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diary entry 6.1.24
i鈥檝e been working at the wood store this week. the whole place may as well be a dream. a nice one. there is no front door, just a steep grade ramp. it鈥檚 a portal. i drag a too-heavy sign onto the sidewalk each morning at eleven, close to where the tram tracks kiss the curb. it鈥檚 all wood and brick and cement and sheer, sun-faded yellow and pink curtains and fourteen massive windows and the bones of a warehouse that has lived so many lives.
sometimes i don鈥檛 have any visitors. sometimes an older guy with a big smile comes in. sometimes a grumpy, quiet contractor. it鈥檚 important that they come in, it balances things. dom works around the corner. he brings me a greasy pizza and makes stupid jokes until he鈥檚 embarrassed.
i do my best thinking in here. it鈥檚 like an art studio for ideas and the computer work that i鈥檝e put off. music sounds better in here. it鈥檚 put me more in touch with songs that feels warm. the mahogany is wastewood offcut saved from a guitar factory.
today a woman was trying to articulate how good the wood store feels. all of the wood has had a life before it got here. doug fir, redwood, white oak, it鈥檚 all felt the hands and feet of people, taken a break, and been brought back to life here. it鈥檚 kind of a heavenly waiting room sitting in wait, ready for reincarnation assignment.
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something deeply intimate about being outside early in the morning all alone and seeing the world as she is
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hamster wheel of free life opaque future beautiful land intimate childlike love and a lingering cough
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