Marty Sherman:The photos just show up in my scanner. I go to bed, wake up and they're there. I don't know how he does it, but they look like real Polaroids.
M. Alan Pennywhistle:
Apparently they've been able to authenticate the photos because Dirk leaves a thumb print on each exposure. He was arrested several times for DUI so his prints are on record.
Marty Sherman:
There's no doubt that the prints on the Polaroids match Dirk's records. We've had several experts in the paranormal look at my scanner and the prints and they're at a loss to explain it. The most interesting photos actually seem to have multiple exposures and we're not sure how Dirk's pulling that off.
Lisa Dirkson-Dean:
All I know is that Dirk died penniless. I'm betting Sherman will make more on this one book deal than Dirk ever did his entire life, and that lazy ass Sherman's doing nothing but typing!
Zelda Dirkson:
I remember he wrote me a poem for Mother's Day once. I think he was five. I still have it somewhere. He wrote it in orange crayon. It went: 'I love you Mommy... Mommy I do... Angel's in Heaven... I killed him boo hoo'... Sniff. Angel was my little cockatiel.
Two more previews from the upcoming posthumously-written volume of Prof. Dirk Beat's poetry, 'Poems From The Other Side':
Dance in The Devil's Mud
Heavy of foot, slow motion slog
Crawling, falling
More forward than backward
Slap...slap...slap...SLAP
Sunless, moonless daynight
Crawling, falling
More downward than upward
Slap...slap...slap...SLAP
Footprints vanish slowly
Over time as the path
Becomes long gone
And forgotten
Untitled
I feel the loss within my chest, in the space where losses are felt
That deep space that can fill so quickly with joy or sorrow
That well of blackness where a feeble heart pumps
Its tale of time & trust & love & woe
Wonder & discovery
Dull ache & giddy lightness
The winter wind burns my face
Your name upon my lips I taste
A sweet poison that slowly fills
My heaving chest, my space,
Erases all but for the presence
Of God & You
-Prof. Dirk Beat
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