Vispo print: Mindswap / Shadows - a science-fiction collage novel - excerpt / Spider-Man by John Byrne & Spidey vibes by Freddie McCoy + Bobby Hutcherson

Mindswap, RTomens, 2026

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Shadows (excerpt)

Pale shades of evening...naïve, twitching, tottering citizens animated by the profound and the puerile...jerky shadows...the procession of twisted corpses...strange beings damned alive...all must endure in the grave city.

   Tongues are heard far away in the universe...

   Time and space devour the damned...cold stars flash mechanically...

   From the shores of death....I am the dagger and the wound... 

   Abstract thoughts...turning the individual...influencing a person's behaviour. 

   Past forms are charged with madness, the poison flows...a sad tomorrow...perceptions of reality continue to influence a person's attitudes...victims and executioners meet memories of the past...

Feet scurried in the yard.  I held my gun steady, barrel pointing up toward the sky. I could see a single star above.  Suddenly a gaunt yellow face hid the star from my view. The face started to shout and I fired. The face disintegrated and I jumped straight up, put a foot on the edge of the can and vaulted over.

   A chorus of shrill yells came from various parts of the yard. Flashlight beams flitted about. I stepped over the body of the Chinaman who lay alongside the garbage can and darted across the yard. From the window above, Foh Shen-Li shouted in shrill sing-song dialect, “Shoot! Shoot now! He must not escape!”

   I swung my gun up and took a pot-shot at the sound of  Shen-Li’s voice but missed because wood splintered the framework of the window up there.

   Lead winged past me. One slug tore at my sleeve but I reached the fence unwounded. 

   A dark shape hurtled at me and I straight-armed that shape with the hand that held the gun. The shape yelped and collapsed.

   I hoisted myself up on a garbage can alongside the fence and jumped. Shouts rose to a tumultuous crescendo behind me; a gun barked from the window above and just at that moment my foot caught on a projecting nail as I was clearing the fence. My arms went out wildly into the air and I hurtled over into the next yard. I landed heavily on concrete, the breath knocked out of me for the second. Then I got up and felt about for my gun which I had dropped when I fell, picked it up, and sped away through the yard, down an alley...

*

Spider-Man and Havoc 205, 1987

When I came across vibraphonist Freddie McCoy's Spider Man album from 1966 I thought it must have been to cash in on the TV series but that didn't debut until '67 so we can only assume that Freddie was simply a fan of Marvel comics and Spider Man in particular. Either way, arch publicist Stan Lee must have loved the fact that Spidey graced an album sleeve and a Jazz one at that. I wonder what the artist, Steve Ditko, thought. Not that Freddie exactly oozes Jazz chops on this album. It's a lightweight affair, aimed at who, I don't know. The tracks are all brief, having little space for anyone to do much more that briefly solo before returning to the tune. Bachelor pad music, perhaps.

I did warn you; Bobby Hutcherson, it isn't, although I could imagine it going down well in the kinds of Jazz clubs I went to in 80s Soho. This is Bobby Hutcherson...

TTFN

Vispo: Antisocial / Being antisocial / The self-belief of an artist

 

Antisocial, RTomens, 2026

"Don't be antisocial" someone once said to me. A girlfriend...when we were supposedly being sociable but I didn't find the company agreeable. Instead of being rude, I clammed up. Confronted with either blatant ignorance or plain stupidity I tend to clam up. Or I used to, back when I knew more than two people, socially. 

I'm not inclined towards being rude...actively. But. Yes, being quiet can be rude. I'm a temperamental artist - ha-ha! That's my excuse. No. It's not. I don't have one other than the genes I was born with...if they determine character, which I think they...might?  

It's not that I've ever felt a sense of superiority, you understand...except when in the company of common people who are not artists! Ha-ha! I must stop making those kinds of jokes...you'll take me seriously, perhaps. If anything I play my talents down. Arrogance is not a virtue, after all. Who is more annoying than the braggart blowing his (it's usually a 'him') own trumpet for all to hear. I wouldn't mind if that metaphorical trumpet signalled a talent on a par with Louis Armstrong, but it rarely does.  

