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Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Rubble Double

Word of mouth has it that about every 40 years or so, the management here hires a company to literally re-do the masonry. About five surely, silent, men have started taking down the hall ceiling with jackhammers and today a fine layer of dust has seeped through the door cracks and coated everything. Everything. Every book, sculpture, painting, pillow... I feel it in my throat. (though admittedly that could be the remnants of the cold I have been fighting for the last two weeks).
So what is the metaphor? The ceiling is coming down. Every surface and chachka I own needs to be wiped clean. There is no standing still or I will also be coated with white dust.
Granted, this is a first world problem... it is not as if I am rising from the rubble of Haiti, or even the recent Nepalese earthquake. The words of Dylan's song, "When I paint my Masterpiece", come to me...
"The Streets of Rome are filled with rubble... you can almost think you are seeing double....Someday everything is going to be different, when I paint my masterpeice..."
Yah. I feel that way now.

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