As it started to happen, it began to
happen very fast. I was typing up my poems and enjoying it. I was
doing it during the day. During the day, I was so lofi with the
typewriter that I wasn’t using any electricity at all. Sometimes I
was outside. Beautiful.
I made a mock up of what each page
should look like, and then I made a page jig. I cut out the place
where the title would go, and the page number so I could stamp those
in later. I measured where the spine would be, where the poems would
start. And then, success.
What I found was this: I could choose
the order of the poems later. I could choose the order except on the
individual pages. I typed all the poems and then ordered them. On
each page, the poems are placed in the same spot. The titles, having
gotten stamped in later, were also on the same placement on each
page.
Then, although it is not part of
the poetry itself, and these were not something I did this month, I
decided that I would add in some of my pastel paintings. I had done
almost all of these in 2020 during the great lock down. They had been
in a folder for years.
I cut the images to size, I ordered the
pages, I numbered the pages. Then I cut the cover, a plastic folder,
to size. Then I started stabbing. And I only stabbed myself twice.
I drew a self portrait and added it in.
I have a one of a kind poetry chapbook.
The finished project is a delight to hold and it really seems more
important than the bad poems and the messy drawings in between. What
it is, ultimately, a lofi expression in a final piece.