last night i went to a party. the only person i knew was the hostess. she is a very nice person. there were lots of smart folks there, writers and painters and musicians and aging skate board punks. the music went from grunge to funk to grunge to jazzy improv to grunge to the grateful dead to grunge to reggae. i loved it.
i talked to a girl who rides horses and a guy who manages the news department of a local weekly and photographer from a daily and a girl who was working at the jefferson theater the other night when i went to see a film.
another person i knew showed up and then i knew two people. her and i talked a lot about places i've been which are places she would like to be.
music stirs up the past.
i remembered that when in seattle i used to live above band members of the screaming trees. or was it mudhoney? or soundgarden? obviously it didn't matter much except that they used to wake me from my sleep when they cursed loudly at each other and threw furniture around. seattle was a place of intersections and dead ends, a place of downs and peaks. there was an overpass park and an island, a martini bar and an espresso cart. that was the year nirvana burst through the charts and i shaved my long hair off into a cute stubble. i had my first crush on a girl and my first date with a black man. seattle was full of watery reflection and blurry intention. it was a place of yearning and mosh pits. my rent in seattle was only $100 a month. my roommates were both painters. one was an alcoholic painter who used to come home at 4am and steam potatoes and garlic. the other was a recovered alcoholic painter who was a good friend until he asked me if i was physically attracted to him and i said no. boy-painters have big egos.
once, when i lived in seattle, a junkie gave me a bouquet of bright tulips. a few days later i caught him making a drug deal on my telephone.
the year i lived in seattle was one of the worst years of my life.
but the memories are good.