Early - or not so early - this morning I was bouncing from place to place in a canyon type environment that was near New York City. A thousand things happened before but only the end seems clear now. There was some apartment in Brooklyn where my parents were living and several friends were visiting. Perhaps Stella was there. I walked out in just my socks because I remembered that there was a pair of sneakers with my bike. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, my shoeless state started to seem ridiculous. I realized it would not do, red as my socks were. Somehow I had assumed that my bike was close, when it was really quite far away in the Lower East Side. With shoes on, I took a cab.
The event was Halla's birthday. I had forgot to buy a gift. The party was in a grubby and crowded apartment in the corner of what I later realized was a very high-end shopping center. There were a lot of bohemian types there getting drunk. Feeling utterly embarrassed about not having a gift, I called Milosz, who was apparently riding my bike over and asked him to pick up a bottle of vodka. His voice was very reassuring and he asked if he should get Stolichnya. I knew I should get Gray Goose, but was too cheap, so I told him to just get Absolut. I anxiously awaited his arrival, hoping Halla wouldn't be bothered by my giftlessness.
Then Joel arrived. He was wearing a gray suit from Senli and Frye - the same he wore at Justin's wedding. He stood by the entrance in a smug sort of way. I gave him a big hug and we chatted for a moment. Then Milosz arrived, but Milosz looked very nerdy. He was fat and had squinty eyes and glasses. He handed me the bottle of Absolut and then I walked over to give it to Halla, who was too drunk to think much of it.
When I got back Milosz and Joel were deep in conversation. Before I had a chance to interupt, a tall Japanese girl suddenly appeared on the scene. She was stylish but seemed to have a slight acne problem - or was it the usual crooked teeth? Either way, there were some serious imperfections, but I was immediately drawn in by the fact that she seemed to need my assistance. She was somewhat stylish or quirky, though I can't remember exactly what she was wearing. For some reason I kept expecting her to have bad breath, but she didn't. I kept sniffing for it, but it just wasn't coming out.
She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me around the high-end shopping complex that was outside the apartment. It was filled with artwork and she said that she was an artist. Her father was apparently someone important. Maybe he even owned the mall. She brought me to see her first creation. It was an antique lacquer box. I was very impressed at the time, but in retrospect it seemed more like a work of traditional handicraft than a radical piece of modern art, which was clearly what she intended for it to be. We saw her father with a group of business man coming around the corner and she briskly pulled me away.
Next up was her second piece of artwork. She was very happy to have her work on display in New York. This work of art was even more overwhelming. It was a big fish bowl with all sorts of very rare goldfish swimming around inside. I was starting to really like her. I was also impressed by her creativity and talent and commented that I liked what she was doing a lot more than the huge installation that was the centerpiece of the show.
The Courvoisier Car Cruncher had no connection to Cognac, except for the overwhelming likelihood that its creator was drunk when he came up with the plan. It was a project made with funding from the E.U. Such was what the huge gold label said. Clearly this was some mis-remembering of the Swiss architect and urban planner, Le Corbusier. As a work of art, perhaps it did offer some commentary on his ideas regarding the role of the automobile and energy saving in the modern city. The artwork was an installation almost the size of a house. It was a mini-factory made apparently for the purpose of destroying cars in the most dramatic way possible.
I didn't realize this at first because my comment upon seeing a Chrysler Minivan was that the installation was probably funded by Chrysler in a last ditch attempt to seem hip and relevant as its fortune fall through the floor. My Japanese friend lauged at my foolishness because a moment later the mechanical arms began slamming the sides of the minivan. Then I saw that other cars - even brand new bimmers and audis - were flowing into this assembly line of destruction.
The girl's father appeared to be right around the corner, though I'm not sure exactly why and he didn't seem inclined to do anything. He was with a group of businessman. Oblivious to his presence, she stroked my chest as I firmly held her arm. We were moving closer and I anxiously awaited the first kiss.
Tiring of watching this montrosity, we made for the exit, but then my phone began began vibrating. It was Sen Li calling to say that a client had underpaid him. He apologized for waking me up - embarassing in itself since it was already 10:30. I had not gone to sleep till around four the night before, after snorting a tablet of Ritalin, and researching connections between Barack Obama and Septemius Severus.
I tried to sleep but then I remembered that it was impossible to return to the world of the Courvoisier Car Cruncher and the Japanese artist who had excited me so much. My first thought was that there must be some way to spend all of the good parts of life in dreams. If dreams could be so good, so eternally fresh, perhaps they could seriously outweigh the tedium of life and even make me more industrious in the real world, knowing that I could always return to the better life once I went to sleep. It is appropriate that at the moment I am listening to my new favorite singer, Yamaguchi Momoe.
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