Moma.
I saw the Van Gogh exhibit the other day. Haunting. 4th and 5th floors; the Rothkos and Pollocks. What sad depressive men.
These days I have about as much desire to go to a classical music concert as I do to drink the pimple-juice of a diseased chicken from the farm of a third-world country. Concerts uninterest me (is that a verb?) unless they contain either something new/fresh or free champagne. Preferably both.
Andy Warhol. I don't really get it. Am I supposed to?
Girls induce apathy, but the self-loathing kind one has very little desire to escape.
Inspired simultaneously and erratically by the blog thoughts of both Stanley Lee and Ned Rorem.
Dec 21, 2008
Dec 20, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)