manko

SPOILERS! (Click to view)

I am not that interested in humans but I enjoy cities. Cities have a mysterious effect on homo sapiens vulgaris, sometimes by giving them more sex, sometimes more style; consequently some cities make some humans bearable (homo sapiens exclusivus?).

I woke up from dreaming about New York again.
It hit me that NYC must be the last dream city left on my list, one that I know so well in my imagination but haven't yet seen in the cold light of the reality. London used to be that for me until I ruined it by moving here. I didn't care for Tokyo until I stepped through the glass door of the Narita airport: it was a blind date -turn- love at the first sight. Milan, Berlin, Paris, LA don't set my groins on fire. But I've been fantasising about New York as some magical location for decadent adventures since I learned about the Factory, saw Midnight Cowboy, etc. Over the years my idea of the city became so lucid and animated that right now, just a week before my arse lands in a yellow cab for the first time, I am mortified that New York City won't be quite all that I built it up to be in my daydreams. Warhol Superstars are decrepit or dead, smoking is universally banned, Quentin Crisp no longer listed and Basquiat graffiti scrubbed off; and what if there ain't no more well-dressed gangsters, nor tramps in drag on every corner of SoHo, what if the locals aren't refreshingly sarcastic and rude or what if they don't speak in adorable Nu-yawkese dialect; what if the place is just pleasant and not weird, liberal, artistic, gritty, sleazy, fabulous?

ZakSmith is having an art opening and at least a few of our own superstars will be in attendance. The anticipation of unveiling his painting of Yours Truly has my vanity a-tingle...

(in progress)

Come.