He drew a crude attempt of Rimbaud’s face across a windowpane. I wear a mask over my face of his own face, a mask of my own face. And while he was still working at the agency, he made a Photostat of the cover of Illuminations, a life-sized mask of Arthur Rimbaud’s face, soft in Ray Johnson’s design, and hard and grainy and pure.
They live lives without any architecture, without structure, lives without form; it is all of it a constant seeping of oneself.
The ‘I’ of my self had crawled through the thickness of memory and consciousness to some other place in the structure of the brain and emerged within a new gray coil.
He stole the camera from his friend after being treated unfairly by him, rather shabbily in fact, and accused of stealing.
A camera in some hands can preserve an alternate history.
[from notes 04.04.16]
marginalamericannotes.com 