He did it to me. Aerosmith.
This morning on the Today Show, there he was, a sixty something man, looking fabulous, strutting, shrieking,
flapping, prancing, charismatic, and exciting as Hell. I want his wild long hair with a white forelock;
the long split tailed brocade coat, the ruffled shirt and tight pants.
I have been editing my
Paris writings, written while sitting at La Petite Perigourdine
on Rue St Jacques. Now I sit back home in the USA in a Lazy Boy, in flannel p.j.s and shearling
slippers. I think I want to be back in Paris. To see exciting
things, to document in ink or paint, to witness talented people, learn about
their process. I want to know Aerosmith!
Memory and imagination, all there is in the
end, and where most life is lived. And so on a cloudy cold day in Virginia I
can be in Paris, or Mexico. I can invent a life on paper. Sitting in the lobby
of the Hotel Jefferson, at a window table at Can-Can, at a bench in front of
Saks, The Village Cafe at The University, or taking a train to DC and sitting
in a DuPont Circle bookstore, writing what I see.
Dressed up I go to town. Suburban life
sometimes stifles me. Aerosmith I want to meet you,
dressed for
adventure. Slightly outrageous.
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