Self-portrait as hair

Right now, my hair is the longest it’s ever been. I don’t remember when last I had it cut. Must be close to a year now. Recently, I called up the shop to make an appointment, but it turned out that my favorite cutter, Michelle, no longer worked there. Naturally, they had no idea where she was. (Any chance you’ve seen her? Tall, dark and Goth, a painter who lived in New Jersey?) For a while, my hair was shedding like a dog in June, falling out in drain-clogging masses, giving me great empathy for those who had to clean up after the Pre-Raphaelites. Then that subsided. Perhaps I’ve reached stasis. The whitening, too, seems to have stopped advancing in leaps and bounds, although I like these silver streaks, hair as a coat of many colors.

These remind me of Action Jackson Pollock (as played by Samuel L. Jackson: “There are motherfuckin’ snakes on this canvas!”). DIII was working as a docent at the University of Iowa Museum of Art (lately flooded!) back in the early '90s when he saw a loose thread unraveling from the edge of their gigantic Pollock, “Mural.” He clipped it off and gave it to me for safekeeping. (Hell, it might have been in lieu of rent, I don’t remember.) It’s about one and half inches long, with a bit of purple paint on it. I keep it in a plastic canister that came out of a vending machine. To the Pre-Raphaelites of Iowa City I used to say, want to come up and see my Jackson Pollock? You can use my shower and clog the drain in the morning....