austin
5. The Dallas Cowboys

And the list goes on.

6. Isn’t Halliburton headquartered in Houston?
7. Houston
8. Tom Delay
9. “Don’t Mess with Texas!”
10. The rich, white culture down there

So, I wasn’t thrilled to be sitting at a table where the only non-Texans were my brother and I. At least it gave us a tighter bond.

Most of the folks were also from a couple dealerships that shared the same owner, a big fellow named Dan. Dan and his wife were nice, normal people with Texan accents, but that’s about it. They could have been from anywhere. When he found out I have spent several years as a semi-professional musician, he told me tales of his talented, misguided, musician of a daughter and he and his wife’s dreams for their wayward girl.

That opened the door to lots of conversation which flowed as easily as the red wine poured from the ever-ready wait staff’s many bottles. Obscene piles of food were delivered and taken away, each new pile leaving a little more intact than its predecessor. My side of the table opened up with increasingly drunken banter while Paul started a klatch with a quiet couple who only nipped a little from the one glass of house white.

Music, hurricanes, sales, marketing—all these topics and more were covered as I started into my pesky drunken habit of sounding people out supposedly for use in stories later.

Thank god there were no George Bush lovers in the group. By this time, Bush had become pretty indefensible, so if you ran into a real supporter, there could be trouble. The hard core had been beaten and pushed into a corner and they were ragged and ready to fight. None of that happened. I didn’t push any anti-Bush stuff too much. I rode a wave of anti-Iraqi war rhetoric, trying to keep politics quiet so as to flex at any time to any curve ball that might be tossed my way. None came. We said goodbye, piled back into the bus and drove through the dark Maui night, our bus driver leading us in a rollicking rendition of “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

I hadn’t had enough. The free wine led me to the hotel bar where our new friends were hunkering in for a more drunken time, to which they invited me into their expanding circle. More Texans showed up. Paul, seeing something through his more sober eyes, excused himself and I was on my own, drunk with a pack of Texans!

The words were whirling and two new, scary faces joined the group. The conversation was roiling and whirling when one bald headed, beer drinking gent said, “If I have a problem with anybody, I’d just shoot ‘em!”
“So, what did you think about Colmbine?”
Another fellow, drinking scotch drawled in, “I think those little fuckers were bad shots! Otherwise, we would have had real trouble on our hands!”
I asked, “But the kids got the guns from a mail order catalog, or K-Mart, or somewhere pretty accessible without many controls.”
“Well that whole thing is on the parents,” bald with beer said.
“But,” his friend went on, “if one of them teachers had a fucking gun, they could have taken the little fuckers out! That’s the great tragedy of that deal.”

A rainbow just stretch from the pacific ocean in one part of my view, over the hotel, to points unknown. Maybe there lies the gold pot? Maui Wowie? I digress.

The rednecky Texans were also pretty skeptical about me, my motives, where I got my money—“Writing? No way. Where do you get yer money?” I lied about that and said from my writing.

I generally agreed. At least with the fact that they had a right to their opinion and that the second amendment was created to actually protect us from the federal government. They hinted at disgust with the federal government but an overriding satisfaction, even with their own dissatisfaction with George Bush.

There was also a combination of understanding/hatred for the Timothy McVeigh set that swung in equal force in both directions. “We’ve got to be ready for the ‘em (fed. gov’t),”
“What about Oklahoma City? There was a group of guys who were trying to fight the government, guys who didn’t like what the government was up to, so they decided to retaliate. What about that?”
Baldy: “They have a right to keep their guns.”
Me: “Do you understand their reasoning? The second amendment is there so we can keep guns in order to protect ourselves from our own government, which is getting pretty scary. Thomas Jefferson, I believe, said that every twelve years or so blood needed to be shed to keep our government honest and clean.”
Baldy: “Blood is being shed.”
Me: “Do you mean Oklahoma City?”
Scotch and Nutty: “If you think that Oklahoma City was some kind of Patriotic action…”
Me: “I don’t think that. But the guys who were behind the bombing did.”
Scotch: “You’re fucking nuts.”
Dan, the heavy guy: “Calm down, down there. This is a civil discussion.”
Baldy: “As long as we’re getting to do some killing, everything is fine with me.”
Me: “Like in Iraq?”
Baldy: “Shoot them Motherfuckers!” Dan and his mild-mannered crew were watching with interest as their more outspoken comrades and I treaded on dangerous ground, ground that only is tread when people are drunk and at there most dangerous. Some women looked on to and pressed forth.
Me: “So you are okay with the war in Iraq?”
Baldy: “Fuck yeah. As long as there is killing going on, everything is okay. We need that.”
Me: “What about the people getting killed? I mean, there are families, all that.”
Baldy: “They are way over there. As long as they stay over there, then I don’t got a problem with it.”
Scotch: “Me neither.” I ordered another glass of Merlot, Scotch another scotch and Baldy had a beer. Dan picked up the tab and said. “I got all those. The rest you fuckers pay for!”
I thanked him and we began anew.
Baldy: “My only hope is that I’m at home when somebody breaks into my place. Then, God and John willing, I’ll shoot them bastards and enjoy doing it.”
Me: “Whose John?”
Baldy: “I’m John, God damn it!”

Somebody else: “You ever shot anybody, John?”
Baldy: “Nope. That’s why I hope the God Lord and John willing, I’ll get my chance with a burgalur some day. Hopefully soon. Hell, sometimes I wish I was over there in Iraq so I could shoot some of those fuckers. Man, what a trip that would be.”
Me: “What if there was war down in Texas? Then would you feel different about it?”
Baldy: “That’s why we got to keep the wars over there. As long as we’re fighting them over their whenever there is, then we don’t have to worry so much about here. They’d come here if we let ‘em.”
Scotch: “I’d like to see that. I’m going for a smoke. How about you, partner?”
Me: “Sure.” Dan and a couple of his guys joined the smoking contingent and we huddled loosely around a couple of outdoor ashtrays.
Dan: “Hey, you know these guys are fucking with you, right?”
Me: “I think they’re kind of fucking with me.”
Scotch: “Yeah. We’re just fucking with you, Mr. New York! So, where can I read your stuff?”
Me: “Mostly literary journals. I’ve done a lot of regular press, mostly back in the Midwest. If you give me your address, I’ll send you some stuff.”
Scotch: “No thanks.”

