Strange Times

The President played the saxophone
sounded so alone
it was on the news
And from Ursa Minor
in what looked like an
all-night diner
came lonely luminous creatures
whose only human feature
was singing the blues
- Magnetic Fields

I went to meet Baboon Heart Boy at the Neptune Diner the other night at nearly 1 am. Everything seemed slightly surreal. He asked me why I hadn’t written another blog posting about him. “Well you haven’t given me much to go on.” was what I told him. Which was true enough, I hadn’t seen him since the Cracker Jack incident and that had already been documented for posterity. Really all that had transpired between us since then was a lot of late night text messages from him asking me what I was doing, a few vague replies from me about me being out or being busy. Then there was one bizarre phone conversation in which he abruptly asked me if I was in love with him, to which I laughed and said, “NO. I hardly even know you.” That was about it.

So anyway, we’re sitting at this Queens dinner in the early hours of the morning. I’ve been feeling kinda bummed lately – far away from home, jobless and purposeless in a strange city. I thought seeing him and going to the weird diner might cheer me up. I never learn…

I sit down next to him in a booth. He launches into a volley of probing questions about my sex and dating life; when I don’t provide him with immediate answers he starts guessing. I turn the questions back on him. He refuses to answer. The whole time he is observing me scrupulously, taking in every detail, at one point he brings out a little notebook and starts scribbling in it. I assumed he was drawing since he’s an artist but later I realize that he was writing something. God only knows what it might have been. He then starts with his amateur analysis of my character telling me I’m crazy, that everything I think about others is my own projection, wondering why I would want to share things with the world on my blog, etc. He asks my opinion then declares that I’m contradicting myself.

Once I realize a ‘normal’ conversation is not possible with this guy I lose interest in talking and decide instead to observe the inhabitants and environment of the diner: middle aged guy with a belly at the counter hunched over his eggs, bored looking Latino servers in polyester vests standing around surreptitiously watching us, a couple sharing a milkshake, rows of carefully placed miniature boxes of breakfast cereal (how I loved those things as a kid!), porthole inspired mirrors (to go with the whole Neptune theme) and endless dusty brown wood paneling stretching from wall to wall.

Later he walks with me toward my house. I stop him several houses away and thank him for walking me home. I leave him alone on the corner, slightly surprised.

Really, you gotta give a little if you expect to get a little.