Sunday, December 31, 2017

new years cats party.
s. got a text from signed love, ammonia. that's autocorrect for love, mom. this is like the techno app of freudian slippery people.
r. says and heres another one of your hairs. and i say how do you know it is mines. and she says its long and its grey, do you see long grey hairs up here? on her head. and i say maybe on the inside. maybe on the inside its long and grey. maybe it came from your brain. that's crazy talk she says and goes back to her puter to work on her nature book. and my head starts to itch.

jasper's rocker in jasper's window

i often think of the world without us
the book of the name emptying out
and growing lush
but who would feed the cats
living in the vacant towers
who couldn't get down to the streets
where life returns and
remember that movie
the one where the apartment gets all overgrown
with flora and fauna dispossessed beautifully
from the megacity
everything inside
and there is no room
only for a few of us and the rest
grow smaller as each story climbs

the country where he lives
is haunted 
by the ghost of an old forest.

wendell berry

i'm thinking about the wolf moon. are you thinking what i'm thinking? 

year of 13 moons. tomorrow's a blue moon, but it'll look red because of the lunar eclipse, becoming a blood moon.

the old moon, the ice moon, the snow moon, the wolf moon, all the names for the same moon.

wolf moon
snow moon
worm moon
pink moon
flower moon
strawberry moon
buck moon
sturgeon moon
harvest moon
corn moon
hunter's moon
beaver's moon
cold moon

i'm loony with all these moons. it's good to be moon loony. look up tomorrow night january 1 at 8:24 and howl.

oh, happy new year, mister, i love you so much. i love how you usually walk directly in my footsteps and then again go your own way and in the snow i can watch our steps diverge and converge like a still photo that recalls a movie we revisit each day though sometimes we can't see the plot or our footsteps and you still follow mine and i yours and we go our own ways each being different every day appearing and dissolving within the same film.


so, let's think about this, the moon is nearly full of light, and on the coldest day the sun increases minutely. i celebrate the old year here. with you.

let's bring in perspective. we can't just think of the land grab. we have to think of us.

my friend asked me: 

how did you do that 
after not being in a relationship for many years 

if it weren't for the blog you wouldn't know r.....

oh--i wouldn't really know you much either since we use it as a common point or something

you communicate w/lots of people thru the blog--incl many you dont even know

i thought this. since yesterday someone mentioning their grandfather was all alone--heightened sense of right vs wrong, cant recall.......and just this How long.............jesus doug...........its been since........decades.
someone kind of approached me--in fact some have--but i wasn't that interested 
in some cases didn't want at all--or couldn't respond.....maybe that's it

there's something wrong--haven't had libido since
don't know how long

its not just post men i don't think its decades of depression.....shutting me down?

now it's time to revisit time together. since so many are alone. like i was.

i respond to my friend,

i met r. with the birders. but she came to me through the blog.
that is a pertinent question. how did i do it. i just did the blog. r. asked me if she could be in my life from reading the blog, and brief glimpses of me and mister on the island. and that is amazing. i had long resigned myself to skulking solo through life.
it is my primary way of communication. with strangers too. on a non-local, physics level, i get feedback i think.
funny, i often cursed my libido in the past, like my mind, i wanted to turn it off, be free of it. but it is connection. it may go dormant, but libido must be active in some way. going from alone to together is an intimate quantum leap. (nature is hard, but harder to deny)
clearly depression affects libido. it may cause you to addict to shallow contact, or withdraw into inertia. like a cave fish has the place of eyes but no eyes. maybe seeing light but indistinct form. 
well you know. it's email. it's a beginning. you have to start some place. why not where you are. why not.

how many times i've thought of going blind. of always being alone. of exhausting my lonely libido.

now it's been a year. and it's been hard. and dear. when it almost broke i couldn't think. i couldn't think of another way. but onward. 

i bless the day you found me. (finally).

this old cold is getting old.

i'm so glad you came inside.

 oh my little angel child.

angel of the morning

There'll be no strings to bind your hands
Not if my love can't bind your heart
And there's no need to take a stand
For it was I who chose to start
I see no need to take me home
I'm old enough to face the dawn
Just call me angel of the morning, (angel)
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby
Just call me angel of the morning, (angel)
Then slowly turn away from me
Maybe the sun's light will be dim
And it won't matter anyhow
If morning's echo says we've sinned
It was what I wanted now
And if we're victims of the night
I won't be blinded by the light
Just call me angel of the morning, (angel)
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby
Just call me angel of the morning, (angel)
Then slowly turn away
I won't beg you to stay with me
Through the tears of the day, of the years
Baby, baby, baby
Just call me angel of the morning, (angel)
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby
Just call me angel of the morning, (angel)
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, darling
Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, darling

chip taylor
(May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks your wonderful, and don.t forget to make some art.write or draw or build or sing or dance and live as only you can. And I hope, somewherein the next year, you surprise youself.)

