barak obomba in prison! barak obomba was allowed a half hour walk in the the yard today, but as it was raining he still ain't seen the sunshine, nor did he have the heart to poop. he shows no remorse for his wicked behavior and claims he is a scapegoat for the real villains, the masters of industrial war, who told him it was all in the cause of democracy. every dog will have his day so they say. and every dog may have a silver lining but we can't see it.

where there is life there is life not hope.

copp listening to his evil angel.

i woke up and my roof was leaking.

monsanto is evil, truly evil.
nicholson baker

evil, don't think of me, save me from your mind.

we're never prepared for what is true to come.

the killers will not kill and killing will be guilt free.

who is to live and who is to die will be decided by computers.

early and late, the roof is still leaking, and the president is still killing.

it's a little early to be hung up. it's a little late to be lied to.

it now is clear the climate change mill is a futile palliative. what we need to do is to stop the president from killing.

why not protest actions we can easily end, like the intentional killing of people with missiles in foreign countries? start small.
nicholson baker

i like opera, handwriting, notes left for passers by.

the gothic imagination.

mister mister

cloud diary. the liberal hole.

it's my cloud diary.

i'm not saying no, but there's no question.

invitation

elaine may.

dear cloud diary, i struggled down here today, again. i feel better now i'm crying.

i yelled to him not to catch a misthrown stone and he got confused and walked halfheartedly back and forth when i threw, in between sidling up to me saying, i'm sorry is it ok.

i kept saying, it's ok copp, it's ok. well we'll try later. when i pictured the cloud with the building he quickly lay down in the foreground feigning sleep.

it's ok.

you are good.

we can be good together.

the fear was a song.

so scared of beginnings.

we got it so good.

we don't notice so much in fear, and we weep inside because we know.

ok, you can start over your life, but you will be this old.

wanting it more.

we're passing, hidden, strange. we belong.

are we hiding from that mean couple?

ha well, yes, we're hiding now, isn't it fun?

kind of. but can you throw something?

oh sure, sorry i was preoccupied.

me too.

i do understand.

when half of you understands it will be large.

i've thought of that but i tend to forget. if everyone would lay down in a meadow, what would happen. nothing. blessed nothing.

immeasurable. the ground would absorb all the anger and confusion. when we rose we would rise with light, springing, like the ground where we lay.

if we did everything laying down

we wouldn't make war.

i wish i could bring steve lacy to bobolink meadow. i feel sure he would come if he were free.

yes, i feel sure.

the beauty of old.

they asked for a rewrite, i gave them a pyre

they said no you can't do that.