Baldy: “Have you ever even held a gun before?”
Me: “Yeah, but I’ve never shot one. I’m afraid I would like it too much.”
Baldy: “You come on down to my little farm and we’ll shoot some cans and targets, then you’ll get it.”
Me: “Sounds good.”
Baldy: “Then, if you like it, maybe we could go find us a couple niggers.”
Conversation stopped for a moment.
Baldy: “Yep. We could get a couple niggers for target practice. Just like the old days.” Dan looked right at me. I think I went pale.
Me: “You’re not, like, you know…?”
Dan pulled his hand over his face and said, “He ain’t what you’re thinking he is.”
Scotch: “Listen we’ve been good to those niggers. They came over from New Orleans, a bunch of animals. They are no better than animals. I’m glad that shit hole got cleaned out. Those people were the scum of the earth. They deserved to die.”
Baldy: “Hey, it’s God’s will. God wanted them dead and that’s it.”
Me: “Did John want them dead, too?”
Baldy: “Me? I could give a shit. Either way. But I ain’t cryin.’ That’s for sure.”
After that, I started loosing track. I didn’t want to go much further, so I began to disengage. I shifted closer to Dan and asked about his daughter some more but I wasn’t tracking well anymore. I did hear Scotch say, “I’d like to get some niggers for gun practice. ‘Pull!’ he waited a second, then, “Pow!”

Me: “If you guys aren’t KKK, then I am sure they would welcome you.” Tension rose again.
Dan: “Hey, you know who the KKK hate more than anybody? Themselves, that’s who.”
Me: “Good. Because I’m a Catholic and I don’t want to rile you up.”
Scotch: “You’ve already done that. Some of the shit you’ve said just doesn’t sit with me.”
Me: “Oh yeah? Sorry about that.”
Scotch: “You’re full-of-shit and I don’t like it. I don’t like you.” These words hung a moment. “We’ve been batting you around like you’re a fish a we’re seals. We’ve been playing with you, but you’re about to get eaten.”
Me: “Huh.”
Dan: “Hey, that’s what makes America so fucking great. We don’t have to all agree about everything.”
Me: “That’s right. That’s the whole point.”
Baldy: “If this were somewhere else, we would just shoot some guy we don’t like.”
Me: “Well, right now, I’m happy that we’re still in America.”
Scotch: “Barely, buddy.”
Me: “Well, how about one more cigarette in memory of the good part of the conversation.”
Scotch: “Take it.” I did.
Me: “You still got those matches?”
Scotch: “Keep ‘em.”
With that, I said a quick good bye to Baldy who was now holding court with another good old boy, then made my way over to Dan and his crew.
Dan: “You know they’re just fucking with you?”
Me: “Either way, I’m drunk and it’s time to go.”
Dan: “Good idea. Take it easy.”
With that I staggered back to my hotel room and opened the door. Paul was snoring serenely. I put in some earplugs and drifted off to sleep.

Part Three:
After Texas

I know a lot more topics of interest were covered in that drunken conversation. Since they were so Klan-like, I also got unique takes on the Jewish-American-Palestinian situation—mostly a confused bundle of contradictory, drunken rants. Then Baldy schooled me on the types of boots “niggers and Mexicans” wear and a whole other world of terrifying hate tidbits for me to recall at a later date.

I ran into Dan’s wife the next day and she pleasantly said hello and I returned the greeting through a greasy hang-over haze.

Today I saw Scotch. I had worked out, went swimming and was feeling great. When I got up to leave the pool, he looked at me for a moment. I looked back, then continued up the path to the hotel. He wasn’t smiling or anything and I wondered what he thought of all the shit he said when he looked back on it.

When I think about it and the way Dan said, “You know they’re just fuckin’ with you, don’t you?” I started to think that they were maybe riffing in their own central Texas way. Can they really believe that bullshit? And if they do, where do they get the energy to support that much hatred, even if it’s just a pose. That pose takes a lot of energy and karmic juice to keep up. I kept thinking, “I’ll bet that fucker feels like a real idiot when he replays that shit he was saying.” Then I felt a little guilty for baiting him and his friend into displaying this shitty part of themselves. I mean, they were loud and bad and the gallery sucked up every word. If they didn’t both own their own bike dealerships and have so much to lose, I would be worried. But when they threatened me, I just let them know, that we I know people too. Of course, I don’t. I don’t even carry a gun. But there are idiots with guns everywhere. Anybody can find or hire an idiot with a gun. When I did a little hollow threatening back, that part of the conversation ended. Scotch knew it was too true.

Part Four
Me and Paul

I told Paul a bit about these events and he said back, “I was wondering why you were talking to those rednecks.” Then he laughed and it was dropped. Then I offered to take him out to dinner as a thanks for inviting me along.

“I ate like a horse today at lunch,” he said.
“So, you’re not going to have dinner?” I asked.
“I only eat when it’s free. You should have been to the last one of these. Marty was here and we had a great time. Marty is almost cheaper than me. Why, he saved these two muffins in a cup, etc.” I didn’t care about how muffins were kept fresh for extended periods by keeping them in a cup. I mean, at that point, neither one of us had spent a cent and this is after a couple days in Maui. On one side, I’m mining information from scary Texans, exposing my life (possibly) for the sake of my art and curiosity—maybe even for the public good!—and on the other, I’m with my brother who has never had a steady partner (male or female, that we know of) and who will not even let me pay for his dinner because even that offends his sensibility.
“Look,” I said. “It’s cheaper for me to take the both of us out than for me to have room service by myself.” It didn’t matter.
“When I come to these things, I don’t spend any money. They feed you so well, you don’t need to spend any money!”
“But you’ve got tons of money!”
“That’s right!”
Instead, we walked to a little grocery where I bought a bottle of wine then waited outside. After several minutes of painful, internal debate, Paul finally emerged. He had bought two hard-boiled eggs.
“I only spent a buck-fifty on my dinner! How much was your wine?”
“None of your business,” I replied.
“I hope you can re-cork that,” he added. “Then you can have some later.”
“I can. But if you have any of it, I likely won’t need to re-cork it.”
“I’m not going to drink any wine tonight.”
“Not even a glass.”
“Nope.”
“Then I think I’ll order a movie ($11), and room service ($35) and drink it ($15) myself.” I had to spend for the both of us.
He peeled into one of his precious eggs, “I never thought I would be having hard-boiled eggs for dinner! This is great, look” he popped an egg into his mouth, put the other in the fridge for later and went, snoringly, off to sleep.

This happened twice before he finally let me take him out.

Part Five
Tomorrow

Tomorrow is when I leave and I will be happy to go. This hotel is populated with a bunch of slightly overweight white people with no taste. That’s a generalization, of course, but I figure those Texans are at one end, then there are maybe two black couples along with maybe five Asian couples and all the other dowdy whites on the other end and the balance equals out to sum mentioned above. Can’t wait to go home.

Golden Oldies!

