OH, BLACK MAGIC THAT BLOWS YOUR MIND AWAY

Smoking Invisible Cigarettes Alongside Antonioni in a Cul de Sac and Sayonara to the Late-Great Shane MacGowan

As I walk this land of broken dreams

I have visions of many things…..

At one point, I had a two-pack-a-day habit, a monogrammed lighter, and issues with getting out of bed.

That was a very good time in my life.

Now, I’m up at ten; the wind’s blowing, and the clouds are rollin’ in. I still have the lighter, and I recently started carrying it again. I’m walking down a strange cul de sac, but in this decade, that lighter is more of a charm in the coat pocket—a brushed steel mnemonic to Myself.

N E

I’m staying for a few days at a borrowed home in Palm Springs, which initially belonged to a TV western star whose name I don’t recognize. The current owner had told me this was the model home used to sell the other development lots in the 1950s: all slanted roofs, carports, and the ghosts of long-forgotten car key parties. The house now gets its group action once a year, opened as a tour destination for voyeuristic mid-century architecture freaks looking to check out the exposed cross beams.

A world far from my comprehension.

Although it is a conceptually comfortable venue to hit the RESET button and quietly lay out the next book about people, monsters, and a witnessed ballet that lives on in my head, if you were going for it, this street is like the film location for an “I bought this house to make me money on Air BnB, and now I’m having second thoughts about how viable this is.” look. It’s Wednesday. There’s no evidence of another soul within blocks, and I would not have made the journey if I’d known the shower wasn’t working and the icy pool hadn’t been heated (and can’t be heated). My Zoom meeting earlier had spotty reception, and I caught every other word and just went with it while I drank my coffee, letting the others pick up the slack while I nodded as if there was clarity on my end. The art books, television, and couches in the living room are there for the looks and feel out of bounds, and I get the impression that I would need actors, technicians, and an A.D. to walk me over to a monitor to look things over before I could put a cold drink on the table. Without a crew, location agreement, and insurance, I’ve elected to keep my distance from using anything but the bed.

Again, I can’t shower or swim here.

Unfortunately, I still dream.

Something was approaching that instinctively caused me to walk out the door and be a part of it. Alongside the lighter in my windbreaker is a Ricoh GR camera the size of a pack of Luckies. I set the exposure and look at what’s unfolding. It’s a dry, uncompromising wind that throws my hair out of place as I look around at the palm trees in abundance in every yard as far as I can see.

As I walk further and shoot, I’m beginning to feel that I’m no longer in Palm Springs, even though I am. Through the lens, I’m somewhere else, standing alongside Antonioni. A That Bowling Alley on the Tiber moment fused in La Notte. I think the fact that I haven’t showered in two days is reminiscent of Nicholson’s wrinkled delirium in The Passenger. Also, I’m in the desert.

“Looks like we’re in for stormy weather.” I quietly light up an invisible cigarette and take a slow hit.

Excerpt from Haunted by fallen hero Shane MacGowan;

The first time I saw you
Standing in the street
You were so cool you could have
Put out Vietnam

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All photos by Nick Ebeling

Referenced Music - both Jimmy Ruffin & The Supremes’ versions of What Becomes of the Broken Hearted, Jarvis Cocker’s Black Magic

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