Ear Work

Anymore, having notes is a pain in the ass. They're a distraction. I like having a key word, fox or rain, or a phrase, janitor college, or slippery slope; something that allows me into the narrative. But I do hate transcribing. I write best out of the back of my mind, with very little intervention, except for The God Of Punctuation, that perches like a crow above my left shoulder, giving me a raft of shit, in a high-pitched voice, like a maiden aunt imagining some imposition. I set my table a certain way, not unconsidered, to allow for whatever whims and fortunes. An imperfect system, but it allows me to write myself out of a corner. Our town clerk is resigning to accept a job with Taco Bell, because it promises advancement and a huge increase in salary. Benefits, a retirement package. She'd be a fool not to. But I can't imagine a life spent working for Taco Bell. This is a kind of Calvinism that I can't really justify. Jana threw back that it was hubris, but I'm not sure that's actually the case; I don't care, one way or the other, what you think of me; I could disappear tomorrow, well might. I don't have to do this. I have a complete other life set up, on the sea islands of Georgia, as a short-order cook with an attitude. And another identity in Utah as one of the brothers. It's not difficult to impersonate an imagined persona. In many ways it's easier to be who you're not. Wish I hadn't said that, because it's so true, that it's so much easier to be who you're not. Babylon. A mental lapse, sorry, what were we talking about?