We appreciate the many conodolences we have received. Instead of sending flowers, please direct all checks to The Greenlake Preservation Society, made out to cash.
Our elf-interns are pretty distraught over the loss of their hard work, so we are having to hand handwrite the New Notebook. That's taking a while and we don't want you to lose interest. So, in case you were wondering, here's the structure of the trap, i.e., the words we used. The prompts are scattered throughout; new prompts welcome. Most of the writing is from the Brown Eyed Handsome Man Corporation's archives.
Our elf-interns are pretty distraught over the loss of their hard work, so we are having to hand handwrite the New Notebook. That's taking a while and we don't want you to lose interest. So, in case you were wondering, here's the structure of the trap, i.e., the words we used. The prompts are scattered throughout; new prompts welcome. Most of the writing is from the Brown Eyed Handsome Man Corporation's archives.
One notebook may die, but the corps lives on.
PAGE 1
The Greenlake Preservation Society
in association with
the Brown Eyed Handsome Man Corporation
presents
The Notebook 1.1
at Bench #1
(In the world: 47º40’11.19”N, 122º20’04.06”W)
If found detached from its home bench, please write something funny in it and then email browneyedhandsome@gmail.co
PAGE 2
WHAT IS THIS?
The short answer: A place to write stuff down that you think while sitting in this exact spot. Then, a place to read what people have written while sitting in this exact spot. It’s anonymous and fun! Like the Internet, but slightly less high-tech. Like a bathhouse, but slightly less touchy-feely.
The long answer: We’re not really sure. The Society and the Corporation have just noticed tons of people sitting on this bench, looking like they maybe needed a pen and some paper. Other people have looked like they wanted to read something, possibly gain some wisdom. It could be that all of those people were just looking at girls, boys, and/or dogs, but we thought we’d provide paper and a pen anyway.
This is version 1.1. The Notebook 1.0 was stolen on April 5, 2007 after a mere 2 days of service to its bench. RIP. We apologize if your words were lost.
SOME PROMPTS (just to get you going if that is where you're at)
The View for One Old Man
He did have this. A perfect half-moon, behind a thin rhombus of high clouds, setting, still twenty degrees north of Phinney Ridge, and mirrored just off the coast of the lake, as if the water brought the moon closer for examination. The neighbors got to watch this ancient interaction in wonder. It would be gone in 10 minutes, disappeared behind the ridge, and the star spangled night would return, the streetlight flickering outside his window and the candles inside struggling to keep up with the darkness.
There are bigger views. There are more celestial views. But for its groundedness, its understatement, its peekaboos and hideaways, looking west at 65th and Meridian was his favorite view in Seattle.
This Spot, in Song
Sounds like:
Capture the Flag, by Broken Social Scene
The 3 Words
We have heard that everyone’s got three operative words at whatever point in life. They change and are probably half-truths, but what doesn’t and isn’t? It’s good exercise.
My 3 Words: Purpose, Self, Focus
The View for One Young Man
Ah, look at it. It makes one lapse into bourgeois, not to mention girly, sentimentality. But still. (Stops jogging.) To see it on a sunny day from the east side of the lake. Reflections from the other side fading at some almost perceptible point into mere water. Phinney Ridge rising behind it and in the distance, just barely visible, the Olympics, a perfect impressionistic shade of blue. To what feels like the southwest, light, pink saturating into magenta, darkening the trees into outlines, skeletons coming into focus in the night.
It is a time and a place that history won’t remember… And therefore. Therefore is… useless? Useless. But still.
Why You Like It
A List of Repositories of Social Cachet:
Cars, Husbands, Mohawks, Non-ideological ideas
The Development of the Lake
Green Lake, once a cesspit slash moral vacuum of human waste and drag racing track for amphibious vehicles, was deepened, that is to say, given more feet. Cleaned up around the edges, snipped, and clippered, planted and replanted, dredged and stocked, encircled and recircled, populated, lost it, and populated again, built, fallen into disrepair, and gentrified, all of which, as historical forces, have combined, competed, struggled and died for what you now see before you: a shimmering example of what a little elbow grease and a spit shine can do to a mosquito ridden shithole. The sham-and-tout, men living harmoniously together making a better world.
Who Is Thinking This
Being a healthy, busy, productive young member of society in Seattle, it is my duty to remain fit, to shine fitness down upon the fatties like the beacon city on the hill. Work out!
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