back to the beginning
Apr. 3rd, 2005 03:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabotabbyBeen awhile since I've done a dunk postie. I've spent the last two days at Ultra-Red's Articles of Incorporation conference. Quite an intense two days, and I went home with the intention of finally getting to spend a night at home writing a very serious and thoughtful entry and finishing the Al-Awda posters, when...
...I checked my e-mail, and therein were two messages from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wlach and zemleroi, respectively. Both of whom were in town for the weekend, neither of whom I'd seen for a disgustingly long time.
Background: When I first moved to Hogtown, I wound up in co-op housing in a dilapidated old Victorian with 11 other people. It was a strange year; in many ways, I'm nostalgic for that period of my life. The house two doors down had 17 people, two of whom were my aforementioned friends, and for various reasons I spent an ungodly amount of time hungover in their kitchen.
Co-op nostalgia hits at the oddest times; standing by the window in what was once both of their bedrooms and is now the common room, looking out at the park where we could never sit because of all the pigeon shit, I missed that sense of camaraderie, trying to live out our ideals -- or sometimes just live together -- fighting giant rats, making art and homemade bread. It was fucked up and dysfunctional and spectacularly warm and life-affirming.
It's almost all new people living in their house now, and nothing's in the same place; it was like watching a movie of our lives six years ago, familiar and strange. We drank Bushmill and caught up on old times (hence the drunk). There was still that sense of interior-decor-as-snarky-social-commentary, comme ça:
Of course, before I got all weepy-eyed for my former collectivist lifestyle, there were some Green Room anecdotes worth relating. We found the best laptop desktop ever!
And we came up with a really good idea for a conceptual art piece.
We're going to steal a urinal from a bar...
wrap it in condoms...
which are filled with pee...
and stuffed with crucifix-shaped pieces of meat.
This is how I intend to make my living as an artist.
And damn, it's 3:30 AM, and I really ought to get to sleep. More babbling when I sober up, I think.
Sober update: Hey, what's all this? Did the Pope die or something?
...I checked my e-mail, and therein were two messages from
wlach and zemleroi, respectively. Both of whom were in town for the weekend, neither of whom I'd seen for a disgustingly long time.Background: When I first moved to Hogtown, I wound up in co-op housing in a dilapidated old Victorian with 11 other people. It was a strange year; in many ways, I'm nostalgic for that period of my life. The house two doors down had 17 people, two of whom were my aforementioned friends, and for various reasons I spent an ungodly amount of time hungover in their kitchen.
Co-op nostalgia hits at the oddest times; standing by the window in what was once both of their bedrooms and is now the common room, looking out at the park where we could never sit because of all the pigeon shit, I missed that sense of camaraderie, trying to live out our ideals -- or sometimes just live together -- fighting giant rats, making art and homemade bread. It was fucked up and dysfunctional and spectacularly warm and life-affirming.
It's almost all new people living in their house now, and nothing's in the same place; it was like watching a movie of our lives six years ago, familiar and strange. We drank Bushmill and caught up on old times (hence the drunk). There was still that sense of interior-decor-as-snarky-social-commentary, comme ça:
Of course, before I got all weepy-eyed for my former collectivist lifestyle, there were some Green Room anecdotes worth relating. We found the best laptop desktop ever!
And we came up with a really good idea for a conceptual art piece.
We're going to steal a urinal from a bar...
wrap it in condoms...
which are filled with pee...
and stuffed with crucifix-shaped pieces of meat.
This is how I intend to make my living as an artist.
And damn, it's 3:30 AM, and I really ought to get to sleep. More babbling when I sober up, I think.
Sober update: Hey, what's all this? Did the Pope die or something?
