Hey,
So, I was thinking, in my review of these pages today, that perhaps folks reading it might get fed up with all the swear words. I know I did, and then I reminded myself to read it as if I were say, an ideal reader reading the exploits of Riley Mortimer, who is pure chaos, and enjoy it for what it is—which is essentially a bunch of bickering with everyone getting fed up with Jonathan Hartt. Even Jonathan appears to be fed up with himself.
That happens when you get old. Fuck it.
Don’t worry, Riley still has a purpose for him. He’ll find an opportunity in this somehow.
Oh, and another thing — it appears I wrote two Page #66s today. So it ended up being 23 pages and now there’s no going back as it would be too much of a pain to fix it. It’s enough doing all the scanning and organizing and blogging to want to go back. It’s like everything else here: One take, no repeats, raw writing. Immortalized on the typewriter. And later on blockchain.
Speaking of blockchain, I imagine these images being offered as NFTs in the future, so this Page 66 is a unique item. A collector’s item. Typed on an analog typewriter from 1949, a machine assembled by dozens of hands, and typed by an analog human, with analog hands, onto analog Southworth archive-quality watermarked ivory paper with analog ink ribbons. One take, no repeats. A rare gem. All of these pages are a work of art. It needs to be said. It’s not being done anywhere else in the world. Not at this rate. Not in this way. If you know of someone, get me in touch with this person. I want to read their work and congratulate them.
After this book is wrapped, I’ll be tied with Barbara Cartland. And then I will shatter the world record from 1977. And you can say you were here. Just like me. We’re all spectators. How could I possibly take credit for the sunrise? My only hope is that you come and observe with me—every little movement. It’s all here on the pages. All of my effort—please read it.
I’ve left comments open. I’d love to hear your feedback.
-W.V.Carleton