Yet bragging, I'm sure, gets people places. After all, who's going to buy a timid, insecure soul? What do they project? Weakness? A lack of self-belief? To sell oneself one must be in promotional mode! Yes, it's true. I have rarely been in a position of having to sell myself, unless you count job interviews and in those, I suppose I did try to be the 'right person for the job'. Unfortunately, most of those jobs were ones I didn't want in the first place.

How does an artist sell him/herself in a world where they feel they don't belong? By 'artist' I mean creatively inclined, which immediately places someone outside normality. Because society may only embrace the successful artist, ironically. The struggling one is of no use. He/she is unappealing! Look at them,trying to make a go of...what? Being an artist? The fool! Their chances of success are virtually zero! A mug's game! So my dear ol' dad would tell me regularly, without ever saying 'mug' because that wasn't in his vocabulary. Instead he offered what he considered to be sound advice, which was to get a trade. It probably was sound advice to a working class boy. Like all sound parental advice, I ignored it.

Collage: Develop Creative Powers / Were you born to make art? / Rhapsody in Video - a very scarce Nam June Paik book!

Develop Creative Powers, RTomens, 2026

Yes, I try, I TRY to develop my creative powers - those latent (dormant?), inherent, even? It can be taken two ways: develop what you have...or...actually develop some where there were none...right? Oh that ol' question: born with art right in you, or develop it through...interests? Parental encouragement? Teachers? Ah, those poor teachers at my secondary school...they did try...but what a disappointment I must have been, to the Art teacher in particular, who could see some talent, let's say aptitude, but could he get me to knuckle down and get the qualifications needed to go to college? What do you think? Yeah, me, the rebel without a cause.

I lean towards the born-with-it idea. Why? What else explains my drive to draw at the age of 10? Certainly not parental encouragement. My folks were not creative in the slightest. No-one in my family was artistic. They watched the telly whilst I drew pictures in the same living-room. So it went. Rush out of school once the final bell had been rung and into Work. 

I haven't made art consistently since leaving school. There were fallow periods when I was probably too depressed about my working life to do anything creative. Still, during Punk I made a few zines. For some reason I was attracted to writing more than art as the 80s dawned. So I set about writing novels and poetry. I even bought a typewriter. My handwriting has never been great. A few poems were published in workshop zines. I read poetry some on stages around the Aylesbury area. And so on.

You can teach Art but can you teach someone to be an artist? What's the difference? Perhaps there isn't one. I used to think being an artist was a lifetime's impulse to create...an overriding urge...a need? Now, I'm not sure. Someone could be that driven artist for just a few years, then stop because...they no longer felt the urge...or a career took over...or family life took over...etc. I make no grand claims to being a 'dedicated' artist. I mean, I don't pretend to be...anything...except a man striving to maintain some sense of equilibrium...against the odds stacked in favour of going crazy when confronted with...everything from daily life to political conflict...and seeing Mars bars gradually shrink in size. I swear, it's not that my hands have got bigger since I scoffed one as a child! 

*

Here's an  incredibly rare book, Rhapsody in Video. It's unusual not to find more than one page about a book about such a well-known artist. I've searched but not been able to find any except this one

It's here.

Vispo print: Meltdown / Heat, abstraction, visual poetry and imperfect lines

Meltdown, RTomens, 2026

We're having a heatwave in the UK - cue the collapse of schools, rail networks...and the current political leadership - ha-ha! Combine that with England playing in the World Cup tonight and it's a safe bet that there will be much booze consumed and probably a few very sick people later.

I had no intention of creating anything to do with heat when I made Meltdown this morning but as I played around with the components they took on the impression of flames. Only the impression, mind. In abstract works people naturally want to find recognisable elements. Visual poetry can be purely abstract. Much of mine tends towards it. The use of legible words contrasted with the totally illegible is a tension I like to create. In some cases, even making the letters illegible to the point where they become solely marks. In that form, is it really 'poetry' of any kind? Like art, if the maker wishes to say it is, I suppose. 

