Something Simple

Brain dead. Tired feet. Much art work all day. Some good stuff, some great stuff, and some fairly shitty stuff. The usual gamut for this show, which is an unusual installation because it isn't thematic and every other show we do is. Tomorrow is the last day for submissions and it will be a circus, then the judging on Thursday. Kim was here, yesterday afternoon until this morning. Went to the pub, he sang a few songs, met John Hogan, himself. He'd brought a very good Single-Barrel whiskey, and we had a couple after we got home. I fixed us a decent supper of pork tenderloin medallions with a marinara of caramelized sweet onions and fire-roasted tomatoes, the sauce, and mashed potatoes. Talked into the night about our years together in theater, the designers we worked for, Herbert and Helen, and how that had affected our entire lives. Kim went to bed and I lifted the phone receiver, on the way to bed, and there was a dial tone, so I sent whatever had accumulated. I didn't read it, I just sent it, because I don't trust the phone. My favorite event of the day was Fatima coming in with three paintings, I'm infatuated with her. I want to lounge around in bed with her, after dinner and sex, and talk about the color blue. She smelled like a white flowery mystery. I had some other good moments, during the course of the day, but that one sticks out. I agreed with Sara that we had a show, and there will probably be another hundred pieces of work by the end of the day tomorrow. Sometimes I just use commas to slow things down. Like Emily, and her dashes. It's just a traffic monitor, not a point of view. No, wait, it is a point of view, not a traffic monitor, as it is a film. Remember that. I just recommend things, nothing I say is a mandate. Tom Speak the way you do.