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Over Thanksgiving weekend this year my mom was in the hospital. I made a lot of little word paintings.
My parents have a lot of things at their house — a closet full of photos, a greenhouse full of dirt, a barn full of glass bottles, a shed full of pickles, a field full of mice — but they do not have any paper for me to paint on. So I used LL Bean catalogs and old seed catalogs and tried my best.
There are a lot because when you’re painting on garbage you just sort of do whatever you want. Jeff played Assassin’s Creed, dad baby-talked the baby, my sister clipped coupons and I listened to them with my paint brush. Mom was in the ICU.
I’ve been thinking a lot about writing, and listening, and recording, and really like how Ed Ruscha describes it: “linguistic kleptomania.” Yeah. Steal that shit. No one else will remember anyways. Petty thievery, pretty thievery, 100 little poems on ripped out pages.