Visual poetry has always sat on the margins of art and literature. Less so in its earlier forms when wordplay was prominent, but that form evolved into a myriad of experiments with what a typewriter could produce, from dense clusters of letters to mark-making. I have my preferences when it comes to being a viewer. You can guess what they are. 

Meltdown comes from this piece: 

Once the main shape was finished I felt it needed something else, but had no ideas. LJ suggested the red lines. I wasn't sure. She offered to draw them so I let her. I should have warned her that the pens meet some resistance from a page that's already been printed on but instead I watched as she did her best. I could have strengthened to lines afterwards but decided that their frailty, in places, was a pleasing sign of the imperfect human hand sometimes. In the age of AI, imperfection is a precious thing. TTFN!

Print: Blind As A Bat

Blind As A Bat, RTomens, 2026

Print: You (for sale) / The colour black (clothes/style etc)

 

You, RTomens, 2026

You-nique print, made from an altered photo I took and an old vispo piece. Look at the black! Love the black! See how deep it is? How deep is my black? 

I don't wear black, except for that hooded Adidas coat worn only in the garden or, perhaps, to go up the garage to get some milk. Not that I'm ashamed to be seen in it, just that I don't want to look remotely like all those men (young and old) walking around town in black - no! What's wrong with them? Are they members of a cult I know nothing about? They seem to revel in black's negative connotations. "Look at me in black - grrr - don't mess with me - I'm...dangerous." Actually, you're boring. I cannot take anyone who constantly wears black seriously. They haven't read a book, for starters. I know that for sure. Maybe one book. They totally lack imagination! 

It's fairly common amongst girls too, but less so because...perhaps girls/women always think a little more about what they wear. Sometimes I look at young girls (only sometimes - ha-ha!) and what they wear (slouchy gear) and wonder what I'd think of the way they dress if I was 15 again. I don't suppose I'd mind. I mean, firstly I'd have no choice and secondly, more importantly, old Ma Nature would be driving me towards them with an unstoppable force. For the zillionth time since maturity, I thank historical chance and, um, cosmic genealogy, that I was born to be a teenager in times that were more exciting, culturally and style-wise. 

Still, you'll never catch me in either all black clothing or a t-shirt that says 'I Saw All The Best Bands'. I'd rather be caught wearing my slippers. Actually, that couldn't happen because to answer the doorbell I have to go outside, therefore change from slippers to outdoor shoes. (Isn't all this fascinating?) Only friends see me in my slippers...and I don't have any of those left! (OK, maybe one or two). Poor me. Time has taken so many friends...not death, but life, their lives and mine parting ways. 

On that cheery note, I should end. 

On an optimistic note, should you wish to purchase You, it's £75 and I ship worldwide. Should you want some black print in your life! TTFN!

Vispo/print (for sale): No Disagreement / Bonkers weather / Sonny Rollins an' all that Jazz / My Jazz book

 

No Disagreement, RTomens, 2026

A4 on 160gsm paper

For sale: £90
please email if interested

rtomens(at)gmail.com

Here's a print from a typed original which has been typed over again. Sorry if that sounds confusing but I'm half-awake. I typed the face then printed on a copy of that piece and typed on it again. Is that any clearer? Do I know what I'm talking about...?...ha-ha-ha! 

It's June and I have my winter jumper on because here in London the maximum temperature today is predicted to be 16c dropping to 14 this afternoon...FFS! Two weeks ago we were in the middle of a heatwave! Do such swings in the weather affect one's state of mind? What do you think? Everyone perks up when we get the first warm, sunny Spring days. Then extreme (for the UK) heat can confine you to the flat (it does me anyway...I mean...have you tried being on the 390 bus in the Summer? Of course you haven't, but suffice to say it's illegal to transport animals in those temperatures. So now we get cosy in the evening...under blankets...in June!

