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08 October 2005

been busy but i got a poem for ya

things have been picking up again at site. had a meeting with the end-user, operations team, our customer a couple days ago... the end-user thinks we'll be firing the turbine around 25 october. my optimisitc estimate it is mid- to end-november, paul's estimate is jan 1 2006 (not sure if that is pessimistic or realistic). we'll see. i've been trying to arrange for transportation and accommodations for 14 turks, 2 TAs to supervise them, and a trainer who is stuck in chennai. then we have an ass-load of broken parts, so i'm trying to get estimates, lead times, etc. hard to do on the wrongs side of the planet. it adds AT LEAST an extra day to the process and THAT is if you contact the right person. i've had no luck at this, but i'm making some headway. blah, india.

even right there, that paragraph break took about 1.5 hours. our trainer is finally coming (4 days late) and the turks need cars, googly. it's going to be a caravan. i believe that there are 72 rooms in the Hotel Anand Regency where we are staying. when the turks arrive, the 2 TAs advising them, the trainer, and the 7 current TAs we have onsite, we will be inhabiting 33% of the hotel tomorrow. excellent. they GOTTA love the business i'm bringing them. and for some reason they are giving the turks a discount and not me, and emma got a fancy greta garbo cigarette holder thing and a singing lighter from the barstaff when i went on R&R. i ain't got shit from 'em. i'm tellin' ya, tits get you everywhere. i mean i got tits, but they ain't the same. anyways, here's a poem i wrote a couple years ago. i found it while checking out an old book of mine.

an atrophied brain (formaldehyde)

bare hypocrite walls
     stare at
bare bled soul
          shell of
slipping into shadowed steps (already taken)
pre-(patterned) patterned --- know the way ho(tel)me
   .about the pretty girls
      , about the pretty kisses

and blood stains on cold rented sheets

good morning news when you slip
into (goodnight) bed next to
   a headful of losses
children scream past dark doors
     they see no one enter/leave
     ----------the hole growing

doors shift, demarcations blow
   away with the wind, blurring .blinding.
   an already lost trail
     dreams cannot (find) follow here, but
Sleep can track
so it digs its talons/teeth until
all that's left is Sleep and
(to) stare at
bare hypocrite walls



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