I stop after the Oscar panel. Trevor interrupts me. He's a homeless guy. I've talked about him in Golden Ashtray. He usually sits next to me when I come to the coffee shop. He likes to watch me draw. He also wants me to meet Michael.
"He's real sweet," he nods. "See him in the trashcan?"
"Yes."
"I was going to Church. Then Jesus told me to go back. It was raining. I had to take care of little Mikey. I didn't want him to catch a cold."
"Yeah."
"Oh, so you're still drawing your little cartoons?"
"Yeah."
"You could sell those and make some money. Maybe, 5 bucks."
I nod. I hand Trev my smoke.
"Thanks," he says, then yells over at Mike. "Mikey!" he shouts. "Come meet my friend!"
Mikey comes over. He pulls out a plastic Subway bag.
"See what I got?"
"What's that?" Trevor asks.
"Cookies. Mmmm. Cookies."
Little Mikey starts dancing a little. Then he sits back down. He is very happy about his cookies.
I give him my coffee.
"You got sugar?"
"I'll get it for you."
I go into the Sabor to get them sugar. That's when I run into Gabe. He's this sweetheart writer that is just so amazing. I tell him I'm going to give Trevor some sugar and that I'll be back.
Then I rock it with Gabe for a while. He's talking about postmodernism, post-postmodernism, and then stuckism.
"So stuckism means you're basically stuck?"
"Yeah," he smiles.
I like talking to Gabe. I have no doubt that he will be one of our world's greatest writers. He is an awesome talent and I am glad we met.
(I really love it when Gabe, Dacheux, and I can get together. They are very fun days.)
Gabe and I shot the shit for a while. We talked about process, a new generation that was apathetic to success, and the ability for some artists to work inebriated, and whether they were able to capture "high mindedness" in such a state.
"What do you mean by high-minded? Do you mean pompous or intellectual?"
"No," Gabe smiled. "That's postmodern thought. I am talking about high-minded as in true to the core of one's capabilities. That space where one is past a sense of mastery to a transcendent space."
That's how we talked. Or something like that. I don't really have all the language to make the conversation happen to a tee. Conversations about critical theory can get warped and break several times over. I was able to talk about Hemingway's process though:
"He would write up to a certain point. Let's say Chapter One and some pages. Then when he wanted to write again, he'd have a separate book and start writing from that, exactly what he wrote, plus another chapter. And he would continue like that, until he finished a book."
"That's an interesting process. It creates that perfect presentness."
"Mmmm," I say. "Yeah."
We talked for a while on Hollywood Boulevard. Up and down over the stars.
I love Gabe so much. I hope he finds exactly what he needs to be what he wants.
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