Closing Loopholes

Monsoons. Sheets of rain, sweeping across the landscape. Coal sucks as a source of energy, it's so dirty, there's a spread of black grains at the bottom of the buckets of water I harvest; Coal, Anthracite, broken, specific gravity, 1.11, 69 pounds to the cubic foot; it settles out, I strain it through a clean old tee-shirt. Steve Winwood "But I can't find my way home..." Some of the rain is so hard, it begs the question. Sounds like gunfire. I seek a defensive position behind the sofa with my sawed-off shot gun. Good work day. Got most of the back hallway cleaned out, then spent several hours hauling debris, completely filling the dumpster we keep over at the Cirque. When I got back from the last trip, D was back from Athens with the print show that he selected from the OU collection. A hell of a collection, prints from all of the big names in printmaking from the last half of the twentieth century. It's going to be a great show, and it is such a relief to be dealing with art again. The schedule goes like this: work again tomorrow, finish prepping the main gallery, maybe get the signage and entry walls taped off and primed; rehang "Let Us Give Thanks" upstairs, in it's new location, pull the hardware, patch and repair where it was hanging downstairs, set and then hang the new show next week, lighting, labels; clean the floor, clean the kitchen, clean the theater, we've got events upcoming; then the next week, the big High School show, "Visually Literate" to install in both upstairs galleries and an opening for that. Dozens of other things. I think it's incredibly cool that the ladies who oversaw the redesign of the bathrooms didn't see fit to add toilet paper holders or towel dispensers; so you end up with this swanky new bathroom in which the roll of toilet paper is stored on the back of the toilet tank. Attractive. Maybe I misunderstood the directive. Hard as English is, it doesn't have enough tenses. I thought I had been clear enough. The world you work in, and the world of your mind, are not always the same. Does it count as an epiphany if you don't realize until the next day that something happened? Residual guilt. Expectations are the bane of existence. Seating, for instance. Best is just tiered rock around a natural bowl. The acoustics are good, the audience bring their own 'stadium pads', whatever they see fit to mediate between their ass and the deep blue sea. Fact of life is that audiences are fatter now, and they spring the joints on seats. What they need is just a stout flat surface, on which to spread their ass. I'm only speaking as a janitor here, but I notice certain things. A lot of people are very fat.