here's mr. 
the last night walk. the fellow still sleeping under the tracks, his bed a real mattress with layers of blankets and quilts.
i'll miss mr. so, and the relaxed mornings not rushing to get him, and the night photos. though i'm so tired i could not keep up much longer.
i wanted to write about white god/white dog again. suzanne heard an immigrant bartender say “Release the white dogs!” for white doves, talking about a wedding. said she'd think about having a ceremony if it was releasing white dogs.
i posted about the film white god and white dog, and remembered giving s. the book.
meanwhile mr katz i guess got a white dog r. says, and it's too bad i stopped reading his and m.wulf's blogs. i think about connections i've severed, and why, and why i haven't made nurturing friendships and have reverted to solitude. well i do go back and revisit, but usually it ends and stays ended, except my revisitations. the thing with pat f. was it was only art and art as aesthetics and then the hate, the schism between aesthetic control and presentation and spilling hate. with katz it was self improvement as a screen, which can be interesting for what i might glean, but it was a screen, no engagement, which i probably should not have sought. much communication is indirect, and we take what we can glean. meaning is private, as the inner life is, yet... i'd wish to share the vulnerability, the struggle, and the feeling of being alive, the fear and resistance, the need to be held.
ok i blurted all that and it may need more time and care, but mr is waiting patiently for morning relief.