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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


11.07.04, sunday afternoon

Well, we went out last night, looking for the two responsible for ruining the show out of spite. We didn't find them. Instead we picked up Knewman, watched the Ray Charles bioflick and hung out at Amanda's.

We are still at Amanda's, sipping chardonnay after brunch. There is much to discuss: the history of Communism, the prodigious sex lives of banana slugs, Persian rug designs, a birdcall like a rotary phone dial clicking back into place.

I am still gonna pop 'em one when I see 'em. They represent the worst of the Oakland art scene: egotistical, self-indulgent, patronizing, blithely racist, fearful of their neighborhood. "Hey, here's one from the other races, you know, the 'younger brothers and sisters' that you are trying to teach!"

. . .


Elka's experience of Oakland Gone Wild 3: Release Party.




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