It's happening again. I'm having that insidious, looping bad dream. I am blind. Instead of murky pitch, my vision is scrubbed of color. Tones recede until they become intelligible needles at the edges of my sight lines, twinkling a last gasp of varied hues before falling into blankness.
Posts from the ‘art’ Category
"You don't want to be a Charleston eccentric."
Someone said that to me. Once. I was in the lobby of a theater. Rubbing my crotch against a scrap of leather attached to wheels and a bicycle frame. I wore a dress. And a hat.
And, riding my bike on a one-way street in such attire endangered me with the label "Charleston Eccentric."
Let's examine some Charleston Eccentrics.