magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

bean is not actually from antarctica. his heart is covered in paisleys.

he makes tiny little pictures and sometimes writes about his life.

Untitled.

24 September 2001

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went to bed really early last night. slept for nearly twelve hours. dreamt about an art show that i was a part of. most of the art was pretty mediocre. something about staying in a hotel.


one of our homestay assingments is a panorama. i'm planning on making a video, whith black and white slient movie style bits of me giving a monologue about being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, intercut with colour pans of the mountains surrounding me.

i was hoping that today would be sunny so that i could do the shooting, but it's still overcast and very windy as it was yesterday afternoon. which is beautiful weather in my opinion, but not good for making my movie. or sitting outside and sketching.

so it's sitting inside again, lettering the text pieces for my movie, which needed to be done first anyway i guess, and pining away for an internet connection. i know that this is the middle of rural italy, but it's still very modern. they've got satelite tv and cars and computers and solar panels on the roofs. i mean who doesn't have internet access these days?


and here's the rain that the dark grey clouds and wind of the last two days have presaged. sheets of large, cold drops. smaller ones. it grows calm briefly. darker. the rain starts again.

usually rain will cheer me up. whatever else is amiss, the rolling clouds no longer able to bear thir burden of water, turned to vapor and back again to liquid, something is the way it should be. the cycles of weather continue to work. the sound of raindrops is soothing.

but here, so far away, pulled so internal, alone, here it only serves a small repaste. a brief smile in wonder. of forces so much stronger than us. in their potential. while underneath my awareness runs a constant current. bubbling up with doubts, with fears, distracting me from the spectacle the world is offering up.


i took advantage of a break in the rain to shoot my movie. i might try to film the whole thing again later in the week when it's sunnier, as i would have liked the mountains to be greener and the sky to be bluer, but i also liked that way the wind was accosting me in this take. and of course i don't have the time or facilities to edit anything, so it's all one or the other.

and later, tried to ask mario if there was some sort of internet cafe in gubbio. it turns out that his cell phone sends email, but i don't think that the one email he let me send is going to end up the right place.

italians tend to try and be a little too helpful sometimes. he insisted on entering the destination address himself, and had me write it out. and by force of habit, because about two thirds of my friends use it, i wrote hotmail instead of aol. i think that stef may have had a hotmail account at some point, but doesn't use it now.

this all occurred to me about two minutes after the email was sent. for those two minutes though i was filled with a sense of calm and warmth in the knowledge that i had been able to reach out to stef. but of course i hadn't, and when i asked to send another email he gave me some explanation in italian that i didn't understand of why i couldn't.

now i'm even a little more on edge. i feel a little more inefectual, stranded, alone. a little too nervous to read or to sketch or to do anything that would help refocus my awareness and bide my time.


dearest stef,

even if you never see these exact words i need to write them to you. i've been trying to keep track in my head of everything that reminds me of you, but i think of you so often that i've lost track.

let's see, there's debora, the daughter in the family that i'm staying with, and her boyfriend angelo. their ages are the same as ours. they both have black hair, our opposites, or alternate doubles. he is tall and skinny, quiet and terribly sweet. you are too special to me to see more than brief flashes of you in other people though.

i went out to an english style pub the other night. i imagined you there with me, in a sea of italian words that i did not understand.

on busrides whishing you in the seat beside me. whenever i look at a clock i subtract six hours, the time where you are, and try to figure out what you are doing.

i think about you so much. i'm alone and want you with me. i miss you and love you like the stars in the sky.

yrs, bean