What I write about is not gratuitous — its hard won and fought for.
Not thru charity but truculence and the scrimmages —
Extort from Joyce’s pig latin –where explores rhyme through permutations, visual cuts, a dangling perch of limerick.
Probe the “x” torsion between rhyme and language, as an oceanic.
Try hard not think of the neg leg anymore as merely piratical, but a con summate hex change of value.
Perseverance is a kind of delinquency — where can let fly a balm able shop talk —
Not just for flying — but for landing as well ?
That said don’t discount val of money — I like making money. Up to a point.
Even with my drawing studio, its not just about money but relationships and my freedom to diversify ?
I love drawing nudes. Been playing pretty ferociously with color — ever since a kid.
Just did a strong print take on a trad/trend for Sunil’s Storyline project — And the money keeps flowing in from studio work —
And because of it, this is the thing: I never have to compromise the research — or any other “f kng dimension” in discuss with the dead, the living dead, the newly arrived, wrt work -/
Let ride the rhyming sickness.
Let dig for cues moos and rim bow booze —
Let sylph and silt the philo silo —
Let birdy steal anything finds through falls in wells or tidal swells.
And if so climbs, teeter into rhymes.
Influences and Pay Backs
Silliness is allowed by way of Beckett — how he pulls it in via questioning the folly of what he is doing — And looking around for clues as to why he is there. Creates archi techy thru questions — likes to draw out with his head —
I was drawn to letters — or rather they erupted as an odyssey of my soul. But also, it turned out I really like to draw. As a family matter, ended up with law degree like my dad. Then went into publishing because law bored me, as opposed to sky fly (and put the egg on skillet and fry) fiction — which I was mad about.
Ended up with a studio designing pages in publishing and then designing surface art mostly for fashion, as it was my mom’s dream…
But from my earliest terrors, it occurred that I loved to bomb my brain and law gave me nightmares that I didn’t want. Books gave me freedom to think with the lids anywhere. Design gave me freedom to draw.
Started design studio doing grunt for dollars working in page design, then went on to manage a funky furniture store down in Soho and did the retail thing at another high end design store in Nolita, then went back to school for drawing: Art Students League, FIT, Botanical Gardens, etc. Drew all over my town. Met Sunil the wonderful at FIT — and went on to discover that with cash for focus could seriously illustrate.
I think of Emily Dickinson as my aunty em. White girl american brought up on religion, racism, and apple pie. War, freedom and horror.
Get thee to a none airy —
Nobody these days writes letters like her — Her letters u gotta admit wonderful — here is link.
But I also love plasticine pig poems — am terribly influenced by Pynchon and Joyce. Joyce in a way really is “the godfather.”
I read all of JJs existing letters and Byrons, Burns too, Fitz and Zelda. Groucho, etc.
A kind of mad hatness blew up in me from reading dictionaries like they were history books.
But in my soul, there was a war over meaning and the horror show. Stephen King’s colorful cities of hatred blew in, charted by an ostrich head picking at feathers.
Life seemed to demand that my letters, narrative and poetry take a room — be a loom, weeping sweeping, keeping lockets alive in Dante’s tomb. to exfoliate the sadness madness, as I lay frying dying, over well: everything else.
dance of the clues ruse
longs with affection —
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