Saturday Follies

"The world is full, saturated with images..." Alberto Boatto, Making Good Use of the Banal. Thinking about Pop-Art. Plenty of time to think because I cleaned and sorted the top tray of the job-box. The entire box is two feet by four feet, and on it's dolly, is a good working height (about 38 inches); the top tray is 24x42 and only three-and-a-half inches deep. We can lift it out to access storage underneath. Desperately needed sorting and there was already a table set-up from striking the fabric show, You need a table to spread things out. The top tray contains thousands of fasteners, hangers, brackets, mirror clips, velcro strips, tools, drill bits, shims, things I don't even have names for. The way it goes with the top shelf is we string it out as long as we can, there are a lot of other priorities; then one of us gets a wild hair, occasioned by a particular irritation. We let it go too long, always, because we can find what we need, and time is the issue; but it's my nominal day off and I wanted to organize the job-box on my own time, not be accountable for billing hours. What happens, over the course of time and numerous shows, is that other tools and items tend to migrate up from the basement, into the job-box, bolt-cutters and cold-chisels that you only need once in a blue moon. You need to keep the right-handed monkey wrench in the basement. Casual word of advice, otherwise your tool-belt weighs forty pounds. I don't go to the pub, because I don't want to have a conversation; content with the dialog going on inside my head. Everything complicates, nothing furthers. G. Spenser Brown. Wait, that was someone else, a poet I knew? Blood sweat a scant answer, what you think you might have remembered. Then the bus-boy slams through the double doors and says there's a car waiting for you. Right, OK, sure, let me look at the skid tracks, and see what I might have seen happen. I'm not naive, but I don't give a shit. Not to speak too fine a point.