I am making a few hand-bound copies of my mss, "Moving Day," for family gifts this year. I am very pleased with the multiple-signature binding method that I came up with, which is significantly less of a pain in the ass than doing a kettle stitched, mulled binding into hard boards (yes, I know more bookbinding terms than you, and therefore I am more awesome). I will probably try to post some pictures later today.
I told Jeff that when the apocalypse descends, I would earn our living as a bookbinder, like in Colonial Williamsburg. He laughed, because he thinks that is less of a post-apocalyptic survival skill than say, being able to hunt, kill, and dress a raccoon, but I think that we are advanced enough to have a literate apocalypse. People will still want the news, and Bibles. I'm thinking that after the apocalypse, people will especially want Bibles. It's the #1 bestseller of the end times!
I found a moleskine that I half used up taking notes and things back in early 2007, and then somehow lost for the past year and a half. It is full of extremely odd scribbles and a bunch of bitchy/misanthropic things I wrote while listening to readings that I (apparently) didn't care for much.
Here is a representative page of odd scribbles:
Condos in Murderland
Portofino & its promontory
Flaming mallard confrontation
throw me down into a meat reverie
And here is a representative page of bitchy/misanthropic things:
Poetry reading or prelude to getting drunk? Begs question of why we don't just skip ahead.
all of poetry seems bankrupt & retarded
instead of writing, we should steal things
Poetry is what I do because I'm a coward.