Fairly Precise

I try to be clear. Thinking about that today. For a great many years I was remarkably opaque. Interestingly, it's more difficult to be fairly precise than it is to just let your imagination run. For me, at any rate. There's a small yellow flower in the spring that I often get down on my knees to examine. It grows in disturbed ground, often in the medians of dirt roads. Prolific. They promise warmer weather, but are usually covered, once, by snow. Lovely little things, and so bright it breaks your heart. Next will be those miniature iris, I don't really know what they are, either, that are a deep purple, and are so small I use a magnifying glass on them. They're perfect, one of the most beautiful things in the world. They don't smell, that I can detect, and I thought about that for a while. They don't have to, because the pollinators are looking for color. Fucking winter, man. It's amazing we don't all kill ourselves. Add a basement disaster, kick in a few of the dead and dying, and I could go for a Murphy's with a Paddys back. K had retyped that last page I finally sent, back into a sendable form. I'm so slow with two fingers, that I cramp up, so I tend to not correct errors. But I wanted you to have that two-day page, because if you didn't have it, you'd be out of the loop. Clearing a Class Three Site is quite complex, I don't want to get too technical, but there are stations of the cross. It's hard to predict but easy to say, when the shit hits the fan. I'm a Structualist, for gods sake, I'm generations behind, I just write words and place commas. Really, if you isolated me, a monad, nothing special. I can barely tie my shoes. Not quite enough, when they give a detail, a video, and it's not you, really, it's another skinny white guy with his hat turned backwards. Look around you. This is what you are become, other, not me, K commented on the commas, I appologize. I thought something, I was off, somewhere. Hang on here. I was right, correct, when I said I couldn't connect with anything other. Feigned ignorance. I actually connect fairly well when there might be a conversation worth having. Often poignantly contrary to what is expected. Charon is the only satellite of Pluto. also that ferryman. I was looking something up that began with the letter 'c' and one thing led to another. I forgot the word I was looking for. Charmeuse is a satin finish silk. A charmed particle is a particle with nonzero charm. Charnel house is a repository for the dead, from the Latin carnalis, of the flesh. Carrageen is the same as Irish Moss, which I have eaten, on occasion. Squamule is a lovely word. Means a small, loosely attached thallus lobe (means undifferentiated in shape) of certain lichens. Some of the stones, literally just rocks, in my graveyard of neglected graves collapsing, are spotted with squamule. As a rule, I seldom panic, in spite of everything anyway. D acknowledged that I handled the shit-storm very well. It's nice to be appreciated. Circumstances having been what they were. Music event at the museum, two actually, Steve Free played his brand of singer/songwriter for gifted high school students this morning, then a group called Local Girls playing right now. Free food and drinks, nice turnout, lights down low and a sound like the Andrews sisters. One of the board members, sends another board member upstairs to get a real drink off me. Pretty funny, really. I tell Terry to add ice and a splash of water, knowing how Julia drinks her bourbon. They want a lighting effect, that they can't really have, to mark Earth Day or something ,and It's hard to think fast enough, to come up with something. This was in the middle of the performance, right after Julia had requested a drink. A little late in the game. I cob something together. Dimmers played with four hands. Also, the Extraction Company had sent a man over to turn off all the blowers and dehumidifiers and then to come back and turn everything on after the show. Glad I was there. When the event is over, K's friend Seven, has some people visiting from all over the place, a kind of reunion, and I tour them through the various galleries with a line of talk. I enjoy them, they're bright and vibrant, exuding a kind of sophistication not common in these parts. I enjoy the company and the stimulation. If I can't read and write, I'd rather listen and talk. But I've been wearing my work boots for 16 hours and I really want to flex my toes. When they leave there is suddenly quiet. Engaged with people, most of the day, it's interesting when that filter is pulled out of play. Pressed into service,, I do well as a docent, I know too much, which serves me well. I serve a function. If you need somebody, call one. understood. Me.