Sadly, Sonny Rollins passed away recently (well, we all gotta go sometime - except Marshall Allen, who's 102!). Sonny was one of the big hitters in Jazz, in case you didn't know. He played tenor saxophone. Getting into Jazz in the early 80s as I did his muscular tone would boom and bounce around my bedsit, filling the tiny space with fluid sonic contortions, the likes of which were still fairly new to me. This was one of the first albums of his that I bought. 

I probably got it from Ray's Jazz Shop on Shaftsbury Avenue. Here I am looking in the window circa '81. 

Well, you know, we thought Jazz was the coolest thing in the world...which it was...therefore full engagement with it made us the members of the Coolest Gang in the World! (heh-heh). 

Twenty years later I got around to writing a book about Jazz. Or to be more precise, my experience of Jazz. It's called Points of Departure and there's a review here. Despite learning a lot from the expert writers and even some academics I could never profess to be either so my writings had to come from a purely personal perspective, in the tradition of fanzines. Jazz is, after all, like all artforms, about our subjective interpretation...as we see and hear it. 

It's been said by others and even myself, that my visual poetry often feels like an extension of all that Jazz..it's influence and inspiration if not exactly the improvisational technique. If I had the typewriter equivalent of Sonny Rollins' chops...I'd be a master of the art!

TTFN!

Print: Visual Field / Seeing visual poetry up close / Buying art / Kemsley annual altered book

Visual Field, RTomens, 2026

Ah yes, the all-seeing eye...

More distressingly, I lost a great pair of sunglasses. Where? I don't know. If I knew where they were lost I might return to the spot, eh? LJ once lost hers. We had walked beside the river Medway to the cafe, where she realised they were gone. So we walked back, hoping they'd be on the path. Nope. But wait, we did sit on this bench. We even wandered into the grassy area behind...and there they were! I spotted them. So...you know...some lost things can be found. There's a moral there somewhere.

My work often looks a bit blurred to me. I used to think it was something that could be corrected in the scanning process. Then I realised it was my eyes! Now I zoom in on the computer or, the old-fashioned way, actually lean in closer - ha-ha. The great thing about on-screen viewing is the ability to widen those fingers and appreciate the detail, eh? Sometimes it pays off. Sometimes I've done it and realised...well, it doesn't bear close scrutiny. 

Nothing compares to seeing work 'in the flesh'. That even applies to visual poetry. Better still to be able to feel the paper and even the indentations made by the typewriter. Buyers who visit do that. I watch them feeling the paper. Others do it, replace the work on the table and walk on. That upsets me. Look, I've poured my heart and soul into that and you just walk away? The nerve! I jest, of course. People who actually buy are a rare breed. Well, it's a luxury purchase, isn't it? I never expect a purchase. How arrogant/naive would that be? Books sell better, for obvious reasons.

Here's a book I altered a few years ago. It's still for sale.

TTFN!

Vispo/Print/Collage: Mind Control / Jack Kirby's 2001: A Space Odyssey

Mind Control, RTomens, 2026

A collage of previous work printed to form the face with the eyes done in ink. 

Talking of ink, Mike Royer did the work on Jack Kirby's 2001: A Space Odyssey, which is 50 years old this year. I managed to pick up every issue recently. It has not, as far as I know, ever been included in a collection. Here's the second issue...

More info here

Vispo: Suspended Sentence / I have a criminal doppelganger

Suspended Sentence, (Sold) RTomens, 2026

Another mugshot from Least Wanted: A Century of American Mugshots used, along with altered vispo, print and marker pen.  This is the book. It's pricey now but I was lucky enough to find it in a charity shop for a fiver and since it's such a brilliant publication it is definitely in my Top Ten Bargains chart.

I was once accused of being a criminal...by the police! They got out of their car and approached me as I walked across Aylesbury Market square during my lunch break in the late-70s.

