Counting Cars

8/6

Milica Paranosic

The day begins with a visit from Milica and her partner Dan from the Composers Concordance.  The connection to Milica (say milichcia,she says, easier to say if you nod your head while you say it...) from Zoran. Fresh back from Shangahi.  She has a similar passion for life. And art. Knows the Ethel folk and also Carman Moore and the Sky Orchestra. She’s looking for a place for the final night of her festival in December. I’m hoping this will be the perfect place. (composerconcordance.com) (milicaparanosic.com)

RL, David and crew continue clearing out junk, making the chapel a usable space. 

Outside, there are two people on the steps. A youngish white guy, laid out reading his e-mail on an iPhone. When I speak to him, all he does is look at me, eventually raise his thumb. As he still doesn’t move, later I’ll send Danielle out to talk with him.

And then a man is asleep the south doorway. I rouse him. Tell him he can’t sleep here during the day. He looks at me intently. Why? 

We need to keep the steps open. 

Sanctuary? Church? That’s what this is? He reaches inside his shirt. I wear a St. Joseph scapula, I was an altar boy...

I’m sorry. His looks, his distinctive accent, I’m thinking northern New Mexico. His thin angularity. Color. Tied back hair. Headband.

He gets up. Walks a few steps down the street, turns throws a penny at me. Here’s a donation for your church, he says.

And as he’s gone, I wonder. Think I should have invited him inside to sleep on the pews. Asked his name. Realize I’m getting very worn. Losing my equilibrium. He haunts me.

Stephen is in for a conference call continuing our negotiations. Maybe this time we make it... Cara has come along. Takes her turn sweeping again. And playing the piano.

Anna has com In with questions about Keith. He’s back from treatment in Rochester. With an uncerain future. 

A man in an orange vest has been sitting in the south doorway all day long, a strange keyboard device in his lap. I ask him what he’s doing. Counting cars he says and keeps pushing keys.

Late in the day representatives of another new Jewish congregation come by for a visit. Taken aback by all that needs to be done. I get it. Three years ago, I liked the romance. The Berlin/Brooklyn/Havana vibe. Now, I’m tired of it. Not cool anymore. Fix it.

Glen and Evan and Jean and others involved with Glen’s upcoming night of new readings are in for a walk through, check out of the space and putting up posters outside. 

The Representatives like things  just the way they are. I’ve loved their  plays for years. They’ve completely captured the apartment play genre. Happy as I am for the plays they’ve prepared here, I’m excited that they’re finally doing a performance here. Their adaptation of Turgenev’s Fathers  and Sons  opens  this weekend. Of all the theater groups we work with, Stan and Matt are completely professional and rational and easy to work with. The confine the dama to their productions. I love seeing  their cast, hanging out in front of the 86th street door. Just hanging. I'm remembering the Tenant summer. Good.(http://brooklynbrewery.com/blog/event/bazarov-west-park-church/)