Wrecked at Rekkd's

Jeffrey Shell, Monday, 6 Sep 2004

Weekend confessional at Marianne Rekkd's

“Latent energy, anguish, and insomnia are wrecking me this weekend,” I said as I stretched back on the horrible yellow couch in Marianne Rekkd's living room, “Memory is cruel and attacking me in strange places and timespaces with very cruel and very sharp sticks. From the wounded eyes and sailors mouth of the first representation of One Half of Twain to the therapy session of her second and most vivid representation, to whom after I said goodbye I found the art store and gallery that finally energized me into painting. From the soundtracks to letter writing on trains in my admittedly missed east coast days to the taste of blueberries on Cheerios this past spring when the all the world was foolishly and cruelly green. It's cruel cruel cruel.”

An empty horse and buggy clattered west on the street below, an empty sound from the empty midnight streets of the Halo District on one of those holiday weekends when the city empties itself.

I just wanted to sleep, or to at least lie there with no more memory thrashing until dreamtime. Marianne offered to refill my drink and handed me a cigarette (GPC - God's Preferred!).

This is Wrecked at Rekkd's, © Monday, 6 Sep 2004. It is part of Perfect and Unbelievable Hearsay, which is part of euc.cx/ddec.

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