i saw sara and chiara from the water and i wanted to show them the way down the sea wall but i was in bliss and by the time i slowly floated back they were down at the rubble beach with a goofy chocolate lab who ebulliently bonked her nose with his big head and she got a little mustache of blood and droplets on her fort bliss tshirt which was sent by a warmonger general who was in afghanistan and she sent all her books and then came back to fort bliss which is certainly not in afghanistan though some of those forts over there are self-contained cities with all the empire amenities i don't think they'd be so blatant as to name them fort bliss more likely fort endure our freedom or something of that sort but she said so he's a war criminal, maybe part of him is rising consciousness and we spoke about that how it seems consciousness wants to rise, even unconsciously, though i suppose something must happen in early childhood. my dad was a young nixon republican so i got opposite nurture there, but while some bullies seem to make bullies like the trump clan my right wing father made a radical consciousness.
and she mentioned a british mystery writer she likes, michael gilbert? who wrote standard police procedurals until his last book in his nineties when he finally saw or admitted how the police and the law oppress people. as usual i feel like the bathtub of my mind was draining as i showered and as i wrote this but it gets some of what we said.
oh also we talked about escape. how escapism is rife in mystery, and how each of us fantasize physical escape to some pre or post technological paradise with many goldens and she said how i must dream of my island in b.c. but i say how it would oppress and depress me now too being all gentrified and covered with a crust of rich settlers houses. and we said we'll probably always be here, waiting for summer and waiting for calm days when we can enter the water like bliss, like today, like this bliss.
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