He's been by the restaurant, left me a small treasure trove of scrolls, 4 of them, to be divided amongst the servers and kitchen according to the game of dimes, whoever comes closest to the wall gets to keep the scroll of his/her choice...
Naturally, they're all mine, nobody else is all that interested. And they're marvelous, the narrative of his life, wrapped in dirty socks, with coffee stir sticks and cardboard sleeves and padded with local tourism flyers (grabbed for free in our foyer), they make mention of his daily trials, the hit list of businesses on the landing, of "three cheeses" - a reference to a poutine I bought him that he especially liked, lobster (6, 7 references, "Eat Lobster" - he's got a craving for sure), his dealings with Mick Jagger, ...
Grand. The next day, on the Ferry back from the Gray Creek Adventure, I run into him, he's at a restaurant on the other side, he's another bag full of scrolls for me, even better than the last, 5 "Electras" - girls done up in stripper poses, an annotated centerfold pasted to board with his embellishing comments and recollections, curious things, now he's referring to Turkey - he's heading over on the Ferry to mooch some turkey from the restaurant, he's not hopeful of his chances but he's gotta try, I'm reviewing the scrolls, they're a treasure trove, a good hour's reading, sounding out, turning upside down...
Curious facts, stories about the milkshake girls who spun up milkshakes with their breasts, conversations he had with them, strippers on the poles, legs spread, everything in Zsa Zsa Gabor''s accent, memories of girls from the Crowsnest Pass, of Mocha (cryptic, I have errands to run to the coffee bar, he's wary, in the note I was supposed to deliver - to the absent recipient, there's a phone #, he's thinking I called it...), the details - half the stripper girls are holding steaming coffee mugs - he likes his coffee - and, apparently, so do they, the misremembered and dismembered lyrics written down in jaunty styles all over the pictures...
I'm thinking Marwencol, he's better than that, better documentary fodder by far, his life, so far, an enigma, lives north of the landing on the east side, tiny village, everyone knows of him, nobody knows about him, interviewing him, the inchoate conversations, here, in the land of Foon, on the Ferry, at the local businesses, it would make for genius...
I buy him his turkey dinner, the least I can do, he's grateful, saves him going begging...
The next day - on the landing - he's there again for an order of fries - "That fucking Sophia L., She ate all of the Turkey Dinner....!!!"
So I know that he lives with her, which explains the purse, but not necessarily the date on it, and I'm wondering how many of his other "memories" are these grafts of memory and film, celebrity and trivia, but I'll need first to find Sophia L. and get her story...
(I've sworn not to reproduce his art, but - fair use, and these are the smallest bits of his scrolls)
Scrolls and gift of Mocha (coffee), foreshadowed in earlier scrolls...
Small detail of his paintings...
Another detail, note the cup of coffee (center) ...
They're crazy, but brilliant at the same time, and I know so many people who've received his art and then forwarded it into the trash, this will be his value, in the end he'll have produced thousands of scrolls - tens of thousands, but only a few will have found the appreciation they deserve...