=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 22:45:53 +0200
Reply-To: Rinaldo Rasa <rinaldo@GPNET.IT>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: Rinaldo Rasa <rinaldo@GPNET.IT>
Subject: Beat generation/Ezra Pound, winter
1970/reverie
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DEAR
friends,
when I was YounG
i was 20
i saw a
man in VeNice on a bridge
the man
stand & looked the laguna di
Venezia
Torcello Burano San Francesco del Deserto
ISlands
cold winter
in 1970
white hair
cold wind
blew
there
was the time i have glimpsed a poet & this image
sculpted
in my eyes, years later i realized he was Ezra
Pound,
photos on papers recall the image, yes, like othe
r
things in the life of a generation became "ghost" thin
g,
---
yrs
Rinaldo
* be a beetle or better a beet *
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 16:13:36 -0500
Reply-To: "William H. Rose, III"
<schpill@EXECPC.COM>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: "William H. Rose, III"
<schpill@EXECPC.COM>
Subject: Re: Best concept
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Barb
Wirtz wrote:
Hopefully
I'm caught up on all responses...I would like to point out
that
although I am defending Eliot as a better poet, I really didn't
want to
do so at the expense of Ginsberg...I would rather just present
Eliot
in all his genius, richness, complexity, and skill...and leave it
at
that. Unfortunately, that wasn't the
case. I did enjoy rereading
Ginsberg
and Eliot...so I think whoever posed the question really did a
service...and
I have enjoyed immensely the insights and input by those
participating.
(ummm...is
it my misperception...or were most of you around in the
'60's...living
a beat lifestyle... Sincerely, I'd just like to gauge.
To my
delight, it sounds as if many of you were part of the movement,
even
contributers! If so, what a boon! a celestial cyber site! I really
dropped
in because I'm reading Kerouac....but it seems as if I'll be
reading
much much more than just Kerouac!
Barb
Try the
following:
William
S. Burroughs
Allen
Ginsberg
Franz
Kafka
James
Joyce
Charles
Plymell
Greg
Corso
Gary
Snyder
Lawrence
Ferlinghetti
and the
greatest beat of them all
Leonardo
da Vinci
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 16:42:51 -0500
Reply-To: jo grant <jgrant@BOOKZEN.COM>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: jo grant <jgrant@BOOKZEN.COM>
Subject: Re: Jo and Jeff 'n S.Clay
In-Reply-To: <33A8480B.5AFA@sunflower.com>
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>Thanks,
Jo G sent me what i believe to be the bulk of todays mail ,
>calling
in the darkness and the beat responds with heart. I finally
>sent
in my money for the beat l teeshirt, so do you think it will be
>here
before s clay hits town (lawrence) i want to be a cool, old, fat
>and
faded hippy fan. keep on trucking you persons.
>
>patricia
When
will S.Clay be in Lawrence? Is he there for reasons other than
personal
visits ? It's many miles from Madison, but I've taken longer
trips,
by land and see, for reasons less compelling than meeting such an
insightful,
creative artist.
j grant
BE ON THE WATCH
for
items stolen from the Keroauc Collection
O'Leary Library, U Mass, Lowell
http://www.bookzen.com/kerouac.theft.html
Academic
& Small Press Authors & publishers
display books free at
<http://www.bookzen.com>
302,443
visitors since July 1, 1996
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 17:27:33 -0400
Reply-To: Bill Philibin
<deadbeat@BUFFNET.NET>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: Bill Philibin
<deadbeat@BUFFNET.NET>
Subject: Re: Windowpoopies
Comments:
To: Sara Feustle <sfeustl@UOFT02.UTOLEDO.EDU>
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>
Mine looks that way anyway!!!! But has any poet/literary geek ever driven
a
>
cool car?
I have a Saturn... Does that count ?
*grin*
-Bill
[ email: deadbeat@buffnet.net |
web: http://www.buffnet.net/~deadbeat
]
| "All human beings are becoming humanoids...
| All over the world, not just in
America.
| We're just getting there faster
| since we're the most advanced
country."
|
| -- From The Movie
"Network"
[--- ICQ UIN = 188335 --|-- PrettyGoodPrivacy
v2.6.2 Key By Request --]
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 18:45:09 -0400
Reply-To: "R. Bentz Kirby"
<bocelts@SCSN.NET>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: "R. Bentz Kirby"
<bocelts@SCSN.NET>
Organization:
Law Office of R. Bentz kirby
Subject: missed the 50's
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I am
43. I often regret that I am so young
and missed out on the 50's
and the
beats. Anybody else in that predicament
of feel that way.
