Possible to be Weary: NORA
Hello Nora,
We haven’t communicated in ages, and it’s entirely my fault, but I would love to know how things are going. Email me your phone number because I’ve lost my phone book. Things here are much the same: taking classes (one with Art Historian Rosalind Krauss that’s quite good), attempting to absorb something of this city, since I feel like my time here is a protracted goodbye. I’m not returning next year, but I’m not sure I can say more than that, although it might have something to do with some sort of naive adolescent appeal made to me by Kerouac while I was sitting on a strange toilet in the middle of the night. I can’t avoid vulgarity, see? And I’ve always thought, probably mistakenly, that you were too good for it — by mistakenly I mean not that you’re too good for it, only that I never should have presumed to make a judgment about it one way or the other.
Have you talked to Max? She was in town recently. I ran into her in the Bowery. She was wearing a chainmail dress, chatting with some art people. I guess she gave up smoking. But I thought she did that a long time ago. I asked her about you, which amused her. We should get together, she said. Her eyes still have that wide-apart look I look for in a sister.
I hope that you’re doing well. Am I out of prayers?
Simon