2008-09-09T18:00:00.000-04:00

Thoughts on St. Paul’s Midway
February 2004

Tonight, after a little nap in my office I decided to walk around the Midway. My wife had the car, so I had to hoof it but was only constrained by the time, which was already 8 p.m. The Midway is the part of St. Paul that’s about right between downtown St. Paul and downtown Minneapolis. It’s mixed and can be rough or calm depending on the time of night or the economy. The intersection of Snelling and University Avenues is the heart of the Midway and I trod towards it looking for dinner and a little taste of the past.

My building is on Edmund and Snelling, three blocks north of University and has its own colorful history. The previous owner sold used electronics, rented videos, mostly pornography and partook often of the usually invisible neighborhood hookers. It’s quite possible that this many of the ten units in the building were at one time or another used for the sex trade. One tenant tells of regularly helping Mr. V. load large teddy bears and other state-fair “quality” stuffed animals into one of the disused units – a broken down whore following the helper up the steps, feeling his ass “enticingly.” Up front, the landlord leered with sad happiness and surveyed the apartment. Paint flaking from water damage, stains on the walls, thrift-store teddy-bears and a starving-artist painted bullfighter waving a bull through his red cape, horns proudly lowered, pointed dead ahead, all left behind, all thrown into the dumpster. Then one angry hooker shot a bullet through the front glass just before I took ownership. There are other stories, stories of cocaine and copyright infringements, but you get the picture. Now, we’re fixing things, repairing walls, furnaces, the roof, trying to renew the place and get its value back on track.

I passed the tattoo shop and used book store on the first floor and headed south towards the big used book store, passed the Mexican grocery, the African restaurant, the drum shop and many other businesses mostly opened by immigrants. The Midway is still a place for immigrants to come and make it. The chain stores, like gigantic, full-scale pyramids are close to the freeway, big enough to be seen from afar. A new mall, with just a few shops reminded me of the lonely faux grandeur of Trump Towers in Manhattan. Just big, soulless. Something you know will be around for future generations who will wonder, “What were they worshipping here?” Or maybe they’ll all be knocked apart and rebuilt as a space ship transit center. Or maybe just a light-rail station.

The hot issue is what will happen to the Midway. There is much talk of light-rail and making the whole corridor, in all directions from the intersection mentioned above, into a chain-store filled, tax-generating dynamo from the freeway north on Snelling to the fairgrounds. There’s no wonder why this appeals to some. Snelling’s crossing at University is the busiest intersection in the state. Look out, mouths of some contractors and city planners are awash in drool.

Then I looked into the big used book place and saw all the shelves filled full of old magazines and the “Light Rail Won’t Work” signs in the window. It was closed, so I couldn’t look around. But I already know that the real treasures in that shop aren’t actually in it.

I like light-rail and I think it’s the future. I’m sure the taxpayers will get killed tax-wise and some contractor will make billions, but that’s how it’s done. Everyone knows that automotive-related companies bought the last inter-city rail line and pulled it out. Hooray for cars! What about cars? What about poor people? The air is pretty bad around here and I got on a little coughing jag as I turned back to see the coffee-maker and razor repair shop right on the intersection. A place like that is crying out for a Starbucks.

Finally across to the south side of Snelling. I headed East towards the Perkins, an early chain. And looked into one of the older malls for a Chinese restaurant I used to get takeout from when I was here right after college. It was open and I sat down and a little Chinese girl, maybe four, greeted me, grabbed a menu and asked for my order. That’s the Midway. Her mother came by eventually and wrote it down, as her daughter couldn’t remember it for a moment and couldn’t yet write. The whole thing reminded me of growing up with my Dad running the shop. The kids were tolerated and in a way we helped sell. The little girl greeted all of the many arrivals, chatted them up, and turned them over to Mom. In the twenty minutes I was there, six or seven customers picked up take-out.

I went on, determined to fill the next hour or so at the huge new bookstore, a block east and highly visible from the freeway. This was one of the pyramid-like structures, amazingly small inside, but with a café and an international-music department. I wondered if anyone would really get around to University, they seem so busy developing that freeway corridor. But it’s inevitable, you know. That’s why I’ll get this down now. I felt a little like a really pathetic, middle-aged Holden Caulfield uncomfortably comfortable, alienated and undersized by the big malls and grocery mega-stores.

I bought a Serge Gainsbourg CD and a coffee and a copy of Interview magazine and went back out into the exhaust-filled night. I passed some of the dangerously sleazy bars on University. I was actually pulled across the street by a band practicing on the second floor of an old building, the window open a little. I knew the drum-groove. About one zillion songs have it, then I got closer and could hear the singer and the guitars. Not terrible but a repeat. Another go-around on the local-rock wheel. I’m playing later tonight, that’s why I’m here so late. I’m playing at the Turf Club at midnight and hope to be gone from there by 1:30. Good luck!

Hey! I found this ol' story. Check it, yo!

2008-09-09T17:58:00.001-04:00

Maui
Leo Kelbs

A lot had changed in Maui since his last visit and everyone knew it. During the long bus ride from the airport to the hotel, Mark joked several times to his brother Ray that the sprawl of the surrounding buildings looked just like home—a Midwestern suburb. And it did too, except for the tall, fragile palm trees that swayed over the proceedings. They made the big boxes and their parking lots look like refugees from Arizona or California.

The tch-tching over the suburban growth was a common reaction and every other time Mark had come to Maui, it was always the same. Once, during a helicopter ride, the pilot—a retired Air Force vet—got so worked up when pointing out a new spread of condos that he shut off his microphone and switched on some soothing Hawaiian music just before the swearing began. Mark and the other guests looked at each other and laughed. Their certainly wasn’t anything else for them to do.

Maybe it made everyone feel the same and feeling the same is important. There are many ways for folks to bond and one of them, a good one that works, is through mutual criticism and condemnation. The reality is that all the new Wal-marts and Borders have popped up to serve the retired minions that have fled the mainland (based on what they encountered on some company get away) or the armies of hospitality workers that change the sheets and massage the tch-tchers who swim through the vast networks of bar-filled swimming parks.

But that was just another component of Maui, Hawaii. This transition had been going on since white people figured it would be a nice place to own for strategic and pleasurable reasons. Still, the roads were basic and the view from the sea, bluff and farm view from the bus reminded Mark of why he said yes to this slightly unusual visit.

The last visit to Maui was a failure. It was supposed to be a honeymoon extravaganza, but it turned into a time-share full of fighting and wine. His wife vowed to never return to the islands. But Mark felt okay about all of that. The island was not to blame for those difficult hours. And maybe this was a way to resurrect the pleasurable ideas and feelings about the island that he had pawned for matrimonial peace.

