Harnett-Hargrove

i’ve lost week to deadline. That's just how it goes.

i dreamed of an old friend last night + got on to memories i have not thunk possibly ever.
Rely.
Relay in writing, i like that.

In high school art class there was a small yellow + gray streaked glasshouse off to one side that sat out into a small light shaft between buildings. It was off-sight of the art teachers so they had no clue to what was happening inside. You had the teachers buffaloed.

But now thinking about it, that green house was a fishbowl to the cafeteria across the way.

A potters wheel was wedged between short bleachers of plants + supplies. i preferring hand building — since they said i was no good at throwing pots, the product being too chunky + far from elegant. But that didn’t keep me from trying. i was in the process of making, as a neighbor friend was enhancing. This friend was obviously in need of a something to focus on. He chose one of the still wet deep walled mugs + slowly, oh so carefully carved out a niche on the front side + added chips of tiny mud, choosing any array of micro triangular, tubular + spherical pieces all into an area one inch in diameter. He worked so carefully it was scary, + so close his nose scraped the clay. When he was satisfied, he straighten up, + a with dawning on his face that happened way too in-often, looked at me wide red eyed + awestruck.

It’s the universe Imploding!
Whoa. 

It has been a wicked deja vu week.