assemblage. feeling taut stringlike between heart and groin. i guess i'm feeling better. there's a moth in my chest but i was permitted a movie in public, the missing picture, clay figures depicting the khmer rouge. wierd how dissaffected it felt, the narrator and filmmaker a victim. he kept trying to find the missing picture. and i guess that was what was affecting about it. the horror resulting in profound dissaffection.

a morning with the audubonders and the bridge and fog and the green lung.

the natives call it catalpa, head with wings. some body is buried under it, stephen douglas?, nourishing the white profusion of annual cherubs that cascade through the soft air and light the dark pond.

for sebastian, my dear nephew, who has ten years in him today, who loves amphibians and reptiles. frog love to you mon ami.

my friend dolly says she's inspired to do a blog but she can't imagine doing it in public. i sometimes feel acute embarrassment but then i do that anyway, i always felt inside out. i rather feel the blog hides me. even in revelations. she writes in public and orates which i could never do. this has nothing to do with watching a dog watching frogs, but then in a way nothing has to do with anything, hence everything with everything.

copper was rapt, and the frogs were so full of courting they didn't mind the audience or perhaps were thus inspired. 

it's been so rare to see these lovely creatures, and to hear their bass song thrills my spine to my amygdala, i think.

so long darlings.

green lung so valued so needed. i know how precious these bits of life are, how we need the help for our lungs and spirits. how much degradation of the environment, of the animal, the human web, how lost we are as a species, how close salvation might lie, while we celebrate independence day with giant fences and obnoxious music and bombs, how fierce our independence kills our spirit, occupies the world, ransoms freedom. 

the only arms 

my zen teacher

the white spider 

was shy 

in her embrace.