Perigee

The moon is as close as it gets. Full, tomorrow, will be the largest for years. Finished the walls in the basement and it's a dramatic improvement, isolates places that need isolating. One space, now enclosed, can morph into a greenroom for the theater. A place to lounge. Still have water issues to deal with. I clean the new space, think it all works pretty well. Built a nook for the prop table and fridge. Some doors that we left standing, now make sense because of the walls. I don't think we ever drew any plans, just empirically connected wall planes. Some of the concrete work, the basement of a bank, is fairly crude, massively overbuilt and crude. The wall planes are skewed. K is in, in the afternoon, to man the desk, and I talk with her about museums and life. D and Sara emailing back and forth about the brochure for the new membership drive is pretty amusing. One liberty I allow myself, as the person in charge of the library, is that I can check books out. Started a biography of Thomas Hart Benton we had, and I'll need to bring it home for a few days. After I finish the new Fuentes. So many books. Anthony was at the back door, quitting time. I had asked him for a glossy black bowl, to replace the one that had been stolen, and he had for me this utterly beautiful vessel. He'd just made 80 bowls for a benefit or something, and I seem to have gotten the pick of the litter. I have a lot of bowls, as it happens, because I like the possible shapes; I like the idea of containment, wherefrom I'm spooning my chicken soup. I had set Anthony's bowl, on the white synthetic cutting board, centered on the lower tier of the island, adjusted the track lights. Anthony's bowl, installed, at my house. I start pulling out other bowls, I stop myself at 20. I know I have to put them all away again, and I have bowls everywhere: on the stairs, on the drain-board, on the island, an ephemeral installation of bowls. Most of them are handmade. I imagine a show that might be based on the concept of vessel. Put the bowls away, Anthony won best in show, probably means I don't want him to know. Wait, fuck, I lost some lines, there was a transition, something about the chicken or the egg, it flew past, so fast I hardly breathed, but I remember something. A bat wing, the way your wrist smelled, tangled up in glue. Clearly, you need an alibi, where were you last Tuesday? Oh god, now I remember, I was taking notes. That was this.