I used to have a friend named Jane. She was a potter who pressed letters
into her pots to make her mostly feminist and disjunctive poems. This was
about 1987-88. She had a friend named ~forget her name~ but she liked
to cross dress as an american gangster, a kind of female Al Capone. Now
later on I learned that Jane had become a DJ that read newspaper stories
for the blind on the Radio in Waxahachie Texas. The last time I saw her
was in the 90's sometime in Austin at a Sushi bar on 6th street. I was married,
and she was with her friend who was a gentleman who suffered from the same
disease (or similiar) as John Merrick, the elephant man. There was also a woman
who worked in a truck-stop in Henrietta Texas who had the same disorder.
I was pretty shocked at his appearance, but he wasn't anywhere near as effected
as the elephant man. I had been reading Lautreamont for the first time, a book
which I had ordered from a little shop in Ft. Worth Texas. He knew Lautreamont's
work and we had a lovely conversation about the scene with the conscious hair.
I sometimes try to remember Jane's pots but all I can remember are
the funny flavor of the shapes of the letters, the "aura" of the font she
used. This is a true story, or as true as my memory.
thumb pianos ~
Janay Imrult
Lanny dminlt
Janey Imrult
Sarong dminlt
