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epistle log 9ine
king of the fly rail
so i'm sitting here in the dim light with this old old old notebook and a cheap pen beginning the second of a set of double runs. climbing a ladder with one hand is no fun, and my knee is trickling blood gently. I was talking to krista at fourth meal the other day, and my favorite interview question came up: "what is a trick question?" which somehow lead to explaining the taste of root beer to a frenchman which is an ingenious concept on her part: what does root beer taste like? it's like explaining the color red or proving the number two. a fun game of which one tires quickly. like chasing ones tail, or trying to draw those boxes with the x's in the middle.
so anyways here i sit, with a box of padlocks sans keys, assorted gauges of rope, my twisted xlr and a loose headset, my pulleys, counterweights and spike tape, hemp splinters in my hands and hemp dust everywhere, in my last pair of shorts and clean socks, hair unwashed, crick in my neck and one hell of a 60 cycle hum (plus static) in my ear realizing how annoying actors can be when en masse on stage not acting. i used to act (not well, but i did) but i was never one of them. i hung with the crew. and so now, here i sit, the new guy on my 4th day of work, King of the Fly Rail.
yea. good stuff.
so i find it strange for the eLog to be present in this form: so tangible and so . . . permanent. not romantic in the slightest: this paper will not be sealed with a wax signet, will not be stuffed into an envelope with rose petals or obscure quotes from j noble or p neruda. no, to be true to form, this will be typed, published, posted, and then this paper will be destroyed. completion of this act, already tainted by this proof: no forethought is right: this ought be like a cache burst: dirty, rough and hurried. as it is now. and yet this is destined to be refiltered.
like so many of the leaves from this notebook: either carefully reread and eventually held in the front cover: never to escape this black hole of ink, paper, dust and spills. or it is immediately loosed from this binding, off to search its purpose.
release
04|30|98