the word grim keeps popping out of my head like a thought bubble. i have nothing rainproof and cried on by giants. but when i took some pictures i could see it in a different way. my native mode seems to be depressive and somber and i wish i could be the dog and copper take care of me, though i would not wish depression on the lovely boy.

bounder 

diving yesterday

saw a movie about a native woman who had been serially raped by about every man she grew up among since she was three. the sound, done by an old friend, byron, was acute, extremely intimate,  we could here her breathing, her perpetual sighs throughout the four hour ordeal, and the sighs of her children. it was called kind hearted woman. her birth name. good job byron, those sighs tell an old old story. they haunt me like my own.
then i saw side effects, which was kind of soderberghian  pooeenay.  oh and vinyl at doc which i quickly realized i'd seen there recently, summer rehashings, but it's always a lark to see the factory workers play droogs and dance to sixties tunes in a flurry of s&m and poppers. 

how it feels is hard to say

how does it feel

it's coming across the water. it's the golden light.

post swim shimmy shimmy cocopop

oh, shit.

passing

reve 

the broken road 

the sculptor of time moves

i was picking tomatoes today with barak obomba and carrying them home i noted how fragile they were, the sweetest being the tenderest, and people. 

foot bridge

copp trying to distract me from what he's about to do.

what would jesus do on the reservation?