Friday, November 16, 2018

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.

Thursday, November 15, 2018

i just want you to know, when we say war, we're really talking about peace. 
i would still invade iraq even if iraq never existed.  
     see, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things 
over and over and over again 
for the truth to sink in, 
to kind of catapult the propaganda.

george g.w.bush, droll recipient of the ha-ha-ha...liberty!  prize.  
hot damn! what a fuckin' country?


it's fucking hilarious in the sickest most demented possible sense, how america makes heroes of the biggest, most dimwitted mass marauders of all.  
the truth has sunk in. we are probably beyond any hope.





beautiful hawk.
           


lulu in the wild herbaceous border below the train embankment.
but...duggles? don't ya just love wildflowers?
whoa. five walks and my feet are still okay. they feel more like my old feet than they have for months. maybe they will be even better than my old feet. maybe after sloughing off so many layers they will be supple young feet again. my babies! ah, thanks, dogs. you have been so good to me. i'm sorry if i get impatient sometimes, you know that i love you and i know you do too.
omd, three mo walks. i wish i was in a lavender bath with thee, h.g.
omd this aveda foot relief creme is magical. thank dog i got it just in time for the first snow and six walks. it wooda been moida if my feet were like before. i still think the monkey walk this evening may be a step beyond, but i mo slather my paws every in between.
olive barked today for the first time, talking back to mister. i give her a tummy rub 
in her first snow.
hey! to whomever is leaving human food waste products in the park for the animals. i'm sorry, i'm sure i'll give you the benefit of the doubt your intentions are good, but that's idiotic. animals don't need your stale white bread and cookies! especially hilde!

you only have one head

you have only one head and look after it for it's a marvelous thing. no machinery, no electronic computers can compare with it. it's so vast, so complex, so utterly capable, subtle and productive. it's the storehouse of experience, knowledge, memory. all thought springs from it. what it has put together is quite incredible: the mischief, the confusion, the sorrows, the wars, the corruptions, the illusions, the ideals, the pain and misery, the great cathedrals, the lovely mosques and the sacred temples. it is fantastic what it has done and what it can do. but one thing it apparently cannot do: change completely its behavior in its relationship to another head, to another human being.

neither punishment nor reward seem to change its behavior; knowledge doesn't seem to transform its conduct. the 'me' and the 'you' remain. it never realizes that the 'me' is the 'you', that the observer is the observed. its love is its degeneration; its pleasure is its agony; the gods of its ideals are its destroyers. its freedom is its own prison; it is educated to live in this prison, only making it more comfortable, more pleasurable. you have only one head, care for it, don't destroy it. it's so easy to poison it."

 
-j.krishnamurti

old pirates, yes, they rob i
sold I to the merchant ships
minutes after they took i
from the bottomless pit
but my hand was made strong
by the hand of the almighty
we forward in this generation
triumphantly
won't you help to sing
these songs of freedom?
'cause all I ever have
redemption songs
redemption songs
emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
none but ourselves can free our minds
have no fear for atomic energy
'cause none of them can stop the time
how long shall they kill our prophets
while we stand aside and look? ooh
some say it's just a part of it
we've got to fulfill the book
won't you help to sing
these songs of freedom?
'cause all i ever have
redemption songs
redemption songs
redemption songs
emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
none but ourselves can free our minds
wo! have no fear for atomic energy
'cause none of them-a can-a stop-a the time
how long shall they kill our prophets
while we stand aside and look?
yes, some say it's just a part of it
we've got to fulfill the book
won't you have to sing
these songs of freedom?
'cause all i ever had
redemption songs
all i ever had
redemption songs
these songs of freedom
songs of freedom
 
 
-bob marley

i close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone
all my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity
dust in the wind
all they are is dust in the wind
same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea
all we do crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see
dust in the wind
all we are is dust in the wind
oh, ho, ho
now, don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky
it slips away
and all your money won't another minute buy
dust in the wind
all we are is dust in the wind
all we are is dust in the wind
dust in the wind
everything is dust in the wind
everything is dust in the wind
the wind
-kansas
redemption song, or, dust in the wind. in open produce both songs were playing together, one following the other. i said that's the theme song today when redemption played, then we laughed when dust came on and behind her head the white dust flew. ok, both songs now.
my new camera's already acting weird, or normal in the digital sense, it won't let me set the flash, it's either auto, or off. is this emblematic. don't bother going there duggles. who cares, every day is provisional. one walk down, five to go. thanks to jay eck in smoky cali for the foot relief. stay cool, j.
carry me? mister went to see kimmee yesterday for laser therapy and when he came home he took the stairs easily. this morning, he asked me to carry him down and up. maybe he just wanted to be held. that's good reason to me, as long as my feet and my back are willing. my dear mister, i will carry you as long as we both carry on.
it's not just snow, j. it's a snow storm, maybe like the one you was rescued from. (r. says that one was much worse, buddy) i'm glad you are here inside

to warm my heart between the wet cold dog walks. of course they pick today to rip up 56th street. for obombamacram, the city works.
trump is a human waste product and the thug of the world.
uh-oh, duggles,
 make that six walks
   in snow.


Wednesday, November 14, 2018

i'm tired in several ways, layers. i don't think i can manage anniversaries1, from a year in the life of gessine cresspahl. it's 900 pages, and that's volume1. i get palpitations. why do long books make me anxious? why can't i just settle in for the winter? cause there's too much shit to do! and i'm tired, so tired, the tinea is wearing me down. tomorrow i got 6 walks on wincing feet...
coming back from lulu's i took a d-tour. 
i was thinking today some heavy thoughts
as well as some light ones
i was thinking how grossly weighted it all is, 
how rigged, how stacked, how they got us coming and going, 
how we can't even live without making war and pollution, 
how the balance is so egregiously tilted toward sickness and insanity and death.
and some light moments too, dogs and people, they're so sweet together, gnome sane.







mister and colby. mister was limping along i thought rather disconsolately, or maybe it was me, but when he saw colby he was so pleased, he wagged and followed him around, marking his marks, and not minding when colby kicked dirt on his head, in fact i said he doesn't mind, in fact it may be some kind of blessing, comet pees on hilde's head, and murdo peed on mister's. i saw goats do that a lot, smiling and baaaaa-ing in sunlit golden showers. at first i was a little chagrined at murdo, but i think he meant it like an annointing. it could be that i'm turning things a certain way again, but something's being communicated, though i don't know if either comet or hilde was cognizant of it as anything of particular import, and murdo did seem to have a kind of supercilious air. maybe i'll ask on katz's radio show what it all means. 
the funny thing is, both colby and mister are more often indifferent to other dogs.
this is where lulu spooked and split. we go back to what spooks lu. see, nothing, nothing to be afraid of, but the little hairs on my arm tingle, idle know from tinea or alert. the dog is always right- there's something spooky around here i'm trying to tell lu not to fear.





bokay for lulu. oh my dog, lulu was soul cute today, but she keeps wanting me to get down 
and play like a dog, bouncing and pouncing around me. i keep on saying lu, i'm not a dog!  
but she's like, you sure act like one sometimes, when it suits you. touché, honeylulu.
 
autopilots pleas.
mister, uh... mister? 
 
                         hey, mister, i'm down here.