MARCH 1991

Just before the Persian Gulf War broke out I went back to New York for another Poetry in Motion event with my partner Michael Lally. It was a huge success. Kael Brown and Karen Allen read with the other NY poets. I came back hopeful that if we could gather together near the end of the millennium to hear poetry we might avoid military force in the Middle East. As Congress voted on whether to support the President I went to Two Bunch Palms in Desert Hot Springs. For years I’ve been getting away to this jewel of a spa which has been a hideaway for many stars including Madonna, Nicholson and recently, Meryl Streep and Carrie Fisher. I stayed in the Al Capone Suite, which I finally found out, old Al probably never slept in. I decided it was sexier to believe that the bullet hole in the mirror was made by Capone than by the owner who started the rumor. That weekend in particular I needed a fairytale. A few days later reality hit and everything changed.

The start of Operation Desert Storm was tough on my social life. I had to cancel a date when the war broke out and then another date had to be rescheduled because of the attack on Tel Aviv. I know where are lives on the line and the world will never be the same, but being single during war is much worse than being single during peace. What’s a girl to do? Life’s mundane matters are harder when there’s a techno-nightmare just a remote control away. It looks like the odds that a woman over a certain age is more likely to get shot by a terrorist than get married, isn’t so ridiculous.

I became obsessed by the news and even feared the extreme. I was thinking about doomsday predictions – Nostradamus, Armageddon, Jeanne Dixon, etc. Coverage, coverage, coverage. It’s live from the front, 24 hours. Sort of like an all night convenience store with no real food to eat. Who knows what’s happening? But careers are being made. Peter Arnett, John Holliman, and Bernard Shaw from Baghdad were amazing. They became as important as the events they were reporting on. Arthur Kent on NBC is definitely my favorite. He’s very cute. I wonder if he’s making Tom Brokaw nervous.

Finally my news addiction needed a rest so I ventured out and about. First thing I did was visit a holy person who came to LA to help and comfort adults and children with AIDS. I met Arlo Gutherie there adding his love and support. The experience energized me and gave me some well-needed inspiration for the coming days.

From there I took off for Stringfellows. The doorman told me that on the first night of the war there were only 100 people at the club. Recently Sinead O’Connor, Eddie Murphy, Arsenio Hall and Sylvester Stallone had dropped by. The night I was there, Dionne Warwick was having her birthday party. Stringfellows, originally of London, is a private club, but if you make dinner reservations you can get in.

The place is all 70’s disco neon complete with butterflies, mirrors and waitresses in tutus. It’s a money crowd. Lots of guys looking like Vanilla Ice or stockbrokers from Geneva on leave from their angst and losses. I ran into Bruce Merit, trainer to the stars. He’s worked with Jody Foster, Nicholas Cage, Sally Kirkland, Rene Taylor and took nine pounds off of Joe Bologna. There wasn’t much talk of war on the dance floor. In fact I didn’t hear any mention of Scuds, Patriots, or air superiority all night. I didn’t hear anything about poetry, politics or human kindness, but then life goes on in different ways for everyone. And dancing never killed a soul.

The next day I took a long bike rid down the coast with Justine Bateman. We went as far as Redondo Beach and for a little while there were no special bulletins, no speculations, just surfers stalking the waves and the sun shining.

I also attended Robert Longo’s opening for his Black Flags exhibit. A room full of mournful American flags. What timing. The show is at Linda Cathcart Gallery on Colorado in Santa Monica all black and bronze. He calls these flags: Give us back our suffering, Freedom by any means, Malcolm X. Robert Longo gave us art as spectacle. Now he give us art as introspection. He was a major force with his huge installations, videos, live performances and awareness of the corporate peril. His art in the 80’s was big business and he became a great tycoon/guardian of the culture. It’s 1991. I found Robert in a gentle mood. We talked briefly but sweetly. I couldn’t help thinking about New York ten years ago when our spirits were wild with big ideas and we felt invincible. It’s 1991 and Robert is going to live in Paris and other artist friends (i.e. David Salle) are moving to California. Time is everything. I wonder how art and poetry and life will be live d in the next few months. AS we move into the 90’s real, red white and blue flags are raised half-mast. They are more harrowing than Robert Longo’s frozen black figures full of grief and rage.