Yes, But

I either am or am channeling a demon. I don't know what to say, I don't believe in the supernatural, but there it is. I can bend spoons, unlock doors, I do this as a matter of course. I don't consider it unnatural to see what is in front of my eyes. What is. You can deny almost anything except what is. It's a door, it's a chair, whatever. When I walk into a room I look around, see what I can lean on. It's a little like lying, the crutch. Often, I get a drink, look at the room from the other side, sometimes it's almost the same, sometimes it's different. A good friend recommended aspirin. I thought about that. What it meant. Took a walk in the woods instead. The snap of the clippers makes a certain sense. These dead make no claim on the future. It's just a graveyard. Bodies buried thus. Saw a morel, never found any there before, assume the position, hands on knees, bent over, to lower the angle, look around carefully. Six more, nice ones, one is the largest this year, inch-and-a-half in diameter, five inches tall. Excellent. Duxelles, or something close, I'm thinking, something halfway between a mushroom hash and mushroom pate, chilled enough to set, on saltines. I chop them into quarter-inch dice, brown them in 3 tablespoons butter, caramelize an onion, mix them together, add a little chicken broth, a splash of white wine (should be brandy, but I can't seem to keep any), I smash some pistachios, add them a pinch of nutmeg. I get two ramekins worth, let them chill. I first had this in Moab, Utah, a very good steak house with outdoor tables. I was just separated, living out of my truck, finishing an addition on a house (where I would eventually live a while) for a lady that was one of the foremost authorities in the world on that crust that protects the desert surface. I had park passes and just slept in my truck, usually ate grilled meat and potatoes. My kitchen was a rack I pulled from a stove at the dump and a roll of aluminum foil. Primitive. But I was making enough money to stay in town, once a week, at the cheapest motel, take a shower, and eat at the steak house. I'd be meated out, so I'd always have an order of the pate and a large salad with blue cheese. The owner let take over a table for the evening, outside, the least used table, under a bug-light, and I'd retire there with my unabridged and a writing tablet, drinking a few whiskeys after dinner. After the first few times they stopped charging me. They used wild mushrooms too, but mostly meaty porcini from the LaSalle Mountains, right outside the door. The Lasalles must be the first range, in the Basin And Range that extends to the Sierra. I love them, I owned a house, briefly, half-way up them. Mushroom city. I eat a lot of mushrooms, probably, by normal standards, maybe 50 pounds a year, 40 pounds of those I harvest wild. I never have enough, dried, for winter, so in the winter, I buy. I made a mushroom ketchup once, and it was wonderful, but you have to be many pounds ahead before you think of that. I made a black walnut ketchup, too, and then wondered what the hell I meant by ketchup. Something that flows slowly? There's a scale, I know there's a scale, for, you know, things that flow slowly. A molasses index. The honey trail. Something. Probably Redford has done a film about it, I only get things second hand. I have a new DVD player, Glenn thought I was deprived, but my TV died so I can't play anything anyway. The microwave died too. Equipage fails me, I'm a classic case: the man who thought with his fingers and soon expired. Making love, for instance, what do you do if the other party, above or below, dies? 911? My partner is dead, we seem to be stuck. What you really want is a shower and a new lease on life. Excuse me, I tend to project, what I'd want, in a particular situation. Not unlike hanging this show. What D saw is I can hang his shows for him, I'm a tech person, after all, someone that can make it happen, we realized how we could move forward. Yes, of course, one careful step at a time. Fuck you, if that doesn't get you there fast enough. It's an arduous path, where you're going, the rewards are worth the price, whatever the dollar value. If you paint yourself into a corner,. you apologize, move on. The future is always open. Even though I always know you'll bring me down. Hey, I love you anyway, something about the way you move.