1991 - Spring
Last week, the day of reckoning came for which I had been prepared by a sumptuous tea at the Helmsley Palace given to me by my mad moviemaker, Mr Acosta. He took me to lunch . . . to fortify me for a visit to a recording studio. . . There I spoke various lines from Mr Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. . . My own reaction to this situation has been from the very beginning, one of complete bewilderment.
. . . a large white cat was released from a container, and I was photographed with it. As this movie will be acted entirely by Mr Hurt and a bunch of cats, presumably this creature was the juvenile lead.
Sooner or later there comes a time for almost everybody when although he has sworn to himself that he will never utter such sentiments, he declares that the country is going to the dogs, that life has become louder, public manners cruder, and art totally incomprehensible. . . one day last week, . . I finally fell into the abyss of bewilderment.
Mr Jack Eric Williams accompanied me to the La MaMa Theatre to see a play, or rather an event, entitled Eddy Goes to Poetry City, by a Mr Foreman. . . The performance space was decorated with great care to look as hideous as possible, and in it a cast of five people, obviously rehearsed with the utmost care, moved about, sometimes quite violently, and, wearing strange devices that amplified their voices alarmingly, declaimed various aphoristic phrases. . . I tottered home abruptly in a state of collapse. . . I have now been informed that Mr Foreman calls his company The Ontological/Hysteric Theatre, and he is concerned with the interpenetrability of everything, atomized: Mr Williams called it 'the mind/body split'.
It's such a relief to know.
. . . a large white cat was released from a container, and I was photographed with it. As this movie will be acted entirely by Mr Hurt and a bunch of cats, presumably this creature was the juvenile lead.
Sooner or later there comes a time for almost everybody when although he has sworn to himself that he will never utter such sentiments, he declares that the country is going to the dogs, that life has become louder, public manners cruder, and art totally incomprehensible. . . one day last week, . . I finally fell into the abyss of bewilderment.
Mr Jack Eric Williams accompanied me to the La MaMa Theatre to see a play, or rather an event, entitled Eddy Goes to Poetry City, by a Mr Foreman. . . The performance space was decorated with great care to look as hideous as possible, and in it a cast of five people, obviously rehearsed with the utmost care, moved about, sometimes quite violently, and, wearing strange devices that amplified their voices alarmingly, declaimed various aphoristic phrases. . . I tottered home abruptly in a state of collapse. . . I have now been informed that Mr Foreman calls his company The Ontological/Hysteric Theatre, and he is concerned with the interpenetrability of everything, atomized: Mr Williams called it 'the mind/body split'.
It's such a relief to know.