Reset Fifty, Day Ten
Jul. 21st, 2024 06:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphSaturday the drywall guy was here, but he was hammering away in other apartments, and I was here enduring acid reflux, but around eleven I had to lie down and ended up falling asleep. If drywall guy ever knocked on my door I didn't hear him, and when I woke up about half past three he was gone, and my closet and bathroom still have unfinished drywall. I got no messages, so I'm twisting in the wind again. I sometimes think I succeeded at making myself invisible when I wished for that as a kid, and now people fail to see me. Like when you're warned that if you make that face it might stay that way. Like be careful what you wish for. I've heard nothing about what the unfinished plumbing will come to either. All is in limbo.
Anyway. Late Saturday afternoon I heard one of the big tanker planes fly over, and a few minutes later another one. Checking the Intarwebz I found that a fire had started about half past four, in the coast range near Clear Lake. Less than an hour later it was already up to 300 acres. a third plane flew over quite a bit later, but it was getting near night by then so they were probably grounded after that. So far I haven't heard any planes this morning, but maybe they are flying out of a different airport closer to the fire. Overnight it grew to about 2,500 acres, and is about ten percent contained. I'm just hoping we don't get smoke from it.
Some quite bad news is that next Tuesday will not only hit 109 degrees, but the overnight low will then be 80. I think 80 is the highest low we've had in all the decades I've been in Buttehole county. The whole week will be nasty, and each forecast they put out gets a bit worse. I've only gotten the apartment down to 78 degrees today, and the window of opportunity for getting it lower will soon close. I'll be lucky if it hits 77. I don't know if drywall guy will be back today or not. He said Friday that he might work on Sunday. But I think perhaps they have decided to leave my drywall repair until the plumbers fix their oversight of not hooking up the outdoor faucet, and that would have to wait until Monday at the earliest. Crap. I could end up with the back door being opened and closed repeatedly on superhot Tuesday. I strongly disapprove of this reality. ::flips God/ess/physics the bird::
Sunday Verse
by Al Purdy
Stayed up late
working on a prose piece
around 2 a.m.
when a great light bulged in at the windows
and peered at what I was writing
making it trivial
I drove there
half a mile away
in a kind of anxiety
for I don't know what
maybe fear of the red monster
I parked at a safe distance
while cops prowled around like sleepwalkers
dreaming of arson
with blank expressions
acting like they were needed somewhere else
while the planet burned
It was more than a fire
it was Genesis with a safety match
it was the Destroying Angel with a Bic lighter
— a worm of fear chewed my guts
but I wasn't afraid
it was an exaltation
a shiver at the edge of extinction
a godhead of transience
Meanwhile back at the barn
whiskered whirlwinds climbed the sky
fifty-foot timbers barn-boards steel spikes
and tons of nightmares
became weightless auroras
I stared higher:
the Big Dipper the North Star the
planets dangling like grapes
in a galactic vineyard
and even the home galaxy I'm standing on
all vanished
and words lost their connectives
I suppose it was "important" for me
to keep looking at
everything else diminished
including certainly myself
I went home and slept
and asked my questions in sleep
In the morning words returned
and the sun from a nest of clouds
and little diamonds of dew
sparkled in the pale white light
that filtered into my mind
and the clichés were restful
they made common sense
Anyway. Late Saturday afternoon I heard one of the big tanker planes fly over, and a few minutes later another one. Checking the Intarwebz I found that a fire had started about half past four, in the coast range near Clear Lake. Less than an hour later it was already up to 300 acres. a third plane flew over quite a bit later, but it was getting near night by then so they were probably grounded after that. So far I haven't heard any planes this morning, but maybe they are flying out of a different airport closer to the fire. Overnight it grew to about 2,500 acres, and is about ten percent contained. I'm just hoping we don't get smoke from it.
Some quite bad news is that next Tuesday will not only hit 109 degrees, but the overnight low will then be 80. I think 80 is the highest low we've had in all the decades I've been in Buttehole county. The whole week will be nasty, and each forecast they put out gets a bit worse. I've only gotten the apartment down to 78 degrees today, and the window of opportunity for getting it lower will soon close. I'll be lucky if it hits 77. I don't know if drywall guy will be back today or not. He said Friday that he might work on Sunday. But I think perhaps they have decided to leave my drywall repair until the plumbers fix their oversight of not hooking up the outdoor faucet, and that would have to wait until Monday at the earliest. Crap. I could end up with the back door being opened and closed repeatedly on superhot Tuesday. I strongly disapprove of this reality. ::flips God/ess/physics the bird::
Sunday Verse
Barn Burning
by Al Purdy
Stayed up late
working on a prose piece
around 2 a.m.
when a great light bulged in at the windows
and peered at what I was writing
making it trivial
I drove there
half a mile away
in a kind of anxiety
for I don't know what
maybe fear of the red monster
I parked at a safe distance
while cops prowled around like sleepwalkers
dreaming of arson
with blank expressions
acting like they were needed somewhere else
while the planet burned
It was more than a fire
it was Genesis with a safety match
it was the Destroying Angel with a Bic lighter
— a worm of fear chewed my guts
but I wasn't afraid
it was an exaltation
a shiver at the edge of extinction
a godhead of transience
Meanwhile back at the barn
whiskered whirlwinds climbed the sky
fifty-foot timbers barn-boards steel spikes
and tons of nightmares
became weightless auroras
I stared higher:
the Big Dipper the North Star the
planets dangling like grapes
in a galactic vineyard
and even the home galaxy I'm standing on
all vanished
and words lost their connectives
I suppose it was "important" for me
to keep looking at
everything else diminished
including certainly myself
I went home and slept
and asked my questions in sleep
In the morning words returned
and the sun from a nest of clouds
and little diamonds of dew
sparkled in the pale white light
that filtered into my mind
and the clichés were restful
they made common sense
