sketch from journal #12, never doubt, 1978. This is a drawing of Peter Hoff (now known as Zeke Peterhoff, and me, wearing our Mustard Seed Theatre Company T-shirts and apparently juggling with our minds. Good times.
Notes: It was a lean time, surviving on peanut butter, pasta, and soup and enjoying the freedom that a wide-open schedule provided where even at work I could draw, write, compose. Ah, but I was young and my sense of humor perhaps more crude than good and cartoons like this resulted. It's silly, but there it is.
if you catch me counting stars some night when i should be gazing into your eyes or if a tear drop forms when we should be celebrating chalk it up to mystery or a muse chasing escaping vibrations but never blame your self and never doubt our love. -- douglas brent smith
Notes: I remember as a child being fascinating by the concept of Figures in text books. Illustrations were often labeled Figure 1, Figure 2, etc. I wondered, "why don't they just print the title of the picture?" but never found out. In fun and tribute, I named this doodle Figure 1. It appears in journal #12, never doubt, 1978.
someone found sparkly yellow stuff, indifferent deep in the ground wet in pebbles too thick to drink too heavy for wheels small quantities scattered "let's make it money" they said "because it's so pretty..." now everybody wants what was in fort knox as if every heavy clunk of gold held a genie inside with three wishes for riches and what do you do with them but wish for more gold -- douglas brent smith
can you still feel my cords? she said often after the heat had subsided and we were nearing sleep at first i said yes, even though i had no idea where they were or if they still were but like so many other lessons from you i learned after learning every square lovely inch of your warm body where your chords were cords there were other chords, also: lines from your soul to mine gullible at your will veins mixing sunbursts with rain notes from my guitar, chords calling your name after long walks with puppy dog after altercations over where each or both of us would live (tell me) can you still feel my chords a thousand miles away? -- douglas brent smith
I drew this cartoon in 1977 -- long before we carried around mobile phones. Every phone was attached in someway to a wall. The phones were heavy enough and strong enough to withstand an alien attack, a building collapse, or a major earthquake. You didn't own them, you rented them. Not exactly the good old days. Of course when the phones got dirty, we just hosed them down. -- doug smith
don't tense up on me now, all of my cards are marked scarred from handling bent at the edges i'm playing several suits at once none a perfect fit no aces up my sleeve don't quit don't leave read them and grieve i'm weary of your silence duplicity dulling our electricity whispers like screaming read your hand plead your hand bid or pass i'm faster than you think holding my queen of hearts with a secret message better play your hand and hurry now before the queen finds her jack and there's no turning back. -- douglas brent smith
if i were a hippopotamus i'd never wear a suit because one would never fit be chic or even cute if i were a hippopotamus apart from where the rest go sitting alone in my hippo home i'd chat on the phone with Ionesco. --- douglas brent smith
somewhere a special lady speaks my name smiling and remembering some soft magic moments that turned the world on wheels to a happy tune while someplace here this dreamer thinks of her grinning that glorious grin weaving that wonderful touch into a golden design of unmistakable beauty and caring. -- douglas brent smith
in the distance far beyond my reach sits a curious quizzical lady reflecting on near misses and wet kisses and tardy attempts to connect beat shaded under-rated near-miss exchanges sharing these changes as time slips from us while clouds, rain, thunder sweeps over keeping distances prim far turns trim blinking in the flash thinking we cannot know how to go now to hear one of our voices sing what only wisdom brings there's time enough for knowing. -- douglas brent smith
all of her goldfish died she bought one each day at the exotic pet shop filled with fish who eat fish she put the stranger in a bowl watched it swim around went to class came back finding the fish floating motionless at the top dead each day so she gave up fish for plants placed in her window they reached for the sun gracefully willing and as if pulled madly trembled, withered, wandered toward death as if strangled by some invisible plant canceler oblivious to all this she grasped my trusting hand and led me to her dormitory bed and in the morning wondered why i hadn't died. -- douglas brent smith