Yesterday on Twitter I asked Yoko Ono this question:
'What were your expectations from life as an artist before John walked into the Indica Gallery?'
Not sure if this was the answer I was looking for, but she replied:
'John walked into Indica for confirmation that we were on the same page.'
So there you have it.


Talking of pages, I've just started reading 'Suttree' by Cormac McCarthy. McCarthy is one of my favourite authors, for his immensely detailed descriptive powers and sense of time and place. His strength of imagination leads you to believe that he always writes from personal experience even though you know that can't be possible. Two of my favourite books are 'The Border Trilogy' (ok that's three books - but one story) and 'The Road', a powerful and heart-breaking book recently made into a film starring Vigo Mortenesen.
I was immediately hooked by the first short paragraph of the prologue to 'Suttree' for it's alliterative poetry, a hallmark of McCarthy's writing:

DEAR FRIEND now in the dusty clockless hours of the town
when the streets lie black and steaming in the wake of the
watertrucks and now when the drunk and the homeless have
washed up in the lee of walls in alleys or abandoned lots and
cats go forth highshouldered and lean in the grim perimeters
about, now in these sootblacked brick or cobbled corridors
where lightwire shadows make a gothic harp of cellar doors no
soul shall walk save you.