Sailing Along

A dream of dhows and felucas. An action figure of Sigmund Freud I almost took from the auction, a cigar in his hand. Already in the mid-eighties by 9 o'clock in the morning, I head off to the museum to read in the cool and quiet building. I love being alone there, refocus a light in the Carter gallery, lean with a pillow against the wall. Before noon I lock up and run out to the library, the liquor store, Big Lots for some thin socks to extend visits to the laundromat, then Kroger for some sale items to extend my food supply. I hate shopping, but with a sharply defined list it isn't too bad, mostly I buy liquids and meat, everything else comes from the farmer's market, and since I let everyone roll cigarets from my tobacco, I rarely pay anything. Right now, a rain squall moving through, and I consider shutting down, should have, because I lost power, but I had SAVED, which makes all the difference. I was hot on several things. I wanted to write a short essay called "The Origin Of Fruit Flies" in which I would propose my theory that they simply form from smell esters, a shaky idea; but I have no doubt, if you had a ripe tomato on a desert island, eight thousand miles from nowhere, fruit flies would materialize. But I was distracted by D's latest repair. A board member had asked him to repair a daughter's piano bench. I'm subject to fits, but this takes the cake. Assume you are even able to buy a baby grand piano, a good one, assume the bench. You don't buy that many pianos in a single life, you expect to pass them on, therefore the bench should be bomb-proof, it has to hold generations of music, it should not be a piece of shit with an expensive paint-job. This one is designed for failure, it offends me on so many levels I don't know what to say, maybe they meant that it should fail and you'd just call back to the manufacturer for a replacement. If you saw Guido tell him you didn't see me. "On The Failure Of Piano Benches" might be a better subject. You could talk about where you fell short of the line. One thing could lead to another. First thing you know, you're actually revealing something. When I'm mopping a perfect modified chevron, all the planets are held in place, there is no unknown, string theory makes sense, I understand everything and forget nothing, can poach the perfect egg, and answer all those questions about the nature of reality and memory. Not a big deal, simply living in the moment. Other times I'm so confused I can't take a step. The nature of things.