He had visited the islands when he was a teen-ager with his whole family. Even Father had come along. That made six with his two oldest brothers, his sister and finally Mark, the youngest of the gang. The trip was a prize—a premium given by Ford for the good sales and service numbers the year previous. That was almost twenty years ago. Back then, most of the dealers were family businesses and the island was a few steps back in its ever morphing quest to merge island culture with the American main. So, there were McDonald’s but no Crispy Cremes.

How young mother and father appeared to mark in his memory. Even though at the time he felt they were old, he was fast closing in on those years in his own life while father had grown fat and wrinkled, diabetic and finally demented and dead. Mother was still alive and probably would probably outlast Frankie who still worked at the store, but whose lifestyle was not conducive to golden years. He wanted the gold in advance.

Well, Hello There...

2008-08-27T16:59:00.004-04:00

...it's been a long, long time.

Here's some stuff from Paneling, which just came out this very afternoon. No huge news otherwise, just the continuation of what's been in the hopper for a while. Some new things coming up, though.
And it's very nice in NYC.
Off to run 2 1/2 miles, then have dinner with Norwegian pal.
Kick it!
Okay, lots of new stuff below:

Berlin Thoughts

2008-08-27T16:59:00.001-04:00

On the Ground in Berlin
Property, Art, Post-Punk!

Most every afternoon, after I finished working for the day, I went over to Michaelkirchplatz in Berlin’s Kreutzberg neighborhood, to read and soak up some sun. All around the fountain-laced pool, other people were sunning themselves, totally chilling, totally calm, seemingly no one was in a hurry. The “no hurry” aspect of Berlin is a very noticeable and welcome feature when one is traveling from the hyper-speed, ADD life of NYC. Berliners almost seem to be moving in slow motion.

When asked about increasing property values and the steady influx of foreigners and foreign dollars, most of my German friends were slightly put-off, but resigned to the impending changes. Several of us sat around, drinking beer, at Kiki Blofeld, an out-door bar, almost campsite on the Spree River and did a toast to the fact that we could even spend time in such an amazing place. Across the river, you could hear the sounds of revelers at the opposing shore’s bars. You could see the train going by at regular intervals, reflecting light on the water’s surface. Really lovely.

But even as there’s talk of the Spree being cleaned up to make it safe for swimming, there’s a debate going on about massive new projects being built on Koppenickerstrasse, which runs along the Spree’s Southern shore. “It’s a matter of time,” one German filmmaker told me, “maybe five more years and this place (Kiki Blofeld) will be gone. Replaced by a shopping mall or some condos.” Yikes. Depressing.

But not all the news is gloomy. In Berlin’s east side, there is still tons of space for discount living. Though Berlin, thanks to the weak dollar and its conversion to Euros, isn’t as cheap as advertised, rents are low and it is possible to get by as an artist. One gallerist also told me that Berlin now has more galleries than New York City! I don’t think they do nearly as much business as NYC galleries, but the fact that so many people can afford to open an art space is pretty fantastisch.

Plus, you gotta love that East Berlin style. It’s post-punk and black, black, black. A friend of mine suggested introducing flannel and grunge music, as that seemingly should be the next big thing. The attitude, especially on the younger East side is also a little black. Some of the (good, aging) punkers who fought the fascist skinheads and developers who wanted to tear down and rebuild Kreutzberg scoffed at me as I went jogging by in my matching Adidas gear. “There goes the neighborhood,” I imagined them saying as I ran by while they drank afternoon beers. I felt like the face of gentrification even though I don’t live there.

As far as ex-pats artists go, they all seem very welcome. Since he relocated eight years ago, Stu Mead, a fellow Minnesotan whose Balthus-like work makes him persona-non-grata in the USA, has been able to make a reasonable living while garnering lots of shows and press in his adopted hometown. It was good to see that he was stable, healthy and welcome—even though a group-show he was on caused a storm of national-level controversy two years ago. He was the only American artist I visited with on this past trip, though word from other ex-pat art camps is much the same.

It all goes to show that the world is getting smaller. Instead of moving to a new neighborhood or state, we can now choose to move to a completely different continent with a completely different culture. What ever is affordable and desirable. Berlin, for now, is both of these.

Past Life Action!

2008-08-27T16:58:00.001-04:00

Paneling Delves into Past Life Mysteries!
Were you a Shaman or Royalty?

By Pedro Lescobar

Lately, we here at Paneling have encountered a slew of folks who have paid “Past Life Advisors” to help them gain a greater understanding of who they are now by revealing who they HAVE BEEN IN THE PAST! Oh my lord! That’s so exciting! It turns out that most people have been a prince, princess, king, shaman, or some other spiritual leader! It’s great that so many of us can share these things in common. Really, when you think about it, if we have all been shamans in a past life, why can’t we all get along in this one?
Paneling wondered whether or not some people shouldn’t have been low-caste Indians, aborted babies or plague-sufferers. When we asked this question to a local believer (she was a Medicine Woman in a recent past life), the believer replied, “O’ course we’ve all been those things too, but my advisor only offers the highlights!” That’s fantastic. Paneling went on to wonder how everyone who looks into their past life history seems to have such colorful old-world experiences when there were several million fewer people in those days of yore. Perhaps those enlightened enough to hire an advisor are also “Old Souls.” Perhaps new souls don’t have the discretionary income of old souls, thus they’re blocked from delving into these misty waters. This seems highly plausible.
Paneling went on to ask about our past life. That’s right, the past life of this very newspaper! Perhaps the advisor could tell our skepticism; for when she replied, it was revealed that Paneling’s most recent past life was as a single piece of bathroom tissue! Used! Prior to that, we lined a birdcage! We’re not sure if our karma is improving the situation or if we are slipping backwards, but either way, we’re grateful to know.
Hopefully, in some future incarnation, we will be transformed into a powerful, urban shaman who will lead the people out their troubled existence into the awaiting embrace of the aliens who are, right now, watching our every move. These aliens will take us to their planet where we will be harvested! But we’ll be treated humanely, at least, until our resources will be tapped! Yay! Impending “Shaman-hood!” Soon enough we will also need to employ that “Future Life Advisor” who will hopefully be coming to the neighborhood soon.

Paneling Pours Forth

2008-08-27T16:57:00.001-04:00

Window Smashers return to Dumbo!
Summer=petty crimes

By Leo Kuelbs

In the last several weeks, several auto owners have had the windows of their autos smashed, oftentimes, with the contents stolen. But not all the time. It has also become a general sport, it seems, to smash the windows of the upwardly mobile denizens of Dumbo. Also, in a Batman-like twist, a graffiti-painting vigilante has made a bold, spray-painted accusation near Water/Bridge/Front Street which is the epicenter of destruction.