"You're out then," one said, smiling slightly. 

"Pardon?"

"How long have you been out?"

"Out of where?"

They laughed. It turned out I looked like a criminal they knew to be doing time. As hard as I tried to convince them otherwise I was left with the impression that they still didn't believe me. My doppelganger must be really accurate, I thought, for the police not to be able to tell the difference.

Is that what they call modern art? / Meeting actual people and being a snob / Print: Celestial Landfall

 

Yes, people like Thelma do exist! They did exist when this comic strip panel was created (1952) and still do - so what? It doesn't matter how other people see art...unless they directly hamper any progress you should wish to meke...as in someone important that you meet looks at your art and says 'I like pictures that look like something!' and shows you the door. Why did you want to impress them anyway? They own a gallery? They act as agents for artists? Etc...

When I was a lot younger it would bother me that some people didn't 'understand' art, as in even old-fashioned abstract art. Perhaps I still felt it was a battle to 'win' and worth arguing about. Pah! What a waste of time. People have different opinions and taste. That's all. So what if the Thelmas (and male equivalents) of this world only want pictures that look like something.

Here's a print I made a few days ago:

RTomens 2026

I've been called a snob many times for just knowing what I like and some of those things being 'obscure'. My accusers only saw part of the picture, though. I love Motown records. Snobbish? Hardly. I love old reggae tunes, John Wayne films, Laurel & Hardy and Pop Art. Do any of those signify snobbery?

These days you can find people online with similar taste to you in obscure music, Art, books etc. In a way, it takes the fun out of it, although I did used to pine for like-minded souls before the internet and once found they were seen as rare treasures. It might be that friend of a friend you were introduced to in a bar. That someone in a club. A chance encounter on the tube with someone reading The Ticket That Exploded. 

People who were actual flesh and bone rather than just names on a screen were akin to records, physical vinyl. They meant something other than virtual 'friends' never to be met and streaming music. You had to make an effort to get both. You could touch them, smell them, get a feeling from them via eye-to-eye contact...the record sleeve, the handshake or hug...

(Talking of records, in a charity shop the other day I overheard a young girl tell the shop assistant that she'd just spent fifteen pounds on vinyl, to which the woman (aged around 45) replied 'Do you have a vinyl player?'. A vinyl player?!!! It's a record-player! And the plural of vinyl is vinyl, not 'vinyls'! God that annoys me. Since when did records become 'vinyls'?)

I don't know if young people still go to bars and clubs and discuss music, art and books. It's easy to think that regarding culture this is a lost generation (well, their culture is different, it's largely online). But I often see lots of kids hanging around music venues in Camden so there are still are 'scenes'. I would hope their music annoys their parents but I fear that their parents are 'liberal' and tolerant in that respect. Parents take their kids to festivals nowadays, for god's sake. 

I like to think there are teenagers out there proudly being 'snobbish' about the culture they like; reading obscure books and listening to obscure music. With 'everything' now being available online though, I suspect that any underground scene worthy of the name would have to be either offline, or so miniscule as to avoid attention. It would certainly escape the notice of this old fart.

TTFN

Print art: What Is A Woman Really Worth? / Destroy All Monsters and Mimicking Authenticity / My Soft Need 23 artwork

 

RTomens 2026

Revisiting Destroy All Monsters' artworks and music inspired me to create some prints. I was keen to try and avoid blatant copies, of course, although LJ believes that to be impossible. She, bless her, is oblivious to software program capabilities in that respect. Of course you can click on the 'Grungy Xerox' button to give your images that look. But what look is it? The look of old Xerox technology. Or is it only that? I wonder...because it's not only a look, it's the product of a time, place, technology, attitude etc...a culture. 

In the same way that it would be very hard, I imagine, to recreate the sound of Jamaica circa 1972 (is their an Off-Center Pressing button for that slightly warped and woozy sound - oh and scratches) recreating a visual style that perfectly mimics an old one may, technically, be possible, but I doubt it's so good as to be indistinguishable from the real thing. No, I'm not going to research that.

