douglas brent smith

  Five Sketches in Search of a Hat - from journal #10: cry wolf (1977)

i left my typewriter in new jersey as if some  bloodied murder weapon trying to hide the crimes or forget the posturing of the scene of all my passion and pathos for these seven quite odd years where manhood came and with it the twisting torture of passion's pain distressed and then daring darling and then distressing messing with alternatives though the people traded places sliding parade-like suddenly my massive wooden desk i called the aircraft carrier (covered with unfinished scripts, snatches of poems, and doctors' bills) half my soul (it seems) was spilled poured and splattered into these gold, black, red walls onto the dusty floor filled with cat hair, beard hair, auburn hair too precious to sweep away no, it was not a castle or a page from Architecture Digest but it gave me all I ever needed to become an artist they say we become completely new every seven years we'll see i suppose we will see i left my typewriter in new jersey i guess i'll need to return for it

 Actor at Large - sketch from jounal 9: Midwest Blue by douglas brent smith

embarrassing errors boggle and jog clumsily a spell mispelled an assertion averted a bumbling humbling remark all those things we were all those things bringing confidence to a dance without knowing any of the steps i of course stepped continually on toes not my own breaking light into frozen patches not fixable fixed in a moment exposed so sorry so sorry so sorry you told me that insecurity is often expressed as bravado and of course you were correct you don't have to forgive me but what if you did? -- douglas brent smith  

  Secret Recipes - sketch by douglas brent smith, from Journal #9, Midwest Blue (1976-1977)

i heard somebody mumble that we live inside a jungle and if we're not judicious may meet someone malicious cold lurking on the prowl intent on business foul  disaster faster than we care to know but if we're extra wary about such terrors scary our awareness could prepare us for phenomena that scare us and with targeted intention succeed with its prevention escape that shapes a better freedom flow. douglas brent smith

  Nude Behind a Tree, sketch from Journal #9, Midwest Blue (1976-1977)-- douglas brent smith

ashes, roaches, tweezers, matches our hands a foot apart not touching until you pass the heavy book of Picasso paintings tapping the cover telling me without telling me the days grow shorter a candle burns slowly security in its perch atop the bottle of cheap wine (a pair of feline eyes stare through the glass top sharing perfect secrets knowing what is real) "who believes in love anymore?" you say, a provocation? an invitation?  "maybe," i reply, "maybe!" if it is you who is of love and secrets perfected by scars but! you feel untouchable heavier than this table carrying questions that burn, that smoke that penetrate us, but why? i'm alive enough to know i'm  near you not near enough to you to know i'm alive douglas brent smith

  Foiled Again, sketch by doug smith, from Journal #9 Midwest Blue, 1976-77

 the words you want most to write never come until they (you can't find them) find you unprepared: unaware and they laugh fast and run the people who all mean the most  you take for granted as their memories become lingering ghosts of lines you never chanted songs you never sang but i refuse to let that slide because it boldly matters and honestly, without you i'd be forever sadder douglas brent smith

  Filling the spaces, sketch by douglas brent smith, 1976 The doodle sketches of a busy time, from Journal#9, Midwest Blue, 1976-1977. Letting go, moving on, trying on Chicago for size, while also re-inventing in New Jersey. The notes on this page span a wide amount of time with notes for plays in Chicago and rehearsal with -- DD -- in NJ and a Polaroid picture of Annie herself, standing outside 2065 Pennington Road. Not sure that any of this is noteworthy much less art worthy but here it is anyway. History.  

you should have never set me free for now i'm flying recklessly and weave new roads from symetry a tangled dark geometry you should have never sewn me wings for i have stolen sacred things and crossed the paths of clumsy kings who yield their crowns to hear me sing you must have known that i was wild a reckless feckless freckled child when tossed among the ranks and files of royalty and scarlet styles you should have never set me free for i have bargained honesty and released all modesty consuming generosity douglas brent smith  

  Sketch: Bodacious Mistake, 1976

i tried to tell her hell i try to tell all of them but she didn't believe it when i said to expect the unexpected and to deal with puzzling deals nothing to be dealt with normally there being nothing normal there so i should not be held responsible naturally for twisting a phrase, opening the horizon or breaking her heart i tried to tell her that  might happen but she didn't believe it but being pro-active and smarter than me broke mine first  douglas brent smith

when the page turn burns the writer's hand a grimace grows surfacing the strands of captured particles too bland to turn the twisted trip again as the sunlight fights against the night the struggle of forgotten sights resumes its earnest empty plight even when the product's trite it falls apart and leaves a scar while forgetting who you are. douglas brent smith