Friday, June 26, 2009

I found a pile of these steno pads while cleaning out my half of the apartment. They date from the Indy years, 1992 to 1995. (Some of the info contained in one of them indicates I was using them to take anatomy/fundamentals notes during my first semester at AAA in Chicago.) This was my poetry writing period. (I also wrote and refined these "poems" on my Brother word processor. The processor and disks (and all of the hard copies of poems) where tossed out during the Great Chicago Purge of 2004 leading up to my move here.) I went through all of these notepads over the last four or five days: yikes. A whole lot of writing and a whole lot of saying nothing. A lot of reworking of the same awkward almost nonsensical phrases--swapping out verbs and nouns until the original intent was lost. I suppose there was some potential there . . . I frequently tacked two words together that had a nice effect, I guess. But maaaaan was there a lot of dross. Mostly dross. Almost exclusively dross. Thing is? I worked really hard on this stuff, every day, for hours a day. And this was the best I could do

Still, I flipped through all of it, copying down little bits of stuff that I could possibly recycle, most likely for names of characters or titles of drawings. Here's are a few example:

saltwater skull
seven kinds of cancer
the smokeeaters
cloistered meat
innocent assassins
accidental temple, etc.

Those all sound like drawing titles to me. Anyway. The blue X on the cover indicates that this book has been picked through and it prepared for tossing. I've been quietly slipping these books into trash cans all over the city. Some in Brooklyn, a few in Manhattan, most in Queens. I've seen Found Magazine. I don't want these things seeing the light of day again.

Anyway. Got off or work and ran a few errands: picked up laundry, got a bottle of gin. Then I worked in the sketchbook for an hour or two and, at the same time, watched a terrible John Frankenheimer movie last night, Prophecy. I remember watching this movie quite a few times during the first days we had cable and HBO in 1981-82. I was really into the slimy, mutated bear. The movie does NOT hold up at all. The dialogue is terrible and the acting isn't much better (though Talia Shire is acting her little heart!) Highlights: Richard Dysart (Doc from The Thing) shows up and Maine-accents it up. Another highlight: the mutant bear attacks a trio of campers: father, daughter, son. The son is zipped up in his puffy, yellow down-filled sleeping bag so he's trapped when the bear storms the campsite. The kid gets up and hops frantically away but he's not fast enough--the bear swipes him with a slimy paw and the kid flies across the campsite and smashes into a rock and the sleeping bag EXPLODES in a flurry of down. Burst out laughing at that. I'm not sure if it was meant to be intentionally funny or what. (Frankenheimer admits that his drinking affected his performance for a period of time and sites this film as an example. Huh.)

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