A quick scan of “Dumbonyc.com” revealed that complaints made to the local Police precinct over the last several weeks have come to naught. Frustration and previous experience with “Squarehead” (The nickname of the accused. A possible real name was also listed) led the frustrated tagger to take (tag?) matters into his own hands.

Is it right to accuse someone in public like this? The accuser seems very confident that he is identifying the right person. But, it is scary to list people’s names on walls and accuse them of crimes. Though, it would seem, that Squarehead is the likely culprit, based on the accuser’s comments, it is also a real bummer that the local residents have to resort to this type of desperate act. I mean, put some plainclothes policeman on site for a couple of nights. How hard is that to figure out? It’s not as if this person or persons is covering a lot of ground. It seems like most incidents have happened in a relatively small area.

Even if locals manage to get cameras up which are good enough (are they ever?) to identify an assailant at night, would the police even go after the surveillance film star? And, how many times does this happen before the criminal gets wise and cools it for a while? Plus, if it is “Squarehead,” his name is all over a wall. That might give him second thoughts about continuing his window-smashing spree. Boy, how many opportunities have there been to bust this guy?

I hate to say it, but I recommend renting an expensive garage space. Before I sold my car, that’s what I resorted to after my parked vehicle was hit TWICE by garbage trucks two winter’s ago. It was expensive ($300 per month), but the warm feeling of safety, security, limited insurance rates increases, saved time, saved tow and tickets fees, etc. was well worth it.

Of course, why not just get rid of your car altogether. What was that Al Gore movie, again? Is a car really a necessity in NYC? I admit, it was a weird feeling, selling my Subaru, and sometimes it feels like I have a phantom-car limb or possibly an abandoned mechanical spirit animal roaming new wilds, but it also feels lighter. And I am happier. And there is no window smashing jerkoff harrying me with petty crimes.

Ripped from Today's Dumbo Paneling!

2008-08-27T16:55:00.000-04:00

The View from St. Paul
By Mason Tenders

As St. Paul, Minnesota prepares for the arrival of the Republicans, I had an opportunity to take the temperature of the city and its surroundings. It was disturbing to see the large elephant on the side of the Xcel Center, though not when you realize that Xcel supplies most of the energy t heat houses, etc. in the Twin Cities area.

So many parts of Midwestern life are based around fuel that it is really astounding. For instance, last year, a highway bridge over the Mississippi collapsed, dropping several cars and their people into the river several hundred feet below. I was there when it happened and actually talked with a woman who was about 30 feet from the bridge as it fell in. Anyway, I was surprised to find that less than one year later, then new span was complete with all to be finished by December of this year. What? How did that happen so fast? If they can put the damn thing up so fast, why couldn’t they get the old one fixed? Hmmmm….A little digging revealed that the contractor is getting big incentive bonuses. Which is great. Except when you realize how fast things can be done when those doing it are motivated. And how lazy and dangerous bureaucracy can be when left to its own dawdling devices. Plus, we gotta keep those cars moving to downtown.

I was staying about an hour north of town where trains once brought workers to and rom their jobs in the city. These trains were ripped out, along with most of their tracks, in the late 1950s. I was told an oil and a rubber (as in tires) company bought the trains and removed them. Is that cynical? Geez. Auto-infrastructure companies destroyed mass transit, not only in Minnesota, but in several other areas, as well. Mass transit would have saved a lot of crap going up into the sky, adding to the gape in the ozone. And now, everyone in Minnesota is forced to drive from their far-flung subdivisions to their jobs in the city. The whole thing was planned with auto transit as the defining feature. Pretty depressing. At least a friend back there is going into business selling super-clean electric bikes (20 mph!).

So, with gas prices going crazy, there is a lot of stress. The last place I lived in St. Paul was a big old house from the late 1800s. My last heating bills were $1500 per month. That was in 2003. Out in the country, propane has risen from $1.79 per gallon last year to $2.79 per gallon this year. 2005, it was $.79. Talk about your long commutes, many country people live 45 minutes or more each way from their jobs or they work in the trades, which require trucks and other heavy vehicles. Between the increase in fuel oil and propane prices, there is a real feeling of desperation going into the upcoming colder months. It was bad last year, people weren’t prepared. They are getting ready this year, with grim determination. If they can burn wood to heat their places, they are gathering it now, splitting and stacking through the autumn months. I have never seen people so stressed out.

On the political front, even the die-hard conservatives admit that Bush screwed things up. Yet they act as though they knew it all along. I remember arguments where Bush’s obvious mistakes (WMDs, anyone?) were pointed out and ignored while issues like gay marriage dominated the fore. Conservative talking points were constantly brought back into play while actual fuck-ups were shunted off to one side. But now it’s as if everyone was right. And the real right-wingers are floating around barely backing McCain while everyone else is for Obama, but also only barely. The enthusiasm of several months back has given way to the grim realization that whomever wins will have a difficult time of it and that special interest just plain owns the whole of us all. Which is great if you’re special interest!

So, as my band played a show at a (for lack of a better term) “Gutter Punk” venue, I was happy to hear that many of the kids around had come in from out of town to protest not just the Republican platform, but everything. They were building flats for performance and other trouble-making. I had earlier heard that the protests originally scheduled in downtown St. Paul had been moved to s protest ghetto, somewhere down the hill, on the river flats, far from the cameras’ electronic eyes and those of the convention goers. Good luck Critical Mass! At least they passed a special law and now the bars will all be able to be open until 4:30 a.m. God Bless America!

Kicking it in TF

2008-08-08T12:48:00.002-04:00

At Coffee Talk, once again, writing my blog. TF is a little on the chilly side, for summer. Of course, it's the first cabin year ever (for me) without Helmut, my friendly old dog who died about a month ago. "Uncle" Brian Hall and I had dinner at his place last night and Brian showed me where Helmut is buried. Sad, but real. Brian's garden looked really good and Izzy, the yellow cheerleader, was also doing great. Poor Helmut. I guess he's in doggy heaven.

Got to bed early, and slept a lot. Took a good run and now I'm prepping to buy food and beer for tomorrow night's rock party. It seems like Frances Gumm will be the only band scheduled, though there will be an epic jam session with the many, musicians who are stopping by. Should be fun. Lots of meats will be grilled. Lots of beer getrinken. Schoen. Expecting 15-20 people, or so. Should be good. If you want to go and haven't been invited, consider this your invitation. 4-? am

Tonight, it's Frances Gumm at Eclipse Records for an All-Age extravaganza. Yeah. Feel the excitement. At least it's an early show, so I should be cabin bound by 11. Likely much earlier.

That's about it for now. Lots to do, practice before the gig. And practice before practice. After shopping and loading. Then maybe some laundry! Yes!!! Life is hot!

Doing it, all right.

