Woodpecker

In scene. The weight and height of anything. Some people pass, they're talking. Once in a while something someone says makes sense, otherwise it's gibberish. Look out kid, it's something you did. We were smoking, at the loading dock, and D mentioned one of the other Golden Boys (we call them Bronze) was Serbian, I mentioned that I had a Serbian dictionary, Sara said "of course you do", and I brought it in so he could learn some stupid idiomatic phrase: "your shoes can barely walk", or "hit me in the head with a wrench", and thereby confuse relations even more. It's telling, that would be the first thing I thought, but maybe not serious, I might just be making a joke. I often don't know what I'm saying, but words have meaning, so anything you say should, therefore. Meaning accrues. Just because you're not looking doesn't mean nothing happened. Think about Heraclitus, drainage; in Aurignachian it's easy to draw a river. You can more easily depict than you can say, water, for instance, or fire, a couple of strokes and you know what I mean. I should think about some other medium, because writing is so hard. I could make music, or whip physical things into shape, plastic things, but language interests me, materials being merely what they are, a kind of raw fodder. The stove is acting up. I really should do something, but I don't have a clue. The world, it seems, operates in a track, if you don't catch the rail you miss the point. I only have clues, but I'd guess you're a mixed breed, don't fit, easily, into any category. I might be talking about one thing and mean another. Another problem with language is you rarely know what's being said. If you pour a bracket in cast iron, it's real, there it is, we have it as an actual item, if you only imagine it, making the mold, pouring, it becomes fiction. What's the difference? You could argue that you might hold the piece in your hand, but I'd question that, what you thought you were doing. It might merely look like you were holding something. An optical delusion. When it comes right down to it, I'm a theoretical kind of guy, I don't even believe what I see. What's real? What's red? Is that really a chair? After falling on my ass several times, I no longer sit on holograms. You can always tell, they sparkle, that new generation of vampires, in the daytime. Talk about a love-hate relationship, the crows were back, I thought they were talking bullshit, then one of them said something that caught my attention. I don't speak much crow, but I'm pretty sure he was referring to my mother. Music is confusing. Steady drumming, first Pileated Woodpecker of the season, I always forget how large they are, parks on a nearby hickory tree. Beautiful creature. Familiar behavior. I've watched them so much, over the years, this one isn't really hungry, kind of slash-dash. I love it when they cock their heads to listen closely and hear if any bugs crawl beneath the bark they've pounded. Just enough left-over mashed potatoes to make crab cakes, so I do, just crab and scallion, salt and pepper. The mashed potatoes had butter and cream. Left-over mashed potatoes are a great thing, just fry them, or use them as a binder, so versatile. These were wonderful cakes, golden, fluffy; made a nice sauce from mayo, a dab of Dijon mustard, some sweet relish. Excellent, but a summer supper. I need to get some corn-meal mush, I need to make some acorn-meal mush too, come to think of it. Straight corn-meal mush is almost as bland as acorn meal, but I love the way it can dressed; I've eaten grits my whole life, in one form or another, it's all in what you add. I won't bore you with a list, but when it comes to mush, I've tried a lot of toppings. A red onion jam I make that is killer, anchovies, various cheeses, a long list of pepper and onion combos, a vinaigrette that would offend many of my friends, based on bacon fat, but I'm not going to start a list. I don't want to go down that road. I always hear voices in the night, having heard voices once, you always hear voices. This is a spiral, and all down-hill. I just want to go home, I'm a fucking hermit, for god's sake.