Toasted

Nothing quite like an Irish Whiskey tasting half a block from where you're sleeping. The sheer convenience of it. A dozen of us, sampled four, then Lee, next to me, ordered shots of three others, then the owner came over. I'd brought over the Johnny Walker Blue, that I more or less liberated from Florida. Karol had brought it over to drink, on the porch, at my parents; but there was a lot of other things to drink. The whole history of designer rums. So I took the scotch out of circulation, brought it back to Ohio, keep it in the vault at the museum. Had it here since Thanksgiving an still three-quarters full. At the pub I stand four, and then a fifth, to a taste, which then grants me a taste of Jameson 18 year old. A couple of draft Guinness, to cleanse the palette. I would never do this if I had to drive, period. Would not. And it is really nice to lay back, in a comfortable pub, and shoot the shit. I can do a line of talk, on a great many levels, about a great many things. Read 2 or 3 hundred books a year for 55 years and you can pretty much bullshit about anything. Really connected with the pub owners, Barb and John, tonight, We settled at the far end of the bar, and people came to us. Lee, a customer, and good friend of the owners, became the bartender for a while because John's leg was bothering him. I'm sitting there, watching, and participating in social interaction, and I think about how far off the ridge I am. Was then, when I was thinking about it. Which I remember now. Three removes in the blink of an eye. Ally ally in free. Trying to learn the language. Another plastic medium. I was taking signage off the wall today, vinyl detail, and I, as we, often do, left some words, plucked from the words that composed the signage. A cool medium, a deconstruction, whatever. Fact is, you can create meaning from left-overs. I don't know what that means. Interpretation is at least as difficult as translation. I left a message for D, in the Richard's gallery, it read:

INK SMALL
fen lit

and I liked it, it was suitably ambiguous, which gained stature for me, and seemed to be saying something. I listened, I'm a good listener; probably I was only ever laid because I listened. Originally, I thought I might be a lawyer, because I could imagine arguing my defense. More recently I wouldn't argue anything. Too much bother. Thought, like grass, should be mowed. Otherwise you end up with pre-verts. And verbs. Then nouns. God-damn mother-fucking language. What I'm thinking, is that I'd be more use to the movement, if I just died on top of a pole. We could get good coverage, Diane Sawyer. I'm not even tempted. I'd much rather die unknown.