“We’ll learn a little later on that this is very important this precessional association, the way things come together rotatively like that.”  — Buckminster Fuller

Build-out nearly complete, I moved from my temporary to my permanent studio space in my same arts building yesterday. Once the materials are done off-gassing, this will be one of my best studios. The layout is ingenious, helped, helped!, by the very columns against which I rail.  I used them as creative anchors, boundaries, wall segments, and the space divided up marvelously, South facing windows and all.  We’ll see what July has to say about that. It’s ideal for the now way of working, with an actual sitting area that I can’t see from the work area, but, I can see the work area from it.  tricky.  It has to do with where I sit in each space. I set my tall table in the center of the workspace, like an island – just right.

X said, about how decoratively finished the current installation is and is not, I told him I am always fighting a fussy hand, and he replied, ‘don’t tell yourself you have that problem, because you don’t and you will work to correct it, and it won’t be the work.’  and he was brilliant about the color, brilliant, he asked, pointing a finger at it, why the, what about the color, why this color?  And then he looked at me and rotated his head sideways, his smile getting thinner as it curled ever upwarder in our tacit understanding that I obviously can’t answer it right away, so I must keep moving through it.

Machine makes a proposal, I still hear, that I have no music, that I have musiclessness.  I like the idea.  I will hear my tinnitus, like the constant thin whine of steam radiators, like tube TV’s on in the other room.

The musiclessness helps me absorb the moment – when a show comes down there is a feeling of time, of the past becoming itself out of everything we do, so that what it doesn’t get is the sound of the fan and the cool, nearly empty room.  I look over the studio door at ‘don’t give it a future,’ hand scrawled in graphite, and I’m not.  See.

I look at the optics work I did the day before the studio move, the last experiments in that studio. I see some uncanny visual similarities between this work on 4/22 and a graphite drawn piece I did in early 2010 …

                t 4/22/14   light                                                           early 2010 graphite on paper

or

  4/22/14  optic experiment                                       early 2010 graphite on paper

Machine, you think by making the words bigger that I am going to understand any better? Please try everything.

Later

I get stuck on a BFuller paragraph, and I can’t allow myself to go forward without feeling that I have absorbed all I can.  I am going through these transcriptions of lectures like a careful combing, I’ll need to know more about precession.  PRECESSION it’s typed in all caps, what way did he say it to cause that?  I think to lean my head back on the chair and let myself go into pudding-chinned sleep.

I think of paper roadmaps, i think of them just now in hope of seeing them fully in my imminent dream, unfolded and every route finger-followed to the next mysterious nowhere.  That way we don’t quite hear One An Other despite being the One and Very same being, with, with, a mutually agreed upon goal, still we don’t hear each other quite right, that way is the biofroth of thought, the shifted symmetry, the way we look like molds and fungus and cells of bone and wood, all this not hearing and not saying and ineffable unseeability makes thought look like the living rather than the sure edges and regular curves of mathematics and physics. The fact that we can see even in dreams ought to bring seeing into question.

This will be so pleasant, drifting off to Clapton and Winwood’s double trouble live from mm-hmm Madison Square Garden, drifting away from it and also toward it.

I see the dream