thursday november 20. 7:30pm.
after the museum i had to rush off to rye's dorm. i hadn't packed yet and would only have time to go straight from the gallery opening to my bus at fisherman's wharf. rye met me and we took a cab to live worms gallery. the kind of taxi driver who knows just how to not listen to our conversations. and curse no less than twenty times on the drive there. 6 bucks and byebye cabbie! there were roughly fifteen people in the space already. we stashed my suitcase under the chairs and grabbed some champagne.
this is rye's andrew jackson. can you tell what her art looks like by now? my favorite was the blonde girl on the top left in the pic below:
um. this was the best pizza i've ever eaten. $2.75 for a slice and i seriously felt that junky in me craving more. i went back to the gallery more fulfilled and in turn more confident and in turn more friendly. it may have been the tecate we were drinking too. i saw piotr and talked to him for a minute. have i mentioned him before? we kept running into each other. in that strange butterflies in belly kind of way. he was blond and wore peacoats. and had a thin twisted smile. i would be sad if i found out he were gay. but only for an instant.
rye told me piotr recently figured out his paintings are a manifestation of his rather elusive masculinity. expect to see large phallus like objects. we both agreed piotr became a better person for admitting that. and i liked him even more.
here are the guys with the new yorker contacts talking to rye. can you see his little puppy? turns out rye didn't trust them but at least they weren't acting like the lushes who walked in from the streets for the free booze. one of the red-faced alcoholics asked me if i wanted his body. yeah. i want it in a rehab facility. byeeeee!!!
jamie's paintings, which were at the top of this post, feel like dia de los muertos and comic book artwork. personally, he gives out a sexed bohemian feeling.
both rye and i were drinking and talking and not paying any attention to the time. suddenly it was past 9pm and we both kind of screamed shit shit shit shit shit shit!!! god god god god!!! fuck fuck!!! grabbed my suitcases and turned toward the streets. the crowded streets! there were thirty more people smoking and drinking on the sidewalk. the crowd wouldn't let us pass. everyone was drunk and chatty and wanted to know how i knew rye and why were we carrying luggage? then she'd have to introduce me again. and oh! you two look so alike! thanks but we've GOTTA GO! NICE TO MEET YOU! SEE YOU LATER! and ran ran ran faster through the streets. breathing heavy. stomping up the hill, occasionally dropping the bags. sweating. panting. and finally. we got to embarcadero. and it was past my pick up time! we split up looking for that magical greyhound. hoping it hadn't left yet! after a few minutes i figured the bus left me in san francisco and sat on my suitcase near pier 39. sort of buzzed and crying and laughing. the sea lions barking behind me. the air was chilled but my body was radiating heat from running and the cans of alcohol i just drank.
the greyhound pulled up and asked me if i was going to the amtrak station. yes. YES. YES! on the way to the train station, rye told me she had to race back to live worms. the showing would probably be open until early next morning. i caught the train and fell asleep almost immediately.
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