Oh
well, as someone once said, somethings gained in living every day.
--
Peace,
Bentz
bocelts@scsn.net
http://www.scsn.net/users/sclaw
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 18:04:02 -0500
Reply-To: jo grant <jgrant@BOOKZEN.COM>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: jo grant <jgrant@BOOKZEN.COM>
Subject: Re: blake and all
In-Reply-To:
<l03020909afcd37f85127@[206.25.67.106]>
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>mebbe
off topic but since subject of blake/ AG has come around again
>(sorry,
very behind on mail and picking up long ago thread) is anyone
>here
aware of greg brown's beautiful renditions of blake into song? CD is
>titled
songs of innoncence and experience. the chimney sweeper has never
>failed
to bring me to tears. music is
beautiful, has wonderful fiddle
>player
(peter ostroususko) as well as rest of fellows on band.
>highly
recommend it, absolutely soul wrenching interpretations in music of
>the
lyrics mc
Marie,
Great
take on Greg Brown. His innocence/experience CD is exceptional, but
on each
of his CDs--and his music is all original with the exception of a
Jimmy
Rogers song I heard him sing--you'll find lyrics--pure poetry-- that
would
stand alone without the music. When Greg's daughter Pieta and my
Charity
were pre-school they were part of our coop daycare center in Iowa
City
called Alice's Bijou. Long gone now, but back then Greg would help
with
fund raising, all the parents worked,and we had full-time day care for
$20.00
a month. As long as Alices existed it was a must stop for Michael
Harrington
whenever he was in i.c.
I'm
drifting. Back to the poetry of GB. AS far as I'm concerned greg is one
of the
best poets to ever come out of Iowa City--and he didn't spend any
time
with the workshop.
j grant
BE ON THE WATCH
for
items stolen from the Keroauc Collection
O'Leary Library, U Mass, Lowell
http://www.bookzen.com/kerouac.theft.html
Academic
& Small Press Authors & publishers
display books free at
<http://www.bookzen.com>
302,443
visitors since July 1, 1996
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 18:20:52 +0000
Reply-To: "neudorf@discovland.net"
<neudorf@DISCOVLAND.NET>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: "neudorf@discovland.net"
<neudorf@DISCOVLAND.NET>
Subject: Eliot & Ginsberg
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In
response to the Eliot / Ginsberg discourse:
This is exactly where i'm at. How are
these boys different and why.
First
of all, we have to remember that Eliot is a full generation
earlier
(contemporary of WWI and pre- Holocaust / Bomb / . . . ). The
two
writers are from completely different traditions = Eliot consciously
(unconsciously
?) broke away from Whitman's prophetic American
democratic
freedom dancing voice, whereas Ginsberg continued it (as did
W.C.Williams).
With regards to Ginsberg's
"Moloch", it is primarily the god to whom
children
were sacrificed to by the Canaanites of the Hebrew Scriptures
and
post-WWII boom/commercial/Bomb/urban grime that is being described:
"Moloch!
Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton
treasuries! blind capitals! demonic
industries! spectral nations!
invincible madhouses! granite cocks!
monstrous bombs!"
- Howl, part II
It is
dangerous to compare the Eliot tradition and Ginsberg tradition as
being
polar opposites. The major difference in my appreciation of these
poets
is their spirit. Eliot returns to Europe (physically as well, as
did
Pound), and Ginsberg emerses himself in Americana, following
Whitman.
As well, an encyclopedia is needed when reading Eliot but
then,
when reading Ginsberg, much is lost if the reader does not know
Ginsberg's
life story.
For myself as a poet, it is the spirit
which separates the two. Eliot =
back to
the old ways / Ginsberg = into the western front. This is
somewhat
simplistic. It also doesn't help that each writer is so
complex.
The nature of this list tells me that most of you prefer
reading
Ginsberg, I have to agree yet the
concept of the two
traditions
as being polar opposites with fists into each other is
something
we have to get rid of, the two traditions simply unravel side
by
side, feeding off each other.