Today's shorty:

2008-07-28T12:24:00.000-04:00

Lakewater
By Leo Kelbs

It was a big, blue summer Friday. One of those perfect days where everyone gets out from work early and heads to whatever recreation spot they can find. Cabins, lakes, rivers, campsites are filled with the typically office-bound on weekends like this and 47 year-old David R. was gratefully on his way to joining the recreation-minded throng.

Since he worked for himself, selling insurance, he was able to get a head start, which was a blessing that would save him and soon-to-be son-in-law hours of frustration, stuck in some traffic jam. Friday traffic jams in the Summertime are the most frustrating of all, since the car-bound waiters know that fun and good times are in store for them once traffic moves and they find their way to their destination. Oftentimes, it’s a steep mood change from the frustrations of slow-moving traffic to the pressures of organizing and managing a nice family fun weekend, but today would be different. First off, as mentioned, David was off early. Second, it would just be the two fellows today, no girls or women, who only slow things down. No waiting for the application of make-up, excessive packing or the extra bathroom stops. No watching the language or listening to inane female yip-yap. Sure, Mike, wasn’t his own son, but he would be soon enough. Plus, Mike’s family was one of the community’s more successful, locally famous for their forays into printing, then property acquisitions. Mike’s family owned about 10% of the suburb they were all from and this alliance gave David a sturdy feeling of satisfaction. He knew his daughter, Marlene, would never have to struggle. She would also make him a grandfather soon, he hoped. With any luck, he would know and be able to play with grandchild (children) while he was still young enough to enjoy the infant company.

These things he thought about as he listened to the classic rock radio station and sang along with songs that seemingly never went away. Everyone his age, everyone every age, knew the lyrics to these songs and he felt a part of a big happy, summertime family. He pulled into the liquor store and bought two cases of watery summer beer, smiling and happy as he opened the back gate of his SUV and slid the cases inside. Back home, his things were packed, the fishing equipment was set up and ready, all he had to do was attach the trailer and get whatever snacks his wife had packed, maybe have a quickie with her, then wait for Mike and take off. Finally. He hadn’t been fishing all year. He had missed the opener, but even if they didn’t catch a thing, he would have at least not been shut out on angling this year. He missed one year, the year he was married. What was what? 22 years ago. Amazing.

He wanted to stay in his truck and finish singing along with “All Along the Watchtower,” but remembered the traffic situation and also thought it would be nice to actually have some quick sex with his wife. It would be a couple of days, best to store up a little, he thought.

He pulled into the driveway and noticed Mike’s car, already parked and waiting. A little frustration at the sex shutdown mixed with the shot of happiness that the two of them could get going earlier than planned. Also, Mike’s help would make attaching the trailer and loading everything easier. It would be easy to let the frustration go. After all, it was the perfect afternoon, a great situation, besides, he had been sleeping with Babette since forever.

The big garage door opened and David hopped down from his truck. He was a little short and hadn’t put on running boards, preferring stock to custom. He took off his sunglasses, put them in his pocket, trotted through the garage, opened the door into the house. “Hello, all!” he said cheerily. A minute later, he was walking through the kitchen. Babette was on the couch, in sweatpants, reading the paper. She looked good, he knew this and felt lucky he had chosen someone who hadn’t let herself go. Her hair was blonde and her boob job was well worth the money. Too bad about the sex thing. “You’re here early,” she said, then added “Mike’s here already too. That makes two of you!”
“I gathered that from his car being parked outside. When did he get here?”
“A little while ago. He was worried about traffic, but I guess it’s not bad right now.”
“That’s exactly the plan, my dear!”
“Mike’s in the bathroom, he should be out in a minute. Marlene called. She’s just found a sub-letter and will be back sometime next week.”
“Are you sure you won’t be sad without anyone here to keep you company?”
“No, you boys go play. I’m ready for some alone time.”
Just then, Mike appeared, shaking the remaining water off his hands. “Hey, hi! I’m early, but pretty much ready to roll! This should be fun, huh?” The two men shook hands heartily and made the preparations for travel.

Traffic hadn’t amassed yet and the black SUV moved so quickly that David felt like he was getting away with something illegal. He looked over at Mike and smiled. Everything was finally going well. Two summers ago, David’s father died. It was only natural, but still sad. Then all the legal proceedings. Then Babette’s sister went through cancer treatments and Marlene was having trouble in school, mostly with partying, etc. But those storms had been weathered and the seasons since had been, blessedly, event free, with the exception of the engagement announcement in the Spring, which filled David with pride and a kind of happiness that can only be appreciated after a certain amount of pain.
It was never actively thought about or discussed, but the fact that Marlene would marry the son and presumable (at least partial) heir of a wealthy family added to his feelings of pride and to the comfort of security. If everything went as planned, Marlene would be well taken care of and could possibly even take care of her parents, if necessary. Not that he was planning on that, but how the tables had turned from two summers before when they worried whether the girl would finish school at all. Now, here she was, about to graduate and more than suitably engaged. He liked Mike for making this possible and asked how the printing business was doing.
“We may sell soon,” Mike replied. “We’re not sure. Property is going well and you have to wonder about the necessity of large-scale printing operations in the digital era.” The two talked about these issues a few minutes, then Mike pointed to the woods as they flew past. “That trail in there, if you follow it up the hill, leads to where my Mother was born. The cabin’s not there anymore, I’ve been up there. There’s some old stuff lying around. There’s an old tractor, probably from the 50s. I’ve looked at it, Everything is there, but rusty. Must have gotten stuck and they just left it.”
“Your father’s side of the family is from around here too, right?”
“Yeah, right where we’re going, actually,” then a familiar song came on and David turned up the stereo to sing along with Jimmy Buffet for the thousandth time.

Summer satisfaction kept up until they hit a town along the way. Traffic was backed up half a mile from the stoplight. “Okay, if we get through this one, there are only three more possible traffic jam spots along the way,” David said.
“This traffic fucking sucks,” Mike said. “Where did all these people come from? This is ridiculous. I’m only 24 and I can remember when no one was on these roads. Fucking people are everywhere now.”
David hadn’t realized the local pride that Mike, and presumably his family, had, and was a little taken aback by his passenger’s outburst. “Oh well, all these people are good for my business. Plus, I’m from Michigan, so, I suppose I am part of the problem.”
“Yeah, but if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have met Marlene. And all of you guys.” So it shifted back to a happy place and soon enough they were through the light.
“That’s my brother’s mall,” Mike said as they passed a strip with a gas station and a convenience store. David noticed they were low on gas, so they pulled in.
“I don’t suppose your brother would be anywhere around here, huh?” David asked.
“No, he moved to Texas. There’s a guy here who watches it for him. I’ll pay for the gas,” Mike said and pulled out his credit card.
“No, thanks. That’s okay,” David replied as he pulled the nozzle out of the tank. But it was too late, Mike was already at the counter, the station’s glass door closing slowly behind him.

