Friday, November 16, 2018

















walking with trees.
looking up to trees.
being thankful.
for trees.
here's to me and mister boy.

time of no reply


summer was gone and the heat died down
and autumn reached for her golden crown
i looked behind as i heard a sigh
but this was the time of no reply

the sun went down and the crowd went home
i was left by the roadside all alone
i turned to speak as they went by
but this was the time of no reply

the time of no reply is calling me to stay
there is no hello and no goodbye
to leave there is no way

the trees on the hill had nothing to say
they would keep their dreams till another day
so they stood and thought and wondered why
for this was the time of no reply

time goes by from year to year
and no one asks why i am standing here
but i have my answer as i look to the sky
this is the time of no reply

the time of no reply is calling me to stay
there's no hello and no goodbye
to leave there is no way



nick drake


(it does feel like the time of no reply, even though it's the time of some reply. it's just that, well, it is, in the aggregate of power and control, a destructive, heedless time, the time of no reply.)


i can’t believe in the richest country in the world. …”

this is the expression of incredulity and dismay that precedes 
some story about the fundamental impoverishment of american life, 
the fact that the lived, built geography of existence here is so frequently wanting, 
that the most basic social amenities are at once grossly overpriced and terribly underwhelming, that normal people (most especially the poor and working class) 
must navigate labyrinths of bureaucracy for the simplest public services, 
about our extraordinary social and political paralysis 
in the face of problems whose solutions seem to any reasonable person self-evident 
and relatively straightforward.
it is true that, as measured by gdp, the united states is the greatest machine 
for the production of money in the modern history of the world.
but this wealth is largely an abstraction, 
a trick of the broad and largely meaningless aggregations of numbers 
that makes up most of what the business pages call “economics.” 


jacob bacharach
somehow i feel i'm always not quite right, like, i'm struggling toward something, something indefinite, like goodness, and yet at my center i'm off kilter, like even in paradise i'd be imbalanced.
good morning dogs, and peoples too. i dint sleep too good. how'd you sleep. i dint sleep too good. good morning anyway. i felt gentled this morning. my feet tender but alive, the tinea surely receding, the inmost parts are wanting light and touch, exposure, expression. feel the passing of time on new skin.
 it was important not to be a fool, but it was very hard.