Update: Wall in Room 1115, YWCA

May 10, 2018, 3pm.  About Me.  Yesterday during the day while I was in Times Square, Reynaldo, YWCA painter, cemented (or whatever it’s called) the hole in the wall in this room that the roofers had drilled when they drilled through the bricks.

Somebody, I do not know who (perhaps the person who has government clearance to enter my room at any time of day or night), had placed a Halls lozenge on my pajamas, that I’d left on the bed.

Reynaldo came back this morning to scrap and paint the wall.  And then he came back later to put another coat of paint on the wall.

Reynaldo said to me, at least seven times, “Thank you.”

Hugo, too, when he was here with Reynaldo to reconnect the radiator, thanked me at least once, maybe two times. (Exactly how many times I cannot remember; I was really concentrating on trying to do this work here at my website. I have so many pictures to post, and am not making much progress doing so.)

Why in the world is Reynaldo, and Hugo, thanking me?? 

Why were they told to thank me?

I googled thank you lyrics and this is what I found:


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“Thank U”

How bout getting off of these antibiotics
How bout stopping eating when I’m full up
How bout them transparent dangling carrots
How bout that ever elusive “could have”Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence
How bout me not blaming you for everything
How bout me enjoying the moment for once
How bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
How bout grieving it all one at a timeThank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silenceThe moment I let go of it
Was the moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it
Was the moment I touched down

How bout no longer being masochistic
How bout remembering your divinity
How bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
How bout not equating death with stopping

Thank you India
Thank you Providence,
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity
Thank you thank you silence…

“Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie” (1998)
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(Thank U, Alanis Morissette,

GOT JUNK?, sanitation truck, Third Avenue at State Street, May 10, 2018

A William S. Burroughs novel detailing a story of opiates and users, published as a nearly “pulp” novel by Ace Books.
“I read this good book about heroin. It was called ‘Junky’.”
“Uh. Cool.”
by heroin hiroshima May 01, 2005

Get a Junkies mug for your grandma Jovana.
(Mormon Church of Satan’s Urban Dictionary, https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=junky)

When I came back from the deli earlier today, this morning, this cart, featuring an ACE hardware bucket, was parked next to the Cutler brand mail chute, 11th floor elevator vestibule, YWCA Brooklyn, May 20, 2018