From Feburary 29:
We spent the rest of the evening drawing pictures of each other and polluting our minds and bodies with the usual substances. Although the results leave something to be desired on an artistic level, I can’t help but think that somehow we’ve managed to capture each other’s essences in pen and ink. If this is true, then my only comment is uh-oh.
From March 13:
The House:
If Morningside Drive can be considered the lap of Atlantian luxury, then we are the syphilitic groin. Here’s why.
Our house is fantastic. At least it was, once upon a time. While all our other sleazeoid friends are slumming it downtown in rat and/or cucaracha-infested trashed-out apartment houses, we sit here perched high above Piedmont Avenue in a red-brick, two-story Tudor with a full cellar, double garage, azalea-bushes in the garden, and an oak-studded jungle for a backyard. For which we pay almost nothing.
As far as I can follow, Wallace’s father flipped out when his wife suddenly died after an acute illness. He packed his toothbrush and split to Florida, leaving his dream house and its contents to the elements. Wallace moved back in a couple of years ago and has managed, in whatever manner, to accumulate us as renters. That makes us, in a sense, also elements. I can get into that. It has a solid feel about it. The neighbors despise us. Of course they do! We’re a blot on their precious landscapes. Situated in one of the best parts of town, surrounded by doctors and lawyers with their Mercedes’ and manicured lawns, we are an affront to everything they have worked and striven for. I love it.
If Morningside Drive can be considered the lap of Atlantian luxury, then we are the syphilitic groin. Here’s why.
Our house is fantastic. At least it was, once upon a time. While all our other sleazeoid friends are slumming it downtown in rat and/or cucaracha-infested trashed-out apartment houses, we sit here perched high above Piedmont Avenue in a red-brick, two-story Tudor with a full cellar, double garage, azalea-bushes in the garden, and an oak-studded jungle for a backyard. For which we pay almost nothing.
As far as I can follow, Wallace’s father flipped out when his wife suddenly died after an acute illness. He packed his toothbrush and split to Florida, leaving his dream house and its contents to the elements. Wallace moved back in a couple of years ago and has managed, in whatever manner, to accumulate us as renters. That makes us, in a sense, also elements. I can get into that. It has a solid feel about it. The neighbors despise us. Of course they do! We’re a blot on their precious landscapes. Situated in one of the best parts of town, surrounded by doctors and lawyers with their Mercedes’ and manicured lawns, we are an affront to everything they have worked and striven for. I love it.
From March 24:
Terrible, awful, mind-crunching hangover. Two strange women in bed next to me this morning, look like sisters. I can’t remember a goddamned thing! They can’t either. What a waste. I’m so wasted . . . too sick to write . . .Can I work? I can’t go to work.
I have to go to work . . .
Later . . .
Self-portrait from right now
I am SO looking forward to this. You have no idea... I'd feared your online silence (at least, in the venues I was used to seeing you) meant that you'd bailed on writing altogether. But no!
ReplyDeleteNow all I have to do is figure out how authonomy works (I've resisted until now)...
Yo John!
ReplyDeleteGood to see you here, Dude. I’ve posted my reply on your blog.
Son
I'm pleasantly surprised by these pen and ink images... like a rawer aspect of your creative personality! Tickling contrast to the calm and refined sense of some of the paintings I've seen by you earlier!
ReplyDeleteCheers!
Emily
hey what happened to your If: Cage pic? I got all excited when I saw it in my reader (partially because it's a theme I've been dwelling on myself eg http://www.redbubble.com/people/incognita/art/5234264-2-eventually-cog-realised-that-the-numbers-were-against-her ... came to add it to my ffffound stream ... and it's gone!
ReplyDelete