“You only have to change your direction”: D at 20
Be your own hero.
We can be heroes.
“My hero,” said D, about Ari Up, the intrepid singer for the Slits, who joined the band, as a teenager, here, not here, and ran wild.
Run Lola Run.
“I love you Ari Up. Happy belated birthday rest in peace. Long live Ari Up. Long live the slits.”
I think about the years of watching riot grrrl and Slits docs, going to shows, Pete Seegar here, Paul there, the Filth and the Fury over and over again during the lockdown.
And then back out into the world, the global skateparks, from NOLA to Venice Beach, San Francisco to Chinatown, Berlin to Buddapest.
Making your own way, walking with hose on your head, already and absurdist in Belmont Shore, from New York to Long Beach, Park Slope to Dyker Heights, Houston to 14th Street, Lower East Side, off to Tokyo on your own, making your own choices, from the campus for the city, off to Los Angeles, one global city to another, being your own hero.
I’m really just an absurdist dad, you told me.
We walked through the New Orleans night, quiet, feeling the ghosts, smelling the flowers, looking at the crusty punks playing in the street, on our way to the end of the world.
Next time, we’ll jump on the train.
Getting lost in Joshua Tree, the orange sky emanating in the distance, a wolf howling, worshiping the tree of life, exploring the best junk shops ever the next day.
Going to see Stuart and his glow up, Belle and Sebastion over and over.
“Fuck I literally love belle and Sebastian so much it hurts,” you wrote. “dead dead dead dead AHHhhhhh.”
Watching the ruins of East River Park.
Picking you up from the airport after freshman year.
Skating every day into the hot summer.
And watching you grow, leading Bob Thompson tours at the Hammer, exploring the anxiety of influence, knowing one story builds on the next.
Giving me new books, Hinton Als White Girls, each of us with our own story.
Deepenning, the Lower East Side and Westwood, Tokyo and Berlin in the mix, your story only becoming more compelling, more complicated, with more connections, and inevitable separations.
I know it, looking at Hannah Hoch photomontages at the Berlinische with you, eating cherry cake and riding past the Kit Kat club, chatting about tank girl, joining us at the opening.
And riding to see Moonage Daydream late into the evening at a secret movie theater, jazz club deep in Berlin, munching on popcorn, drinking radlers.
Watching Cabaret and Wings of Desire at the Babylon Berlin on Rosa Luxenberg, asking the little questions, why am I me and you you?
And exploring the trauma of history and surrealism at the Neue National Gallerie and grabbing a pint at Shockoladen.
And running into you at SO36 at 4 AM amidst the fireworks and violence and joy of it all.
Stop it, you said to your toe, running out into the street, early in the morning. Stop it, bop it.
The blues grab us all.
Remember, we are all missing something.
The blues is about missing that peace.
But we all have it, inside.
We all have it.
Don’t forget to talk to the blues.
Don’t forget to breathe, shanti, shanti, shanti.
Don’t forget to Howl.
By yourself or with a friend.
Howl along with Carl Solomon, throwing “potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and …on the granite steps of the madhouse…”
Expand that bluesology into the forever.
Navigating pandemics and broken bones, skate injuries and tears.
Reading Cat Poems in our flat on Prenzlauer Allee.
Don’t forget Kafka’s Little Fable:
“Oh,” said the mouse, “the world gets narrower….” looking at his life.
“You only have to change your direction,” said the cat, seeing a whole world.
I guess it's all how we look at it.
Dad, did you take the Dada Manifesto, you asked as I made my way to the LA airport.
I think it's with you, now and forever.
“I speak only of myself since I do not wish to convince, I have no right to drag others into my river, I oblige no one to follow me and everybody practices his art in his own way."
“Always destroy what is in you.”
“The summit sings what is being spoken in the depths.”
What would Mickey do?
Remember Jessee getting lost in NOLA and running into Scott, laughing in the street?
Remember, Jean Cocteau’s view.
"What your friends see in you to criticize, cultivate: It is you,"
I can’t stop thinking of the old Bowie song, seeing little Dodi on the move, flying through the air in Carroll Park, there, as he sings:
“Will you stay in our lover's story?
If you stay, you won't be sorry
'Cause we believe in you
Soon you'll grow, so take a chance with a couple of Kooks
… if you stay with us, you're gonna be pretty Kookie too”
I think he may be right.
Thanks for sticking with a couple of your Kooks, now that you are not a teenager anymore.
“We always have the best time ever,” said Vivian.
“Me and my bestie and my bff.”
Remember, the Joshua Tree, like all of us, is a part of everything.
We still have the movies.
As Earl said,
“I can take losing the money. I cannot take losing the chance for our kid to be happy.”
He knew. Maggie knew,
“Ma'am, put down the lip gloss and step away from the mirror.”
You don’t need wings to fly, just skates said the mural in NOLA.
It's like an abandoned carnival, you said to me as the sun went down at the empty Venice Beach
Keep on looking about, writing those poems, jumping into the mosh pits, shattered mirrors broke her spirits. Keep reminding the world.
Remember the Joshua Trees and their simple message.
We are all part of the same ecosystem. John Muir reminds us the Joshua Tree is connected to everything, the sand, the moss, the birds, the wildlife, the skies, the desert, from Venice from Joshua Tree. Maybe that's enough. “When you try to pick out anything by itself, you find it hitched to everything else in the universe,” says Muir. The tree of life, connects all our stories, one after another, into the next chapter.
A luta continua, new adventures, curiosities, and abandon.
Work hard, pick a few dreams, a few things you love to do, stick to them, and make ‘em happen.
We believe in you.
Be your own hero.
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