Of course my recall of such defining moments remains as it ever was -- pretty hazy, but what the hell! I survived it all, which is a remarkable thing in itself. A lot of folks, some good, some very very wicked, did not. So cheers to us 80's debauchery survivors! We're the toughest, baddest of the lot.
Sometimes, I still conjure up that stack of burned out TVs-turned-monitors from 688 that stood in the corner by my favorite table and looped a bloody, fanatical, ritual romp of self-flagellation video clips, via a Betamax machine I bet. The TV-stack was spray-painted in dayglow psychedelic colors. To this day, that was one of the best video-as-art installations I've ever seen. Likely ever will, other than astonishing video-installation work done by Iranian-born photog, Shirin Neshat.
Here's a photo by Ms. Neshat I really dig, titled The Rapture:
If anyone out there has any kind of print or clip or ANYTHING relating to 688, please get in touch. Let's do that doc!
Ahh heck Dear Readers, I'd love to sit down and tell you the story of one night alone at that place, but my entirely innocent, everlovin' quest for a clear recall of the time Freddy Vomit fell through the ceiling landed me in such a world 'o heartache that I'm still trying to weed my way through it all, a year later! Maybe some other time...