Lauren Hutton eats ice cream, alone, at a small stone top table.
I’m sitting on the carpet with Christian Bandi near Sheldon Adelson’s office helping glue back together the OMA design model that was heavily damaged in transit.
A Guggenheim staffer asks if any of us “have motorcycle licenses?”
DC: “I do.”
Staffer: “Wanna go on a ride?”
I pick out my Ducati 916.
I remember Philip and find a pay phone to invite him on the ride, but get his answering machine.
I walk back to the ride.
I lose the Ducati to some “celebrity” and am asked to surrender my key, and am forced to settle for a BMW 1200 with what seems to be a 3/4″ thick hydraulic windshield.
We depart the Venetian Casino and Resort en masse, over the fake (name) bridge.
At the first break, riders are teasing LH that she is “going too slow.”
The next leg things speed up.
I get a little squirrel-y in a corner and lose my line.
The two closely drafting me bail and pass.
We are traveling at (a high rate of speed.)
We enter the Lake Mead recreational area road system.
Something is wrong.
People are stopping.
To the right, perhaps 100′ off the road, a rider lies face down.
It is LH.
People are attempting to make cell phone calls but there is no service in the open desert valley.
Some race on cycles to the nearest ridge to call 911.
TK is returning to his limo.
At some point he announces “the ride is over”.
I return to the BMW.
It leans heavily on its stand. The road tilts to the West.
I struggle to right the BMW.
Another rider comes to help me lift it.
I head back to the VCR via the northern loop route.
I stop at a convenience store. I don’t remember if I bought anything.
I head back to the VCR via the service roads.
I seem to be the first one back.
I ask the valet if there has been any word about L.
He doesn’t seem to understand my question.
I tell him there has been an accident. He seems to know.
I surrender the BMW and find the VIP toilet.
Washing my hands I realize the helmet has left a coating of black specks on my face and head from the dried deteriorated foam lining.
I wash my face and try to remember where I parked my car.
©2018 David Curtis
Update 6/17/2022: How does one reconcile a site like Archinect that pretends to be a forum for “connectivity” and “new ideas” but then heavily moderates speech and routinely de-platforms and censors the peers that try to speak on it? It seems really conflicted and hypocritical of Archinect.
Sites allow anon comments to drive traffic. They don’t care about ethics. They wait for the comments to moderate themselves. Meanwhile the defamation has already happened and the sites remain complicit.
©2018 David Curtis
20 June 2017 NY, edits 27 June 2017
“His anus smell like an old dollar bill” -Catherine Wagner, White Man Poems
Could (the) first family be anymore clearly an expression of predator capitalism?
Are markets mostly what is left of democracy?
We are allowed limited access to this public garden today, limited in that if any of us starts singing, for example, we will be asked to stop, (refusing to stop we will be asked to leave). I am told (indirectly) if we need to go to the toilet, we will be accompanied by security persons, in number, who will witness us urinate (as they pretend to wash their hands).
(What then is activism during this administration?)
This (writing) is something I can do. Writing is inherently unspoken (non threatening to my suburban location). To remain polite, an extension of all movement in the city. (One is expected) To remain within acceptable levels of movement and expression. If I remove my clothing for example, the security guards will remove me. If I sing, removal, admonishment and/or then removal.
The heavily armed man carrying two Starbucks beverages. A show of commerce and weapons. We can come in but only here (the garden), now and in specific ways. I am a guest in this space. It was agreed to (the garden), a condition of the specter of the tower, incremental maintenance of one German named family as a brand. The presidency as a brand. The art of the deal artifice.
Is the president legitimate? Is this really public space?
Branded space, branded Trump, branded Starbucks. There is no ceiling here, no obvious security cameras. The opaque spandrel panels, the subtlety of a blue shirted maintenance worker, tipping the metallic tables and chairs to spill the nuisance waters.
As long as we play by the rules it is seemingly polite.
(There is no Bloody Mary available until after 11am.)
When will we be allowed to speak of what remains? The left assumes Trump can be removed when he cannot be reached for discussion? Even he disputes the validity of the election results. His version is perhaps that he would have had more margin except for the illegal votes cast. In his mind he clearly must be the winner because obviously the Clintons are corrupt.
No word of the hundreds of lawsuits against his actions, only how anything potentially effects his family business. The 1970s version of interior design that receives us. The flesh stone, the plated substitutes for gold, the multi levels of visible inclined transport. If you agree to allow this branding, you too can participate, receive momentary access to ascendancy. Be elevated for this specific moment as a concession for the implied monetary dominance his family projects. A projection of a fictional outcome. If one plays by these rules, one family projects its name on to surfaces of earth. The public is allowed this token concession.
Our group today is all white. We are two male, four female. We are two couples and two singles. One of us is an employee, so to speak, of one of the couples. I am a partner to the employee to one of the couples. I am half of one of the couples. At the moment there is no visible presence of security. The constant exhaust fan buffers the street sounds. If we (announcement: 4 minutes) remain in this space the constant fan noise would eventually degrade our ability to hear.
(in Casino, Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro meet in the desert with their hands covering their mouths so as not to be surveilled)
Understand, speech is to be limited. Nearly all restaurants do this. The omnipresence of music (despite your choice, against your will) an effect being to limit speech, limit cross speech (cross hearing) reduce the range of any one voice.
David Curtis, NYC
©2018 David Curtis
David Curtis curated a sound installation during the 2005 season. Collaborators contributed sound pieces that were played in the space as they recycled. The duration of each piece was unique so they were overlapping in constant random manners.
Sometimes the gallery sitter would forget to turn on/restart some or all of the devices, or perhaps would do so intentionally to have a moment away from the sounds.
The show was accessible to blind audiences.
In the gallery talk DC said his intention was sound mixing in 3d in real time.
The whims of the gallery sitter and variables such as: volume control, device failure, power outages, or street sounds invading the show, made it constantly changing.
©2018 David Curtis
I just wrote a letter to Governor Brown asking that he dissolve the California Architects Board and do away with architectural licensing in California. DC