March 16, 2012

Dream. Back in Akron. Mother had hired a yard guy who shot grass clippings through the windows while he was mowing, and came into the house with muddy shoes and the weed-whacker dropping clods of grass everywhere. I guess it was a racist dream, for the man was black, and I wrestled with the question of whether to correct him or to let it go “because he is doing his best.”

All Pets sent me a condolence card for Titus, signed by everybody there. Sweet.

Evening rain. Heavy. I was downtown today and was sprinkled on a couple of times, but it was never heavy. Painted and framed in the studio. My furniture looks great in the studio library. The scale for once is right; the pieces were too big for my room. Walked down to Marco’s shop and we went to MF for a drink. He has taken to cutting himself, not randomly but in three evenly spaced slashes here and there on his body. I was about to beleaguer him for that, but he said he is seeing a therapist. He looks good and bad at once– handsome and stylish, but also tired and afraid. There is a convention of tattoo artists at the Renaissance, and we crashed as much of it as we could without paying. We both knew a surprising number of people there, though it was never the same person. I lost my Malta cap. I hope it is in Marco’s truck.

Not one beggar in Valletta. I had to thread past SIX between Ananda and Short Coxe Avenue. One was quite aggressive, demanding why it was I would not help a veteran.

My ring finally came today from Wildfish Gems. My excitement drained away instantly, for the star sapphire, though sizeable, is grayish and lifeless.

When thunder rolls, Maud runs for cover and Circe opens her eyes wide as saucers. The lightning is pretty far away, but the thunder rolling from it is very strong. Heard a strange tapping, and my heart froze. The roof leaks. It is three years old. It leaks in the same place it did before. A few drops. Enough to break the spirit.