This evening I was in C, C & K with R, going over my poems. We have enough for the pamphlet, especially with the others I have lurking on my hard drive, but I always imagined that putting something together might be less… sickening. So far I have felt nothing but dread. In two months time it will be going to print, in three months time it will be there, on a table, in one of the best bookshops in London, for all the world to see. When Tolkien published Lord of the Rings he said that he had opened up his heart to be shot at. I suspect I’m sprinting towards a sheer drop. It was interesting anyway and I learned a new word – ‘amphigory’ which, according to R, is a posh word for nonsense.
The Burnside review is going strangely. I realise what a difficult job it is to put words and pictures together, since the latter must have a meaning of its own. It’s not enough to be literal and so I must come up with double the number of pointers. Pencilling is proving hard too: I suck at the human body. I am using my own as a model, but it’s insufficient. Hands and the shadows that indicate a turning neck are too intricate. I like torsos and limbs.
All the good stuff in London is taking place when I leave. In particular:
It’ll be at the ICA. I plan to come back for the 24hr comic-book marathon. It sounds too good to miss.