Such a Nice Laundry

There's the laundromat I was standing in the first time someone pointed out the Hotel Chelsea to me. I asked where it was and she said, right across the street. And there it was.
Later when reading one of the books written by Dee Dee Ramone, inside it I noticed he had several drawings, and one of those drawings was of Nice Laundry. When I was first there ages ago. And now, I'm standing in the window of my room in March of 2008, and I see it. There it is. Still there. Considering the gentrification of that city, it's amazing that anything that's as old as that would still be there.
So many things are gone. I have so many memories of this cafe down on St Mark's. I sat out there waiting for friends. And my last memory of being there was when I was in New York with my friend Pete DeFreitas, drummer for the group Echo and the Bunnymen. They were playing at the Ritz. That day I was waiting on him to meet me back there after their interview at MTv. I didn't want to hang around mtv waiting on them so had gone to Broadway Books to visit my friend Marlene. I was supposed to meet him there at 6. It was a cold damp October evening. I sat there and drank a cup of coffee, waiting for him. Across the street sat a kid that looked like Sid. I'd seen him the summer before when I was at St Marks with friends, after being in the Hotel Chelsea, in room 100...strange things happening all around. And there we were, standing in St Marks with the Ramones. They were filming a video.
When Johnny Ramone died a few years ago, there was a photo published in the Rolling Stone. And there we were, from that day, so long ago, standing there with the Ramones in St Marks Place. It was so weird to see it again. I honestly have no memory of anyone taking photos that day. And now it's on display at some gallery in London.

Another memory tied up with all of this strangeness is that the kid who looked like Sid was there that day as well. And a few years ago, in Dee Dee's book Poison Heart, I'll be damned if he didn't also print a photo of that kid, the kid who stood across the street that night in October when I was sitting at the cafe--the kid who came up and talked to me and freaked me out. The kid who even Dee Dee thought looked like Sid. And it all kept crossing over and over, back and forth, like some colorful fabric. And like an impressionist painting, when standing up close, I just couldn't make sense of it all. But now that time has given me the advantage of perspective, I can see it all over again. And like some of those paintings, it still makes no sense.

Days passed

Days have passed. I haven't written. But I've been thinking. There's no way to describe the images and memories that show up in my mind. I've been looking at old photos: mom and dad, Nana and Aunt Mae, Uncle Joe and my grandfather, Pop--the one who no one seemed to love. I did though, I loved him. I still love him. I didn't know all the things he did. I know now. I knew later. But it didn't matter. I didn't know that man before, the one who might have been patterned after Pap Finn. No wonder my sweet daddy wouldn't go in when my parents came to pick me up.

Side halls. Shadows. Memories. Bjork singing "Venus as a Boy." And I gaze at the photos. Doors that are closed and set back from the main hall. Yet I seek them out. Who lives in there? Is there any one in there? Or are they empty? Do they have whispers and misty memories, too? I can't go in all the doors. I was only allowed in a few. But I still look. I still wonder. I'm not afraid to venture down there. I wasn't afraid then, and I'm not afraid now. But somehow, it all makes me sad.

There was this chair..

sitting there in the hallway. Actually, there is a side hall, as there is on many of the floors. I was taking photos of the window at the end of the hall and I happened to look down this little side hall, and there sat this chair. I'm not sure what all it will mean to me just yet. I'm thinking that in time it will develop into some symbol for me, of something. I'm just not sure yet.

It's like so many things in my life, they make more sense after time goes by. I think it's lonely, as I feel lonely. I feel lonely in the things I know, the things I believe and the things I love. There's just no one else who sees them or feels them--not like I do. Not at this time in my life. Usually I don't think much about it, but today, it made me very sad. I think I even felt a bit sorry for myself earlier this afternoon. So yeah, I bet that's why I love this chair. It's there, like me, just sitting there in a place that I love. No other furniture, not real room, no matching furniture, nothing. Just sitting there by that cold window. I wonder what it will mean a year from now?