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Verso (Left) Page:Top Left: March 29, 2011 Harry at Bona for dinner around 7 p.m.
Around sketch at left: Harry looks just like Jack Lemmon looked before he died.
Main Text Column: Harry is getting older. It struck me hard tonight while his family talked after dinner and I sketched. I noticed this—How sometimes suddenly we cease to look like ourselves, the iconic self we carry around with us in our minds, that perfect self that immediately ressonates [sic] from photos and video as "ah, yes, there I am." The self we realize is our peak self—never improved upon. There is a hardening around Harry's eyes and cheeks—a hardening of edges and a softening of the fleshy bits.
Recto (Right) Page:And a hollow-ing. The skull is peering out. "I see you. I'm coming." The face of death you have to look past to see the iconic self. The familiar self, the self you wish hadn't passed its peak.
Fortune Cookie Fortune:
May your faith always exceed your fears--no price is too great to go through life afraid.
Text on torn paper:3.30.11 4:30 p.m. My mind is filled with little thoughts and I blew off my workout this morning, so even less focus is possible. Instead I keep thinking "I have acrylic paint all over ALL my pants. I have acrylic stains on all my hand towels. Some part of me says that I should worry about this, but the moment that might start to happen there is another part, a larger part that tells me I don't give a damn. It's amused that I even let these thoughts in for more than a notice. Why ponder what you aren't going to change? The real question is why did I blow off that workout? Get at that.
No just get out period. It's brilliantly sunny, I can hear the birds singing. I just got up to go check the temp and it's 43 degrees F.
6:18 p.m.—why does everyone think I'm a DeLorme? I got stopped by drivers 3x.
Sketches 5:54 p.m. E. River Flats. Five pairs.