Leonard Cohen tickets went on sale earlier this week. I dig Leonard Cohen and have for a while. Cohen is a hero to me. I know, heros disappoint, blah, blah but I really want to see him. He's performing at Copley Symphony Hall. Not. In. My. Budget. $90 for the nose-bleed, cheap-o seats where he would be a speck to me. In the fantasy camp of my mind I hold Cohen as this bohemian literary figure who has changed the world with his music and those he has influenced. He is a traveler, poet, musician, all of these beautiful things. Some part of me imagines that he would have a kinship to those of us who are struggling artists and would have less expensive tickets, make his live music accessible. Nope. Maybe in twenty-five years when he's dead and I still love him I'll kick myself for not having purchased the tickets but ninety dollars covers bills and as much as I love it, music won't feed my belly.
Down the alley from where I live a very interesting man lives. I've watched him since I moved in here a year ago. He welds things to his roof at all hours of the night. Sometimes I sit on my balcony transfixed by his art. He has planted plants in the sculptures, he paints them bright colors. In my mind he is an artist, someone marching to his own. I've admired him for it. I've even spoken to him briefly, telling him how much I appreciate his odd rooftop sculpture garden. I point out the house to my friends when they come by and have felt honored to live near under-appreciated genius. Last night the police came and surrounded his house and arrested him. Alleged drug something or another. A part of me thinks that makes sense, he was up all hours of the night welding things to his roof. . . But another part of me cries foul play. For some reason I thought of the scene in Fahrenheit 451 where the police kill the man who was going for a walk and pretend they had killed Guy Montag. They had been watching the walker for a long time, keeping tabs on him because he marched to his own. When they needed someone to scapegoat, they had their man.
Chelsea Hotel #2