TRAVEL WRITER. August 8 - August 31. 43,000 words. Brew begins "The Golden Years" and "Walkabout: A Wine Tour of Parker, Florida." "Droll Tales" adds itself on, during a trip back from Seattle, to visit his mother, who will be 83 next month, and interview her for his book. He sees that TRAVEL WRITER is the third "novel or novella" of his 20-book year, adds it to Bushed: A Wage-Slave Narrative, starts posting TRAVEL WRITER at roman-feuilleton.com. Gets new eyeglasses made. Mein Fuhrer, I can see! I'm going to finish this series if it hare-lips everybody on Bear Creek. What a motingator it is, though. Bush calls the War on Totemism the War on Totoism, but we know what he means. Run, Toto, run. Brenda and I go to see Over the Line: The Art and Life of Jacob Lawrence at the High Museum, downtown. Beneath the Jazz Musician: The Art and Life of Art Brew. I'm not whining, I'm Charles Bukowski telling Sheri Martinelli what happened when he told some men in a skidrow bar he was a writer. I drive back down to Parker, through Malone, and Two Egg, and finish writing my book.
Q: Good grief. What are you putting down Jacob Lawrence for?
A: Compared to most painters I have read about he had an easy go of it.
In the Coast Guard, he was a cook.
His CO found out he wanted to be an artist
and got him a public relations billet, so he could paint.
When I was in the
Air Force--and Charles Willeford says the Army was the same way--if your CO or 1st
Sergeant found out you wanted to be an artist they would torture it out of you.
If you groaned about having to perform some horrible chore, the NCO would say, "What
do you want to do--paint pictures?"
A white artist who isn't a homosexual
is not encouraged to become an artist, he is opposed at every turn.
For one
thing, all the money to help struggling artists goes to minorities and women--and
homosexuals--because they have it so much harder than a straight white male.
I really mean that when I say I feel like I am Beneath the Jazz Musician.
Mingus was Beneath the Underdog, as he called his autobiography, which was
published, and sold in stores. But I'm beneath Mingus.
Mingus had a career.
I didn't.
I am 65, and I'm still out here sucking everyone's exhaust, running
blem two-plies and doing my own mechanic work.
Q: No you're not. And even if you are, shut up about it. It makes you sound
small.
And a racist, a sexist, and a homophobe.