Burle’s a plumber from Durango CO. Lives with his wife Betty whom he met at a bar while playing bass in a band and she wanted a baby. Kenzy is 3 and a child genius “You want to live above a mountain house and hang out with a brilliant child?” t.b. Rides a cerulean '93 explorer, stick shift. Birthday is day after. Avoiding corn and wheat to see how his body reacts. Ate two squares of corn bread last night and felt awful. N g. As submodifier: to a very high degree. Archaic: vertically. Burle calls it rat-caving. I’d call it pipe-spelunking. Tunnel scrabble. Cave exploration. He said it’s just crawl-wriggling and knocking your head on shit.
Bluegrass tunes permeate the kitchen like his elk stew last Tuesday. (secret ingredient is thyme) Mandolin, harmon, dobro, bass, martin. Voices like mellifluous rivulets. Voice like a broken washboard, rusty.
“you could wait around all day for a mess a’ hippies.”
wage waitressing would be better than racing the sun
freelance on weekends
flowershop. Bloom. Recent favorites: coxcomb and heliconia.
Terracotta roses run riot. Folk Art.
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And from his lips escaped a hallelujah...
M.O.M.A. can wait, I was more having fun with the thought of a museum as a person... as a poor lost soul even. Usually museums are our monolithic towers to artistic exactness. Although we don't always know what good art is, if it's in a museum then there is this suggestion that it must be good. An absolutist's quality.
Well that museum is going to have to wait it's turn, because it's not bigger than you or me or jackie or the times we spend together. No one can tell us that it is and be right... That's the fun I was having. My imagination and I.
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