New Year's Eve at the Museum of Somber Paintings

A man in a ‘Kafka for President’ shirt transformed into a banana peel at the museum of somber paintings because it was New Year’s Eve. Fireworks blared in the blurred background. Everyone started slipping on the banana peel. They slid around the museum of somber paintings like ice-skating Olympians in February. One man slid into a salient painting by Jean-Michel Basquiat. The painting was titled “Untitled” (1984). Luckily, a security guard managed to save the painting from doomed damage. Everyone clapped for the fast-acting security guard. He took a gentlemanly bow. The man in a ‘Kafka for President’ shirt aka the banana peel reemerged in human form at midnight at the museum of somber paintings and joined in the animated praise of the noble security guard. When the museum of somber paintings eventually closed at 3 a.m., all the paintings fell asleep except for some iconic, insomniac portraits by Francis Bacon.

The Professor of Existentialism

A man in a faded beret tried to start his 2022 Toyota 4Runner in the morning, but no luck. He didn't have enough money to take the car to a mechanic, so he rode his 1965 Schwinn Stingray Bicycle to work. He works as a Professor of Existentialism at a prestigious university downtown. As a side profession he is also a celebrated abstract expressionist painter. He has had solo exhibits in Mexico City, Buenos Aires, and in an abandoned warehouse in Oakland, CA. The man in a faded beret votes for liberal politicians because otherwise he can't sleep at night. He owns a house in the quiet and conforming suburbs. He visits the beaches of foreign countries every three years during the summertime. The man in a faded beret rode his antique Schwinn Stingray to work, but it began to rain. The tires slithered thru the pebbled campus. When he finally arrived in the archaic philosophy department building, he practiced shadow boxing in a hallway mirror. He had denounced philosophy for martial arts. It was the only rational thing to do after a career spent breaking pencils writing circular essays on peculiar thought patterns. His first martial arts fight was against a seven-foot war veteran. The veteran had much more than a reach advantage. The man in a faded beret was submitted in a record seven seconds. It was the first time he had felt alive since earlier that morning when the car wouldn't start. But he had been awarded enough money for his attempt at martial arts that he was finally able to fix his 4Runner. Perhaps, tomorrow, he’ll return to his job as a Professor of Existentialism. At least there is free daily coffee and donuts in the Professor’s lounge, he tells himself, and on Cinco de Mayo they even have pan dulce and horchata. 

The Zoo

I went on a first date with a woman named Maria Félix, like the iconic Mexican actress. We met online, through a poker website. “Why did you pick the zoo?” she asked. “Why not?” I asked. “Because it’s weird for a first date,” she said. “I wanted you to see my adventurous side,” I said. “Well, okay, what’s your favorite animal?” she asked. “I like flamingos and jaguars,” I said. “Nice,” she said. “I like koala bears and toucans.” “Perfect,” I said. “Want to get a drink?” she asked, “they have a bar in the back.” “Sounds great,” I said. The rest of the night we discussed mixed martial arts and contemporary ballet. The animals were in the blurred background. Shitting and growling.

Man on a Pier

A man in a ‘Salvador Dali for President’ shirt sat on a pier at sunset. It reminded him of childhood memories of southern California. He was born in the working-class suburbs of Los Angeles. As a child, he wanted to be a professional surfer. Now, he’s an acute businessman. He sells fedoras and bow ties online for a living. The man in a ‘Salvador Dali for President’ shirt pulled out a book from his backpack. It was called, The Origins of Big Wave Surfing. It’s about the history of big wave surfing and has iconic surf photography. The man read the book as the waves crashed along the pier. When the moon eventually rose, the man in a ‘Salvador Dali for President’ shirt gathered his belongings to head home. He rode his beach cruiser in the moonlight, knowing fully well he’d be back at the pier next week, along with the prolific fog and wind.

The Illusion of Time

I woke up in a reasonably priced, clean hotel. I was in the middle of the country, perhaps Oklahoma. The reason I didn’t know exactly which state I was in was because I had been getting sleepy at the wheel last night during a storm and pulled over as soon as possible. I walked outside of the hotel room. It began to rain, again. I got an umbrella from the trunk of my car. The winds intensified. My umbrella was suddenly yanked out of my grip. My clothes were eventually also ripped off my body. I was naked and exposed. It was the Garden of Eden, actually. Eve showed up and took me to an isolated creek. The rain stopped. We read poetry and painted together beside the peaceful waters. That’s when a snake appeared. I could sense what was going to happen next. I told the snake to buzz off, I don’t like apples. It slithered away like a pack of field mice. Eve and I finished painting a portrait together. The portrait was of a picnic on a prairie in autumn.

          Next, we went back to the hotel to watch Netflix. I found a movie a painter friend had recommended to me. It was called: “The Illusion of Time.” It starred Michael Peña and Eva Longoria. It didn’t seem like a high budget film, but it was tastefully done and artsy.

            I was surprised to see the movie was about my literal childhood in southern California. It was simultaneously also about Eve’s life in the Garden of Eden. I played basketball and football in the street as a youth, both in the movie and in real life. Eve picked daisies with prairie sheep and blew soap bubbles in a field of wonder. The movie went on to explore our adolescent years, mine of rock and roll air guitar and sports, Eve, of portrait painting and classical ballet. Next, were the college years. It turns out Eve was a successful Ivy League liberal arts student. She continued to practice ballet on the weekends. I was a scrappy community college student who made it to UC Berkeley while working at the public library. The movie went on to depict our middle-aged professional lives: me, a crafty guitarist on tour most of the year, from hotel to hotel, coast to coast. Eve became an immigration lawyer fighting for human rights and dignity. I turned the movie off as it began to explore our elderly years.

            As I turned the lights back on, I noticed Eve was missing. Had she gone back to the idyllic Garden? I was in Ohio, now, getting ready for my next concert. Swirling clouds, as in a van Gogh painting, formed in the looming distance.