I think I’ve finished this (maybe the first?) version of the Kubrick Lolita poster for Jauques’ SUpEr Trash Show. There could be others or even other movies, but strangely this fucked up raw thing actually took over a month to get finished. The head is painted in one of the Little Prince covers.
Category Archives: writing
Buy Yourself Prettier Flowers
So yesterday I went for a run in the park and with all the wind and rain, the Osage orange tree dropped a bushel of fruit and I grabbed 8 and then a sprig of wild flowers and left them for Sylvie on the kitchen counter before leaving to see Ben (formerly of the Institute) eat the stage at Galapagos. We all went out for dinner after and being broke I did the old Paris routine and actually sold some drawings. I left this note and some cash under the wild flowers for Sylvie in the morning.
Other Green Worlds
When I came back from Paris in 1998, I brought with me a stack of drawings and paintings and two gifts for Sylvie; an antique green glass fishing net float and and an antique green boule ball. I told her they were new green worlds, but of course they were also a joke about potency and my balls. She said to me, “You go to Paris and bring me back green balls? Why couldn’t you have gotten me a hand bag?” It’s just like a woman. You offer her a metaphor for your manhood and she demands a metaphor for the womb. You can’t win. But it’s fall again and the Osage oranges are falling in the park. I saw them yesterday on a long run, but everything had been smashed by a mower, or malevolent children. I ran back this afternoon on way to the vet for more dog drugs. I could only find two and it put me in mind of Paris.
Math Homework
Draw a circle.
I found this sheet of math equations in the street while walking the dog around the block. It reminded me that later drafts of my “frist novel” were titled: To Walk A Circle. It was more or less about walking around all those etoilles they have in Paris that get you so lost sometimes and there is no grid by which to dead reckon your way home. Instead you go from L’Opera and walk for thirty minutes and somehow end up exatly again at L’Opera. Last time I was in Paris, I had one entire foot (my gimpy right one) turn into an enormous blister… the whole foot, one blister. For the next week I hobbled around Paris like Ratso Rizzo: Je promenne ICI! I thought it was a grand metaphor for life. Now it sounds a little pretentious, but it does explain Arc Along the Watchtower as a title too.