jsut very quickly tonight.
it owes a lot to "blanchot"
the time of salome'
I exited the train station wearing my big coat and a blank notebook
it was quit cold. i came to see the dali museum. it was a very diffrent kind of place and all my assumptions were right.
after a short walk across a street
i approched the mueseum doors the words on the door were unreadable.
it was written in music notes
i cant read music notes.
i felt angrey at my shame of not being able to read notes.
but what do i care im not a musician.
it seems this city i had came to wrote only in music notes.
and spoke in a strange diolect i didnt understand. when i tried to imitate it i just made a mockery of their language
to many a sour face i tried to ask what the museum hours were? passers by reacted in anger and disgust at my shame.
and so did i at first.
i knew it was a dali musum behind the glass and brass doors .. thats why i came to this city. i tried the the brass handle but upon wraping my fingers around the brass handle i was met first with the cold of the metal and than the sound of the lock rattleing benith the frame.
i assumed it was closed.
i saw the transperncy of the glass in the distance i saw a few dali paintings i could not make them out in totality.
with a feverish fimilarity i attempted to speak to a local passerby again i was met with silence upon my disjoined words.
i sat on the sidewalk infornt of the door "ill wait i thought until the door opens it may take a while but they will open it in the morning ..maybe.. my uncertianty was there like hamlets fathers ghost watching my thoughts .
that night i made several attmepts at speaking agian only to have a mans cruel face with yellow teeth flash back at me
i could hear his muical words drift through the crocked teeth his white cracked lips bordering his teeth like a obscene portiat.
i luaghed at him "fuck your languge" i said you word though i cant understand them or say them are dead to me"
i said he didnt understand me, he just stared back at me witha stupid face. ahh fuck you" i said
i looked back into the museum window i must ahve been around midnight now. i fell asleep
i guess the cold woke me up. i looked back in through the museum glass door inside i didnt see the same dali pictures.
instead i saw toatly diffrent paintings, i thought maybe i had missed the exhibit and workers were now replaceing the paintings. i had almost pressed my face up to the glass now. inside i saw a strange painting. it was a painting of salome'
there she stood with john the baptist his disembodied head on a plate. she was kissing him. this was indeed another language i saw no more the language of music but a language of power and ambition. i realized i had missed the exhibit by a day.
i had arrived to late for dali.
i had arrived just in time for the time of salome'
but it was not what i came for. but i knew i could now understand the language it was a song language spoken with kisses and myth.
i stood with my big coat on a notebook in my hand the note book was empty
copyright. joe talylor. 05