wildcat

A working, thus far: the automatic muttering of street names, not unlike running a finger down the phone book's columns. I called Beauty on the hotline through sub-vocal articulation and the operation of walking sideways to the wind; my body was a razorblade to air currents. Mason, Chambers, Grant, no exit, Balmoral, Fernwood, Vining, "without art, the reality of the world would be unbearable", Kings, Bay, Haultain; Fernwood meets Cedar Hill and blend together perpendicular to Ryan and Hillside. Hamilton: the address number on the side of the complex is slightly eskew. By operating these names, one can ask the Sun God: sharpen the shadows! Beauty. The synthesis of beauty, sunlight, wind, cherry blossoms caught, an empty storefront of Fernwood with junk and broken furniture, no door, and workmen inside. All is. One. The elusive. Number. Six.

The result was: an envelope, brown and from the government, waiting for me on the bedroom floor. Inside? Tax return, decent amount, the gaping maw of Oblivion and Existential Angst is driven off for what amounts to a day or so. I don't feel so bad about spending four bucks on a comic book. I can pay my phone bill, as well.

Also: wrote three pages in Serious Coffee on Fort Street, read some comic books I had with me, drank a Snapple ice tea that cost me two bucks.

The filming screening was unhitched; there were, as usual, the high quality, middle quality, and low quality. I'm fairly confident that ...By Lamplight was high, but it's also my baby, even if a demented one. Well, there was a hitch, but it was more of a personal issue that's been mended. Someone deserves a present for the patience of a saint, and that's that. Michelle finally got see one of my movies and we were allowed to be snobbish at all the right intervals.

And then Michael, Christian, and I got drunk in a park behind Michael's house, with homeless people in the distance and about half a bottle of vodka, then ginger ale with vermouth. There was scuffling and eventual passing out.

I woke up - still moderately drunk after a heavy four hour nap - at seven a.m. with the intent on making it to my final Art & Technology class. And I made it! I handed my response journals in to Brian and we chatted and then as soon as he disappeared for the class evaluations, I took my leave. Back down to Michael's house to drag the boys out of bed and head to Floyd's. So hungover. Michael complained about wanting to spawn babies because there was this cute little year-old girl tottling around. Spawning. Spent a heavenly hour in the Starfish gallery watching glass get blown.

I want to have skin made of luminous, super-heated glass.