It happened. A sad separation after a lot of years. Unhappy years I guess, although sometimes happy; every once in a while… happy. He had a really big cock. The Breakup took place mid-October. Throw Down is now. End of January. That’s quite a while doing nothing, just going to work so I can pay for the hamburger to feed the dog. He’s demanding, he expects it now, the dog; hamburger. Going to work and going to meetings so I can keep sober.
Turns out I’m chronically unlucky in love. Or something like that (maybe I’m a bitch, maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’m chronically damaged, maybe it’s the booze and the drugs and cigarettes). Anyway the last breakup, many years ago and I drank my way through it and just never bothered to slow down and pick up where I left off before my heart was broken. Just kept drinking through another ten years with another man until I couldn’t take the drinking and the puking and all the other shit that goes with near constant drinking.
And another 10 years slips through your hands like nothing. Like nothing. Nothing.
This is true.
In case you’re wondering this isn’t an art review. It’s more of a half assed meditation on moving forward by moving forward, as they say. Remember that song 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover? Slip out the back Jack. Make a new plan Stan. Hop on the bus Gus. Just leave the key Lee.
You know. Just move on.
Many thanks to the many people I saw at the opening of Throw Down last night.
And a variety of other people who I smiled at or chatted to but who’s names I can’t remember or never knew. It was fun. Art….the great escape. Or is that too romantic?