Nothing Matters

Senior year at undergraduate school, Janitor College, I was writing papers for everyone, it's how I earned a living. Three books, two hundred bucks, a black beauty, I can write a term paper on anything. I recently read myself quoted as gospel, five times removed, a turn of phrase I remembered from a paper I wrote for Joel when he was doing graduate study in Finland. Things only change in appearance, their nature is the same. A leaf, for instance, might be green and pliable, or brown and dead. Still, a leaf. There was this Janus festival every year, you walked through a doorway throwing salt over your shoulder; we carried braziers, swinging smoke everywhere. Now that I know I have to do all the parts. What if Emily interrupted you in the middle of the day? Say you were going about you business, chopping wood or carrying water, and suddenly an apparition in white questioned something you had done. Sweet baby Loraine. To round it out, I needed something more (moire) positive, like a fabric, or a way of seeing, and I was splitting wood; the grain, suddenly, made a kind of sense. Nothing matters, but occasionally something makes sense. I finally bust an obstinate knot and in the pattern of the grain I make a kind of sense. Tuesday or Thursday would be good for me. Have your people get in touch with mine. Make yourself easy.