nicholasWe were in a room, Brooklyn-like creative studio contemplating writing a new album. Bazaar and a whole crew was there. Reminded me of our old video editing suite at 109 S. 5th but bigger and with windows. Still quite stuffy and stank of old concrete. There were studio monitors and a desk full of gear production. We were trying to advise on how to write this album or kick off this project. I made a snarky aside on someone like Brooks dream projects without skills to deliver or will to back them up but it was actually a personal criticism of myself. Bobo had been sitting there the whole time and was in the meeting with us and he kind of winked at me since it sounded like I was projecting all my own insecurities onto the idea. All the characters/participants nodded in agreement.
Somehow Bobo was reincarnated and we were in a grand room that resembled 109 S. 5th office from back in the day. It was a much larger concrete room and Bobo was in the process of trying to string cables to reconstruct his desk. He was mildly perturbed that I hadn’t left his setup in place but was nonetheless angling around tables and chairs to find a spot to setup his machine. He admitted that he decided to come back since he was sad about Sinbad and wanted to keep us company. Stefan was present. We were all doing classic crawling around on our knees trying to get computers plugged in and monitors arranged so we could get back to work together.
There was another “reincarnated” as in recently deceased but totally back to normal person there who was something like a cop or a priest. He was supervising our reunion but keeping it close to his chest. He also had a melancholy, bureaucratic quality.
Now that Bobo was back I felt like we had to find him a place to live in Bedstuy Soho or something. We went to an apartment viewing where this lady had painted everything white like Sarah Small’s place. She was up on a stepstoll nailing something into the wall. There was one giant open first story room that opened out onto a garden. The entire backyard was like a flooded Roman ruin/swimming pool, complete with colonnades and azure water and a small water feature. It was otherwise just like a Brooklyn backyard, ringed with a fence and you could hear the sirens and feel the dirty city everywhere.
We somehow followed the cop/priest home or to a cafe of some sort. We caught him carefully and saw him peeling away layers of his face, popping off his nose and eyeballs until his rotted underface was exposed. We emerged from the shadows (not sure who we is maybe Stefan) to ask him if it was painful and what was going on. He seemed forlorn but willing to share that yes it was uncomfortable and it was an issue for any real intimacy to develop. He was Bobo’s chaperone from the underworld but didn’t have the heart to break it to Bobo that all was normal. He weighed in that Bobo was like this too but too happy go lucky to investigate further and that he didn’t know on how he had arrived to his reeincarnation. I left feeling quite crestfallen that Bobo was back but with these kind of limits.
Went to a Basquiat show with obnoxious, sinister AI-driven boho ceramic/crocheted sculptures that were shifting organically on the walls and was ignored by some pretentious older white art-world twats from the other concepting meeting.