Feels like the acrylic ink and/or fountain pen ink infused in clear elmer’s glue phase is fading, I desperately need to resupply and can’t be bothered to buy when four months ago they’d have been bought week’s ago, too many niggling demoralizing metaphors nagging, the above now glued back-to-back and in the paper press to bond with this below, the end product my son-in-law’s giftmas present
While I was ignoring this joint while not painting in Michigan WordPress beheaded the second avatar that haunted the first for weeks though I followed instructions including clicking the vital save button, best surprise of this week, the last time I fuck with the avatar until the next time I do
Didn’t stop painting but did stop thinking about posting them, as in it wasn’t a conscious decision, I just stopped posting them, that’s new, excellently encouraging, excellently frightening. Should I post a shadow of what I made?
One of the three people who’ve seen one of these in real life said more people in real life are not going to see them unless I put them out there and you should put them out there, more people should see them. I don’t want to, praise me for these all you people who’ve never seen one of these and never will. I keep posting shadows of what I make. Finest fucking metaphor for me forever me
23rd draft before I fuck it up
The post below finished, not touching it again, learn when to abandon, yo, first time I used straight watercolor in months if not year or two. I’ve discovered the longer I let the first draft cure the crisper the wet interaction between first draft second draft – curing prevents the heavier from flooding the lighter. Meanwhile:
Dead already by five minutes, deader by the second, clear elmer’s glue and acrylic ink sustain but I insist gouache mirror my joints hike-wrung to death, dyingwet. Self-portrait for my 65th on the 28th
I seethe then go disc
golf, I bought underweight arch
angels for 13
at Seneca. I
make myself this like this. I’ll
hate this in morning
Archiving these recent hexjeff’s against my tendency to forget to. All are gouache and acrylic ink infused in clear elmers glue, the two rimmed with painters tape part of a project I’m betting won’t see completion (and are now glued to each other, and I need write about that if only to myself in tablet with pencil, Jeff), the above (which may or not be glued to the below because the below has competition) has pencil (and if there’s a monologue associated with any of these it’s the above and will be or not at the sho(i)u(t)ty place)
Horses are slaughtered
for watercolor paper
that bleeds at the rate
I prefer. Elmer’s
glue gelatinizes clear
into the amber
I think makes me cle-
ver. Bad fakes good fakes fake am-
ber fakes me fake clean
First two after the two week hiatus, I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I started again and that alone makes the hiatus successful
It’d flashed but never tableted that while most of these meant to spin four-sidedly in your hands I always post here the one of four on each I like best and without fail that one is the one upside-down from the orientation of the hex when permanent compositional boundaries set: whatever I make, upside-down be best and makes me laugh, and that alone makes the hiatus successful
Who I am, who I want to be
My left eye above, my right eye below
I don’t know it rates as the third greatest Jeff metaphor my favorite newest Jeff metaphor: gouache not only begins fading the moment it starts drying, the way I layer it on itself the faster it crumbles when dries, I can’t glue them back to back and save without ruining both, I emergency laminate the back-to-back, less desiccated side down
All circles, I now acknowledge my circles *are* placemats to everyone but me and you and not most of you and I agree wholeheartely, there are six notes I can hit singing and *not* have the worse voice in human history, I love George inordinately cause they’re his six too: E Flat, our key, our voice, our range, our placemats
I never once in fifty years of writing jeffspeakspastic poetry thought as much about poetry when hiking like I think about my just done, in process, and future playmats when hiking now. L always remarks how much I love bells, she lets me listen to Swans in the car now. I pretend this a discovery not my onset mother’s and mother’s mother’s dementia, they both loved bells, wrote nothing
pjoepf Of vriecyh 