Lehman Falls, Volume Whatever
I would describe Plan B as a complete disaster. My strategy for gluing battens of a sort to the back of the canvas to make the thing lie flat against the wall is a failure. A failure. The edges keep curling up.
Plus I managed to step into a big goober of paint and now I've tracked it all over the studio. Which is annoying on an unrelated level.
Plan C is to purchase a long sheet of plexiglass (90"x36") and glue the scroll to the back side using a clear gel medium -- so that you can see it through the glass, if you see what I mean -- leaving perhaps a two or three inch margin all the way around. The uncovered margin will then be painted black.
If Plan C doesn't work, I'm completely screwed. Because once the thing is glued onto the plexi there will be no going back. Plan D doesn't exist. Plan D is the end of the world as we know it. Plan D is the leap into the Abyss ...
Everybody, by the way, thinks that when you fall into the abyss it's empty. Cold. Dark. Dead.
Naaah. Couldn't be nicer.
Me? I've taken the fall. Leap--make that taken the leap. Gathered both feet beneath me, made sure I could feel the mud scrunched up between my toes for maximum traction, and leaped. Lept. Leopt. I'm a leopard. And the water's not cold; it's warm. And the river's not dark; you'd be surprised how much you can see. And dead? Naaah. Teeming with life. Somewhere, they appear to be playing the Ode to Joy. Which is odd.
You want to soar beneath the surface, open your mouth, ingest it. Ingest all of it. Of course, if you did that you'd drown. Which is not the object of the exercise.
Me? I'm just swimming upriver.
Huck fucking Finn in reverse. Some days the current is so strong you're swimming at what seems to be a great rate when, in fact, the river bank is slowly going by... the wrong way. These days, though, I'm pleased to announce, headway is being made. I see less of the sun. I'm seeing lots of green. I'm at one with the river. Which is good, 'cause if you're not, there's more damned things swimming around next to you that would like to bite or otherwise fuck with you than you can shake a stick at.
The snakes make the best eating. Once you get good at it; once you've mastered your gag reflex, you just grab 'em, bite their heads off, and then slide 'em down your throat. Don't even have to stop swimming. Shit 'em out about a day later, bones and all.
This from a classic post which, if it wasn't originally titled "Swimming to Cambodia" (with apologies to Spalding Gray), should have been. It's taken from the subset of posts about my experiences in Vietnam. Which, I should remind you in the interest of truthful blogging, are, substantively, zero. I've never been. Sent my brother instead. Nonetheless, I hope that part about shitting out the snakes isn't too troubling an image. It's a bit out of context.
Plan C is to purchase a long sheet of plexiglass (90"x36") and glue the scroll to the back side using a clear gel medium -- so that you can see it through the glass, if you see what I mean -- leaving perhaps a two or three inch margin all the way around. The uncovered margin will then be painted black.
If Plan C doesn't work, I'm completely screwed. Because once the thing is glued onto the plexi there will be no going back. Plan D doesn't exist. Plan D is the end of the world as we know it. Plan D is the leap into the Abyss ...
Everybody, by the way, thinks that when you fall into the abyss it's empty. Cold. Dark. Dead.
Naaah. Couldn't be nicer.
Me? I've taken the fall. Leap--make that taken the leap. Gathered both feet beneath me, made sure I could feel the mud scrunched up between my toes for maximum traction, and leaped. Lept. Leopt. I'm a leopard. And the water's not cold; it's warm. And the river's not dark; you'd be surprised how much you can see. And dead? Naaah. Teeming with life. Somewhere, they appear to be playing the Ode to Joy. Which is odd.
You want to soar beneath the surface, open your mouth, ingest it. Ingest all of it. Of course, if you did that you'd drown. Which is not the object of the exercise.
Me? I'm just swimming upriver.
Huck fucking Finn in reverse. Some days the current is so strong you're swimming at what seems to be a great rate when, in fact, the river bank is slowly going by... the wrong way. These days, though, I'm pleased to announce, headway is being made. I see less of the sun. I'm seeing lots of green. I'm at one with the river. Which is good, 'cause if you're not, there's more damned things swimming around next to you that would like to bite or otherwise fuck with you than you can shake a stick at.
The snakes make the best eating. Once you get good at it; once you've mastered your gag reflex, you just grab 'em, bite their heads off, and then slide 'em down your throat. Don't even have to stop swimming. Shit 'em out about a day later, bones and all.
This from a classic post which, if it wasn't originally titled "Swimming to Cambodia" (with apologies to Spalding Gray), should have been. It's taken from the subset of posts about my experiences in Vietnam. Which, I should remind you in the interest of truthful blogging, are, substantively, zero. I've never been. Sent my brother instead. Nonetheless, I hope that part about shitting out the snakes isn't too troubling an image. It's a bit out of context.
posted by Geoffrey at 11:01 AM
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