All Black

It's easier to turn white black than it is to turn black white. Wore out a roller. I don't have enough linens for the reunion and I need a pillow case for my writing pillow. I need a crew to clean off some flat surfaces, can't find the dining table, buried under paper. The paper/book situation is approaching hopeless. Piles. I brought home a dozen Architectural Digest today, Sara was throwing away, from the 80's. Outhouse reading material. I should put a shelf next to the back door, with the roll of toilet paper, which, currently, residing on the island, makes a connection most people don't want to make, when they're eating. So a shelf would be cool. I, of course, as a janitor, am a student of shit, maybe, even, at this point, old as I am and having endured, a master of shit. I have a nice little collection of serious books about shit. When I was researching composting toilets I became the go-to guy when it came to shit. Seriously. Having the theater black again is such a relief, all's well, set out the ghost light: usually a bare bulb with cage, on a stand, center stage, when you put a theater to sleep at night. I either wax or wane, depending on the moon. A creature of habits. Theater was the perfect formal education for me, prepared me for the world. I had no idea, then I did. That whole concept of vertical integration, where you learned to do everything as a matter of course. I see these tows, even though they're being pushed, going upstream, the churning wake, I'm sure I'm looking at a lot of horse-power, it's impressive, I get distracted, what's new? I produce a paragraph that describes whatever moment. I do this without thinking. What you see. The birds are important because they direct our attention, the way they flapped. Listen, I'm as stressed as I could be.