When I was younger, I bought a grainy VHS copy of Pull My Daisy just for her background cameo (this was pre-internet, which you can now watch for free on Vimeo). Their Bowery loft was exactly how I pictured artists living together in the lower east side back in the 1950’s.
Allen Ginsberg + Gregory Corso drinking beer and reading poetry before breakfast (or as breakfast) with the improvised narration of Jack Kerouac’s voiceover makes me melt:
They turn over their little purple moonlight pages in which their naked doodlings do show secret scatological thought and thats why everybody wants to see it.
In the spirit of throwbacks and freeform, my unfinished sketch of Alice Neel from many years ago,; and in the spirt of National Poetry Month, the exquisite corpse poem that started it all.
pull my daisy / tip my cup all / my doors are open / cut my thoughts / for coconuts / all my eggs are broken / jack my arden / gate my shades / woe my road is spoken / silk my garden / rose my days, now my prayers awaken.