I watched a wonderful documentaRy once on rOBERt Crumb....Happened upon it accidentally, did not know who he was, and was not immediately entranced by the program, until i started feeling his character, and the character of his wife, and his brothers...And what a creepy fucking lot they are/were.
Mr Crumb is a gangly marionette in 1940's suits
Mrs. Crumb is (at the time) earthy and aloof (laterwatched something online about their lives in france now and she is completely like Betsy johnson'ed out....fuscia hair, black and pink laced trimmed tunics...almost Rosanna roSanna bandana haired)
the one brother, thin, palid, dishwater hair, obsessed with molesting Asian women.
The other brother, lived with mother, and in his portions of the clip you could hear her squawking in the background...so very Norman Bates-like
I am taken with this brother.
So depressing. Fat, greasy, oily looking dress shirt that was probably worn day-after-day...I believe he confessed that he rarely bathed.....had an overbite.
Had books everywhere....That's basically all he did. Just sit at home and read.
And he satin his bedroom, oily sheets on the mattress
Conversing with mother in a mild depressed yell
Admitted to haveing attempted suicide, maybe more than once.
They were so weird
But i think of that brother, with all the books, and the greasy body and bed, and i feel akin to him.
And why I do is because i am retreating from everything, living only in my world, and while i am not voracious withthe literature, i do find pleasure in losing myself, living vicariouslythrough the characters, in those worlds.....I 've alwways dones This, even as a child, daydreaming about being an adult and how fun and carefree everything would be, everyone would love me and i'd love living.
That brother eventually succeeded in killing himself.