poemimage

Where text meets image. Where the visual intersects the literary.

Category: prose

page 47

Eurydice made me a chutney & cucumber sandwich on white bread, minus the crust, for my drive to the art school. Somebody smashed the rental car window – I’d parked in the alley where the crack dealer operated, so I went to the emergency repair place. Sunlight on the shattered window bits danced like crystal chandeliers. I knew I should wait, until the glass was vacuumed & replaced, before eating the sandwich. But somehow the green chutney & white bread went perfectly with chandeliers. I pictured Eurydice making her entrance.

from my book Meme-Noir (2019)

page 62

My father brought home FBI WANTED POSTERS his friend, the agent, gave him. I spread them out on the bed and frightened myself with aliases, previous crimes, and last known locations. What is white slavery? He has a bazooka? The square inked fingerprints looked like Neolithic patterns connected to the criminal’s inner mind. Photographs were specific yet vague. He could be at the music store, in line at the Frozen Dairy stand. If a car slowed down, surely one of the most wanted had followed me – possibly for hours.

from my book Meme-Noir (2019)

page 27

I thought the gallery in Yorkville might be a good fit with my work. The owner wore a sophisticated black dress. Maybe ten years older than me. European. People told me my work was European. She told me to spread it on the floor. She sat in the only chair. After an hour and a half – of what I thought, seriously I did, was a meetings of the minds – she said, ‘Of course, you know you’re not a fine artist.’ I walked out of Yorkville more than a bit shaky – but dazzled by the timing of her coup de grace.

from my book Meme-Noir (2019)

3rd Draft @ 104,896 Words

The 2nd draft stood at roughly 80,000 words after removing 20,000 words, give or take, from where it stood after the 1st draft. This time the edit seemed to go in reverse as I developed connections, elaborations, new scenes, etc… and added almost 25,000 words to the total.

In the New Year the scissors will be out again for the 4th draft. Speaking of which, my father’s father was a barber during the Great Depression. He was, by all accounts – and as I can attest, a frightening man although he did feed his family during perilous times. My father ended up with his barbershop gear and, much to my displeasure, put them to use on Saturday mornings. That doesn’t really have anything to do with editing the 4th draft. But of course it does.

Update: As of today (1/3/2021) the 3rd draft (which I thought was complete) has grown to 131,287 words. Which means the next draft/edit will take longer than anticipated although I don’t know why I anticipated anything at all. The story-idea hasn’t wanted to stop although I think (hope) now it has.