Joseph
Neudorfer
neudorf@discovland.net
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 18:31:50 -0500
Reply-To: =?iso-8859-1?Q?Sinverg=FCenza?=
<ljilk@GUINAN.MPS.ORG>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: =?iso-8859-1?Q?Sinverg=FCenza?=
<ljilk@GUINAN.MPS.ORG>
Subject: Paranoia
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has
anyone heard or read something where Burroughs says that the natural
state
of one who knows all is paranoia? something like that. i'd appreciate
it if
someone could send that to me if they have the quote.
thanks,
-Leo
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 18:54:57 -0500
Reply-To: RACE --- <race@MIDUSA.NET>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: RACE --- <race@MIDUSA.NET>
Subject: Re: Paranoia
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Sinverg=FCenza
wrote:
>=20
>
has anyone heard or read something where Burroughs says that the natura=
l
>
state of one who knows all is paranoia? something like that. i'd apprec=
iate
> it
if someone could send that to me if they have the quote.
>
thanks,
>=20
>
-Leo
something
like:
a
psychopath is someone who knows what's really going on ... i don't
recall
the exact words.
david
rhaesa
salina,
Kansas
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 19:46:49 -0400
Reply-To: mike@infinet.com
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: "Michael L. Buchenroth"
<mike@INFINET.COM>
Organization:
Buchenroth Publishing Company
Subject: Re: Kerouac: The meaning of life?
Comments:
To: GYENIS@AOL.COM
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Attila
Gyenis wrote:
>
> In
a message dated 97-06-17 06:42:12 EDT, you write:
>
Humans are one of the few animals (if not the only animal) that are aware of
>
the fact that they are going to die.
How do
you know this? How do you support this claim? Can you provide
documentation
to support this claim?
-Mike
Buchenroth
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 20:06:46 -0400
Reply-To: Marioka7@AOL.COM
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: Maya Gorton <Marioka7@AOL.COM>
Subject: Re: heroin and aging
Comments:
To: country@sover.net
In a
message dated 97-06-18 14:24:45 EDT, you write:
<<
whoa there! this thread may be dead, as i am
crushed under tons of email
from a few days away from list, but go down
to any methadone clinic, any
innercity and the idealism will fall away. i
worked for 3 years in a new
haven ct methadone clinic: i counseled i wept and i buried so many
people,
i've been there myself. there is no glory in
it there is no eternal youth
fountain in it. tortured people tortured
bodies. wsb is the exception to
the rule. ok standing down from my soap box
mc
>>
i agree
100% but was just making observation that many of my idols are very
well
preserved ex-dope addicts. Is this more
than coincidence?
(((((((((((((((((((((NOBODY
KNOWS))))))))))))))))))))))))))
i
certainly wouldn't encourage anyone to try to find out.
-------------------------------maya("dope
is for dope-heads")
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 19:18:43 -0500
Reply-To: =?iso-8859-1?Q?Sinverg=FCenza?=
<ljilk@GUINAN.MPS.ORG>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: =?iso-8859-1?Q?Sinverg=FCenza?=
<ljilk@GUINAN.MPS.ORG>
Subject: Re: Kerouac: The meaning of life?
In-Reply-To: <33A87369.2FB0@buchenroth.com>
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>Attila
Gyenis wrote:
>>
>>
In a message dated 97-06-17 06:42:12 EDT, you write:
>
>>
Humans are one of the few animals (if not the only animal) that are aware=
of
>>
the fact that they are going to die.
>
>How
do you know this? How do you support this claim? Can you provide
>documentation
to support this claim?
>
>-Mike
Buchenroth
The Joy
of Fishes
Chang
Tzu and Hui Tzu
Were
crossing Hao River
By the
Dam.
Chuang
said:
"See how free
The fishes leap and dart:
That is their happiness."
Hui
replied:
"Since you are not a fish
How do you know
What makes fishes happy?"
Chuang
said:
"Since you are not I
How can you possibly know
That I do not know
What makes fishes happy?"
Hui
argued:
"If I, not being you,
Cannot know what you know
It follows that you
Not being a fish
Cannot know what they know."
Chuang
said:
"Wait
a minute!
Let us
get back
To the
original question.
What
you asked me was
'How do
you know
What
makes fishes happy'.
=46rom
the terms of your question
You
evidently know I know
What
makes fish happy.
"I
know the joy of fishes
In the
river
Through
my own joy, as I go walking
Along
the same river."
--Chuang
Tzu, trans. Thomas Merton
Leo
Jilk
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 20:26:20 -0400
Reply-To: Marioka7@AOL.COM
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: Maya Gorton <Marioka7@AOL.COM>
Subject: story by a 17 year old girl
maya
gorton
INSERT TITLE
HERE
He awoke to the buzz-buzz-THUMP,
buzz-buzz-THUMP of a fly hurling itself
persistently
against the windowpane. He remained
immobile for a moment, eyes
still
closed, savoring the last fading traces of unconsciousness. Slowly, he
grew
aware that the fly was not a product of his dreamy brain, but was
instead
a part of some other, more distant reality.