There are plenty of typewriters fonts available online and I've used a few but to these eyes they still don't look exactly like anything produced on an actual typewriter.  The inherent variation in pressure applied to keys and the resulting different shades of type is absent. Don't tell me, there's a typewriter app that does vary the weight of lettering randomly. Huh! 

The Destroy All Monsters magazine, collected in one volume, is a treasure. Unfortunately, both books are pricey nowadays. Their aesthetic, visually and sonically, is spot on - raw, rock'n'roll. 

*

I'm not sure when my eyes stopped communicating properly with my brain but it's a worry, naturally. Why do I ponder this? Well, I bought Soft Need 23 (2020) from Typewriter Jim last year, about 10 months ago - flicked through, shelved it, flicked through again more thoroughly, shelved it and had another look a couple of weeks ago, this time noticing the comic panel joke on page 48...hold on...that's mine! I made that years ago! I think...I'm almost sure, but it takes some recall to say, exactly, so I search my old blog, Include Me Out, and sure enough, there it is. I'm uncredited in SN 23 because by the time they sourced it my name had become detached, I suppose. I don't mind. It was funny, though, that I didn't discover it for months.

Vispo print: Instant Success

Instant Success, RTomens 2026

 

Print: England / The remembrance of flavours past / Lou Rawls' You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine

 

England, RTomens, 2026

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Despite the viral infection rendering my taste buds ineffective I accept LJ's offer of a slice of pandoro, saying "I'll remember its flavour!" So I do...conjuring up the vanilla flavour in my mind. This raises the question of reality vs imagination. I can imagine the flavour, but that does not truly replace the act of tasting the ingredients making up the flavour. It's a poor substitute, yes, but a substitute nonetheless,  therefore better than nothing.

*

The singer Lou Rawls died 20 years ago yesterday (Jan 6). This September sees a happier anniversary being the month his single, You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine, went to number 1 on both the R&B and Easy Listening charts 50 years ago. 

As I write '50 years' the number sends a small shock of realisation through me; a marker of so much time passed in my life. The record was a phenomenon in my 17-year-old life; in the lives of us working class lads who loved black music. But is it really 'black music'? Note that it was number 1 in the Easy Listening chart. We didn't even know what Easy Listening was back then. Only 20 years later did the genre reemerge in the guise of a 'cool' thing to get into. There were clubs playing it and compilations made. Exotica was 'hip'!

I'll leave the can of worms marked 'What Is Black Music?' closed, or slightly ajar, allowing a few thoughts to wriggle out...such as the obvious acknowledgment that most black music did not qualify as Easy, or rather, the light orchestral Easy albums as commonly recognised did not feature black band leaders. Then again, ditching the upper case 'E', we know that a lot of Jazz made popular by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and even Billie Holiday could qualify as 'easy' listening. Ditto Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington. 

It's mostly the piano on You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine which whispers 'Easy'. It's pure cocktail lounge, coming in as it does after an irresistible mid-tempo intro and Gamble and Huff's song borne on Lou's velvet baritone voice. You'd have to be a machine to deny it's charms! No ifs, or buts, or maybes, over the decades, this record has grown to embed itself in my being. Too profound? I mean, some records of our youth which meant so much then do fade away in terms of meaning. Some come back into our open arms. 

This means something deeply personal to me, beyond just nostalgia, but I can't put my finger on what, exactly, that thing is. I suspect it's to do with a girlfriend. Was it ------, who I 'dumped', despite the fact that she had a car and more to the point, was long-legged and quiet beautiful? What was wrong with me? In retrospect I can't fault her, but did my young, stupid mind find her lacking somehow? I'll never know. I was no doubt confused about everything, my future looming ominously rather than hopefully. I had a job but no career. Music, clothes and girls were all I could ever bring myself to study and, as you can tell, I hadn't yet passed my exams in the latter. If I had, I would have treated that girl better. 

