Dream last night: driving old Studebaker-type car down the road from parents' house to next-door neighbor's, who are having a pot-luck, I find a Charlie Parker record in the back seat. I open up the gatefold sleeve and inside is a poem, in book form, illustrated by posed photographic scenes starring a young Paul Newman! (sitting at a table, looking out window, ordering at a diner, etc.) Flipping through the pages, I find that one page of the poem is actually printed on a book Paul Newman is reading inside the photograph, and the bottom of the stanza is obscured by the top of Newman's head. The first line, however, is readable, and goes thus:
― Tracer Hand, Wednesday, 30 January 2002 01:00 (twenty-four years ago)