No Plan

My plan is to play it by ear. That old song. Hum a few bars. The river is high and it's raining again. My baby left me and I'm drinking Sterno. The outhouse is flooded and my boots have sprung a leak. My dog was run over by a train. New book by Skip Fox, Delta Blues, and it's playing with my head. Mississippi memories. I wanted Banty Chickens, the little guys that fend for themselves, roost in the trees, require no attention, and there was an ad in the weekly paper that baby chicks were available in Avalon, so we drove over, a 30 minute drive, to get a couple of dozen. Mississippi John Hurt was from Avalon. Dig out some tapes and play a few cuts. My blues collection is extensive, listen and weep. Raining hard, but I don't worry, collect water to bathe this weekend, mindless in the drone. The staccato beat is like a dulcimer, rain on the roof. Doctor John was surprised I don't play an instrument, can't read music, how I get by, crippled thus. I told him I write to explain that very thing. Melanie played the guitar, almost every night, until her fingers bled. I'm like that. Who was I reading, oddly, Raymond Carver, using simple language, digging for the heart of it. I'm thinking about this opera libretto, Missip white trash, going to the store for gum. On the way, they talk to a crow, kill a snake, everything matter-of-fact. The sub-text is they're talking about a crime they might commit, nothing comes of it, they get their gum, go home. Profoundly stupid. It interests me. An installation with sound. Pegi talked with me today about an installation we might do together, staircases and slithering dancers, and I realized that could be part of the opera I wanted to do with Barnhart. Take every advantage of the talent. There was this guy at Janitor College, Lamont, a simple doofus with no claim to fame, his one talent was blowing out candles with his nose: to his credit, he could direct a stream of air, I'm not unlike him, when you think about it, snuffing flickers. Freud is interesting, Levi-Strauss engages my attention, but what is the point? Here you are, what do you do with that? Musing.