Dirty Projectors - Not Having Found [mp3]
I sit staring at Frida Kahlo and she stares back at me too and speaks to me too and she looks past me too as she says to me too, “Show me respect.” She says it in Spanish though and though I don’t understand Spanish though I understand what she is saying though that though she is simply a picture of Frida Kahlo, she’s a living breathing Frida Kahlo capable of deep feelings and complex understanding of spatial relationships and she is not hanging from the wall. We stare at each other for some time unblinking, unspeaking, listening to Dirty Projectors sing rightly soaring from the computer speakers in anything but a blare the music just sort of swims in waves of pleasure from the computer speakers into our ears but neither of us smile, we just stare. Her present predicament is not unlike many similar predicaments she has had to endure since coming into my possession last winter. She lays against the wall in a corner, obscured slightly at certain angles by the bookshelf which holds her journal in full color, magazine glossed glory.
Frida Kahlo sits staring at me and I stare back at Frida Kahlo too with her birds perched painfully on each shoulder, two more flanking her neatly laid arms and a cigarette drips from her fingertips as she sits staring at me and I stare back at Frida Kahlo too attempting to penetrate her infinitely wise gaze her infinitely prolonged gaze her infinitely etched into the acid-free paper which her eyes were infinitely sketched onto with an ink jet printer and Frida Kahlo sits staring at me and I stare back at Frida Kahlo too and decide at that point that the painfully beautiful music of Dirty Projects is just too unbearably gorgeous that I am unbearably unable to continue sitting and staring at Frida Kahlo.
I arise from the couch and walk to the corner where Frida Kahlo sits and I hoist her into my arms. This is overstating things since she is simply a poster, essentially, printed nicely on acid-free card stock and slipped into a plastic slip, more accurately I lift her easily with my thumb and forefinger and I clutch her as if a football and suddenly I am a football player. I dart left and right out the door and Frida Kahlo and I take a walk together down the street. I wave at the neighbor, a gay man of considerable discretion and privacy and I hold Frida Kahlo proudly displaying her fine gaze to him and though she doesn’t wave also, he gets the drift and frowns. We walk further down the street, encountering no other people and I say to Frida Kahlo, “Isn’t it nice to get some fresh air?” She makes no comment in response and eventually we turn back to the house and return. The neighbor is no longer sitting on the porch and his blinds are now closed though it is quite bright outside. I put Frida Kahlo back in the corner and I imagine her saying, “Nobody puts Frida Kahlo in a corner,” but Dirty Dancing was not out yet so she couldn’t possibly conceive of such a joke. I explain to Frida Kahlo that I would like to put her in a frame first before hanging her from a wall but unfortunately I am far too poor to afford a frame now so she’ll just have to wait.
Dirty Projectors are still gloriously extolling the beautiful nature not having found something you were looking for and I nod my head in agreement. “See Frida Kahlo, it’s a difficult time finding things like money or picture frames. You should be quite happy to have found me at least. I will take you on another walk soon, I promise.”
Dirty Projectors are a rhythm and blues band from Brooklyn. The featured song is from the album The Getty Address. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.
