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Fever
Okay, I really need to access some of these ideas. They, the ideas, are literally coming at me in the night with butcher knives drawn, hacking away in the darkness at my inability to pay attention. "Pay attention," the ideas scream, sometimes wearing the costume of me, my hand flailing, shiny blade finding no purchase.
What the hell do you mean to do they or I might ask, awake, again, on the edge of my fears.
It doesn't rain where I am when I am but of late the skies are striated shades of grey, offering meaning beyond my understanding.
I read of an art opening, saw a sample of birds on a wire spelling out clearly some message I can't remember. I thought it seemed kind of silly, but there they are now, on the wires above the auto title establishment, pigeons, less than random, spelling out in some language I do not read.
It has been warm here everyday of January. I don't wear shoes when I don't have to. Seems to fit the pattern.
Day Before Super Sunday
I went out looking for a smile today and despite the fact that I had no line, bobber, or hook, I snagged one after not too much fishing, so I was good to go. I read a while back about Golden Gate Bridge jumpers and this one guy, a survivor, I guess, or maybe this information comes from his suicide note, but he said the day he decided to kill himself that if on the way to the bridge he passed one person who smiled at him he would not jump. But you gotta at least consider, dude, how many people you passed were wishing for the same thing, from you?
After stuffing my face with enough food to feed a family of four I came back to New Orleans and walked it off in City Park.
You can argue that there are too many laws already and that YOU would act right without any restraints because you have some highly-tuned inner moral/ethical compass of common decency but I believe there to be way too much evidence to the contrary. Hey all you high end City Park dog walking excrement extruding celebrators--do you find nothing the least bit ironic or troubling about leaving the refinement of your palatial City Park area homes, going into one of the few serene environments that exist in this town, and then shitting in it.
Anyway, after stepping in the dog shit I crossed a bridge, walked past the new restaurant tent by that field in which the boys used to play football, and studiously avoided all the amateur Egyptologists milling around the NOMA.
They have a new sculpture garden in the park, just behind the museum, and it was free to enter which is how I like my art and I'm sure just sure it was all minor accomplishment and insignificant as art goes but good job Besthoff Foundation, did I misspell your name? It felt good to be inside the garden. I felt no more in tune with my fellow art lovers or time-killers than I did in that Dallas sculpture garden I visited over Christmas but…where ya gonna go?
I thought about walking the length of the park because I'm a hiker without a trail but circumventing the golf course was something I did not feel like doing so I just U-turned, celebrating geese and girls, and called it a minor circuit hike. Heading south in the truck back to my house I snaked through or over some bombed out roads and ended up on Bienville. When I passed Kjeans I saw Hot Crawfish scrawled on the blackboard outside so things are happening and I'm not (although crawfish this early in the season are likely to be small and therefore, possibly, overcooked.) I need to synch up. Oh yeah, that oughta do it.