she drives into the parking lot while I am leaning up against the fender of my car. she’s drunk and her eyes are wet with tears: ”you son of a bitch, you fucked me when you didn’t want to. you told me to keep phoning you, you told me to move closer into town, then you told me to leave you alone.”
it’s all quite dramatic and I enjoy it. ”sure, well, what do you want?”
”I want to talk to you, I want to go to your place and talk to you…”
”I’m with somebody now. she’s in getting a sandwich.”
”I want to talk to you…it takes a while to get over things. I need more time,”
”sure. wait until she comes out. we’re not inhuman. we’ll all have a drink together. ”
‘‘shit” she says, ”oh shit!”
she jumps into her car and drives off.
the other one comes out: ”who was that?”
Now she’s gone and I’m sitting here drunk and my eyes seems wet with tears.
it’s very quiet and I feel like I have a spear rammed into the center of my gut.
I walk to the bathroom and I puke.
mercy. I think, doesnt the human race know anything about mercy?
”The next step may be the electrification of all mankind by the representation of a play that may be neither tragedy, comedy, farce, opera, pantomime,melodrama or spectacle, as we now comprehend these terms, but which may retain some portion of the idiosyncratic excellence of each, while it introduces a new class of excellence as yet unnamed because as yet undreamed of in the world”
”I will go to the opening of anything,including a toilet seat”
”I have social disease, I have to go out every night. If I stay home one nigtht spreading rumors to my dogs. Once I stayed home for a week and my dogs had a nervous breakdown. I love going out every night. It’s so exciting. I paint until the last minute and then go home for my first dinner of the night. I always have something simple and nutritious, because I don’t trust food anywhere but home. My favorite dinner is turkey and mashed potatoes-it looks clean.
I usually go out with one kid from my office-the Factory-like Fred Hugues, my business manager, or Bob Colacello, the editor of my magazine Interview. Employees make the best dates. You don’t have to pick them up and they’re always tax-deductible. I also like the feeling of having several of having several of my employees all around a party-it’s like being at the office.
You really have Social Disease when you make all play work. The only reason to play hard is to work hard, not the other way around like most people think. That’s why I take my tape recorder everywhere I can. I also take my camera everywhere. Having a few rolls of film to develop gives me a good reason to get up in the morning.
I love the new, small, automatic-focus 35mm cameras like Minox and Konica. That’s what I used for the photos in this book. I think anybody can take a good picture. My idea of a good picture is one that’s in focus and a famous person doing something unfamous. It’s being in the right place at the wrong time. That’s why my favorite photographer is Ron Galella.
But back to m,y nightlife. After I’ve filled my plastic shopping bag from Brownie’s Health Food Shop with TDK ninety-minutes tapes, Kodak, TX-36 black-and-white film, and Duracell Alkaline AA batteries, I run out to my first party of the evening. I usually catch the tail end of a cocktail party, then go to a couple of dinners, stop off at Le Club, Regine’s, or Xenon, and end up at Studio 54. Or I go to a Soho opening, a Broadway opening, a boutique opening, a restaurant opening-when it opens I go. When it closes, I go too. I just go. That’s Social Disease.
The symptoms of Social Disease: You want to go out every night because you’re afraid if you stay home you might miss something. You choose your friends according to whether or not they have a limousine. You prefer exhilaration to conversation unless the subject is gossip. You judge a party by how many celebrities are there-if they serve caviar they don’t have any celebrities. When you wake up in the morning, the first thing you do is read the society columns. If your name is actually mentioned your day is made. Publicity is the ultimate symptom of Social Disease. But you know it’s fatal when you don’t want to get rid of it. You couldn’t anyway. How do you catch Social Disease? By kissing someone on both cheeks. Kissing people on both cheeks started out in France, like most diseases. It’s the society thing to do. Socialites never shakes hands. It hurts too much.
People say there’s no such thing as Society anymore. I think they’re wrong. There’s a new kind of Society. Now it doesn’t matter if you came over on the Mayflower, so long as you can get in Studio 54. Anyone rich, powerful, beautiful, or famous can get into Society. If you’re a few of those things you can really get to the top.
This book is about the people at the top, or around the top. But the top’s the bottom. Everyone up there has Social Disease…
Gregory loved Keats and Shelley and would stagger into the lobby with his trousers hanging low, eloquently spewing their verses. When I mourned my inability to finish any of my poems, he quoted Paul Valery to me: ”Poets don’t finish their poems, they abandon them”… – Patti Smith, Just Kids
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge:“Careful.”
Live at the Bottom Line
I had just finished my second of three college years in the program in Arts and Media Technologies in Jonquière (Québec), and my girlfriend and I met up with four of her friends – one of whom was just back from spending 2 years in Thailand and was brought back to Canada after a hard and long search led by his father – half-way on route to Québec City, where there was this huge party planned for the birthday of a friend of my girlfriend and her best friend. It all went perfectly wrong, as any real good party should go, and the police had to end it abruptly. Four of us decided there and then to go on a road trip going from Quebec City, to Montreal, to New-York, ending in Virginia Beach, since all of us were free for the summer and had cars at our disposition. The main declared purpose of this road trip was unknown to all of us.
During this trip, I got to better know one of the friends that was with us. This guy had gone totally mad travelling across Thailand, doing stuff with no logical meaning whatsoever. He was seen by many locals and left behind him only whispers of pity and incomprehension. This lunatic was pretty much out of it and nobody had managed to find out what had happened to put this previously very open-hearted, grounded, good fellow and appreciated companion, in this state… This had a very strong effect on me and I realised how thin the line that kept us mentally fit (according to social standards) was, and made me appreciate that these people also had some kind of wisdom and spontaneity that most of us “sane people” were somehow lacking… So, as I had my old Leica camera with me, I decided to be a witness of the sad beauty of those who had left the ship to sail away in a world of their own.
This post is in relation to the Daily Post’s Photo Challenge: CAREFUL
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
and nobody finds the
crawling in and out
the bone and the
for more than
there’s no chance
we are all trapped
by a singular
nobody ever finds
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill