I like this shot of Bob Dylan and his bike. And his jeans. And his lumber jacket. And his boots. and his hair. And his sombre expression. Where are you going, Bob?
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The Denim Hobo: Curtis Burg...
It was 1998 in Battery Park, NY, that I twice met a man called Curtis Burg... something. He was a bum and a severe vino and came all the way from California, where he during the 70s had acted in some TV commercials for a shampoo. At that time he wrote autographs, but that was a long time ago. Now, I'm writing poems, he said and did some french gesture with broken wrists. Then he told me one:
I'm damaged goods.
At least I'm something.
What the fuck are you?
I scribbled it down, but it wasn't his poems that stayed in my mind, it was him as a revelation. Worn-in Levi's jeans and shirt. Sunkissed. Grey wavy hair. Thin. Eyes as George Best with a sombre expression that still hunts me. He was flawless. He was man and denim in divine rythm.
Thanks Curtis, for giving name to my store, Damaged Goods, I once had, and for the inspiration to this blog. A blog where I will try to find people where denim and man becomes like a holy revelation. Just the way I felt when I saw you for the last time.
Thanks. Hope you are well, friend.
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