hi, kids, i'm the littlist tiniest cutest new year's baby down here smoking my tiny erl king-size cigar. watch out, don't step on me. i forward the above textual message i received from harry o. this frigid morning. may it light a candle in your heart. don't believe the wall street hype, kids, you can change. there is hope. 

postscript. after i wrote the above, washing the dishes, i broke the bodum. try to be a good egg kids, stuff still gets broke, just don't try, like the power brokers do, to break it on purpose.

and the future will know us by the towers of vanity and hubris built on top of our public parks. obomba just sent a new age hope and change message to : we can do this. we can build our compound in your neighborhood, we can take your park. why, you ask? because we can. we have our brand on hope and change. believe the hype, it's never too late.
the slick wall street neo-age ad campaign for hope and change was a sad insult then and now, after eight years of wall street larceny and confiscation by war, when we know what it really means, it's a sick offense. he once was the face of hope and change. hope was lost and change was loosed upon the world. now he's the face of empire.
don't believe the hype. it's not too late.
future beings will remember us
by the plastic land we made of war
and the way we treated the animals.
i watched p-star last night and the duel. r.worked on a nature book. i snored, penny purred, r. laughed.

 penny left, distur-bed, my snores muffed her purrs.

these moments are immortal; none are more evanescent.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

mana is a primitive abstraction, probably
more primitive than numbers, for example,
but no more supernatural.
memory, educating itself, constructs a series
of the major relational events
and the elementary upheavals.
what is most important for the drive
for knowledge, namely, that 
which is active and effective, stands out
most clearly and gains independence,
while the less important, that which is not shared,
the changeful you of the experiences, recedes,
remains isolated in memory, gradually
becomes an object and even more gradually
gets arranged in groups and species.
but the third element, gruesomely detached 
and at times spookier than the dead and the moon,
becomes more and more inexorably clear until
finally the other partner that always remains the same
emerges: i.

i and thou

a friend's errant mother story.

she's all alone in a strange town. ninety year old husband stroking out in a nursing home.
they danced once in high school.
hired a 'visiting angel' for herself. in texas, for godsake.
people are different here, she says.
afraid i picked up her anxiety. crap. i'd rather take drugs. than be like that, HER
i shouldn't read her mail at all. it's all filtered to trash anyway, 
after her republican rants-no wonder no one talks to her. jesus.
no clue why i do.
wasted energy.
sorry now
i wasted yours. 

(-i say, can i use that story about your mother? i'll do it, and if you want i'll erase. feels kind of invasive?...
looks fine to me...not invasive. nobody knows who it is.
true, it could be anyone's mother, and interestingly, maybe that's a good way to look at our own mothers.)

i think i've learned some stuff. 
me too. i think you've learned stuff. you got a lot of wisdom. i always thought that though. yeah, they say i'm an old soul. i feel old in my joints, but i want to dance all the more.
i'm nine. 
i remember nine. it goes really fast. 
right? only yesterday... when we met... i thought, it took so long, and here we are.
yeah, here we are. i'm glad, my brother. 
me too, mister. me too.

d'you hear what trumps sed? the ignorance is astounding.
call the angel of reversals.

the angel of fragile times.

mister hershey turned nine and started crossing the street by himself. i told him hersh just because your growed up don't be acting all independent. your still a dog, mind you. well a dog and a bear.
come on come on come come on kiss me babe.
i wanna be a good egg.
 skating under darrow bridge. 

white nest.
the frozen lagoon, my shadow two oriole nests, mister, vista homes, r.

did i show you the oriole's nest? yeah, a few times. oh, sad. no, oh my, how beautiful. i've never seen this before.

oriole nest in the deep heart of winter trailing a fishing line on the snowy surface of the ice lagoon, for r.

this far no further mister my footsteps tell me. it was kind of like in the movie under the skin when the boys get lured into the shiny black floored room and step by step they slowly sink beneath the surface leaving not a ripple. but this was blanketed by whiteness and there was a floor beneath and i was not in a trance following scarlett johanssen blissful to my doom.
let's make tracks.


when i got mister i noticed he now has five salt socks and i thought ha, b. was right, somebuddy did lose a salt sock in his front yard in his exact size. when we got to the frozen lagoon i looked down and he had but three. we retraced our prints to the museum lot now being snowplowed and found the elusive fourth sock, and re-retraced our prints onto the frozen lagoon. on returning to chez mister i find that the fifth sock is brand spanking new and just arrived in the mail. i'm sure you all are much relieved. but then mister fell over in his salt socks on the kitchen floor.
it's not that democracy failed, it's that it wasn't, carol. it's that we failed to notice, carol. it's that democracy was only the mask of capitalism, and under the mask grew a malignant disease. the face of malignant capital metasticized beneath the mask of smiling inertia that sold democracy. the hideous face is now revealed, the face of cancer capital, the visage of the final trump.