He woke me after midnight. He looked wan, haggard and in a frenzied state. He said he had nowhere else to go. Joe was once a brilliant intellectual, a magna cum laude from Harvard. A Sociology grad student at Berkeley. And now someone who stopped taking his meds and walked out of the Napa State Hospital. His father and brother had both committed suicide and he seemed resigned to his fate as well. He talked all through the night and in the morning he wanted his picture taken. He wanted to remember what he looked like. I think he carried this picture for the rest of his life.
portrait of the artist as a young man
portrait of the artist in the wilderness
Portrait of the artist in his first home
bedroom splatter
"She's Gone"
and then we made love
The Way We Were
lonely struggle
vamping for the sun
Ed's long lost love
does he have a gun
how the ruling class rules
almost forgotten in memory
"Workin' For A Livin'"
a long way from home
de Chirico takes a stroll
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Father
Also gone, but not forgotten; a delightful confection of a lady; one of the jc penney heirs who grew up in the fifties when society was trying to put girls back into their frilly, ornamental box; she enjoyed playing that game if she had to and then laugh about how easily everyone was conned
