103 x 147 mm
Bound using a double hand stitch.
Cover - beige card, pen and ink and lettraset.
Images - printed on translucent paper, pen and ink and lettraset. Text - typewritten.
The conversations I've been writing up on this blog are the result of a procedural process used to write-through J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye, Ernest Hemingway's The Nick Adams Stories and Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. The conversations map out an alternative journey, narrative and dialogue that occurs when the characters, Holden, Nick and Tom, meet on the page.
The conversations currently exist in the above format - a journal. There are 10 copies which have been individually handmade, therefore although the text remains the same, each copy varies due to the markings and mistakes made by the materials used.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 10)

It is still pretty early. I'm not sure what time it was, but
the Kansas City train stops at a siding
and two boys fly on and on towards the village.
This night club: The Lavender Room
is in the ruts -
Every stump stares up in its path.
I think of maybe hanging up on my parents
cos they lurch out of sight
as aroused watch-dogs give wings to their feet.
As a matter of fact, I'm the only
one touching the ground
I can't stand it much longer -
She still has nice, pretty little ears
(spectators of the ball agree)
and at last, breast to breast
you'd like her. I mean if you
manage to get any dope
your pulses will s l o w d o w n.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 9)

The first thing I did when I got off at Penn Station
was to open the door of Henry's lunchroom.
At half past nine that night
I woke her up, but the trouble was
I didn't know what the trouble was
It was nearly daylight and we hear the clock strike ten.
Sally Hayes is on her Christmas vacation
but she spends it talking to George
so I stare up into the dark. Everything is dismally still
besides, I was never crazy about talking to old Mrs Hayes -
What the hell do you put it on the card for?!
Old beams begin to crack mysteriously
I get my bags and walk over to that tunnel
It's five o' clock
time for the tiresome chirping of crickets
then I say, 'Hey, do you mind turning around
I have to eat'.
Our days are numbered.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 8)

It was too late to call up for a cab or anything, so
Nick stood up. He was alright.
Tom dogged hither and thither
He smacked my lip right on my teeth, and it was pretty sore
He felt of his knee; his pants torn -
Juvenile superstition meant that he shoved
snow in my hand and washed my face with it
then washed his hand carefully in cold water
hardly distinguishable.
I usually read about these dumb stories -
I will know them again. Apparently it's fine way to act
with not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat
I just didn't feel like it. I just sort of sat
'Come here, kid, I got something for you' then Wham!
This seemed to render the pervading silence
and I was sitting
and he - the son of a crutting brakeman
sat long with his elbows on his knees.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 7)

A tiny bit of light came through the shower curtains
and he saw me come in the door
Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book.
He had alot of white stuff on his face
and held a glass in his hand.
The air was utterly dead.
Where's the light? I couldn't find the light.
He drew that beer and cut it off
away off
blood and all.
What's yours?
Lazy wing; no other living thing
you're bleeding, for chrissake!
A bowl of pickled pig's feet
to pass the dreary time.
I said 'listen, I gotta get up and go -'
Tom held the wooden scissors in his hand.
He released the tick and pulled me.