Aesop and I used to record terrible, terrible ambient music together. We’d send our 4-track tapes off to Brian Eno and to Harold Budd, to Steve Stapleton and to Alvin Lucier, but we never heard back from any of them and Eno would return his envelopes not even opened.
I met Aesop in a dingy record store when I was fifteen years old. The record store was called Sound Exchange. Aesop was wearing a Silver Apples t-shirt. We got to talking about krautrock and about astral projection and about whether anybody had ever recorded a good album after age fifty.
Later on, I introduced him to my twin brother, Antony, and those two fell in love right away and it lasted for twelve years.
I told you before about that last bit, didn’t I?
They do not make many friends like Aesop over in life’s friends-making department, but now it has been more than two years since I’ve even so much as spoken to the guy. You know… After Antony left him and Dana left me and they ran off and got married, it all just felt too awkward, somehow. I wanted to call. It was easier not to.
Now I think I’ve got to.
I’ve got to find my brother.
You might have already heard this, but back on July 4 – more than two months ago now! – Dana had a stroke. Ten days later, Antony packed up his belongings. He quit his job. He did not tell anybody where he was going or what he was doing. He just disappeared.
I’ve got to find him – just to make sure he is alright – but I am out of ideas about where it is that he might be.
Aesop might know, though, so I pick up the phone to call Aesop and my hands are shaking. I am planning what I will say and I am really scared that nothing is going to come out when I try and talk, you know?
Before I realize what is even going on, Aesop answers (first ring!) and he says this: “Why the fuck did it take two years for you to finally call me?”
Then I laugh and then he laughs and then we are just two friends laughing together on the phone again.