Pounding Nails

Actually, I'm designated sawyer and don't pound that many nails, but B and Bear do, because the nail-gun is on the fritz. Because the lumber is so bad we use many small pieces between studs (blocking) in order to keep the door openings true. We get all the interior framing done, great room, bedroom, bath, closet, and as the ceiling is vaulted (scissor trusses) we add some ceiling joists in the closet creating a storage loft. I pace Bear on the beer consumption, drinking one to his two, Natural Light, I just sweat them off, a bottled water between, still don't pee until I get home, sweating enough to saturate my clothes. The two-bucket-on-the-deck shower, tepid water, feels great, a couple of Advil for those muscle groups I haven't used in a while; can of tuna, cheese and olives, hunk of bread dinner. Read Chuck Palahniuk's new book "Snuff", early this morning, finishing at dinner, a slight thing, a conceit really, but raunchy and funny. OK, Kim sent the second line:

There once was a doctor from Nantucket
who brought home brains in a bucket,

Brandy, Skip, Steven, Jana, surely we can wrap this up in a tidy fashion; suck it, fuck it, come to mind, also truck it, we need the set-up lines (bb) and then a closer. Cool enough to turn off the fan, the noise sometimes drives me crazy, I have to listen to music or wear ear-plugs, and for some time now, I'd rather just listen to the natural world. That's it, something I meant to mention, going to the concert, Saturday night, I was listening to a soundscape created by someone else, that I had to pay attention to. I don't do that so much any more, listen to music, though, times in my life, there was always something playing, blues, loose jazz, or the Grateful Dead, but now I listen to the wind in the trees, the frogs, those fucking crows, a pileated woodpecker hunting for grubs, that peculiar sound a fish makes, slurping a bug. Bear would say -Bridwell, you mother-fucker, you're losing your senses- but actually I'm gaining. I see progress here, moving toward the less artificial. God, I just had this fugal moment that went on and on, where I drifted off, thinking about music, visual arts, the written word, installation, how art ties us together. You're not me, I'm not even sure I'm me, yet, we can connect, we can take things out of context, in fact, need to, because, otherwise, nothing makes sense, and construct an order. Where we want to be. Make believe.