little surfer bear. we didn't swim yesterday and we turned back from the waves at the point this morning to try the beach and the waves were big but mostly bubbles and foam. a wave rolled over little bear and i held her after then set her down on another wave so she could surf in. i went back to the point after lulu and swam by my lonesome and read the memoir by nicholas ray's daughter nicca. there's a lot of typos in there but there's some interesting stuff, though a lot of it's bad stuff. i wonder what he would have don without the drugs. maybe he wouldn't have been the same person. i mean he made in a lonely place and if that was all he made he would be a great artist.
his life was similar to leonard cohen—we watched a marianne and leonard. both of them were druggies and leavers, but they had to be to be the artists they were. most people would have just burnt out or overdosed, but drugs were fuel to their dark fires.
i used to think i might have been that way, but i wasn't. i'm hoping to just be a good person by the end.
the final trump 20/20. pray the end of the nightmare of racist predatory capitalism. america is still the greatest purveyor of violence and terrorism in the world—the empire of the neoliberal plague. it's americal!
"blood" and "nightmare" came and asked if they can pet my dog and then they ask if we want to join their cult. i ask what's it called and they don't have a name yet, they're testing the waters and assessing the responses. then they say they'll call it the cult of dog, and i say i'm down with that and i'll not only join but i'll spread the good word on this dog blog and lulu will be the leader. they say everyone is in a cult and i say it's true, and this is a supercult we're stuck in, so i praise them for forming their own cult and a dog cult is a spiritual pinnacle for the common good. cults are soul cool.
let us pray barr gets the virus quick and lethal.
we meet bear's neighbor jasper at the end of the walk and they get all crazy.
when little bear isn't swimming she just wants to hunt critters. there's a lot more meadow as the waves keep tossing chunks up and they can't mow and it's a pandemic so there's a lot more place to hide and seek for critters and little bear. her instinct is intense though she only caught a rabbit once.
someone left a blanket and a water-puffed book, wine to water—how one man saved himself while trying to save the world. wonder what became of the reader. little bear scans the shore.
the wind and fish and wave crush scent got little bear all excited. i persuaded her to walk the sea wall without jumping off. by the little tree that grows in a crack me and mister passed daily i stop and do a head smoosh with her. she gets it and doesn't snatch my glasses.
her head has a portal and her breasts have eyes.
if the pandemic goes on as it is wont to do it is assuredly time to rethink some hubristic and ill-considered projects like the american empire and the obomba precedential complex. private interests that exploit the people should be jettisoned like bilge water and the overbearing privateers man overboarded.
i could almost not use words. some people have chosen to be silent for long periods even years. once one gets the habit language gets strange. most of language is the habit of speech. i barely want to use words now. they don't suffice.
