MANNA (from Heaven)

Perhaps it begins with tuberculosis. It certainly starts with blood vomited on the floor in a potentially comical way. No one laughs, though.

The final show report says that the blood mis-fired ending up on her face for the entire show. Quite hilarious say the reports.

This is not part of the show but related, I think. There are people who have drawn their desk chairs into a circle and are eating chips from the packet under fluorescent lights early on a Friday night. I see them through an arched window and feel charmed by the intimacy.

Later in a bar a man whispers I LOVE YOU to most girls who pass and I think that people eating chips under fluorescent lights can share more.

At the corner of City Road and Carillon I feel euphoric for a moment. It strikes me as a revelation that perhaps compared to everyone else I might be in good shape. Even if I'm not, what would happen if I believed I was? Compared to most people I know I'm equipped. Compared to Tim. Which Tim? My Tim. I'm remarkable.

I feel fortified by a hair tie that's tight, holding things in place at the nape of my neck so that forward pieces can do their thing, create a boy shape from a time of breeches and conquering the world by sail.

I read about a girl daughter called Sailor who has been won in a custody battle.

I see other shows in my mind's eye. People walk in the door one after another and hang their coats on hooks on the wall. These people don't exist in the same space, but the planet is the same and that's the point. I think about walking down Oxford Street unable to stop crying. Lantana.

This show, MANNA, ends with fluorscent light that flashes quickly on and off, as if it's beginning, when actually it is going out.

The thing I most want to ask the pilgrims is why. Tim says he used to be a Catholic youth but now he's just anxious and paranoid. This morning I was bemused by Jesuswalk outside the Museum of Contemporary Art while listening to Berlin Chair. Tim can make me cry like Denton, not cry like Denton might cry but cry like Denton makes me cry most Monday nights.

I'm the blankest face you'll ever have to forgive.

Noonie says he seems in a bad place. Diminished, even. I don' t think I want to save him from himself any more. I've seen enough. Age is understanding. Are we wrong to love him mainly for disfunction, for debt, and his broken family? Love him from a distance because it amuses and entertains us. Went to school with Michael Batistich.

For every trouble you found, there's a drink to lose it or drown.

There's a piece of chewing gum in my pocket and it's got form. I've used it to cover onion breath before a meeting and then stuffed it in a wrapper in my pocket. On the train as I get my i-pod out of the same pocket the chewing gum drops to the floor and a helpful pilgrim points it out to me. He's expecting an exchange and I'm expecting to go back to the i-pod which is coincidentally playing The Devil by The Rapture.