Don't Know

Don't know, really, how I keep your attention. I'm looking forward to ribs and eggs for breakfast. I've never had that combination before, maybe a salad, with blue-cheese dressing, pull out all the stops. Certainly toast, sour-dough and a seedless blackberry preserve, enough butter to stop your heart. That remaining nine plus hours, I love I can think about what I'm going to say. Pick up the beat and roll. Suddenly you're in another universe, where rhythm is the only sense. I don't know for sure but it seems like things make sense, a drum at dawn or sunset, that green flash, hey I merely report, nothing is cast. Any day that starts with ribs for breakfast is going to be a good day. Got the printer going by just replugging both ends, caught up on some copies. Surprised at last night's length. Catch up on mail. Do the hour outside, hour reading thing most of the day, stay indoors after 3:30, reading back over myself. Between the box of manuscripts and pages in the vault at the museum and the pile on my desk, right at three thousand single spaced pages, ten years work, 9 actually, because I wrote "Notes From The Cistern" in 97/98 and then edited it. Also lost between 500-750 pages of "Text Towards Building A House" in the robbery. A prolific period. I enjoy the intimacy of the last year's writing and notice that many months I don't miss a single day. Also notice that nights when I start the next day's piece are more disjointed, something about the almost real time swing seems to lend a level of coherence. Real or imagined. I had forgotten fruit flies in my drink, how bad they taste. After I cleaned up I dabbed a touch of Dzing! on one wrist, I love it in dry down. It is so affected by personal chemistry that it's a fine scent for a man, if a man wants a scent, I mostly enjoy smelling samples, trying them on women I know. Almost all women, in my experience, are willing to try a new perfume. For dinner I sear a small tuna steak and have it on a salad, with a very nice vinaigrette (raspberry) around the edges, a piece of bread, saving the rest of the ribs in case D comes out tomorrow to work on the Wrack shed. Need to talk to a couple of local artists who may or may not be doing set-pieces for the installation, need to know if they're wall pieces, need a pedestal, or are free-standing, need to do some sand-blasting. Need to count how many posts we have and get down on the first terrace, harvest what else we need. A day's work, not even, a morning's work and an afternoon drinking beer, admiring our haul. We'll probably damage the gallery walls, because we need numerous anchor points so we don't create a house of cards, but all shows damage walls, it's the nature of the beast. There needs to be a certain interconnectedness to the whole thing, lest it fall down, some diagonal bracing, attachment will be an issue, thought about it for several hours today, probing weak points. I can visualize things really well, if I focus my attention, to the point of being anti-social; plan several steps ahead like I never could in chess, and I see some problems but nothing we can't solve. We can't drill holes in the floor is the biggest problem, but we get around that using triangulation, long as we're tied together up top and the rails go all the way through. I don't see much of a problem, 2 weeks or 5 three-day week-ends, we'll do this. In my head today, thinking seriously about the show, it was spectacular. Will be. I have trouble with tense when thinking ahead, the future pluperfect; also there is a very large spider inside, I don't know what they are, October Spiders, I call them, monsters, but will have to kill it or sleep in a motel room, no way I could wake to that mother-fucker in the house. I'd be afraid to go anywhere, get a shoe and track him to the kitchen, smash him against the side of the island, with a satisfying mess: that's fine, I don't care, I'd rather clean up the mess than wake eye-to-eye. Fucking spiders, man, second only to snakes.