The last time I kept a diary, of any sort, it was 1962, and I was 9. In it, I record that ‘East Germany has blown up’. This is the sort of cold war fantasy childhood I had.
What I will do in this blog is to write about all or any of
* creative writing
* family history
* stuff (i.e. other…)
Paul Newman died. The obituary columns are starting to fill with my childhood, with figures I grew up with. Oddly, my strongest image of him is of his falling forward, in a highly stylised and balletic way, at the end of ‘The Left-Handed Gun’, an odd biopic of Billy The Kid – who was right-handed. An early print of Billy was reversed: hence the myth.
Myth obsesses me: creating it, uncreating it.
Proof of Newman’s originality: no-one ever made money out of imitating his voice or his movement. The mimics left him alone.
Is that something to be going on with?