Our Part of the Night, the outcome.

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.