Deputy's Scones

So, the Deputy had phoned in that she was sick and probably wouldn't be in today. Not only had I bought her a scone, but they were hot from the oven. Pegi had a shit-eating grin on her face, hadn't had breakfast, bought the scone from me for a dollar. I don't usually deal scones. Several things: Level Of Trust (we've talked about many times this week), Boorstin Codification, how we become aware of some things we believe. What I mean, you know me, I float from position to position, I have a list, I try to cross things off. I do this, often, with one finger, an exercise. The Deputy finally went home mid-afternoon, we were driving her away, she was diseased and we were well, the sick should never be with the well. Glenn followed me in, we left an hour early, with blessings, stopped at B's to see the revealed crotch, and it's very good, a student of Praxiteles. Theories Of Attachment, the way things are joined. We're thinking now a bottom rail with a double stack of pavers. Something to hold things in place, some weight. These paintings, I used my influence as janitor to bring things to a head, wanted to see light on those canvases, what they could do, Sara and D could do this in there sleep, usually, but these paintings are difficult to light, because they pick up anything. The red Color-Field painting at the entry picks up a halo and we can't figure out where the fuck it's coming from, it's a reflection from an Exit Sign, we must fabricate a light deflector. I won't send this tonight, I have other fish to fry, you know what I mean, because we're addressing things differently, we're installing things locally. Remarkably Out Of Time, the third category; could be construed as simply too busy, what happens when you make things up as you go along. A kind of bath-tub ring, a level of sophistication, that place where words flowed as a matter of course. At first I had no idea what you were talking about, a real thing, something in the natural world, a bird or maybe a snail; something real in the natural world, a burl or a stump or even just a stick, a spider mired in a web, something. But what I had was office workers battling for a scone, cool in an almost sick way, D regretting he hadn't had his malaria shots, plagued by mosquitos, below the floodwall. Bugs don't bother me, I flick them off, I think it's merely a matter of my smell. Something simple. I smell like that. They're confused. Maybe I shouldn't. But of course I do, because I can't not. The Abstract Show is well hung, looks great, but our show is next, what we choose to expose. There's a difference. What's on the line. Consider the Phlox that would have been blooming. The wild mustard. Yellow and blue in a field of dying green. They cut everything. A slaughter. Busy week. McCord and son show up with beer and wine and a wild boar ham, then Glenn in to shoot more of the Wrack Show documentary, early evening, this would be last Saturday. So I made a big shrimp fried rice and we drank too much, fed everyone breakfast, McCord and son off for Columbus. Glenn starts filming, trip out to D's shop and we finally do some sandblasting. Have to install D's Abstract Show, "Distilled" at the museum but D has to get the calendar shipped out, electronically, and it's a huge file, so mostly I install the show, after all day Tuesday shifting every painting at least five times. 49 pieces. Must have walked 20 miles. Glenn filming at the museum and then, when we get home, he sets up equipage and I talk and cook, he asks questions, I answer. The Janitor At Home. Talk about the Wrack Show endlessly. Making people forget they're on camera is a trick. All week I'm just a step ahead, which is off-beat, trying to manage things. Once a Stage Manager. Glenn films B working on the Praxiteles torso, it's a sexy piece and I think Glenn caught me fondling it. The Naughty Nook, as we now think of one of the corners, either northeast or southeast, is looking better in my mind. A great session one evening, talking Theories Of Attachment. A note ( I took a few, but mostly too busy) that was something overheard, an email that said -this message has no content- and I considered that for a while. The Wrack Show carries no meaning, but then it does. No Left Turn Unstoned. Talking about the sign show with Glenn, another show I'd like to do, and he remembered that sign, from Ken Kesey's place, talking sign. I have a note that says -a second atom- and I have no idea what it means. There are several notes that can't be read. Wednesday afternoon, the color-field paintings were hung, and I was dying to see them lit, knew they were going to be a challenge. Pegi almost mugged me, for the second scone, The Deputy's Scone, I need to remember to hold a grudge and say something sarcastic to her, something not too offensive. Egos are delicate things. Eggs. Also, anticipation. Through all the pends and wynds, the way we carry ourselves reveals who we are. Thinking about that, the way we appear to others, realized my life was primitive, that I had reverted to an earlier lifestyle, no running water and an outhouse. You can fault yourself forever, but you are what you are. Not to draw too fine a point. I use a hard lead, and a gum eraser, change my mind often, it works for me. You have to find your way. As cold as that, otherwise nothing means anything, and I can't accept that. There are specific times and places where something made sense, give me a moment, I'll remember one.

Tom

I need to be doing
more than I'm doing
but I can't, I'm doing
all I can.