catfish 31

 I didn't recognize Bob Dylan's Dream from the lyrics.  Sounded like early Bob but I couldn't place it, but when I went to you tube, I recognized it right away, from The Freewheeling, with Suze Rotolo hanging on his arm as he ambled through a winter New York street, an interesting story about that photo which we will skip for the morning.  Like I said, I had never paint that much attention to the lyrics but I got the message from a song that came out a few years later, Those were the days: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3KEhWTnWvE

It seems to me kind of a universal phase of growing up when you suddenly realize everything is not as hunky dory as the elders have told you and you are somewhat surprised that they could be so morally blind, and you think that you, and your friends, who have also realized the immorality of the current state through their idealistic eyes, will do something about it.

That is the time I was talking about that music and painting takes me back to in the morning.  But then you know, shit happens.  Things turn out to be way more complicated than you thought they would be, and you are not as strong or as stalwart as you thought you were, and you shake your head ruefully and sing Bob Dylan's Dream or Those Were the Days.  

  I don't think of art as an illusion, but rather an elucidation.  The artist points something out to us and, once it has been called to our attention, we realize that it has always been there and wonder why we never noticed it before.  

Life is not meaningless, life justifies itself.  The meaning of life is life.  

I was thinking of mounting an argument against this because it seemed all wrong to me, but the more I thought about it it sounds close enough.  After all what is the meaning of meaning?

When I say life is meaningless I basically mean it doesn't mean anything outside of itself.  But within itself it is full of meaning, because it is all that there is.  

I like thinking about that stuff and I like trying to describe it with words, but it does make a body dizzy.  Let's get down to Earth with some Catfish.

When Ron dropped me off at the address, there was Gina, kind of dressed up, a fancy white dress, and the realtor, kind of skinny and wearing a suit and looking serious.  Together they looked a little like the bride and the preacher, and here comes the groom. I shuddered and wanted to step back into Ron’s car, but he was already speeding away.

 The place looked okay.  There was the fireplace that Gina was so excited about, but it turned out that it wasn’t really working, the chimney needed some working on, which disappointed Gina as she was into oh popping popcorn and roasting marshmallows, and she and the realtor guy got into some discussion about when the chimney would be fixed, and bored, I took a little walk around.  Refrigerator looked like it would hold enough beer, and the bathroom had well, everything that you would expect a bathroom to have, and the bedroom had this huge bed.

 Huge bed, and a water bed.  I put my hand down on it and ripples went from my handprint on down to the edges and then came rippling back.  Damn.

 “I think I’ll take it,” I announced walking back into the frontroom.

 The realtor guy was all smiles, but Gina wasn’t.  “The fireplace,” she protested, “It doesn’t work.”

 “We’ll be fixing that,” the realtor said quickly.

 “When?”

 “Soon.”

 “How soon?”

 “Right away,” he said.  “We’re taking bids.”

 Gina looked at him like she didn’t believe him.  I didn’t either, but it wasn’t something I was concerned with.  “Gina, take a look at this,” and I led her into the bedroom with its huge bed.  “See?”

 “See what?” she was still peeved about that fireplace thing.  To get her mind off that, I walked over and gave the bed a flick and those little ripples went across it. 

 “See?”

 I didn’t get the big smile I expected in fact she curled up her nose a little.  “Is that what it’s about to you?” she wanted to know.

 Well yeah, hadn’t that been the whole plan, the whole idea of me getting this place, the whole thing about having a place where she could drop by?  “No, of course not,” I answered.

 The realtor guy had hung back in the frontroom while we had been having this conversation pretending to be inspecting the fireplace, poking one of those metal sticks up it.  “We’ll think about it,” she told him.

 We?  Wasn’t this my apartment?  Wouldn’t I be paying the rent?  This whole thing was, oh that’s right, it was her idea.  I was perfectly happy living in the bunkhouse.  It was only because of the thought of her dropping by, of her dropping down into that huge waterbed, shedding her clothes one item at a time.  Oh damn, that stupid fucking fireplace.

 “Darling,” I said, “I think we should talk about this.”

 I settled her into the couch facing the fireplace, but she had her arms crossed across her lovely chest, “Oh yeah?” she wanted to know.

 “Yeah, yeah, you know I would never rent a place that you didn’t like, that you wouldn’t be happy to, you know, come by sometimes and we could cozy up, and I cozied her up a little bit but she was having none of it.

 “In front of a dead fireplace?” she wanted to know.

 “No not dead, just needs a little fixing up, is all,” and here I pointed at the realtor guy who wasn’t helping out by bringing clouds of soot down on himself and his fancy black coat.

 “I think it’s the flue,” he said.

 “See, it’s just the flue,” I told her, “Nothing to that right?” I asked the realtor guy.

 “Oh yeah, nothing to that,” he answered, “You just have to uh, straighten it out, just a little adjustment, nothing to it.”

 “See,” I told Gina.

 “What’s a flue?” she wanted to know.

 “Oh it’s just the thing that, that lets the smoke out, just a little thing, isn’t that right?” I asked the realtor guy as if either of us knew what we were talking about.

 “Absolutely,” he answered.

 “See?”  I closed my case.

 Her arms were crossed under those sweet plump breasts which I could see bouncing atop the waterbed, her cute little nose crinkled up in that way I had always found charming, except for this time when she ended up saying, “No.”

 “No?”

 “Yes.  No.”

 Shitfuck.  And you know, this was all getting to be more trouble than it was worth.  Maybe Ron was right about her.  Just a few feet away stood that waterbed which would never be used.  Shitfuck.

 There was some unpleasantness on the sidewalk afterwards, Gina and me and the realtor all going our separate ways.