Blackberries Blooming

Everyplace a tree has fallen, wherever a logging crew has worked, if there's a patch where light falls, the blackberry immediately intrudes. Ubiquitous and common. Reading Kant and getting a headache. I'd rather direct the flow of water with a screwdriver, which I've done, on occasion. "Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals" is an odd book, because it speaks directly. Ignores the bullshit. Not unlike reading Emily. Just saying. Or reading Umberto Eco on the platypus. The most difficult book I've attempted in years. I'm the docent of choice, when it comes to the Carters. One of the Art History teachers called me out yesterday, D rolled his eyes, but I'm good at this, I easily deflect any blow... when it comes to what I know. Took a couple of tours through the permanent collection and I was very good at drawing them into the pieces. Informed bullshit. I can go off, you know, sound like I know what I'm talking about. Fool myself sometimes. Fuck a bunch of cherry trees. When the blackberries are blooming all's right in the world. That spectral white against a dark green background. Not spectral, a soft white, red not blue, and when I go get my glass, I see pink veins, running toward the outside. A hidden effect. If it hadn't been for my glass I never would have noticed. But of course the pink makes sense, I was seeing something warm. Red, not blue. Huge difference, really, the difference between night and day.The Lyrid showers, another example. What you see. Going back through"Varieties Of Visual Experience" and I've got dozens of markers, notes that need to be transcribed before I can take the book back to the museum library. That pretty much used up today. Big winds. Power was out for a while this morning. Because of that book, I spent much of the day thinking about the role of distortion. The way Modigliani painted Anna's face like an African mask. Very beautiful, and he used that same face on the last nudes. I'm looking at one right now. Braque and Picasso were looking at the same African masks. Then those caves and the over-drawing, image over image. It's an interesting process, coming to understand something. BIG winds, better save. 40-50 mph and the newly leafed trees are dancing. I can feel it in the beams of the house, transferring load. Send Later is the 'Save' program when you're working in the Mail Waiting To Be Sent file. Like I say, I need to change the way I work. Much cooler, frost warning for tonight, which means the May-Pops, down on Mackletree, will take a hit, they're extremely sensitive. The corn, in the bottoms, is still underground, so it'll be fine. So many shades of green in dappled light. It's a lovely thing, with that soft susurration all around. Usually, a day like this, you get a couple of cart-wheeling crows, but I haven't seen a single bird all day. I made polenta that I molded in frozen orange juice cans. I don't particularly like frozen orange juice, but in the winter, weight is an issue. I can always melt snow for water. So I keep them, the cans, and I can reuse them, several times, so it's a sensible investment. I drink a lot of juice, between a pint and a quart a day, depending on circumstances, a lot of different juices. Recently I've been unsuccessful finding a frozen tangerine juice that was one of my favorites, as a juice, but came in that smaller can. Makes these small polenta rounds, but you can arrange them in tasteful piles and do things with the toppings. I'd only found a few morels, but I had some good fresh eggs and a small container of salsa I picked up somewhere, good stuff, made recemtly. I browned six of the little polenta rounds in sweet butter, dressed a perfect plate. Two of the rounds were covered in mushrooms cooked in butter, the next two were covered with a perfect fried egg, and the final two swam in an amazing gravy that I cobbed together out of various pans. Some chicken stock, some cream. The final gravy is always the best. That accumulated flavor of the day. I have to go, I might have to kill a dog. Tom I didn't have to kill the dog, thank god, there was a female in heat, or something, that drew his attention away, but if he had snarled at me one more time, I would have blown his head off. He was disturbing my concentration. Pets, and partners in general, are a hell of a distraction. I'd rather live alone and be lonely.