I.
The old haunts of Kerouac and Ginsberg and the other derelict bachelor poets of the ‘50s. There is something to be said of the wood molding and the mirrored shelves of liquor combined with old photographs of artists and writers. Places like this used to be seedy before they became cliché.
II.
At what point does a good idea become kitsch? When it becomes accessible to the lowest common denominator of taste? Perhaps the most marketable design is the most accessible to the most people and therefore is average in terms of quality. Average as I understand is 50% of the potential of quality that which can be produced.
III.
There is something to be said of feeling like a tourist in one’s hometown (or current place of residence or employment). Sitting alone, writing at a bar in London feels the same as sitting at a bar alone, writing in the City. Is it being single again for the first time in so long? Maybe it is traveling alone again (the difference being that I’ve been here before).
IV.
”MODERN DANCING AND IMMODEST DRESS STIR SEX DESIRE: leading to Lustful Flirting, Fornication, Adultery, Divorce, Disease, Destruction, and Judgement”
V.
Maybe the reason those Beat Poets used to hang out here was because it was cheap and they were alcoholics. It is a probability.
VI.
”It is an interesting ending”
VII.
Sometimes words are not enough. Music, images, interpretation, are attempts at capturing an idea. How does one describe an experience, a texture, an emotion, with words which are reductio ad absurdum?
VIII.
If chances are only taken when they are presented, you’ll find the chances you take are limited and unfulfilling.
IX.
Sometimes I feel nostalgia for Caffe Med. It was a unique time and place with old writers, musicians, poets, artists, and hippies mixed with their younger counterparts, crust punks, and the nouveau-hip, “The Young Scholars and Intellectuals”. So many of us, once young, inquisitive, and careless have grown into lonely, overworked, and disillusioned adults.
