there's a catholic boy that we see on the morning walk south down cornell. he hit's me in my solar plexus. he's doing nothing but hurt. i have to say something. last time i smiled and said good morning.—good morning. absolutely no response, i reiterate and sang a ditty, like whistling past the graveyard. a solid ghost. today i saw him again. i said to myself: grim—that was a future suicide, already happened. interesting that mister doesn't seem to notice him. maybe he only appears to me. what would the message be. why does he so affect me. he's a mass of impacted molecules spelling grief. i think of jim carroll's song catholic boy, because the grim kid goes in the catholic theological union. he sings, i was a catholic boy, redeemed through pain, not through joy. does pain redeem? what does redeemed even mean? to gain or regain compensation for something—lost joy? to compensate for the faults or bad aspects (of something). his is a bad aspect, is that the aspect of his nature, or is his nature walking dead?
post dat. maybe i have looked like that.

anthropocene: the human epoch is reviewed in the revelator. it's in my hold at the library. it's incredible what humans have done. just beyond imagination.
 

horoscope for thurs. respect yourself. yesterday i was thinking why i call obomba out of his name, not from a lack of respect, but from a virulent disrespect. it could be anyone, it just happens to be obomba. there are many obombas, obomba contains multitudes, like trump. respect for the likes of these is respect for money and power, disrespect for green space, for life. respect yourself and you respect life.

i was a little trepidatious but i wanted to return to the place where mister's trouble began. i don't think he has traumatic memory, but we've always gone back to where trouble began. 
the circle comes around, naturally. we had no trouble this time, but the alley is spooky. and those black doors—foreboding! what was i thinking. i must have been sensing trouble the last time i posed him here when he barfed the moment after the picture and we slunk home. he's been falling some. he fell playing in the house once or twice and collapsed on the stairs once with me. he's missing his therapy. kimmee's dad died, and he still has his staples in, so it'll be a while before he gets his good stretching and laser treatment and water treadmill. so in the meantime i'm carrying him up and down when he hesitates.

goose ice landing.

up dat: sylvia.

we rode the passenger elevator with sylvia this time. last time it was the freight when she dropped the ugly bomb as she stepped smiling off. she was chagrined we were on the people elevator as the freight was in use by the construction crew. idle know if john spoke with her in between elevator rides but while i subdued lulu she told me why she thinks she has a hard time with dogs: it's because the only dog she ever had was unwanted by the whole family when she was a kid. then i felt sad for sylvia, and not defensive of soul cute lulu. it's not that she's ugly, it's just that sylvia can't see properly due to the emotional residue of childhood shame and guilt over the poor unwanted family dog so long ago. she must be in her 80's now. think of all the good dog years she's missed. sorry, lulu, you can't make up for that lost dog in time. now i understand. i want to understand a little more each day.

 a disarming kiss.