On the set of Metropolis, 1927.
[video]
Only four days of work; Elia Kazan’s Wild River screens at the Portage on Wednesday, and more importantly, I’ll hopefully get to see and talk to the beautiful woman who sells tickets there; get some $$$$$ on Thursday; Moonrise Kingdom opens here on Friday. Everything is beautiful. God help us all.
ADDENDUM: Just found out that one Jack “Elizabeth” Katze will be staying in my apartment (hopefully in my bed, too) tomorrow night.
“So I, Jack Crabbe, was a Cheyenne warrior. Had made my kill with bow and arrow. Been scalped and healed with hocus-pocus. Had an ancient savage who couldn’t talk English for my Pa, and a fat brown woman for my Ma, and for a brother a fellow whose face I hardly ever saw for clay or paint. Lived in a skin tent and ate puppy dog. God, it was strange.”
- from Little Big Man by Thomas Berger, Dial Press, 1964
Hand in hand with H.D Thoreau, near the shores of Walden Pond, Mass.
Mother and son at Paul Revere’s grave, the Granary Burial Ground, Boston, Mass.
This fucking weasel is trying to steal my identity. Same name, same Boy Scout Troop number (and he’s trying to be an Eagle Scout - been there, done that), same church name. I mean, come on, kid. Gimme a fucking break. Virginia’s not that far and I am down to duel anytime, anywhere.
Just listened to some recordings of my WBCR shows from 2009. Aurally painful experience. I never realized I sound like a gay thirteen-year-old. The frequent and ear-splitting hawk screeches are pretty tyte, though.
American dreamers.