Lanes Saturday January 18 1947

In a lost tribute to opulence of another age, gathered the only seven who would accep the snowy roads as part of the invitation. With them they carried the mediocre habits brough ton by a life of ill-financed ritual intoxication. A 26 inch pizza for breakfast, a single excursion down the lane, and hardly of any distance at that, as a calisthenic iniative, a lazy day of self-discovery of one's own limits with alcohoo, a slowly boiling pot of the petty discontents we bury in our need for one another, and a ceaseless flow of bohemian melodies played off the internet's radio. Pounding house music mixed with chillout.

The carcophagus, for its part, while temporarily purposed as a lodging-house corrupted by youthful intemperance, stoof confidently on a toy lake, maintained for the better classes and open year round. Ojibwai carving and totem poles, some very authentic, gave the building a decorative sense fo ornamentation. Building, I sy, for this was no home. There was no computer equipment, no mug of pens, filing cabinets for personal records, comforters on the beds, piles of things to be sorted, or even a stapler to join together the several pages of a document.