scratchings 11

basquiat beat bop. test pressing, version one, volume on

THE NOWNESS OFF YOU IS UNBEARABLE / DO YOU REALISE YOU ARE ALREADY IN THE PAST? DID YOU TRY TO LOOK FOR YOUR HANDS AND NOT FIND THEM? ONLY FEELING / BLANK SPOTS AND SENSATION? DID YOU CALL YOURSELF A PHANTOM THEN? HOLD A SÉANCE FOR YOUR OWN SOUL? DID YOU CALL YOUR NAME – YOUR REAL ONE – AND DID YOU ANSWER? AND WHAT DID YOU SAY TO YOURSELF? DID YOU CALL YOURSELF A FRIEND? AT THE EXHIBITION IT WAS HARD / TO IMAGINE THAT BASQUIAT HAD ANY REAL FRIENDS – THE WAY ANDY WARHOL HAD HIS HANDS ON JEAN CLAUDE, LIKE A DOG MADE HUMAN, LIKE A TEACHER’S PET. AND ALL / THE WHITE PEOPLE FAWNING. I SAW A SEVEN-OR-SO YEAR-OLD IN THERE WHO WAS RICHER THAN ME, WHO MIGHT OWN SQUARE METRES IN THIS TOWN / BEFORE I DO. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? WHERE AM I SUPPOSED / TO GO? HOW DOES IT WORK? WHAT WILL WE SAY WHEN WE TALK / ABOUT THE GOOD OLD DAYS OF LIVING AT HOME. NO MONEY FOR RENT. NO PROFESSION BUT THIS. THE MAKING OF MARKS ON A BLANK PAGE / AS IF TO MAKE THE FELLING OF THE TREE / WORTH THE ANNUAL RINGS

 

source: a3 notepad, late night writes free write, 7th october 2017

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