Can't Abide

Some things in Marx are correct, I can't abide anyone making a class distinction about me. It rankles. I get along with most members of the board, I'm an easy going guy, really, my demands are slight, a tree-tip pit and a blanket, maybe a tarp, if I'm lucky. I can grill a roadkill behind the barn. You'll never know I'm there. Who am I to ask any questions? Merely the janitor and I need some sleep. High level shit is beyond me, mostly what I do is stock the bathrooms with toilet paper and towels, mop the floor in a pleasing pattern, nod, graciously, in the direction of whatever. A greater power. Talk with you later. I docented a couple of groups, high school art classes working in the residency. They enjoy my wit and my slightly trashy way of talking about low art. I know all the teachers, and they know I wouldn't go too far over the line with anything, but that I walk that edge, you have to, to talk about art. It runs the entire spectrum. So it's the next day. I'm confused because I'm writing at both places again, on different equipage. All I want to do is record a sequence of events. Watched Terra Nova on Hulu, and I don't know whether it might be a 'good' show or not. Failure to follow instructions could result in death. Written right on the side of the tank, right under the word, in large bold type, it said EXPLOSIBLE, and I wondered where this tank was made. I ask Tom The Boiler Guy if we were following instructions and he laughed. When Mad Tom gets out his miniature welding tanks, if I were you, I'd disappear. He knew he could blow us off the scale with enough reserve to cushion our landing. I'm petrified, I can't imagine heating the area, just outside where the nut anchors, in an room where natural gas flows, with a fucking torch; when where I want to be is in the vault, behind several feet of reinforced concrete. Not that I don't trust Tom. Trust is everything, a black snake, a narrow fellow, ultimately you're left with just yourself, reefing on a wrench against a previously completely locked nut. We popped it free, a cheer went up from the four people who were actually listening. The actual repair took a matter of minutes, figuring out what needed to be done took a matter of days. Anthony calls. Shit, now we have to deal with the real world. So, man, how do you feel about that?