The beer had been transferred to a cooler; the cooler, along with the fishing gear, tents and tackle boxes, as then loaded onto the boat. David’s wasn’t the best boat in the world, but it was a good make, aluminum, light, with a deck, some mounted chairs and a reasonable array of necessary equipment. The lake itself was man-made and usually deep, though shallow in random spots, so the depth finder was always of use and generally David kept one eye on it. David was aware that his boat might not to be up to Mike’s family’s standards, so he emphasized the length of time he had had the thing and its reliability, casting it more as an old friend, than as an average man’s fishing boat.

They had been third in line at the landing, “Not bad,” Mikee said and looked over at David. After a few minutes, they had set the boat in the water, parked the truck and trailer, fired the old boat up and pulled away from the shore a little. Then they opened their first beers. David sat behind the controls and pointed his old friend up river, towards their campsite when the inevitable talk of the wedding began. “How are the wedding plans coming?” David asked. He had left the planning to his wife and daughter, supplying them only with a general figure, as to affordability. “Let the ladies have their fun,” he oftentimes said to himself when considering the potentially large outlay and its eventual, yet certain payback.
“The plans are going great,” Mike replied. “Actually, that’s something we need to talk about.”
“Hey kid, I’m leaving the planning to my ladies.”
“Yeah, but, you know, there are only two of us boys in my family. My Dad wants to be able to contribute to the wedding. He and my mom actually want to pay for all of it. They have something special they want to do.”
“I’ve got it covered. I appreciate it, but they don’t need to pay anything.”
“Well, they would really like to rent the Grand Island. I know it’s the wife’s family who usually pays. We know that, but they would like to have a bigger party, almost a family reunion. You know, we would have to rent boats, get the caterers out there; it’s a lot of stuff. Personally, if it were me, I would prefer your plan. Keep it simple and small. But they are my parents and they have a right.”
“Hmmmm,” David finished a beer and asked for another from the cooler. Mike opened it, handed it to him and put his bottle up for a toast.
“To the wedding. No matter how it happens, as long as it happens!” Mike said to David who looked him in the eye, then away as he poured the beer down his throat.

The boat’s motor belated on while the two men sat not talking for several minutes. David pulled back the throttle and asked, “What does Marlene think about this? Have you asked her?”
Oh yeah, she’s into it. You know girls, they all want big weddings.”
“I don’t want to disappoint anybody, but I do feel it’s my place to pay for and plan the wedding.”
“You’re not planning it anyway, so why worry about paying?” With these insolent words, a spear of anger shot up into David’s mouth. The point of which was about to leave his lips when he put it down with another gulp of his beer, which was getting warmer by the second. An expensive bass boat came down river and the two passengers waved at David and Mike, who waved back, Mike holding up his beer, smiling while David’s greeting was less enthusiastic. David pushed the throttle forward and the boat lurched, then took off. The motor was running well, its pitch changing with every touch of the throttle. He had taken care of the boat, just like he had taken care of his house, his family, his job and his life. The sun was still blasting forth and the number of boats on the lake continued to swell. “Shouldn’t we find the campsite soon?” Mike asked.

It was sometime after six when the campsite, the tents, were set up and ready. The two men had already eaten the sandwiches that Babette had packed. Both men had been relatively quiet, talking mostly of the river and the other boats, but they kept up steadily with the beer drinking. It was hot out and all the river activites gave them cover. David had never known this young man to be so pushy before. But, it was true, that they had only known each other for nine months. There had never been reason for any conflict, nor was there really now. Yet, it was uncomfortable to be talking about money with a boy who had never worked outside the comfort zone of his own family, who had never had a career, yet had access to much greater resources than he himself ever had. His parents had left him something, it’s true, but nothing like what the boy and Marlene would have access to. He wondered what their children would be like if they had them.

Mike returned from his wood gathering mission, set the logs ands sticks by the fire pit and began setting it up. “Should we use the grill or open flame?” Mike asked.
“You decide,” David said as he put the empty in the plastic trash bag with a clink. “I think I’ll take the boat out and drop a line in. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch something for dinner. How about it? Want to come along?” The beer was getting to him.
“I’ll stay here and cast from the shore. That way, we’ll have better chances.”
“Sounds good,” David said. Then he packed a few beers in a small cooler and set out on the water.

When David awoke, his line was still in the water, but with nothing attached. The moon was bright and full and the stars were like a glittering blanket under which he had slept for how long? He checked his watch. It’s was 1:30 a.m. He couldn’t remember when he stopped, but thanked his drunken self for putting down the anchor and leaving his running lights on. But when he tuned the key, the motor was virtually dead. Then another try and the lights dimmed and the starter made a noise that wasn’t the noise it should make. He cursed himself and began preparations to pull start the motor.

Soon enough, he was driving through the night’s mist, the comforting sound of his motor restored, back to the campsite. From the water he could see the campfire which barely glowed. He was glad for the beacon. After tying the boat up, he unloaded the empties from the cooler and dumped them into the garbage bag, tied it off and put it aside. Mike had already turned in. In the cooler by the picnic table, Mike had left some pan-fried sunfish for David. “The kid had better luck than I did,” he said to himself. Then he ate what was there, entered the black mouth of his tent, zipped it closed and fell to sleep.

David kept rolling over and moving around in vain attempt to escape from the summer heat. The tent saved everything that went into it though, and eventually, with a painful mix of thirst and a full bladder, he was forced to accept the brutality of the hangover morning and begin what would hopefully be a nice, calm day on the water. With a feeling vaguely reeking of shame and beer, he said hello to Mike, who was angling from the shore. “Any luck last night?” he asked.
“Nope. Nothing. It looks like you did better than me. I didn’t know you could cook like that. Thanks for dinner.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” Mike replied. David let it go. He was too tired to want to get into anything negative. Instead he said, “Well how about we head out in about an hour and get this party started?” Mike agreed and David went to fetch his things for a bath in the lake.