He blinked his way into
consciousness. His eyes began to focus, and he soon
realized that he
belonged
to the same world as the fly.
Sitting up, he looked around at this
strange but familiar world. A flood of
glowing
yellowness was exploding in through the window and made everything in
his
cluttered room drip with sunlight. It
came from the same place towards
which
the reckless fly was directing its futile attempts to escape.
The sound of the fly's small body
hitting the unyielding glass made him
cringe. He stood up, and, in an act of true mercy,
he opened the window.
The fly buzzed off happily into the morning
brightness.
He knew he was in a good mood that
morning, because, ordinarily, he wouldn't
have
gotten up to open the window. Instead,
he would have stayed in bed,
letting
himself become increasingly annoyed at the fly, letting himself
become
more and more irritated with it, until he was actually bursting with
aggression
towards it, and only then would he have stood up and furiously
smacked
it, with a shoe, or perhaps even with his bare hand. He would smack
it just
softly enough so that the window wouldn't break, but just hard enough
so that
the fly would be reduced to a flat oozing jumble of legs and wings
against
the glass. "Stupid insect!",
he would mutter.
But today he didn't feel the need for
this. It was Sunday, after all.
Through the open window, the air itself had
that lazy Sunday smell of peace
and
contentment. This was the one day he
could bask in the luxury of
idleness,
and he reveled at the prospect of doing absolutely nothing for an
entire
day.
From the armchair by the window, he
could observe the street below. He
often
sat there in the morning with a mugful of coffee, watching the people
on the
block acting out their daily routines.
They did the same things over
and
over, every day with a barely noticeable variation; it was as if they
were
rehearsing for a play, or a movie, or perhaps something else, something
greater
that they didn't quite understand.
This morning was different, though,
and he had almost forgotten why until he
saw
them coming. Groups of them, in their
prim and proper clothes, swarmed
towards
the church like flies towards a bleeding carcass. He was amazed at
the
number of people who had chosen to sacrifice such a delicious morning for
such a
strange purpose.
After a while, they were all
inside. He pictured them in the gloomy
stone
building,
row upon row of identical upturned faces, clutching identical books
in
their hands. Something within him
shuddered as he contemplated this. He
felt
that there were souls behind the faces that were struggling, struggling
hard
but to no avail to grasp something that was beyond their reach.
They had the promise of beauty and
light and salvation and freedom, but
something
kept them from touching these things.
They were trying as hard as
they
could to break through what prevented them from their destination. But
their
efforts were futile. And yet, these
souls still repeatedly strove with
all
their might for the unreachable.
He sighed. Would someone eventually open the window for them? Or would they
be
smashed in mid-struggle and never reach what they were striving for at
all?
He went back to bed.
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 20:35:05 -0400
Reply-To: Marioka7@AOL.COM
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: Maya Gorton <Marioka7@AOL.COM>
Subject: existential overdose.....leading to
withdrawal (just felt like
posting it again)
I SPY
WITH MY LITTLE EYE SOMETHING THAT BEGINS WITH BE
IS IT
GOOD? IS IT BAD? DOES IT MAKE YOU SAD OR GLAD?
I don't know, I don't care
it doesn't touch me
(anywhere)
::climbs
into stone sarcophagus, lies down facing upwards. slowly shifts
heavy
slab into place.
::when
the lid is securely in place, it is airtight, and totally dark.
DO YOU
FEEL IT IN YOUR BRAIN? DO YOU FEEL IT
IN YOUR VEIN?
i do not feel it here nor there! nor
ANYWHERE!
NOT IN MY BRAIN
NOT IN THE RAIN
ALL IS IN VAIN
I MUST BE
INSANE.............
::suddenly,
suffocation::
"For what dreams may
come---"
As a matter of fact, it was one of those
"something horrible is chasing
me and
its going to kill me" dreams. They
say these dreams are the peculiar
affliction
of people who feel guilty about something, like when you're
avoiding
a responsibility.
Anyway,
I was running like a murderer...but from what?
runnrunrunning running running running
simultaneously from and after
something
but I couldn't tell what it was
all I knew was I HAD to catch up with it
or else...
But it kept out of sight. It was just
around the corner, a corner I had
not
dared to round before. The corner kept
getting further and further away,
no
matter how fast I ran-- it was just beyond my reach. Running, running...
NOTHING'S
HAPPENING
If I
could just see what it was...I HAD to know.
(running)
I ran
past the Point of No Return. I only had
one drop of energy left.
