February 13, 2015

Hero to Suspect in a Heartbeat

Early Sunday morning, and two LAPD detectives knock
knock knock on the door, gathering info about a
recent event on the street.

They meander into the loft, taking it in, two of the
nicest men anywhere. Butter wouldn’t melt.

And I am brilliant. They say. The best story-teller in
the universe. They say. So cogent. I am so good I could
be doing their job.

We’ll just turn on the tape recorder now. I tell it all again.

More verbal huggy, huggy, kissy, kissy as they pack
up. They stroll to the door and stop dead at a piece
made by a young friend. A piece they had passed
without comment on their way in.

They stood there, cop pose, feet spread wide, pelvis
thrust forward, staring at the semi-automatic gun
upright in a footing of plaster, decommissioned and
covered with primitive naif, retro, flower power symbols.

They were mute because they know silence is a void
people like to fill.

I cracked in under ten seconds, gabbling about the
anti-war statement, its political punch, its shocking
modesty for such a radical flashback message.

And most amazing, I say, the artist was only about twenty
when he made it.

At which point a cop pronounced: At twenty, he could legally
buy this weapon, so we don’t have to confiscate it.

What?!? You were thinking of arresting my art?

WTF is that?

Tags: Do they teach that stuff in detective school?
Hardest course to pass must be the silent treatment and how to
render it. Who knew an old, rusty grandfather of the AK-47
still has so much impact.