The improvisations that constitute my desk are cobbled together of a footboard found in the attic and a piece of wood held together on one side by black duck tape with a checkers board painted on its flip side. This plank of wood is situated on top of a chest of drawers from the laundry room of my grandparents’ home during my formative years at Lake Buckhorn and a bludgeoned file cabinet whose bottom drawer I broke open to find a VHS copy of THE MASKED MARVEL which I knew was in there but wasn’t. The height difference is made up by three stacked Time Life books on the history of mankind. The Dragon that loves tacos sits atop the printer next to a framed, handmade birthday card from my niece; “hcqe brtdbay,” it says. Atop the plank of wood is my 11” Macbook Air which, thanks to my aging eyes, requires a larger monitor to not render me mole-like by the end of the work day: in this case, a 22” Magnavox television which, after a journey that included life in a KMart, a nursing home, and as a replacement television, found its way to my little sanctuary underneath the IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE poster.
Stuck in my head: “Deep Water,” from OCEAN SONGS, by Dirty Three.