34 35th St., Unit 26, Brooklyn, NY, 11232
Well, since I've been on the residency - which deals with pain, wounding, death, sexuality, and the virtual - I've also been dealing with the death of my father, embezzlement, flooding, death of my thesis-advisor/friend, and family split-up. So tonight we watched Psych, a popular/satirical television program about a detective pair who solve crimes. So tonight my downstairs neighbor came back; at noon he had had an auto-accident in which his neck was broken, so he was in a heavy brace; the other driver was taken away in a stretcher. So my neighbor has amnesia about the whole incident which occurred four blocks from where I'm typing this, and Azure and I and another neighbor went out to solve the case. We took an infra-red camera and found 150' tracks across a major avenue indicating the other vehicle had been traveling at an untoward rate of speed. We found the bumper and front-end of the car indicating it struck my neighbor's vehicle most likely from the front, on the right-hand side. We found the license-plate and other clues. We photographed everything in flash, in normal night-light, in infra-red. And we're almost certain our neighbor, who can't remember anything, isn't at fault. What's fascinating about this is his state, which is one of shock that I think is masking the pain, and the oddly detetective-oriented investigation we conducted, checking out the skid marks, noticing where there was a sudden bend in them in the middle of the intersection, working the case; our neighbor will wake in pain, hopefully the other driver on the stretcher is okay, Psych has nothing on us but the music, but we've got the photographs of something real and violent that happened, more pain, more wounding, more thought for the Eyebeam residency. I will read more James Ellroy. He knows. In the meantime I've been listening to Batak (Toba) funeral songs which are the most powerful I've heard; I've discovered my hasapi is also a shaman staff, playing in depth into my state of mind. Hopefully back to sexuality, even though that organizes itself, repeatedly, around organs and bodies, lines of sight, and blankness where a detective might come in handy, spoiling everything, spoiling the goods. We're quiet in the building; our friend is most likely in pain.
(oh, and we interviewed a witness as well, in the middle of the night)