Theremin and Lenin

This weekend has undoubtedly been a very Red weekend.
I have consumed many Red things, both in liquid and solid form.
Pastarma, Carpaccio(thanks Eli), Pepperoni, Marinara, red beer and wine.


Red references in a book I read over this weekend; of N. Vietnam, and Ho Chi Minh and French Indochina , of French cooking and Gertrude Stein, who's name always makes me think of Roseability by Idlewild, all of which extended into tiresome and endless Wikipedia expeditions.


And finally as tribute to Leon, I have build a Theremin. It's a very simple yet temperamental thing, that I doubt even Clara R. would be able to control . It was meant as an artistic promise whispered through evaporating alcohol in a dark and loud chamber, but our friends are working, and youth has no place in serious work.

But there it is.
A video of a test.
In the future a telescoping antenna of the old am/fm variety and an enclosure of some sort. MeSt will be the inspiration for the latter.

Another night out

I was attracted to going out. It started at work and ended at
Darkroom. I feel so easily manipulated. The promise of sex weaves
silken links...

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My Vespa rebuild

For the past few months I have been rebuilding a 1974 smallframe. The
goal was to recapture a past never lived. An experiment.
Many deep cuts, flesh opening in random slits, my blood mingling with the motor.
Its blood visible in dark oily sickle shapes under my fingernails.

A hope to achieve absurd speeds.



This litle 2 stroke will fly, and I will too.
A question remains, what is the best way to get a green scooter down 4 flights?
Spring is here, and her blue eyes are in my dreams. She blushes when she sings.

Dinner tonight

I always have such a hard time deciding.

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A day of a fair world...

Today I had a day-off.
An overcast and
gloomy day
to call my own.




A day without
fluorescents,
specimens of
countless Kelvins.
Their evil fluttering light
turns my insides into
a strob-ing capitalistic dance party.

Nauseating!

Having woken up at at a reasonable hour, and knowing my unreliability in creating a day plan and general proclivity in wasting a day in sweet idleness, I got into my auto, clutched and loaded up on an Americano and a chocolate croissant.
I pointed the nose to the north-east and the machine's tires hissed quitly along the wet pavement to the main artery.

From the freeway I spotted the gigantic remnants of the old World Fair installation.
Having never gone, I decided to brave the maze of exits and through a torrent of honking and curses at my horrid maneuvering managed to end up within walking distance of the Pavilion.

Normally I would not be impressed at the sight of symmetrical iron and concrete structures where it not for the fact that I was the only person in the park.
I assume Midtown would be just as impressive if there weren't a million people crawling on the sidewalks, squinting at the light with their bad morning breath.

What a great idea!


The groaning of old concrete swayed by the wind, creaking iron, and the violent whistles of taut cables, actually made the banality of the scene meaningful.
A metaphor of structural abandonment; a heavy contrast to the optimistic Weltanschauung of the 60's. Our culture reflects our humanity and looking around I couldn't help feeling just how much things have changed in 50 years.
How much promise these structures must have held.
The millions of dollars spent on creating a hope of a globally-unified future.
Sadly money doesn't buy happiness but only time.
These structures hence, are still standing.