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Truism (from the essay, Willem DeKooning is Dead)

so gone
Just because we have the keys to every car Just because we can Lets pretend we're better than this Let's be better men Let's remind the world that it is part of something too That even standing here alone Our penises are here because of you, Oh Hey by the Oh Hey Gang on Turn Around Vinyl.

Astride the sunny bafflement in the tower of keeps, there's everyday spent above the dirt. There's every fucking day spent listening to Clement Greenberg whine and whine. There's, Woman of 1950. She's a great sizing of colorful slashes and brutal reversals on adamant thought in general. In the beginning Bill could draw but now he would make them dance and sing for the pleasure of his pony. Historical, meaning social, meaning political or right. De kooning would like that. He would.
He would certainly see the mantle as big enough for all. It's why Elaine married him. She likes his passion for the work but she loves his acceptance. The way he can sit down a pencil after fumbling a fresh new line. The way he sprints for a cigarette. Elaine's a drinker too so she herself is aware, she knows. She paints in the open air too. She writes about her experiences after work. She tests the seam of her own raft and quietly prepares her own staples against the slow demise of history. She is after all, Elaine.
Bill started smoking grass early on, I think it was some unspecified date or other back then. He'd slip out onto the fire escape and piss in the alley. He'd open a tin of beans and shovel them in with a spatula he'd only just wiped on his trousers. He's a man and for sure he make's shit up. It's the job that's taken him longest to get as a matter of fact. School and work on the dinghy, they came easy. But when he finally got here he had to have something to do. At first he drew cigarettes and party girls but later on he got paid to open their doors and measure their walls. He lit up their candles every night, Oh if I go to sleep now. If I go to sleep tonight, He wishes quietly like a wistful girl of a boy. My time is rushing on and away. The world is changing.
Then there's a push of smoke and black pig flesh at the door. Brine barrels filled with dipping fish are in the stand tall back of the joint, Bill looks up with a lazy cigarette stuck to his lip. A shock of blonde hair graces his substantial brow when he suddenly realizes, I don't have to be a dick after all.

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