“We’re getting low on beer,” Mike noticed when he opened the cooler. “Maybe we should head back to the truck later and pick some up before we drink too much now.”
“Okay, we’ll head back to the truck in a couple hours, and get beer and everything else we might need.” Then David told storied of fishing the Great Lakes with his father and growing up in Detroit and how he left when the automobile industry died, and meeting Babette in college, who he thought was French, but turned out to be from Ohio and moving to Kentucky and every other happy summer thoughts he could think of. Mike smiled and cast, still nothing biting. It was too hot. They drank the remaining beer. They drifted, then David remembered, “So, you mentioned your grandfather was from around here. Wherabouts?” “He’s from here,” Mike said and pointed at the water. “Or, to be more exact, about ¾ mile North.”
“He was raised on the lake you mean?”
“No, he was raised under here, before they flooded it out. He was born there, a town called Anderson. It was flooded out to make the dam by the TVA. My great-grandfather was the mayor. He opposed the whole thing, but he lost. That’s why we have so much land now. My grandpa didn’t ever want to lose home again, so he started buying property around here when he could afford it. The printing thing, that comes from Dad’s side of the family.” The boat swayed on the wake left by a houseboat that passed slowly by. “They didn’t even knock the houses down before they let the water in. No point. Good habitat for fish, I suppose.”
“That’s quite a story. Wow! I mean, how do you feel about that?”
“It’s always been like this for me. It’s okay. I love this lake. I’m from here,” then shifting, “Hadn’t we better get to the store?”

Still, the situation with the wedding arrangements hung over the proceedings. That and the Mike’s family’s underwater past. They pulled up and tied the boat near the landing, pulled out the key and both walked to the truck. They dumped the bottles—12—along the way. “I can drive, David, if you ant me too. I drank less.”
“No, it’s okay.” They got into the truck and began the drive to town, the empty trailer clanking behind. “Let’s also get something else for dinner, just in case,” Mike said.
“Yeah, good idea, it’s too hot for much today. Okay, so let’s talk some more about the wedding. I mean, I see you point. I do. And maybe we can work something out. I want it to be our party too. You know, let me think about, talk to Babette and see what she says.”
“She’s into it. I’ve already talked to her.”
“Are you sure, she never said anything to me.”
“Have you asked her? She wants to have a big wedding on the island, so does Marlene, so do my parents. So does everyone. Except you apparently. It’s no big deal to have us pay, I mean, what do you care, we have the money, save yours for your retirement.”
At this David began to sweat. He turned up the air conditioning. “When did you talk to Babette about this? Why didn’t I know about it?”
”There’s a lot you don’t know about, David. There’s a lot you don’t know about your daughter, your wife, there’s so much you don’t get.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” It was then the traffic on the way to town stopped and the two were stuck.
“Do you know your wife sleeps with other men? Do you know I have slept with her? Do you know she loves me and doesn’t care that I am marrying your daughter. She approves of me, David. She’s a slut, but I don’t mind her as a mother-in-law. She’s rather famous, actually. No shame. And she sucks my dick better than your daughter. But Marlene is learning. She’s a quick study really.”
David’s fists clenched on the wheel and he felt dizzy. He wasn’t even sure if this was really happening. “Nibblin’ on sponge cake, watching the sun bake…” came on the radio again. Then, from behind, the whir and lights of a siren. A Sherriff’s deputy signaled, pulled in behind David’s truck and signaled him to pull over. David checked his speedometer, it was impossible that he was speeding. He was still stranded somewhere, slightly drunk and lost in the last words spoken to him in the air conditioned truck he knew so well.
“Did you know the plates on your trailer are expired, sir. Sir, are you allright? Have you been drinking?”

Mike drove the truck alone back to the boat, packed up the campsite and drove back to David and Babette’s. Babette was waiting for him, she helped him unload, then took him upstairs. It was the next morning when she went to the station, paid the bail and picked up her husband, who never mentioned a thing.

Guten Morgen, Alles!

2008-07-28T06:17:00.002-04:00

Hey Everyone
I just got up! Ahh, another fine day. Aber es ist Nachmittag, nicht Morgen! Was ist los mit mir?
Okay, time for a sh-sh-shower, then a nap!

Lazy/Not Lazy

2008-07-28T06:03:00.003-04:00

Well hello from my temporary home on Dresdenerstrasse. Alles ist im Ordnung hier. I just returned from the grocery store to stock up for my last week of nutty German adventures. There's been a lot going on with lots of work also waiting back in New York and impending rock shows in Minnesota.

I have not been doing so well with the writing. Just the one essay, so far. I have, however, been looking around at various neighborhoods and meeting with various people discussing how to best go about making a property deal here. I am considering three different and distinct paths. But really, I feel like I need to get to know things better here, in general.

I looked at an office penthouse on Saturday, though we've yet to get inside. It's up for auction, but in a neighborhood that's out of the way and probably not what I'm looking for. Really, I don't know if what I'm looking for is available. I may have to modify--but there are many other possible ways to solve this problem. Just need to get more info and make the best choice.

Recruited one, maybe two, artists for the winter video show at LKC. That should be a good show. Plus, I met up with Stu Meade, the ex-pat artist who lives 2 blocks from where I am staying (Thanks Scott and Mildred!). We've hung out a bit and done a lot of talking. I am planning on an interview and a story for next month's Paneling. It should be very interesting. Lots to talk about.

Otherwise, I've been to some of the coolest places ever-- (illegal) tango night behind the Neue Nationalisches Galerie, crappy LA-style art openings, beach bears along the Spree, the best Schnitzel ever, graffiti-art scene space turned prostitute-infested tourist attraction, Michaelkirchplatz (my new favorite place)--all that and more! Fan fucking tastic. Been running through this and neighboring neighborhoods. Met a crazy bar owner from Kosovo who is threatening his Montenegro bred neighbor. Oh and there's a brothel across the street from his Neukolln bar. Trodler is also sehr schoen. At Trodler, they ignore the smoking ban and ask you which records you would like to hear. A bottle of wine at Trodler (1 ltr.) + 6 euros.

I've been on a few dates too and met some interesting people. But now, I have to focus on writing and business stuff and the group of (almost?) friends that I have here in Berlin.
Time for coffee, lunch, procrastination and then, finally, writing.
Tchuss!

Quick Update and Nice Links

2008-07-23T13:38:00.002-04:00

Yeow...that was a nice little run. Wow, it's sunny and mild and people are sitting around outside soaking up the sun like turtles or drinking coffee and smoking outside of their favorite cafes. Kicking it along the Landwehrkanal, Michaelkirchplatz and the Englebecken, which is a big flat pool with fountains and gardens around it. Very pretty. My main outside hangout spot. Going to head there in a few minutes and read some more from "Disgrace" by Coetzee which was recommended by my pal Donna in NYC. I believe she is getting her teeth pulled out tomorrow. Good luck with that! Fun. I had my wisdom teeth pulled out in January and I absolutely hated the experience.

Okay, if you haven't seen the following videos, please do check them out. They are too good:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=p_LoSqyNmeo
http://youtube.com/watch?v=JvIRY4vccts
They are both by the Go! Team from England. Who knew England was acctually still cool?

Okay, gotta kick it out to the park for a while. Then more writing tomorrow!
Leo