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an older frank sinatra sang lyrics from “the way you look tonight”/and they used it for a commercial/with stills of frank singing and smiling/and who knows what the commercial was advertising/but i trust it showed to frank/that he still had it/and was valued

a really old tony bennett/brought tears to lady gaga’s eyes/simply by recognizing her when she came out to sing with him/and they sang timelessly together/though tony was addled with dementia

glen campbell and alice cooper were golfing together/and glen told alice a joke early in the round/and then told him the same joke later in the round/and yet again before the round was over/but glen kept on performing on stage/and bathing in the applause/and he was still really good/and muscle memory kept his guitar playing astonishing

and i identify with and cheer for those old guys/and learn from them/that spending the last of your life making music/even when much of you is gone/is a glorious testament to “the show must go on”

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i was an art major in college/and jokingly told my friends and family/that i was getting an early jump on my retirement

turns out not to be a joke

i will be seventy-one before the end of august

and i blissfully spend hours and hours making things on the potter’s wheel

i turn lumps into cylinders and cylinders into chess pieces and goblets and vases and birds

and I watch with increasing detachment as another part of my mind slowly erodes

for instance I did a search on “glenn campbell”/because i’d forgotten that “glen” has only one n in it

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but back to “the way you look tonight”

it is a distant echo of the lines “And all that’s best of dark and bright/Meet in her aspect and her eyes” from “She Walks in Beauty” by george gordon, lord byron

“aspect” loosely translating as “the way she looks”

fun fact: “specchio” is old italian for “looking-glass”

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i don’t give a care about leaving a good-looking corpse

but i care fervidly about leaving some good-looking and well-made clay art

so I raise the “power turquoise” cup i made, and i raise it to you, whoever and wherever you are,

and say, though i cannot see you,

“Here’s looking at you, Kid.”

the younger brother waits on the phone/for his older brother to find the word that is eluding him

and after a decent interval supplies the word in the form of a polite question: “whitewater?” “yeah…”

their conversation lurches here and there like a car/driven by someone learning stick shift

it gets smoother at the end with the manly I Love Yous and Keep Punching Buds that slide into well-worn conversational grooves

the younger brother pushes the red Off hangup icon but misses/and pushes again but before he does/he hears his older brother whimper eloquently

he hears frustration and loss in that untranscribable syllable/and more/he hears dim realization/that he is losing his mind a piece at a time/just like mom did

the younger brother feels a pang but does not whimper

not audibly

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I have a new electric eraser and here and elsewhere I am having fun with it. It is easier to draw with than then other erasers in my arsenal, though I haven’t reached sufficient proficiency to do all the things I want to do with it, even when I sharpen the end to a point. Time will take care of that.

As with many of my cards this year, here I’m using the back end of one of my little sketchbooks for dark-backgrounding of the card. I like including the holes the metal binding-wire went through. They remind me of old process-photography film, and of the sprockets that convey the sound in film movies. In both cases there is the sense of being a part of a continuum, most of which the viewer cannot see.

Another thing I want to share is that I’ve more and more gotten the sense that my finished pieces are too sketchy, and my sketches are too finished-piecey. But for most of my work the conveyed concept does the heavy lifting, no matter the sketchiness, so it’s all good. I’m also preparing for my future dementia: I may, and dreadfully soon (to me even thirty years is “soon”), not have very good or very many ideas. When I see that obviously happening, I intend to do remakes of my “greatest hits,” more finished and polished versions of my older work. I will be collaborating with my younger self. And I’ll be using state-of-the-art equipment to assist my effort. So I hope to be able to make a contribution to the visual arts right up to what my lifelong friend Tom Sing calls “stepping up to the turnstile.” Thinking about that helps quell my mild panic about my life’s endgame.

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While not yet afflicted with dementia

I do have my episodes

I have left home for work with mismatched shoes

One black semigloss anti slip work shoe

The other New Balance white pseudo leather trainers

And today I’ve left for work beltless for the 2nd day in a row

That’s Out of Uniform for a restaurant host and could get me written up

Though yesterday the manager regarded it as no big deal

 

At my work as a host at an airport restaurant I sometimes

(As when wiping down a table and knocking down a salt shaker with a BONK!)

Get embarrassed

And that may trigger full-body Tourette’s syndrome

And that, my friends, ain’t pretty

I may say “Thank you, sir” to a departing guest in the same manner Kevin Bacon said “Thank you, sir, may I have another?” in the classic college comedy ANIMAL HOUSE

And then I may mutter “Makin’ Bacon” under my breath

And realizing I’m muttering out loud I may get more embarrassed

And may inexplicably clap my hands to the sides of my buttocks

While my head jerks around like a velociraptor’s

Throw in a little eye-twitch and you’ve got Son of Quasimodo manning the restaurant podium at America’s Friendliest Airport

 

My niece Lisa, learning I’d become a restaurant host, and knowing I am an introvert, said, “Wow, I’ll bet that takes you out of your comfort zone . . .”

 

Indeed it does

I go out of my comfort zone and into a psychodrama

Title: “The Noodle”

Written by Franz Kafka

Directed by Mel Brooks

 

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This post will be a blast and a half from the past. Above is the first blast, intact; the remaining half-blast will come from below, which sounds hellish, though I trust it will only seem hellish to those for whom incompleteness is maddening.

The words to the above are these:

Signore Klein, acquitted in absentia
Significantly troubled w/Dementia
Called 4 his fiddlers 3 and scribing ruler
Consanguinizing Euclid Bach and Euler
Encephalitis roped his oblongati
Ensuring flood of each syn-aptic wadi
Now he’s Semi-Conducting Impresario
Near-virtual-almost-but-for Lothario

To my current shame, at the time I made this I thought Ruler and Euler rhymed. They do not. If I ever do a remake of this page (and there are several reasons to do so. One reason is the right half of the acrostic, Ario, doesn’t “lay down” worth a darn) I’ll have Signore Klein call for, not a scribing ruler, but a  double boiler, or somesuch.

The words of the half-page below follow, Why only a half-page, when I have the page complete? Because the page entire is too big for my scanner, and after I scanned top and bottom as separate files, I loved the “fade to black” aspect of the top half, and realized that leaving something out gave the page a needed visual and cerebral boost. If any reader just can’t stand not knowing how the sonnet (it is a sonnet, an acrostic sonnet, and the acrostic is An Intersection) turns out, I will supply the rest of the words in a subsequent comment. But I invite anyone with a poetic bent to complete the sonnet  her- or himself; perhaps it will be better than what I came up with, which begins

A many of us tend to be half nervous
Near crossing paths with those we hadn’t met.
It’s anxiousy, proximity; a pet
Needs toothsinks–or her lips are ultracurvous–
Then as we reach the overlap of X
Essential tension rises to a spike;
Reactiveness depends on if we like
Such eye contact as is. It’s quite complex…

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