i know, a lot of phalluses, right, but blame it on the moon and the imagination of ice, blame it on me. i thought it too early to contemplate ice, but it's here, and while i was still in my foot gloves with toes popsickled i began to acquiesce. while there's a place for shame, though the american government is immune, there should be a place where shame is relaxed (not on the american battlefields, where it is shamefully absent), and the blog should be the place, but i am shamed here, even for the profusion of photos. 69! but what is shame. it seems either lacking or misplaced. i saw dirty wars last night, and shame seems inadequate, or remorse. the world is a battlefield and america is everywhere shamelessly.

i still dream of organon

the point is collapsing and i fear the army corps approach

in the sebald film about the rings of saturn a guy lit firecrackers on the road where he died and photographed the smoke and superimposed a picture of sebald and oh oh i saw his face in the smoke like a genie even when the photo was removed! is this the manufacted uncanny?

this is not a dress rehearsal i heard them say at the funeral

the saving grace may be the uncertainty principle or indeterminacy

pet who hunts

mea culpa mea maxima culpa rama lama ding dong