Serge looks sober and genuinely happy in his denim uniform with his dick to the left. Jane just beams. Elegant in her denim shorts.
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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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