Today I found out that I won't be returning to Stephen Blatt Architects on Monday. A permanent hire, Claire C., is joining the team. She is 20 years older than me if stress in the bones of one's face is any indication. Her bob of steely gray hair and civil, thwarted countenance will probably generate more business for the firm than I have been able to. I have youth on my side, but this woman wears a black wool pea coat down to her ankles, which are shod in decent boots. I can't compete with anyone so eminently sufferable. Graciously, Claire wished me the best in my pursuits and I shook her hand, my bare skin against her black leather glove. Her available smile and cool grip. The grip of death. Surely, this moment signified for me "The Death of Blatt."
Here, study the famous Neoclassical painting of the French Revolution by artist, executioner, and Jacobin genius Jacques-Louis David, "The Death of Marat":
Here we see the famous psoriatic revolutionary Jean Paul Marat soothing his plaque-ridden epidermis in the bathtub after being stabbed to death. The note in his hand is the petition sent by his political adversary and killer, Charlotte Corday, used to gain entry to his home on July 13, 1793.
1 comment:
wily patrick kiley...you have a knack for invoking certain eternal questions...in this case what is the nature of sanity—an internal state of being or an external mien? i read this entry late last night, under the influence of several shots of sake and a hard day’s work. i liked your opening sentences, they made me smile. but as i scrolled down the page i grew increasingly anxious...i thought i knew this painting...i thought i knew the story it depicted...i had no idea dame judi was embroiled in any illegal voting scheme...i went to bed wondering how i’d managed to get things so mixed-up in my head, how i’d managed to forget so much...i was still a bit confused today when i started my morning run in the cold, dark hour before sunrise. but as the sun came up and blood started pushing the sake out of my mushy brain, i suddenly recognized your game and started laughing while i ran down the middle of the street (the sidewalks were too icy), darting city buses, and stripping off my bulky sweatshirt (getting to hot as the sun rose). sanity regained. at least i thought so. the garbage men and newspaper delivery guy who witnessed the scene thought might have thought the opposite. (incidentally, mr kiley, this is the second time one of your stories has interrupted a morning run...the first one was “kids have the right to have fun!” nearly fell in the gutter laughing so hard that time...) write more.
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