Mare Est

I don't like things up around my neck. I don't like crosses or anything with a collar. It chokes me. I wear chinos around the house, and whatever top seems appropriate, a fashion plate. As footgear I usually wear a pair of heavy socks, interim slippers that I use and throw away, I cut away the top elastic. I live in a hovel, not making sense to myself. I need to take a bath, but it's only Thursday. The sea is just a small part of my problem, Latin teacher excused. I harbor some deep resentments, shit, we all do, whoever we like least. That part of ourselves. A demon, but something we can deal with. I only ever met one alien, and I have to say, I held my ground. I'm sure we could just stop everything, go get a drink, roll a smoke. Sometimes I think I'm not the right person for the job, then I usually realize I'm exactly the right person. Ten minutes to spare, we got the show open, before the talk at noon. Technically we had until the preview / opening at 5:30. Opening night. A little party, finger food, free wine and beer. I had a bottle of whiskey upstairs and had a couple of drinks, several good conversations. The doll puppet lady, Pam, was there, and I told her about repairing the leg, D and I with our heads up her skirt, and I thought she was going to choke. She loved the museum, loved the show, felt good about herself for being included. Nice. Juliellen we've known for years, did the talk, and we had been goofing around all day, she's a hoot, fun to be around. Social animal. The finger food was good, I grazed all evening. Julie lives far enough outside Columbus that she can raise chickens, and several of us talked about chickens on and off with her, and with the older lady she brought down with her, who also raises chickens, and TR's family raises chickens on a larger scale. A surprising amount of chicken knowledge in a small space. Julie eats their eggs, but doesn't kill them for meat, lets them die of old age, what she called the Club Med for chickens. What we grow to expect, I file that thought away. We might could use it later. Future pluperfect, though I rarely think that far ahead. Even Julie, who is shown internationally, is proud to be in this show. I haven't even changed the calendar, I'm so far behind. What month is this? I'm exhausted, have to go to bed, finish this tomorrow. Slept well, woke up to pee, went back to bed. Later, in the haze slow waking on a day off, during the first cup of coffee, I put away a few books. There's a slot for Ehrlich's "The Solace Of Open Spaces" but it's next to James Clerk Maxwell's "Matter And Motion" and I pull it out, net gain: zero. Reading at breakfast (sliced tomato, fried eggs, toast) I stumble on a fact that will please my friend Kim, his favorite number is 42, that the heat required to raise one gram of water from 3 degrees C to 4 degrees C, is 42,000,000 ergs. Also: Energy is the capacity of doing work. Mine was severely depleted by the end of this week. Mute is different than off, I think, as I mute the radio; if I turn it off, it'll have to warm up again (it's an old radio), and I'd have to listen, again, to the static becoming actual words. Later, I make a pouch of Baby Reds instant mashed potatoes, sit at the island, eating them with a spoon, while I read yet another essay about Braque and Picasso. "Les Demoiselles d' Avignon" is one of the greatest paintings ever, it's in my top ten, right near the top, Picasso almost called it "The Avignon Brothel" and it wouldn't have made any difference what it was called. It's so dynamic, five maenads with piercing stares, the Cubism, for me, just makes it more real. What we actually see. I would sell my soul to have been with the two of them when they visited the caves at Altamira. Date Modernism from right there. Odd that it took a look at the extremely old to advance the future. I don't know enough about Braque.