Oh well, at least this record remains pure, like all great music, unsullied by time. 

Print: Intangible / Existential psychic turmoil / Having to explain things

Intangible, RTomens, 2025

Excuse me? No, I'm not sure...

Everyone's 'all over the place' - have you noticed? Only right now we have the excuse of 'It's Christmas'. Come the New Year, the only excuse is existential turmoil due to the psychic chaos caused by:

misinformation

politics

the social network notworking

too much information

viral mental health 'issues'

the continued existence of Taylor Swift

I forgot to tell you what concrete poetry is when you asked a few months ago. Then I realised you were being lazy by not using Google, so I didn't bother answering. 

I wasn't making concrete poetry before the internet, so I would have had to answer. Imagine having to actually explain something to someone! You're too young to know what it was like. Such hard work, formulating answers whilst inebriated in a bar, perhaps, or high from two coffees in a cafe. It's a wonder anyone knew anything. We read books, though. Magazines and newspapers. 

I'll continue this history lesson next time. Meanwhile...

TTFN!

Vispo print: Shutdown & Cancelled / Mind Games booklet / Book: Least Wanted - A Century of American Mugshots / Vispo: Wrongthink, Understanding A Sentence, Now I'm Just A Number

 

RTomens, 2025

Some of you will recognise the Faceless Man from the cover of a booklet I made last year called Mind Games. There are still a few copies of the latest print run left if you'd like one. See here. I added 'Cancelled' to his face this week. Just 'cause I felt like it.

Most of the faces featured in Mind Games came from this fantastic book, Least Wanted  - A Century of American Mugshots...

I didn't know it at the time when I got it for a fiver in a charity shop but it's now out of print and pricey online. It's turned out to be one of the most cherished books in my collection, not only because I've used the images but because it's such a brilliant book. The character in the middle row, for instance, is featured in a piece called Wrongthink, which I made on Friday.

RTomens, 2025

Here's another...

RTomens, 2024

The text is by Wittgenstein. The piece is called Understanding A Sentence. Geddit? Of course you do. Here's one more. Title: Now I'm Just A Number.

RTomens, 2024

Be careful out there or you'll end up having your own mugshot...for a mean tweet.

TTFN!

Vispo/Print: Promise

RTomens, 2025

Well that was a struggle...an afternoon of failed attempts to get anything right, in keeping with Chelsea's performance against Arsenal, which I was half-watching whilst trying various prints. Yes, some days are like that. I nearly gave up (Chelsea had). The foundational collage of pieces from an old sci-fi magazine seemed to stubbornly resist all attempts at adding to it. Try print texts - nope. Images - nope. Then there was a breakthrough, altering a version of the original and printing that, then deciding to create a circular image. At last!

Print/Vispo: Famous Writers School

RTomens, 2025

From around the age of ten I wanted to be an artist so I applied for a correspondence course but didn't meet the minimum age requirement. A year or two later I could officially enrol and having taken the tests they sent me the info but more importantly, the price, which my dad didn't want to pay. That was that.

Apart from drawing, writing was my other passion. I'd write sci-fi stories in a lined pad in the living-room, with my family watching the telly. What powers of concentration I must have had in those days! No correspondence school attempt in that regard though.

I wonder how I'd have fared with the Famous Writers School. The only member who's name I recognise is Rod Serling, creator of The Twilight Zone.  I don't think they were open to concrete poetry.

The ad was on the back of this magazine. 

Type/Print: Ad Infinitum and it's evolution / the lure of the skull

 

RTomens, 2025

Above is the finished Ad Infinitum. The title's taken from the sampled Paul Valery texts used. 

It began with this...

...which I typed on, thinking that would be the end of it...

...you guessed, it wasn't. Below is one several versions used to make up the final printed image.

I have to resist the urge to create too many 'skull pieces' because, like a Goth, I'm attracted to them. That is my only Goth inclination, I swear. Here's my favourite skull album cover...

TTN