I had just gotten on permanent at IBM and had a new
Ford Ranger pickup truck with a camper cap on the back.
It had an FM radio and a tape player in it. On the drive over
we listened to a tape Pete Horobin had sent about making
a pram tour of
and walked and took the bus with a perambulator with his
art and cooking supplies in it. In
oat cakes and Scotch marmalade. He sent me a DATA Attic
postcard with my portrait drawn from examples of my handwriting.
DATA stood for Daily Action Time Archive. I sent the postcard
to John Held, Jr. who was curating a mail artists portrait show
and never got it back. I wish I still had it. I thought Horobin
would be around forever, but he disappeared. Like Wilbur Harden,
who played with Coltrane, had a mental breakdown, and just
faded to black, like in the old film noir movies.
The old Saturday afternoon serials.
Aiee, The Phantom.