I was running on empty. "This is it", I thought. One drop left. The
final
stretch--after this, turning back is as good as death, I might as well
give it
one, last, final PPUUSSHH....
!!THEN SUDDENLY!!
OH, NO!
As soon as horrified recognition crept in, i tried to look away, but
it was
too late.
I was
in it, surrounded by it, blinded, deafened by it.
it was
the face of my mother
her
face!
She's
crying and it's my fault..
In a convulsion of horror and fear and
grief, I howled.
My
underwater dream over.
The air I now had to breathe scorched my
lungs.
I felt
like I was inhaling all the dust of the world.
~~~*~~~
For three long days and three long nights
I twisted in agony as forces
inside
wrestled for control. Absolute
terror. Every nerve in my body
stretched
to the maximum, a Tug-of-War against myself.
A most
cruel and violent exorcism.
Sleep seemed further away than the sun is
to the Underworld. And the
COLD...
A
thousand winters rushing through me.
All the monsters and demons of Hell
laughed evilly as they watched me
turn
into ice. One cell at a time
chrystallizing. A chain reaction.
I saw my imminent doom as just another
ice-statue in their trophy
gallery,
fully conscious but forever cursed with the inability to
move...another
victory for Doom.
If only I could crawl out of this
too-tight skin...
If I killed myself, it would be another
victory for them.
And my
parents' grief...
Could it be that I still loved? After
all?
The Destroyer laughed. "Fool!",
said he, "Haven't you learned yet to
cast
off that perfidious illusion?"
"GO AWAY!", I screamed.
I put
my hands over my ears and began to sing.
Destroyer:
(laughs evilly)
: (disappears in puff of smoke)
Maya, or illusion, fighting for the most
insane idea she could dream of,
which
was to love.
~~~*~~~
On the
4th day I finally reached Sleep.
On the
5th day, I awoke: 1.Consciousness
2.Opened my eyes
3.Stood up on my new legs*
*this took a long time. My new legs were
weak, since I was used to
swimming
and not walking. I faltered and was
unsteady at first, but soon got
used to
it.
On the
6th day, the sun warmed me, and I decided it must be Spring.
On the
7th day, I looked at the world with my new sensory powers, smelled it
heard
it felt it, and I saw that it could be alright, sometimes.
I took
a deep breath, inhaling all the colors, and began to write, paint,
sing,
dance, wildly so that I would never again forget what it means to be
alive.
~~~*~~~
feel
free to delete promptly but comments appreciated
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 20:46:30 -0400
Reply-To: CVEditions@AOL.COM
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: Pamela Beach Plymell
<CVEditions@AOL.COM>
Subject: Re: the old gun and the odd gun
Patricia:
It's a
long way from the old Rock Chalk Cafe and Grist magazine in Lawrence.
Did you ever notify S. Clay about the early
works you have of his? He was
wracking
his brain when he gave them to you. He started talking about one
girlfriend
of his who was a model at KU who got Pam a job there while I was
working
at the bean factory with the bosses promises of a big wienie in the
sky.
Charley
=========================================================================
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 1997 19:56:47 -0500
Reply-To: Patricia Elliott <pelliott@SUNFLOWER.COM>
Sender: "BEAT-L: Beat Generation
List" <BEAT-L@CUNYVM.CUNY.EDU>
From: Patricia Elliott
<pelliott@SUNFLOWER.COM>
Subject: Re: the old gun and the odd gun
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Pamela
Beach Plymell wrote:
>
>
Patricia:
>
It's a long way from the old Rock Chalk Cafe and Grist magazine in Lawrence.
> Did you ever notify S. Clay about the early
works you have of his? He was
>
wracking his brain when he gave them to you. He started talking about one
>
girlfriend of his who was a model at KU who got Pam a job there while I was
>
working at the bean factory with the bosses promises of a big wienie in the
>
sky.
>
Charley
patricia
wrote
I don't
actually know him (s clay), I admire him tremendously and have
met him
several times but i do not know where
he lives. i got the
pictures
as part of a bad debt, i sell junk, (like furniture and
building
parts) and often will swap and trade things. I believe I
furnished
a bedroom with cheap furniture for those. He signed them years
later.
I heard he was coming to town, but i don't know any exact
information but he might of come and gone. If he hasn't
i might see him
for he
knows people i know. I would be pleased to give them to him as a
gift,
if you think he would enjoy or be able to use them. Other wise i
hoard
them as i do my other trifles. I would be happy to just pop them
in the
mail. of course i don't have his address.
patricia