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