February 11, 2011

Dream: There’s a bar on Manhattan with a balcony room that can only be reached only from the sidewalk and then only by ladder. When you are in the balcony room you must wear a hard hat. Drinks are served through a window at the back of the bar. This room is very trendy, and I feel proud to gave been invited to sit in it. The rest of the bar, which is accessed through a regular door, is more ordinary, but seems to be the habitation of certain kinds of mobsters. I’m supposed to meet a guy who sells bicycles, and I’m supposed to order six bicycles, except that in some way the bicycles actually represent gowns, fluffy white ball gowns. I go to procure the bicycles (the entrance is the underside of the Marriot across the street from the Paramount off Times Square) but when I’m inside the bike shop it suddenly transforms into a creepy boutique, with a figure in a white gown floating down from the distant ceiling. The figure is singing opera. He is s man in drag. I listen to the words, and they tell me that the figure I see is the representative for the actual designer, who is a woman so ugly that she refuses to be seen in public. I don’t know whether I order gowns or not. But in the last scene I’m in a regular part of the bar with a guy who’s said on several occasions that he wants to get to know me. I buy him a drink and sit down, but it’s clear he’s actually not interested in knowing me, for he keeps sitting at another table with other friends, with his leg stretched out and his foot on a chair at mt table, so he can be at two tables at once. I’m mortified but can’t figure out how to make an exit.

Began learning Italian on Rosetta Stones. It grades your performance on each section, and I get 100% on grammar and vocabulary, but the bitch on the recording hates my accent and I barely pass pronunciation. Il gatto dorme right against the computer.

Cairo in jubilation. I teared up when I heard the news, partially because it is one of the great moments in my lifetime, partially because Egypt walks the razor’s edge. We all must pray that democracy comes, as it might, even against bitter expectation. For now the Egyptians have covered themselves in glory, for proving profound change can come, even bloodlessly, if the will of the people is united and strong.

Painted for a while in the studio. When I was driving home, the winter sun was setting with an unendurable blast of light from my left. As I was crossing the railroad tracks, a kid and his girlfriend sauntered out into the road in front of me. I didn’t see them until they were in the road, and they had left me just enough room for a panic stop. I did stop, and I hadn’t even honked, but the kid decided to walk slowly down the middle of the street, I suppose to teach me a lesson. I shifted into the left lane to pass him, and he ran so he could be where I couldn’t get around him. He looked behind so he could be where I was trying to go. I can’t account for the sudden rage. I parked the truck, got out, and began walking toward him. He backed a little, but he was ashamed of having done so, and rushed forward and pushed me. I am not very pushable. I think this surprised him. Using his attack as an excuse, I hit him in the chest with my fist. It wasn’t a hard blow, but he wasn’t expecting it, I think, and he went down on the street. He got up and backed up against the wall of Charlie’s warehouse, clearly surrendering. The girlfriend and the boy and I were looking at one another, trying to imagine what the other was thinking. I got back in the truck and drove away. While I was hitting him, I looked into his green eyes, glittering in the same light that blinded me. I thought, “you think beauty is going to keep you from the consequences of this.” It might have had I waited one second longer.