Pears dropping from the tree as pockets of wind disturb the humid atmosphere. The 25cl bottle of chilled Leffe Blonde has taken the edge off the day. Or so it seems. Maybe the 6.6% of alcohol was simply a measure of illusion. The sitter relaxes into the worn brown leather sofa thats been left in situ these past three years. Closes his eyes and regards the black angel. Some more pears fall from the tree. He counts three dull thuds. Then a fourth. Perhaps they could be pressed to make juice or fermented to make cider.
Down in the cellar he collects another beer and has a swig of San José silver tequila weighing in at 35% proof. He wonders what measure a swig constitutes as he climbs the half flight of stairs back out into the garden. And as collapses onto the furniture he feels the hit and smiles. What was it she wrote on her thigh? Deftly opening the beer on a corner of a round table. Tossing the cap onto the surface and following it as it bounces and falls off the edge. The edge of the day. Bullshit. Dusk.
What need of so much news from abroad…
I’m hiding in a ryokan in a city of 13.35 million people. Was it love or destiny that brought me here? Does shochu taste any better or worse than tequila? I look at the black angel’s thigh. The smeared Kanji. I want to photograph my hand on her thigh. Probably in hard toned black and white. Or find a lipstick in her bag and apply some to my lips and impart an impression of red upon her skin. She sleeps. Wasted.
…while all that concerns either life or death…
Another cluster of fruit falls from the tree. Fuck 25cl of beer is too short a measure to sate the palate. Not that satisfying appetite is what he has in mind. He picks up a book from the table and notes down on a piece of paper with a Uni-Ball Signo gel grip, made by the Mitsubushi Pencil Company; The Phenomenology of Perception by Maurice Merleau-Ponty. Published in 1945. Beside it he writes; find pdf on net. He wishes that the pen was slightly thicker than 0.7mm but they are still amongst his favourites. He likes pens in the same way people like shoes, watches or handbags.
…is all transacting and at work within me – Derek Jarman.