trees: roots, trunk and branches

so yesterday started with a four hour philosophy essay on "can one claim that the artist creates another world?" and ended with me drunk after two (strong!) cocktails--one of which was called "screaming orgasm", a rather stupid drinking game involving dice, in front of palais tokyo watching kids play with fire and chains, and talking to this guy, about random things, taking a step backwards and falling into a tiny square of water, decorative but deep. still rather drunk, of course, and it's after midnight. not more than forty or fifty degrees outside. windy. taking off my jacket (soaked), my sweater (soaked), wringing out my socks (soaked), this guy giving me his coat. by the swinging lights of the fire. suzanne: your pants! you should take off your pants! people telling me that i was going to die from the cold. me going, no no i'm okay. apologizing. maureen: we're going home. this is with some french kids, by the way, friends of a girl suzanne has met in one of her classes. maureen carrying my sweater and jacket. dripping in the metro. afterwards, in the foyer, i stumble around in my room, try to lay out everything so they'll dry, take a shower and worry for a brief moment after knocking over my shampoo that i'm going fall. maureen makes a cheese omelette and maureen suzanne and i all sit in the kitchen eating, a baguette with chevre, nutella, eggs.

"a pretty learning process": wonderful. i wanted to talk about these trees, how different they are from the kinds i've seen before. how those bundles on that row of trees are not bird nests. the gnarliness, or the delicate. how those trees lined up against the brick wall had to manipulated. the human attention, the pliable wood. growth in the direction that another gives you. my dad once asking me if there are more trees in the world or humans.

but back to homeless thoughts, from before. my philo prof was talking the other day about how only vision and audition were/are the senses for the arts, because they're the only ones linked to human imagination. can you imagine a texture you've never felt before? a scent you've never smelled? and when, say, you imagine the painting you're working on in its finished state, do you really imagine if as if it were real? vivid? textured? colored? or is it the idea of these things, the effect that you have in your head...

now, going to make crepes.


or, sort of.