They’ve been at it for weeks, now. We just left, but now we’re back. And they’re not away. They’re still there. I met my husband in Cairo three years ago. We wondered about the construction of the pyramids. How could they? So, that and whiskey really made for a great honey-moon. Those peaks, I’ve been at Kilimanjaro, but that’s natural. I’m talking man-made. What’s great about the pyramids, and what’s great about architecture, is that it’s hands-dirty man-made shovelled-up shit. I left butter out to melt. What’s wrong with… me? I didn’t even eat eggs.
Pile beauty on top of beauty, cheese-up your sandwich. Oh I like big things like that. Big things like Cairo and big carrots. Yes, so now we’re back here, but why are they still working? I can see them, occasionally at least, hanging, literally enough, outside the window. They’re building something, but that’s why – right? That’s why it’s a building, it’s a building ‘cos it’s built already? If they built it in 1976-7 – OK not these lads, but other operatives - then why are they - I mean these guys - back? It’s always window-to-window movement. It’s done, but it’s never over. I can see clearly, somewhat, through their lies. What am I thinking, they don’t even speak! They’re there, we’re here, never the twain… Oh, that reminds me, yep, got to meet Daniel outside the dorm. Imbue some maternal, constructive criticism for his stupid career choice. Well. Later. Not yet.
Outside, it’s warm. Inside… Then why do we even have central heating in the house? But what if fires were started out of thin air, like match-magic? What if it’s like a matter of policy or stuff? They made these rules. Who makes these rules, and why do I care? I need to finish my breakfast before dawn. It’s illegal.
The firm that bought our last house turned it into an office. More people than ever before. Big venue. We piled our own stuff in boxes. Moved it around, here, and then forgot about it. These boxes are lying in vertical piles behind the quick-peak closet. They are neatly arranged, but worthless. Like Ascii art. Or like my horse sketches. Well my cousin told me a story about horses which was funny. Apparently they like to build up steam right before the collapse. Like they gasp for air just before they die. It’s an instinct, to focus energy like that. Elephants and mosquitoes. Everybody dies. I won’t though. Reminds me of mother. She wasn’t supposed to die. But she liked to make plans. She was into personal development, like creating one’s self out of nothing. But she got nothing, she became nothing. Which is ok. Some people - they don’t even have money, much less nothing.
Oh. I can see the men at work. Now they’re working on some new brickwork or iron grid or whatever. I can see. The window let’s in air. I the window-sill… What’s wrong? Who left the butter, I don’t think it was me. I don’t destroy things.
