Bear with me on this, folks. As some of you know, I recently bought an old typewriter, which has been an enormous source of inspiration (and a bit of frustration, too).
When I use the typewriter, certain distinct voices emerge, voices decidedly different from the ones that make themselves known when I use pen and paper and when I use a word processing program. That makes sense. Frederick Nietzsche’s friends said his writing changed after he began using a typing ball. Not that I’m Nietzsche or anything, but I imagine most writers are sensitive to which medium they choose for writing.
When I took the typewriter yesterday, the voice of a man named Charlie emerged. From what I can tell, Charlie has a drinking problem (shocking). There’s more to his story, but the pieces come to me slowly. I sussed out some more details on the drive to work today (like who Liza and Tom are…still not clear on Brother George). I also don’t exactly know where Charlie lives. Anyway, here’s an image of the diary entry or letter with a transcription following:
I woke up with a bird beside me. You read that correctly; a small finch had perched itself on the mattress to the left of my head. It regarded me curiously and without fear. For my part, I studied it for a few moments before becoming alarmed. Was I dreaming? But I knew it wasn’t a dream. The bird was real.
I wasn’t sure what to do next. How often does one find the way of being in the world? i resist the urge to tell the truth, i know. let me die in peace. there wont be a better time my dear than to say than today when all are weak and weary they ask me if i been drinking so i tell them the truth. yes. old liza aint happy with that but that dont matter. it was just a matter of time before i started again. thats what brother george said and he should know. hes an old drunk like me.
A bit more…
I worry about liza though cuz she too old to start down tha path. she eyes my bottle though like it some kind of treasure. it aint but thats between me and the devil and god if the three of us ever get to talking. i suspect we will one day or night.
there aint much left of this old ribbon so id better stop. tom wont get a new one until next month.
-charlie, june 7, 1966.
Hmm. I’m interested in how Charlie’s diction changes as he types. At first, I imagine him waking sober (if hung-over). As the entry progress, his lack of punctuation and general disregard for grammar makes me think he’s drinking as he writes.
More updates coming.