the drywall guys came this afternoon around 3:00 pm. so anna picked me up from work and to kill a couple of hrs we drove to the local ikea. and there at ikea they have these displays of living spaces of 300 ft or 257 ft complete with beds, kitchens, bathrooms, the works. and i stared at1 of these displays thinking, yeah that would be cozy in san francisco or nyc where rents and mortgages are fucking unreal.

our house is a california bungalow built in 1925. that is considered an old house by california standards. it is relatively small, only about 1300 sq ft but plenty of room for our 2 dogs, 2 cats, me, anna and nicholas. but living in only half that space as the remodel progresses and sheesh, it's a little tight. we have no kitchen at all, meaning either we eat out or nuke shit in the microwave which is resting on our dresser in the bedroom. we wash dishes in the bathroom sink. and the fridge sits 20 ft away from where i'm typing in the living room.

and the crews get here nearly precisely at 7:00 a.m. often i'm getting out of the shower and i hear a voice say, richard can i ask you a few questions.

oh and drywall smells a little like bread dough. a bit homey even. but not delicious. what the fuck.

i'll leave you with a couple of poems by john tyson. the dude kicks ass.

In Silence 6:25 a.m.

There by
The grace
Of God
We go,
Nature knows
No singularity.
As a bee
I cover you
Vomited sweetness
A pig
Fuck you
Corkscrew
Prick
& seahorse
Birth own kind.
Evan warned me
Against getting a tat
Of Ezra Pound.
"No Jewish woman
Would ever sleep with you."
"Perhaps," I replied
"Not Italians or descendants
Of Jefferson."


Prayer for the Dying
for James Liddy

As Oscar Wilde's
Rent boy
I change
The union rate
Promised dreams
Are only for the sleeping
& everything
Everything
Is over
Before
You think.