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wrist could be made to produce a ruffled tree, or the chimney smoke of a house where spinach was cooking. The blue one drew a single line across the page - and the horizon of all seas was there. A nondescript blunt one kept getting into one's way. The brown one was always broken, and so was the red, but sometimes, just after it had snapped, one could still make it serve by holding it so that the loose tip was propped, none too securely, by a jutting splinter. The little purple fellow, a special favourite of mine, had now worn down so short as to become scarcely manageable. The white one alone, that lanky albino among pencils, kept its original length, or at least did so until I

75

discovered that, far from being a fraud leaving no mark on the page, it was the ideal tool since I could imagine whatever I wished while I scrawled.

p 181

- all seemed for a moment laden with that strange significance which sometimes in dreams is attached to a finger pressed to mute lips and then pointed at something the dreamer has no time to distinguish before waking with a start.

Aug 14 - 1983

It was a chance to sit among plush and gilt shadows and drown in music. Or words. He never forgot anything that happened in a theater. He was a true faggot.

p 68 A smile in his lifetime by Joseph Hansen

... This could only be achieved by creating martyrs - the strategy of "the path over corpses." James Steakley - Visual Communicators p 32 Vol 9. No 2